Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
WREN
I t doesn’t take me long to reach the motel. This is honestly the last place I want to be, but I need somewhere to clean up and lie low for a while. And get my shit together. Definitely get my shit together.
Calling Delaney is out of the question until I know for sure what’s going on. I would never be able to live with myself if something happened to her because of me. I could call Cain, but do I really want to involve an entire MC in my little problem? It might seem big to others, but to them, something like this is just another day. They aren’t the type to let stuff like this slide. Every single one of them would be out for blood and enjoy every second of it.
It took me half as long as it did to walk here to convince the guy at the front desk to give me a room and pay him when I leave, but I honestly think it was just because he wanted to get back to his blowjob. I can’t decide which is more unsettling—the way the guy didn’t even blink at how I looked like a hot fucking mess running in here or that there was a girl sucking his dick at the front desk in broad daylight for anyone to see.
My lip curls slightly in disgust as I take the room key from him, feeling a sticky substance on the ring. “Thanks.”
He grunts in response, and I take that as my cue to get the fuck out of there. The whole place smells like stale sex. I’m praying my room isn’t the same, but my hopes aren’t high.
As I make my way down the hallway, I try not to look at the stains that litter the old carpet and walls. I don’t even want to know what bodily fluids they come from. I stop in front of room 108, unlock the door, and quickly lock myself inside. A long, heavy sigh escapes me as the same stale sex smell from the hallway assaults my nose. I’m just too exhausted to really give a shit. It’s not like I have any other options.
The documentary I watched about how motels are basically a breeding ground for bacteria is replaying through my mind as I take in the comforter on the lumpy-looking mattress. It’s thin and has definitely seen better days. The flower pattern is the same color as my puke green couch, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to take a black light too.
All I want to do is go to sleep and try to forget this night even happened. Using the last bit of energy I have, I slowly walk into the bathroom. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply before releasing, trying to work up the courage to look at myself before flipping on the light switch in the bathroom. I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me. Her eyes are dead; the usual glint was extinguished the moment that man pinned me to the ground. Her lip is so swollen and bruised to the point it looks almost black; the teeth indent lining it are filled with dried blood. The bruised lips are nothing compared to the softball that’s forming on her jaw.
Tears pool in my eyes, spilling over and running down my face right over the swelling and bruising. The feeling of the liquid trickling down my bruises feels almost comforting. Who knew the tears from your internal pain and suffering would be the one thing that comforts the physical.
I grab the old, yellow washcloth that is folded on the side of the tub and wet it with cool water in the sink. I wince as I bring the damp cloth that I’m pretty sure is supposed to be white to my face. I wish I had some ice, but finding an ice machine here isn’t a risk I’m willing to take. I know I’m only going to look worse in the morning.
On the plus side, the wetness of my tears made the dried blood easier to wipe off. Deciding that it’s as good as it’s going to get since I don’t have the energy in any capacity to shower, I lay the washcloth back over the edge of the tub and exit the small bathroom. I try my best to ignore the stiff and crunchy feeling of the comforter as I lay down on top of it.
I don’t feel any peace as I close my eyes and try to drown out the pounding and throbbing in my head.
I’m in that state where you feel like you’re floating between being awake and being asleep. That state where you can hear everything around you, but you can’t open your eyes. The feeling of something heavy feels like it’s draped across me, weighing me down. Something that’s heavier than this crusty comforter. And warm. So fucking warm. On instinct, I wiggle back into the warmth, trying to get as close as possible.
“You’re making it very hard for me to behave myself, tesoro ,” a deep voice rumbles from behind me. My eyes fly open.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I quickly roll over so I’m facing Matteo. I open my mouth to ask what the fuck he’s doing here, but he beats me to it.
“Oh, sweet girl,” Matteo whispers as his eyes roam my face .
Crap.
How did I forget that my face looks like I went ten rounds with Mike Tyson?
“Tell me what happened.” He’s probably the only man I know that can make a whisper sound lethal. Like he’s one second away from doing murdery things and mailing body parts.
“Nothing. It’s?—”
“I swear to fuck, if you say it’s fine, I’m going to lose my shit. And baby, you don’t want me to lose my shit,” Matteo bites out, hard eyes never leaving mine. “Now, tell me what happened. I’m not asking again.”
Sighing, I roll my eyes at him not letting this go. “I came home from work; something felt off, but I pushed it to the back of my mind, went to bed, woke up, then this—” I pause as I wave my hand over my face, “happened, and now I’m here.”
