Chapter 9
The moment Baddy touched her shoulder in the kitchen, Lydia sagged with relief. Her body reacted before her pride could catch up.
He jerked his chin toward the back door. "Come on."
She retrieved her jacket from the other room and followed him outside. The cool air brushed her cheeks, helping her get over her shock. The noise of the clubhouse faded behind them, replaced by the distant rumble of bikes.
The second they were alone, the questions burst out of her.
"Did you get my stuff? Did you find the money? Did Sonny—?"
"Lydia." His low, tired voice cut through her panic. "I'm beat. All I want right now is to go home. I'll fill you in after I kick off my boots, get a shower, and eat."
"Okay. I'll wait." She hugged her middle, trying to hold herself together.
He rode a lot of miles today. Of course, he was tired. He'd gone on the ride for her.
She climbed onto the back of his bike and gripped his sides.
The ride back dragged on longer than it should have, her mind spinning with every possible scenario.
Sonny could've refused to hand over her things.
Maybe Baddy didn't even get a chance to step into the bedroom and get the hidden money or her things.
By the time they pulled into his driveway, her nerves were stretched thin.
Baddy didn't say a word. He just walked inside, dropped his keys on the counter, and headed straight for the bathroom.
"Shower," he muttered. "Don't touch the stove."
The door shut behind him.
The moment she was alone, her eyes darted to the entryway.
Her bag and backpack sat beside the door.
Her breath caught. He succeeded in getting her things back.
She rushed over, dropping to her knees. Her hands shook as she unzipped the duffel. The first thing she saw was the corner of the photo album.
A choked sound escaped her.
She pulled it out and hugged it to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. She knew it was messed up, being attached to something that wasn't even hers. A book full of strangers. Faces she didn't know. Smiles that weren't meant for her.
She tucked the album under her clothes in the bag, hiding it like a secret.
Then she grabbed her backpack and dug through it until her fingers brushed a Ziplock bag. She pulled it out, heart pounding, and opened it.
The bills were all there.
Every single one.
She counted them twice just to be sure.
He hadn't taken any of it.
Her throat tightened. She didn't know what to do with that information.
It'd taken her a long time to save all that money and hide it from Sonny.
It was a relief that Baddy hadn't taken it.
She was grateful that he was honest, but it also confused her.
He deserved the money for retrieving it for her.
Plus, she promised to pay him back to gain her freedom.
She closed her eyes and blew out her breath. The desire to run out the door right now was strong. She had enough money for a motel. Her heart pounded. She opened her eyes and stared at the hallway, expecting Baddy to appear at any moment to stop her.
She glanced at the window. It was already dark out.
Muffling her groan, she shoved the envelope back into the backpack and zipped it up, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.
She had her things.
She had her money.
But, deep down, she wasn't a liar. She promised him that she'd pay him back, and she would. Meanwhile, she'd come up with a new plan.
Because the second she repaid and thanked Baddy for taking her away from Sonny, she was gone.
The bathroom door opened, and Lydia wiped her face with her hands, shoving the bags up against the wall.
Baddy walked out shirtless, his hair wet from the shower. Water tracked along the lines of muscle before disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. He didn't seem to notice her staring. He just glanced her way once and headed straight for the fridge as if he trusted her not to run away.
His jeans hung low on his hips. She bit her lip watching his slow walk.
Lydia inhaled deeply, trying to erase the heat crawling up her neck. Now was not the time to find him attracted. It was just a gush of good feelings, knowing he'd brought her stuff back to her. That's why she stayed.
Pay him off. Say thank you. And split.
She forced her legs to move and crossed to the stool at the counter, sitting quietly while he pulled out the leftovers from last night.
He set a pan on the stove, dumped the stroganoff in, and reheated it. She looked around the kitchen. He didn't have a microwave. The wonderful smell from last night filled the kitchen again. Her stomach tightened with hunger even though she'd eaten earlier at the clubhouse.
