Chapter 6
“You sure this is a good idea?” Agnes asked as she looked out the lobby window to see Savage waiting for me.
“No. Not even a little bit,” I said. “But I heard gunshots last night . . . so I stayed at his clubhouse with him.”
“I heard the gunshots too, but I thought you were out working a fight.”
“I was. But then . . .” I quickly explained what happened with Savage and me getting fired.
“That’s . . . a lot to take in.”
“Yeah.” I looked at Savage again. “I don’t think he’ll hurt me.”
“Oh, he won’t hurt you. Not the way you think he will.”
I frowned when I looked at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means—he’s a biker. And a fighter. He lives by different rules than normal people.”
“Yeah. I’m gathering that.”
She hugged me to her. “I hope you find peace, Evie. From whatever it is you’re running from.”
I moved away from the woman who’d given me a brief respite from a cruel world. “If it turns out to be a bad decision . . .”
“You’ll always have a room here.”
I smiled at her in gratitude.
As I stepped outside into the cool air, I lifted the collar of my jacket. Savage was leaning against his motorcycle, sunglasses shielding his eyes. “Ready?”
“I think so.”
My bag full of meager belongings was already strapped to his motorcycle behind a very tiny seat over the rear wheel well.
We climbed onto his bike and drove away from the motel. When Savage pulled into a parking lot and cut the engine, I released my hold on him and removed the helmet. I swung my leg over the bike and Savage followed suit.
He then unstrapped my bag from the rear fender. When I made a move to take it from him, he held it out of my reach. “Let me carry it for you.”
I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and nodded.
“You want to see the apartment?”
I nodded again and followed him toward the red brick structure. “The building is newly renovated. Gave us a bitch of a time. Turned out it had mold and water damage. But with Logan’s help and a good chunk of cash, we got it sorted.”
He punched in a code and the door to the building unlocked. He opened the front door and gestured for me to go inside first. I looked around the foyer. “Who’s Logan?”
“Smoke’s Old Lady,” he explained. “She has her own interior design business. The club asked for her help designing and decorating the apartments. Even though this place is for short-term stays, we didn’t want the apartments to feel that way. They still need to feel like homes, you know?”
We climbed the stairs to the top floor, passed three apartments, and arrived at the end of the hallway.
“This is the only unoccupied apartment right now. I hope it’s okay.”
“More than okay,” I assured him. “Wait, if these apartments are only for short-term stays, who lives in the building?”
“Women that Doc has offered help to.”
I frowned. “Doc?”
“Boxer’s Old Lady,” he said with a grin. “She runs the Waco Health & Wellness Clinic.”
“Oh.” I paused.
“So, this is the place.”
I stepped into the apartment and my mouth dropped open. I hastily covered it as I took in the beautiful space. Large windows, an open floor plan with an electric fireplace in the living room.
“Well?” Savage asked.
Tears clouded my vision. “It’s perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s . . .” I could breathe here, but I didn’t want to tell him that. “Logan is talented.”
“Yeah, she is.” He was staring at me, and I pretended not to notice.
“The bathroom?”
“Back there.” He gestured to the area behind a half-wall divide. “Along with the bedroom.”
I took a few tentative steps deeper into the apartment. I wanted to glide my fingertips across the counter. I wanted to open every cabinet and cupboard and revel in the fact that I had a furnished, clean and safe place to live.
“How long can I stay?” I asked.
“As long as you need.”
I turned my head so he wouldn’t see me getting emotional.
“The fridge is stocked.”
“It is?”
He nodded. “Had a prospect get you the basics already.”
“But how? When?”
“Last night.”
“Last night?”
“You were in the shower.” He shrugged. “I wanted to get it sorted for you.”
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Just say thank you, Savage .”
I glared at him. “Don’t bulldoze me.”
“Not trying to,” he insisted. “It wasn’t any trouble. I could help, so I helped. Don’t make this a thing, okay?”
I took a deep breath and reluctantly nodded.
“I’m waiting.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thank you.”
He grinned. “What was that?”
“Thank you, Savage,” I said, boldly meeting his gaze.
