Chapter 7
Baddy dug into the stroganoff like a man who hadn't eaten in a week.
Riding on club business always tore through his energy.
The hours on the road and constant tension in his shoulders, along with the persistent hum of adrenaline, kept him on high alert.
By the time he sat down at the small kitchen table, he was starving.
But even with a full plate in front of him, he couldn't keep his eyes off the woman.
Fresh from the shower, her reddish-brown hair hung loose around her shoulders in waves instead of tied back tight like before. It softened her face, made her look younger... and older at the same time. The oversized sweats swallowed her whole, but somehow that only made her look breakable.
She had green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
He tried to guess her age. She looked old enough to work in the clubhouse if she wanted. Old enough to cause him trouble if she hung around. Old enough to be Sonny's entertainment.
The thought twisted his gut.
He stabbed another bite and asked, "What were you doing with Sonny?"
Her head snapped up, eyes flashing. "I am not involved with Sonny."
He raised a brow.
She leaned forward. "I don't belong to him. Or Cusclan. Nobody owns me." Then she narrowed her eyes. "And even though you bought me, you don't get to own me either because I wasn't for sale. If you've got a problem with that, take it up with Sonny."
Baddy paused mid-chew.
Well. That answered that.
He swallowed, took another slow bite, and tried again. "Then how'd you end up in Cusclan's possession?"
Her fork clattered onto the plate. She leaned back in the chair, crossed her arms, and tilted her chin, daring him to push her.
He figured she wasn't going to answer. He'd insulted her, clearly. But after a long, tense moment, she spoke.
"Sonny was my mother's boyfriend for about six weeks." She dropped that fact like a hot potato.
Baddy frowned. "Where's your mom now?"
She shrugged. "Gone."
He didn't push. He could read between the lines. Either her mom hurt her by leaving, or there were no feelings involved. Whatever it was, she wasn't comfortable talking about her relationship with her mom.
He took another bite. "How old are you?"
"Twenty."
He exhaled. At least she was an adult. Young, but not a kid. Not a minor he'd accidentally crossed state lines with. His list of laws he'd broken was growing smaller.
"What's your name?" he asked, taking another bite.
She wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. "Does it matter?"
"Nope." He paused. "I'll just call you sweetheart."
"Lydia. Lydia James," she blurted.
They finished eating in silence. When he set his fork down, he nodded toward the hallway.
"Spare room's yours."
She stiffened. "I'm not staying. Once my clothes are clean, I'm leaving."
"Where are you going?"
"None of your business."
He gave her a steady look, letting her know he had all night to wait for an answer. And he would get an answer from her.
She cracked in less than two minutes.
"Everything I own is with Sonny," she said. "My backpack. My bag. My money. I need those things, so I'm going back."
"You want to belong to Cusclan Motorcycle Club?"
"God, no." She wrinkled her nose. "I want my things, especially my money."
He leaned back in his chair. "Money? How much?"
He could give her a few hundred dollars to buy some clothes. It wasn't worth the trip to get her things.
"Almost three thousand. It's hidden under the mattress." She leaned forward. "If you get my things for me, you can have all of it. But you'll have to get it before Sonny finds where I hid it."
He stared at her. That's not how it worked. He bought her. Sonny wasn't going to open the door and hand over her belongings.
She swallowed. "But then, when you get it, you have to let me go."
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "I paid five grand for you."
Her eyes widened. "But I don't have—"
"So," he continued, "you still owe me two thousand if I manage to get your things."
She stared at him like she wasn't sure whether to scream or throw her plate at his head.
He held her gaze, letting the weight of the deal settle between them. If she wanted out, she was going to have to work for it.
In the meantime, he could figure out what to do with her. He needed to make sure Cusclan didn't come back around and take her.
"Go to bed and sleep. Tomorrow, we'll see what needs to be done to get your things back," he said.
"No way. I'm not sleeping here."
There was fear in her voice. She tried to hide it, but he could hear it.
He expected her to be thankful he got her away from Cusclan, but maybe she was telling the truth, and she wasn't used by the members. Maybe, for whatever reason, Sonny hadn't abused her. Maybe he got her out in time.
He leaned forward. "I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart."
"I've been around men like you my whole life." She slid off the stool and backed away from him. "I'll kill you before I let you touch me."
Damn, she was cute.
He straightened up before doing something foolish like proving to her he could touch her whenever he wanted, and by the end of the night, she'd be begging for his hands on her body.
He leaned over, pulling his pant leg over his boot and taking out the knife he always carried in case he ran out of ammo for his pistol.
He flipped it around and held out the handle toward her. "Take it. If I step in the bedroom, you can kill me with my knife, seeing as how that little pair of scissors you keep shoving up your sleeve isn't going to do much damage to a man of my size."
"You're giving me...?" She looked down at the hunting knife, and her fingers curled around the handle as she held up the weapon. "I will stab you."
He straightened his beard, trying to hide his amusement. She could try to take him down, but he wasn't going to let her hurt him or herself.
Her gaze narrowed, backing away from him, nearly tripping on the legs of the sweats that were slipping over her feet. She grabbed the waistband before it slid past her bare hip. But it was long enough for him to get a glimpse of her pale skin, and his balls tightened in interest.
She scrambled down the hallway. The door slammed.
He grabbed his cock, rearranging it in his jeans. Piling the dirty dishes in the sink, he yawned. It was going be a long fucking night.