For several minutes, she watched him. Saying thank you seemed silly when he was the reason she needed him to get her things from Sonny. She wasn't sure why he'd bought her or was now helping her.
Unlike her, he seemed calm and relaxed.
The way he moved around the kitchen was so normal for him. Like this was something he did every night, whether she was here or not. Like he wasn't a biker who bought her from another club. Like he wasn't someone she should be terrified of.
He stirred the food, steam rising in front of him, and she found herself ogling his bare back and the large tattoo of a motorcycle with flames coming up over the tires. It must've taken hours to complete.
She sucked in her bottom lip and forced herself to look away. The kitchen was simple, with clean counters, mismatched plates, and a coffee maker that looked older than she was. No fancy appliances. Just a stove, a fridge, and a man who knew how to use them all.
Her throat tightened. She cleared it softly. "Thank you."
He paused with the spoon hovering over the pan and turned his head to look at her. Not smug, only acknowledging that he heard.
Then he nodded once and went back to stirring.
Lightheaded with pleasure, she slumped on the stool. No one had ever given her that level of respect in a long time, if ever. He had every right to lecture her about the task he'd completed and to reiterate how she owes him five thousand dollars.
Lydia folded her hands in her lap, unsure why her chest tightened. Unsure why saying those two words seemed like stepping off a cliff.
But she meant them.
And that scared her more than anything because she didn't owe Baddy anything. He was the one who put her in this situation. He bought her when she wasn't for sale.
He dished up a plate and slid it toward her. "Where did you work to save that much money?"
She stared at her plate. It was too much to ask if he'd allow her to keep her money.
"A small restaurant that served all things chicken." She cleared her throat. "I was a waitress and served the food."
Baddy set his reheated plate on the counter and finally looked at her. His eyes flicked to her backpack by the door, then returned to her face.
He nodded slowly, like he was piecing things together. "Sonny took your checks."
"All of them." She shrugged. "So, I hid most of my tips from him. I don't know if he was too stupid to realize that waitresses get tips, or if he didn't think I'd earn more than my wages. I was able to hide the money from him."
A low whistle left him. "You must've been good at your job."
She stared at her plate. Her mom always told her to be extra nice and put on a smile around customers, and they'd pay well. "I did what needed to be done."
He leaned back, arms crossing over his bare chest. "I know a place that needs a good waitress."
Her head snapped up. "Because you want me to pay you back."
He didn't deny it. Instead, he tapped her chin lightly with two fingers.
"Tuck your lip in, sweetheart," he murmured. "You're giving me ideas."
Heat shot up her neck. She jerked her gaze away, pretending to focus on her food. He stood, stretched, muscles shifting, and turned toward the hallway.
"I'm going to bed," he said.
"Wait."
He paused, glancing back.
She swallowed. "Did you...see Sonny?"
Baddy shook his head. "He wasn't around."
Her stomach twisted. "Then how did you get into the apartment?"
"I broke in."
He said it like it was nothing. Like breaking into someone's home was as casual as checking the mail.
He walked around the counter and stopped right in front of her. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"Finish eating," he said quietly. "Then go to bed. We've got a big day tomorrow."
A big day.
Her breath lodged in her chest. She wanted to ask what he meant, what he planned, what she was supposed to do. But he was already walking away, disappearing down the hall toward his room.
Left alone, Lydia stared at her half-empty plate. Her appetite was gone, but curiosity burned hot in her veins.
After a moment, she cleaned the kitchen the way she used to at Sonny's apartment. She wiped the counter, rinsed the dishes, and loaded the dishwasher. The familiar motions loosened the tight muscles in her neck.
When everything was spotless, she grabbed her belongings by the door, turned off the lights, and padded down the hall to the spare room.
She shut the door behind her, leaned against it, and let out a long breath.
Tomorrow.
Whatever that meant, she wasn't sure she was ready.