I don’t miss the way his eye twitches. “And now you’re here? Just like that?”
“Just like that.” It takes everything in me to not wince as I raise my eyebrow at him in challenge. “Why are you here?”
“Why am I here?” he echoes.
I just stare back at him because, honestly, how fucking dare he? “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Am I fucking serious right now?” he echoes again, his voice rising slightly.
“Yes!” I snap. “You can’t break into my place; force yourself into my life by claiming I need protection, which I never asked for, by the way. In fact, I’m pretty sure I told you I didn’t fucking want it. Your protection lasts basically a week before you just decide to stop without so much as even a phone call. You could have even texted! I would have understood. Then, you find out something happens to me, and you come running, acting like it’s your business? Like some fucking knight in shining armor? Get the fuck over yourself, dude.”
“Get the fuck over myself?”
“Oh my fucking god! Stop repeating everything I say!” I yell as I throw the covers off of me and jump out of bed. “Actually, get out. Get the fuck out.” I point toward the door.
“Is that what you wore here?” Matteo asks, eyes quickly roaming over my body, the bite in his voice making me freeze.
“What?”
“Is. That. What. You. Wore. Here,” he repeats slowly.
I look down at myself.
Oh.
I forgot I didn’t put any clothes on before I ran out of the apartment. It’s not exactly like my first thought was to get pants. I was trying to not fucking die. I’m glad the jizz-infested motel isn’t a turn-off because I don’t miss the flare in his eyes as he looks me up and down. Placing my hands on my hips, I tilt my head at him. “Yes, this is what I wore. Is there a problem?”
Matteo squeezes his eyes shut as he sharply inhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m really trying to stay calm here, Wren. Really fucking trying. But you’re making it nearly im-fucking-possible.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Your ass is basically out!” Matteo explodes, jumping out of bed.
He’s wearing those sexy dress pants again. How do they just perfectly mold to him like that? The man just oozes sex appeal.
“And where is your bra? Jesus fucking Christ, Wren.” He continues to rant, drawing my gaze back to his face.
“Is this really what you’re concerned about? My ass? I almost fucking died! ”
Matteo’s chest is rapidly rising and falling as his breathing increases. “And I’m going to find that motherfucker and kill him for touching what is mine,” he says through clenched teeth as he throws his suit jacket at me that was resting on the chair next to the bed. “Now, put this on, and let’s fucking go.”
“Can you take me to Delaney’s?” I’m too stubborn to tell him that I don’t want to go back to my place. I’m not ready to face that yet.
“If you get in the fucking car.”
“I need to pay first. I forgot to grab my wallet during the shit show of a night I had.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
I look around the room. For what? I don’t know. It just makes me sad when I realize I literally only came here with the shirt on my back. I don’t say anything as I head to the door. I can feel him following. He approaches the front desk, and the same guy from the night before is working.
He lets out a low whistle. “You sure pulled in a nice one, girl. If I'd known that, I’d have raised your rates.”
Matteo’s head whips around to look at me as my mouth drops open in shock. Did he just call me a prostitute?
Matteo’s eyes take on a scary edge. In a blink, Matteo pulls a switchblade out of the pocket of his dress pants and flicks it open as he turns back to the guy at the desk, stabbing it into the top of his hand that’s resting on top of the desk.
“What the fuck!” he screams, pulling his hand back on reflex, making the blade slice through his hand even more. Blood is starting to pool onto the counter. My eyes are glued to the growing puddle, fascinated by watching it start to trickle over the edge, dripping onto the already stained carpet. A gasp works its way out of me, but it’s not from the shock of what Matteo just did. I gasped because that was the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen. Judging by how wet my panties just got, I probably need to schedule a full psych evaluation after this shit show that has become my life is over. This can’t be normal.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Matteo growls, slightly twisting the knife. The guy lets out another scream. “This is the only time I’m going to tell you this. If I hear you ever refer to her as a prostitute again, I’ll cut your fucking hand off.” Matteo pauses as he rights the blade. “Understood?”
The guy frantically nods his head as Matteo pulls the switchblade out, wiping it on a silky-looking piece of cloth he pulled out of his pocket. The guy is crying and violently shaking as he watches Matteo clean his blood off the blade. Only once the switchblade is completely clean and tucked safely back into his pocket does Matteo turn back to me.
“Let’s go, tesoro, ” Matteo says calmly as if he didn’t just stab someone in the hand.
And what do I do?
I follow him out.