Chapter 3
The first thing Annie became aware of was warmth. Not the kind that came from sunlight or blankets, but the kind that wrapped around her like security. Her body was cocooned in sheets, her cheek pressed against a soft pillow that smelled faintly of...
She blinked, disoriented. It wasn't her bed. She wasn't in her apartment. It also wasn't the room where she was kept prisoner with her sister.
She sat up fast, heart thudding. Hunter's bed.
The room was dim, and for a moment she couldn't tell if it was morning or night. Her pulse raced. How long had she slept?
She didn't remember lying down. Didn't remember closing her eyes.
Her sister. Shit.
Annie threw off the blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She still had her sneakers on. She hadn't even gotten undressed. Panic clawed at her chest. She had to get back. Had to find a way into the house without Jason spotting her.
She rushed to the door, yanked it open, and stepped into the main room where the living room and kitchen were together. The scent of something warm and sweet drifted toward her. She inhaled. Pancakes?
Her stomach growled. She couldn't even remember the last time she had anything to eat. Jason usually brought food into the room where he held her and Leigh when he got off work. Some days, she wasn't hungry. Other times, only eating once a day about killed her.
She gazed toward the corner and stopped short.
Hunter stood in front of the small counter, flipping pancakes in a skillet. His bare back was to her, broad and covered in a skull tattoo, the word Royalla spread from shoulder to shoulder, his movements calm, as if he'd cooked himself breakfast every day.
All she had to do was walk across the sitting area and leave. He wouldn't hear her leave the room.
Annie squeezed her thighs together, suddenly aware of a more urgent need. Her bladder protested with a sharp pang. She hadn't gone to the bathroom since escaping Jason's house. She was dehydrated and hungry.
Hunter turned, eyes locking on hers. He held a flipper in his hand and pointed the kitchen utensil toward a door she hadn't noticed.
Her cheeks flushed. She nodded quickly and hurried inside.
The bathroom was small but clean, the mirror slightly fogged from steam.
She relieved herself, then lingered at the sink, gripping the porcelain edge.
Her reflection startled her. She looked twice her age.
No makeup to hide the red-rimmed eyes or the dark circles.
She let her chin fall to her chest. It was hard to shake the exhaustion and defeat when she knew what was in front of her that she still had to do.
She splashed cold water on her face, letting it drip down her neck. Then she spotted a brush on the counter.
There were a few black strands of hair in the bristles. She ran her finger over the handle. It belonged to Hunter.
She hesitated, then picked it up and began working through the tangles.
Each stroke felt like reclaiming a piece of herself.
She still looked like shit, but at least her hair was brushed.
Never in her life had she gone without showering for more than a day.
The last time she'd showered, Leigh had stood inside the bathroom that adjoined the bedroom and made sure Jason couldn't get to her.
Putting the brush down, she stepped out of the bathroom. The scent of pancakes was stronger. Her stomach growled again, louder this time.
Hunter set a plate on the counter and pointed at it. Annie hesitated. She was starving, but she hated to waste a minute more.
"I really need to go," she said slowly, shaping each word clearly.
Hunter pointed at the plate again. Then he pointed toward the door.
Eat first. Then he'd take her. Understood.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to argue. Wanted to scream that her sister's life depended on her. But the truth was, she hadn't eaten since yesterday. Maybe longer. Her hands trembled as she reached for the fork.
Hunter turned back to the stove, flipping another pancake.
Annie sat on the stool, the plate warm beneath her fingers. She took a bite. Real butter. Mrs. Butterworth's syrup. It tasted like heaven.
The last time she had someone else make her breakfast, her mom was alive. That was two years ago. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that at age twenty, she'd be a full-time caregiver to her forty-five-year-old mom, who'd suffered a stroke. At that time, her mom was still taking care of her, explaining how to make car payments, do her taxes, and navigate adulthood.
Although she didn't want to turn her life upside down and care for her mom, she wouldn't have done it any differently.
At the time, Leigh was newly married, living three hours away.
Even though she wanted to help, it made the most sense for her to step away from her job, take her mom to therapy, and tend to her own basic needs.
During that time, her mom worked hard for nine months, regaining strength in her left side.
After months of therapy and a gradual return to independence, her mom made breakfast as proof that she could manage on her own while Annie worked.
