Chapter 8
Chaos
She straightens, and I watch her spine stiffen. Fuck, even drowning in my oversized clothes, her expression tight with indignation, she makes my cock hard. I want this woman so bad.
Her hazel eyes flash with anger as she faces me down.
"Look, I appreciate everything you've done, but you do not get to tell me what to do. My clients depend on me. If I don't show, their dogs will be alone all day.”
The protective rage that's been simmering since I found those cartel fucks in her apartment flares hotter. Sure, I offed those two, but they’ll send more. Does she have any clue what they'll do to her if they find her?
"And if you do show, you'll be dead by nightfall." I step closer, using my size to make my point. "Is that what you want?"
She doesn't back down, doesn't cower. Instead, her chin lifts in stubborn determination. Christ, she's brave. Reckless, but brave.
"Of course not, but I need this job. I can't just—"
"I said no." The words come out harder than I intend, but she needs to understand this isn't up for debate.
We stare at each other. Her full breasts rise and fall rapidly as her anger increases. My cock twitches at the sight, remembering the feel of her naked body pressed against mine in that bathroom. How soft and pillowy she felt. God damn.
Not the time, asshole. Focus.
But it's hard to focus when those gorgeous eyes are locked on mine with such fierce determination. When her small hands are clenched into fists at her sides like she's ready to fight me. When everything in me screams at me to lock her in this room and never let her leave.
"I have rent to pay," she says finally, her voice smaller but no less determined. "Bills. My grandmother's care facility. I can't afford to lose either of my jobs."
Grandmother. Care facility. The pieces click together—the shabby apartment, the worn shoes, the textbooks. She's working herself into the ground to care for a loved one.
No wonder she’s barely keeping her head above water.
I heave a sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Write down the addresses. I'll send prospects to walk the dogs."
Her eyes widen with surprise, and fuck if that expression doesn't make me want to give her everything she asks for. "Really?"
"Really." I'm already mentally running through which prospects I can trust with this. "But they'll report directly to me, and you're staying here."
Relief floods her features, making her even more beautiful. Then worry creases her brow again. "Wait—if tattooed bikers show up on my clients' doorbell cameras, they'll freak. And probably call the police."
A valid point.
"What do you suggest, then?"
"They need to look...normal. Like regular dog walkers. Nerdy. Dorky, even." She bites that full bottom lip, and I have to suppress a groan. "No leather, no visible tattoos."
I stare at her, processing this request. Then I can't help it—I bark out a laugh. "You want me to tell my prospects to dress like dorky nerds?"
"Basically, yes." A small smile tugs at her lips, and Christ, it transforms her whole face.
I shake my head, already imagining the shit I'm going to get for this. But I'd order them to wear fucking clown costumes if it kept that smile on her face. "Fine. They'll dress like dorky nerds. Anything else, sweetheart?"
I watch her reaction to the endearment. The way her breath hitches slightly, the pink that creeps into her cheeks. Good. I want to lift the weight of responsibilities off her. Give her a fucking break.
"No. Only that I need to run an errand this morning."
Jesus Christ. Is she serious right now?
"What part of you're staying here isn't clear?" I hear my tone getting harsher and feel my jaw clenching.
"It's important. I have to—"
"No." My voice comes out louder than I mean it to, but fuck. "Whatever it is can wait."
Her temper flares again, those eyes sparking with fire. "It can't wait. I have to visit my grandmother."
The wind goes out of my sails. "Family emergency?"
"Not exactly." She drops onto the edge of my bed, and I track every movement.
The way my shirt rides up slightly on her thighs.
The defeated slump of her shoulders. "My grandmother has Alzheimer's.
She's in a care facility that's...not great.
But it's all I can afford." Her hands twist in her lap, and I want to cover them with mine.
"She doesn't recognize me anymore, but I still need to visit at least three times a week.
If I stop showing up regularly, the staff will think nobody's watching. They'll get sloppy with her care."
Fuck. This woman is killing me. Working two jobs, going to school, caring for a grandmother who doesn't even know her anymore.
"Your grandmother won't know if you miss one visit," I say, even though I already know she’s gonna argue, and fuck me if her sass doesn’t turn me on.
"It's not about her knowing." Her voice cracks, and the sound pierces straight through my chest. "It's about making sure they treat her right. The residents without family watching over them…they don't get the same level of care and attention. If the staff thinks no one's around to check on her..."
As her voice trails off, I cross to the bed, unable to stay away any longer. I sit beside her, the mattress dipping under my weight. Up close, I see the exhaustion and deep worry etched into her features.
"Where is this place?"
"Shady Pines Care Facility on Woodward." She looks up at me with those beautiful, pleading eyes. "Please, I have to go."
Every fiber of my being wants to give her what she wants. I want to lay the world at her feet. But I can't. Not when it means risking her life.
"No." I take her hand in mine, pleased when she doesn’t pull it away. "But I'll send Zeus."
She snorts—actually snorts. The sound is so unexpected, so fucking adorable, that I almost smile.
"That's funny?" My thumb traces circles on her palm.
"A little. I mean, Zeus? The scary guy with the tattoos who looks like he could snap someone in half with his pinky finger?
" She shakes her head, and then she giggles.
The sound is like fucking sunshine. "That might actually work.
He'll certainly intimidate the staff enough to want to stay on his good side. "
"Exactly." I watch her face light up. "Bet they'll give your grandmother the royal treatment once they get a good look at who's watching out for her."
It only takes about fifteen minutes for her to write down addresses and for me to issue orders to the prospects and Zeus. Neither seem enthusiastic about the chores, but they don’t complain.
"Thank you.” The tone of her voice is sincere, apologetic even. "I'm sorry for being difficult. I truly appreciate everything you're doing."
Difficult. She has no idea. I've dealt with rival clubs, federal agents, and now a psychotic cartel. This woman, with her stubborn streak and those pleading eyes, is a whole different level of challenging.
I reach down, unlace my boots, then position myself on the bed with my legs stretched out and my back up against the headboard. I pat the mattress next to me and, wonder of wonders, she doesn’t argue. She pauses for only a moment and then curls up next to me.
"I can handle difficult,” I assure her as I slide my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She fits perfectly, like she was made to be tucked against my side. When she leans into me, her body is soft and warm. She feels like…mine. Yeah, she feels like mine.
I press my nose to her hair, inhaling deeply. "You smell better."
She yawns. Her speech is slower and slightly slurred when she adds, “Thanks, but the bar wasn't very high."
My fingers trace lazy patterns on her arm, relishing the slight tremor that runs through her.
My cock is rock hard, pressing painfully against my jeans.
Having her this close, in nothing but my clothes, remembering her naked against me—I want to lay her back on this bed and fuck her until she screams. And I plan to do that. Many, many times.
Just not right now. Not while she’s exhausted and traumatized.
"You need to sleep," I murmur against her temple, breathing in her clean scent.
"I don't think I can," she protests, even as I feel her body growing heavier against mine, her eyelids drooping.
"Try." I continue rubbing slow circles, hoping to soothe her, comfort her, make her feel safe. "I'll be right here."
She sighs, the sound content, and leans more of her weight against me. "Just for a little while," she whispers, her head rolling to my chest.
I should call Fury. Should check on Biggy. Should start planning our retaliation against the cartel.
But I don't move. Don't even reach for my phone.
Because right now, holding my ol’ lady while she sleeps is the most important thing I have to do.
As her breathing evens out, I make her a promise, a vow.
"I've got you, sweetheart. Nothing's going to hurt you on my watch."