Chapter 6
Melody
I f I hadn’t made the choice to leave, to bolt out of that place, I wouldn’t have endured this much pain. Everything hurt. I wasn’t sure about a concussion, but thankfully I didn’t feel dizzy and I understood what the man was saying to me.
Whoever he was.
I could sense the slight hesitation, as if he didn’t know if anything was a good idea. At that moment, I didn’t care, I just wanted out of the nightmare.
It was too dark to see any other features to identify him, but his voice was something smoky and intoxicating, one that would lure you into anything you desired. I shouldn’t have been so trusting after what happened, but he was the one that saved me, when I was too damn weak to do anything.
The street lamps passed us as we left the main street. He was at least careful of the turns and the twists, but I had no idea where I was going. I had no other reason to trust this man.
I didn’t even know his name, where we were going, or how bad things back in the alley were.
And yet I placed my trust and life in his hands.
I didn’t know what to expect. The last thing I thought would happen, happened.
Why me? I didn’t ask for it.
The rumble of the truck quietened down, then came to a stop.
Where are we? It’s not like it’s my place. Not that I really have one.
My thoughts started to scatter everywhere, but the man paused. His breaths almost lulled me to sleep for a moment. It was comfortable, even if I was still in this moment of whether to trust him or not. It wasn’t like I could run.
Everything hurts.
“I know, honey. I’m going to get you better,” he said.
Did this sexy-voiced man hear my thoughts? Or did my dumbass actually say it?
He chuckled. “Yes, I can hear you. I’ll take that as a compliment and comfort that you’re a little coherent.”
“Damn it, that was supposed to be my inside thoughts,” I coughed out.
“Don’t talk right now, just nod or shake your head,” he told me. “Save your strength.” he commanded, laying my head down on the seat as he walked to the other side of the truck.
The door quietly creaked open. The light from the truck inside shined as the stranger came into better light. One look at him brought me back to running into him in the hallway back at the bar. I was embarrassed not watching where I was going and even then one look at him made me forget how to breathe.
He was like a damn giant, his height towering over me. His golden brown eyes were fixed on me, and I could see the curve of a smile beneath his medium length beard. His hair was pulled back, but if I had enough strength, my fingers would have been tangled in it. He was a vision of strength and power, and I was the little mouse that walked into a lion's den.
He gently pulled me, gliding me off of the truck bench. The pain was still radiating through me, every movement hurt then eased up. My body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to whither in pain or to simply settle down and relax.
“I’m going to have to carry you. It’s not going to be pleasant but I need you to trust me.” He stared at me waiting.
I nodded, not like I had other options. I prepared myself for the worst, the worst meaning possibly screaming in pain. As soon as I nodded he guided me out of the truck and scooped me up into his arms. He cradled me, walking as if I weighed nothing. I wasn’t supermodel thin, and God blessed me with more hips and thighs than a flat stomach.
He made me feel like I wasn’t the problem, he didn’t grunt in agony as if it was the hardest thing to do. I tucked my head closer to his chest, listening to him breathe, his heart thumping inside his chest. It was musical, comforting, and for the moment, the only thing I wanted to listen to.
I tried to gather any type of information I could and answer the unknown in my head. I knew I was still near the city because it didn’t take long to be in the truck. But wherever we were, it was quiet, and somehow less neighbors.
The man opened the door to a single story family home. At first glance I couldn’t see anything but he put me on the couch leaning me against the big, fluffy couch pillows. My eyes adjusted to the lights in the room. He started to walk away after taking off my boots for me as gently as possible.
I sank into the cushions only to shoot straight up remembering that I was possibly bleeding.
“Blood,” I yelped.
He turned back around, doing a quick glance, “Don’t worry about the couch, honey. It will be worth it in the end.”
He disappeared around the corner and possibly down a hallway. My eye, at least the one that didn’t have blood on it, could see the quaint home, barren walls that begged for a personal touch, and a couch that was too comfy and felt too new, and the smell that felt fresh.
I wondered if this was like a safe house, a home that wasn’t his.
“You think you could sit at the edge for me, I can put the pillows behind you to help brace you,” he offered when he came back. I simply nodded, still keeping his command to save my voice.
“Atta girl, come on. We’ll get you back up and singing in no time.” He sounded confident as if he didn’t know the challenges that I was going to face.
He sat on the sturdy coffee table he pulled closer to me, his knees spread open, practically straddling me, holding me in place so I didn’t bolt. Using a dampened cloth, he carefully cleaned my other eye. My face tensed at the tender touch of the cloth.
“I’m not much of a singer. I couldn’t even get up there and sing.” The words hurt more than the aches that shot through my muscles. The man’s hands stopped for a second then a breath escaped him.
“It takes time,” he admitted.
Yeah, right. Time was never on my side. It took more skill and confidence to stay up on a stage without the fear of everyone’s silent thoughts.
His gentle touch returned to my face, cleaning the blood that crusted there. The slight sting from the disinfectant made me flinch. He was very sensitive around my eye, but thankfully he was able to clear it up. My vision started to become blurry, adjusting to the light that was hitting me.
He handed me an ice pack, adjusting it to my ribs; he could tell by my movement that the pain was coming from there. The instant memory of holding myself as those guys repeatedly kicked me ran through my mind. My body started to tremble, shaking at every moment that happened. He grabbed my hands, his thumb caressing my hand.
I glanced up at him; his eyes were warm. I just nodded, taking deep breaths, shaking off the feeling, the tortured thoughts. His eyes turned proud, his voice soft. “Atta girl.”
He returned to cleaning up, he just couldn’t clean the bruises that were forming.
“You got a name songbird?” he asked as I jolted at the nickname. I didn't know how I felt being called that. I didn’t think it was an insult.
I found my voice again to answer him. “Melody.”
“Seems fitting,” he said, with a charming smile.
My cheeks flushed, how could he think it was fitting? I didn’t see what he was seeing. Come morning, I would be a “fleeting” thought.
My voice was raspy, “What do I call my savior?”
It was only fair, he knew my name, and I wanted to know his.
“Hound Dog or Hound.”
I knew from my own motorcycle club romances that it was his road name, not his given name.
“No seriously?” I asked again, hoping that it would be different the second time.
“Hound is what most people call me. Hound Dog seems too formal.” There went the cocky smile, like he was charming me or something.
I formed the word, “Hound.”
He froze at the mention of his name. His hand traveled across my face, caressing it. It was like sparks that lit up the sky on the Fourth of July.
He cleared his throat, dropping the cloth and the bandages that he used to patch me up. He looked around then met my eyes again. “I’m going to look at your abdomen, which means that I need to lift your shirt.”
I froze as well. Feeling like I was already naked, vulnerable in his eyes, but to have him see more of me was frightening. “Easy. You control this. I want to make sure that you haven’t gotten any additional bruising. I want to see if I really need to take you to the hospital.”
Was he trying to keep this under wraps? Was I a secret? Or a part of a murder that happened while knocked out?
“Why are you doing this? You seem like you do whatever you need to?” I spat out.
That came out of nowhere and a sense of guilt flooded me. I snapped at someone that seemed to want to help. He didn’t get mad, he didn’t yell, his face didn’t twist in regret.
“Because as much as I want you to report this to the police and go to the hospital, you need to make that decision. But know that, whatever you choose, I’ll be there to help you. Don’t need to ask,” he said tenderly.
Well, holy shit and fuck me sideways.