He stalked toward me. “Phone.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“Give me your phone. I’m putting my number in it.”
I reached into my jacket pocket and unlocked it before handing it to him. He punched in a number and then called himself.
“There. If there’s something missing or if you need anything, just text me.”
“Okay.”
“Bus stop is down the street. Grocery store is two stops away,” he explained. “I know you like your independence. Laundry facilities are in the basement.”
I took off the jacket and tried to hand it to him. “Can you give this back to Waverly?”
“No. You keep it.”
“But it’s not mine.”
With a sigh, he opened his phone and shot off a text. A moment later it buzzed. Grinning, he showed me the screen.
Waverly
Tell her to keep it. It looks better on her than me anyway.
“She insists,” Savage said with a laugh.
“Clearly.” I grinned. “Okay, well, that’s sweet. Tell her thank you, please.”
“I will. So, I got you somewhere safe, now how about I help you get a job?”
“What kind of job?” I asked.
“Receptionist at Three Kings—a tattoo parlor. Hours are better than your last gig anyway. The owners are good guys. You can meet Roman tomorrow if you want.”
“Tomorrow is great. If you give me the address, I can figure out the bus route.”
“I’ll take you,” he offered.
“You don’t have to,” I protested.
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
“You’ve done more than enough. And you’ve told me where the bus is. I can do it on my own.”
“I know you’re capable of doing it on your own. But Evie?”
“Yeah?”
“I want to see you in the morning, okay? Let me take you.”
We stared at one another and then he was moving toward me. His hand swept underneath my ponytail and rested on my neck.
It was a bad idea giving in. My brain knew that.
But my body . . .
I was no match for his touch, his intensity.
My hand settled on his chest. “Okay. You can take me.”
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
“All right.”
I licked my lips, my gaze dropping to his mouth.
“Kiss me goodbye,” he rasped.
A half smile pulled at my lips, and I angled my head back.
His mouth covered mine. Warm, sensual, unhurried.
Long dormant desire fluttered through my belly.
Savage pulled back too soon. Far too soon.
“Open your eyes, Evie,” he commanded.
I opened my eyes.
His smile was slow. “Lock up after I’m gone.”
My eyes flew open, and I quickly clamped my mouth shut to silence the scream threatening to burst from me. As my heart thudded in my chest, I waited for my terror to mellow. I wondered what had startled me awake. Then I heard them . . .
Soft footsteps in the hallway.
I waited.
There was the sound of a closing door and then there was nothing. I realized I was safe, and there was no danger as my heartbeat began to return to normal.
I swung my legs off the couch, my brain still full of cobwebs from my nap. I looked at the clock on the microwave. After Savage had left, I’d immediately curled up on the couch and conked out. I’d slept a few hours, and it was now the middle of the afternoon.
Swallowing past the dryness in my throat, I got up and padded my way to the kitchen. I opened the stainless-steel door of the refrigerator and peered inside. The shelves were full of necessities. I opened the drawers, delighting at their fullness, too.
The bottle of orange juice called my name, and I felt my mouth pool with saliva.
I searched for a glass and poured juice nearly to the brim.
It was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. As I stood in the kitchen drinking orange juice to satiate my thirst, my stomach rumbled.
There was a carton of eggs in the fridge.
As I scrambled a few into a mixing bowl, I heard the distant opening of a door, followed by hesitant footsteps. They seemed to be pacing.
Frowning, my curiosity overrode my trepidation. I quietly trekked to the front door and looked through the peephole. A young woman who looked to be about my age with jet black hair stood in front of my door, holding a plate covered in tinfoil. She raised her fist to knock but decided against it. She set the plate down onto the mat outside my door and quickly scurried into the apartment across the hall from me.
Seems I’m not the only one who wants to keep to themselves.
I waited a moment to see if she came back out, but when she didn’t, I opened my door. I crouched down to pick up the plate and peered underneath the tinfoil and smiled.
The woman had made me chocolate-chip cookies.
I wanted to call out my thanks, but something stopped me. I took the cookies and retreated.
I wasn’t ready to introduce myself either.