Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Tegan
Fenny loves Charm. I can’t even pretend he doesn’t. My huge dog that most people are afraid of the moment they see him stares at Charm as if Charm is the god of dog treats, food, and playtime. And they just met. It’s weird.
Fucking traitor. Still, I can’t help the little kernel of hope in my chest. If Fenny likes Charm, that means Charm is one the good guys, right?
I mean, the way he took charge of Malachi and kept him calm and the way he so effortlessly takes care of me makes me believe he is, but I also know I have a tendency to be a little na?ve.
Something about Dr. Charmden makes me feel safe.
I want to trust him, to sink into him and let him take care of everything.
I can’t lie; I was absolutely terrified after what his friends said about the attackers.
How they knew my face, my name, and where I work.
It would be so easy for those men to find my home.
Fenny is a protector, but if they come here armed, Fenny can’t fight off bullets.
“Hey, come back to me,” Vincent says, gripping my chin and tilting back my head so I look up at him. His eyes are soft and warm, and my fears instantly settle. “There you are, pretty girl. Where did you go?”
“Nowhere. Sorry. Sometimes, I get a little lost in my head.” I gesture into my small home. “Come inside. I just need to pack a small bag.” Another yawn has my jaw cracking open. “I’m beyond ready for sleep.”
“Where are Fenny’s things?” Vincent asks. “I’ll get them packed up for you, so we’re out of here quicker.”
“In the pantry beside the fridge,” I call over my shoulder as I head to my room. I hear Fenny following him into the kitchen, and I laugh softly. Who knew my big, overprotective dog would so easily fall in love with the doctor? I sure didn’t.
Within minutes, Fenny and I are packed up and ready to go.
Vincent loads my things into the trunk of his car, and then, he’s opening the door for the dog to get into the backseat.
The entire car rocks as the Boerboel launches himself onto the soft leather, and Vincent chuckles, leaning in to rub Fenny behind his ears before shutting the door.
Soft music fills the car when he turns over the engine, and then, we’re backing out of my driveway and heading for the highway.
And for the Ghost Born MC clubhouse. But despite my nervousness about meeting the club members and being somewhere unfamiliar with people who may or may not like Fenny, who means the world to me and will decide if I can stay there until this problem is taken care of, I can’t keep my eyes open.
I’m exhausted from the night’s events, and the adrenaline crash has me damn near catatonic. My eyelids slide shut, and before I know it, I’m nearly falling asleep again. My head comes to rest on the passenger side window while Fenny’s hot breath pants across my ear.
“Let yourself rest, sweetheart. The drive is only about ten minutes, but your body needs to recharge.” Vincent’s voice is almost as soothing as the rhythmic whooshing of the the tires over the asphalt, but I fight to keep at least vague awareness.
I’m sure a psychiatrist would say my fear of drifting off is rational considering all the chaos, but it still sucks.
I don’t like being afraid. I mean, no one does, but for me it goes deeper.
Growing up, thick fear blanketed our household whenever my father was in town.
A long haul trucker, he was often gone for weeks at a time.
Even as a child, I knew it wasn’t the way the job always worked.
In the small town where we lived, plenty of my classmates had parents who worked for the same trucking company as my dad, and none of their fathers were gone for weeks only to come home angrier and poorer than when they left.
Mom took the brunt of it until I hit puberty, then suddenly his attention shifted and my curves caught his eye.
Then it wasn’t enough to leave marks—discipline he’d call them.
Once my body decided, earlier than the other girls in my class, to blossom, dear old dad took a different approach to ‘correcting my behavior.’ By that point, mom finally had enough, and she moved us out while he was on one of his monthlong runs.
We moved in with my aunt and uncle, and I finally got to spend time with a man who didn’t hurt or scare me.
Still, none of that, or any of this really, is Vincent’s fault.
He hasn’t done anything that should make me feel scared, and really, I’m not afraid of him.
Or Malachi. Truthfully, I’m not even scared of Hyram, even though the guy’s looks should ping every self-preservation instinct I’ve got.
But it’s hard to see someone as intimidating when their girlfriend—or wife or whatever Thyrie is—leads them around by the nose.
“I can hear you thinking over there. That’s not sleeping,” Vincent murmurs.
“My mind keeps wandering back to those men. The way they beat on Malachi and the cold look in the one guy’s eyes when he came at me. Sleep isn’t going to happen right now.”
“That’s understandable. You should at least close your eyes and picture something peaceful then.
A happy memory. Anything to let your body and mind rest a little bit until we get to the clubhouse.
” He reaches his hand over the center console to take mine, resting both on my thigh.
The connection is grounding, and a little fraction of my anxiety eases.
Vincent and his motorcycle brothers will protect me from the men I saw. I just need time to trust I won’t need protection from Vincent or any of his buddies, too.