It was an exciting day for both of them.
She could finally return to her job at the restaurant, where she waited tables, and her mom could reclaim her confidence by being on her own for eight-hour stretches.
On her first day, after finishing her shift and feeling exhausted and sore, she was anxious to see how her mom had managed on her own. When she arrived at the apartment, she found her mom collapsed in the bedroom, dead. She had suffered another stroke, and this one had taken her life.
She glanced at Hunter. He wasn't watching her.
He might not be able to hear her, but he was aware of her being in the room. She had a feeling not much got past him.
Since learning what Jason was capable of and her sister's husband destroying any belief that the people who were supposed to protect her wouldn't, she lost trust in everyone.
But something about Hunter made her want to trust him. Maybe it was wishful thinking. The truth was, she was petrified.
He put the last bite off his plate into his mouth, ran the back of his hand across his lips, and moved to a stack of envelopes at the end of his counter. He pushed them aside and picked up a black marker.
He approached and motioned for her hand. She let him take it. His warm fingers were soothing, yet firm, against her wrist. He uncapped the marker and wrote a string of numbers on the inside of her wrist. Then he lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Text," he whispered.
Her mouth dried. He wanted her to text, not call, if she needed help. Dawning hit her. Texting him allowed him to read the message. Of course, he wouldn't be able to hear her over the phone.
She nodded, even though she no longer had her phone. Jason had taken it from her. She looked down at her arm, saying the numbers repeatedly in her head until she memorized them.
Lifting her gaze, she mouthed, "Thank you."
If she survived and lived through the terror in her life, she would send him a text message thanking him for being kind to her and trying to help.
Hunter held her gaze for another beat, then let go of her hand.
He picked up his T-shirt and vest. She swiveled on the stool, watching him.
He moved quietly. For a man over six feet tall, he was graceful.
His thick arms bulged when he pulled the shirt over his head.
Her exhale shuddered, and she was glad that he couldn't hear her reaction.
He was sexy. More so today than yesterday, when she was scared to death.
Tall, dark, and tatted. His quietness only made him more mysterious.
She'd never met someone who was deaf. It was amazing how well he could read her lips, and she wondered if something had happened to him to lose his hearing, considering he could talk so well. There was only a slight hollowness to his rough voice, but he was perfectly understandable.
He shrugged into his leather vest, met her gaze, and motioned toward the door. She slid off the stool as he picked up two helmets out of the pile he had on the floor beside the door and followed him out of the clubhouse. The place was very different in the light of day.
There were bikers everywhere. They all seemed to be in groups of three or four, scattered throughout the room. None of them was talking extra loudly, but it was a lot of chaos with so many people in the same area. She hurried to keep up with Hunter, who led her to the door and outside.
She gazed around, surprised to find they were fenced in and had privacy. That was something else she hadn't noticed last night when Hunter brought her here.
He stopped beside one of the motorcycles in the long line of bikes and handed her a helmet. Last night, he rode away without giving her any protection.
She slipped it on her head. It was too big. Before she could fasten the strap, Hunter looped it in the ring and tightened it down. It helped some.
He grasped her helmet in both hands, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Don't let go of me."
"Okay."
"Where do I take you?" he asked.
She couldn't have him drop her off in front of Jason's house. Not knowing the names of the streets or the neighborhood, all she could remember was the gas station that was three blocks away. She'd gotten gas before arriving at the house. That was the last time she had any
He shook his head and put his finger on her lips. "Slower."
"Johnson's gas—"
"There's nothing there."
She couldn't remember all the details. Vancouver wasn't her home. She came from Seattle. Two weeks ago, her only plan was to fill her car with gas before swinging by and picking up her sister. Then she was going to drive back to Seattle. Far, far, far away from Jason.
But Leigh's husband came home unexpectedly before she could get her sister out of the house.
"I'll walk from there," she said.
His lips thinned, and he tugged on his beard, studying her. He seemed to have a sixth sense when she lied to him. She fought hard not to look away. Finally, he conceded their silent battle with a short nod.
Once he started the motorcycle, she climbed behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He grabbed both of her ankles and moved her feet until the peg was in the arch of her sneakers.
It wasn't like she trusted Hunter. She had no choice. He was the only one who could get her back to her sister.