Chapter Four
IN THE SPAN of half an hour, Beth’s entire life flipped upside down.
When she should have been at Rylee’s birthday party, sipping a margarita and stuffing her face with guacamole, she was standing in a motel room with fresh bruises, a bloodied ex-boyfriend out there somewhere, nursing wounds from a severe beating, and a growly biker setting her bag on the bed farthest from the door.
Panic hovered at the edges of her psyche, waiting for the one second she wasn’t consciously working to keep it at bay. As soon as something distracted her from that goal, the anxiety would slip in, and she’d have a full-blown meltdown in front of Lee—Saint.
That would be fun.
The motel was exactly what she expected from a cheap roadside stop just off the highway.
The room boasted an ugly, geometric-patterned rug in murky colors, faded mauve bedspreads over two full-sized beds, and art on the walls that had probably come in bulk from a bargain bin.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was clean enough and, more importantly, discreet.
No one here knew her name. No one cared.
Before leaving her apartment, she’d shut herself in the bathroom and stood under the delicious warm spray until the hot water ran out, watching rivulets of water swirl down the drain and telling herself she was washing Jason’s touch off her skin.
When she’d finally emerged with her damp hair hanging around her shoulders and her face scrubbed completely free of makeup, Jason was gone.
Saint had done God knew what with her ex, and he refused to tell her.
All he’d said was that he’d kept his promise and didn’t kill ‘the motherfucker.’
Without foundation, without mascara, without lipstick, wearing only the bruises Jason left, she felt raw, exposed, and weirdly clean and filthy at the same time.
A thick taupe curtain hung in one corner of the large window, giving a stark view of the drab parking lot, but not for long.
Saint yanked the curtain shut after depositing her duffel on what she assumed would be her bed for the night.
As he blocked the window, the natural light disappeared, leaving the room lit only by a dim nightstand lamp and a soft overhead light that made everything feel smaller and closer.
Too close.
They were going to sleep in the same room.
She trusted Saint more than she’d trusted anyone in longer than she wanted to admit, but the idea of being in such close quarters with a large man made the back of her neck prickle.
For too long, she’d lived in fight-or-flight mode.
Her body hadn’t caught up yet to the fact that Saint wasn’t Jason.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped out a few messages while she tried to figure out what to do next.
Her brain bounced around in a hundred directions.
Jason on the floor, the anticipated joy on her mom’s face when she returned to Tennessee, Copper’s rage when he inevitably found out about Jason, the feel of Saint’s fingertips coasting over her sore neck.
Do not go there, Beth.
With a sigh, because she seemed to do that every few seconds now, she watched Saint on his phone.
Was he contacting her father? Did Copper know Saint would be starting back for Tennessee in the morning with her in tow?
Saint had promised he wouldn’t spill her secrets, but they hadn’t discussed what exactly he’d say to her dad or the club in general.
“Beth?”
She blinked and found the object of her thoughts standing very close, too close, scowling.
“Shit,” she yelped with her heart nearly leaping out of her chest as she jumped away on instinct, raising her hands as though to ward off a punch.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He lifted his hands and stepped back, softening his posture, but his expression remained serious. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I asked a few times if you were hungry, and you didn’t answer.”
“Oh.” He’d spoken to her? Her spine relaxed, but her heart still thumped way too fast, and her insides tumbled around like clothes in a dryer.
The surge of anxiety morphed into a hot wave of shame.
This man had literally rescued her, and she was acting as though he’d attack her at any moment.
“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry.
I didn’t hear you. Must’ve been lost in my mind. ”
He nodded. “Understandable. I’ll make sure I don’t approach you unless you’re aware.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” God, now she sounded like a petulant child.
He tilted his head and stared at her. She could practically hear his thoughts loud and clear in the room.
Who are you trying to convince, yourself or me?
“Didn’t say you were, but I wouldn’t blame you, babe. A man’s been hurting you for a while, and I’m a big man. You saw me beat the fuck outta someone tonight, and now I got in your space without your permission. It was my bad. Won’t happen again.”
Her stomach sank. Was this her life now? Would she flinch every time a large man came near her? If so, she’d never be able to step foot in the clubhouse she considered a second home. Every damn man she knew was huge, aggressive, and loud.
“But—”
“No buts. It’s on me, and I’ll be more careful.” He smiled as he let his arms drop to his sides. “Now, I could really use some tacos. Please tell me you know the best taco place in all of Texas.”
None of the men in her father’s club would hurt her, or any woman, for that matter.
They’d die before hurting her.
She’d remind herself of that a hundred times a day if she needed to because she refused to let herself be afraid of her family. A cold knot in her gut whispered it might be a long time before she stopped jumping at shadows, but she was stubborn enough to deny it for now.
Beth forced a smile as she nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Tacos she could handle, and it would give her something to focus on besides the shitty state of her life.
Thirty minutes later, Saint dragged the small, round table from the corner of the room to between the beds, where they loaded it down with enough Tex-Mex to feed the entire MC.
He looked slightly ridiculous sitting at the small table, like a kid trying to eat at their doll’s table. His cramped legs didn’t seem to bother him. He rubbed his hands together as he studied the food with a gleeful smile before grabbing a few items.
“Dig in,” he said, before chomping half a taco in one bite. His eyes rolled upward as he groaned. “Damn, woman, you know good food.”
He took another bite. This time, the sauce lingered on his lips, but not for long. He swiped it away with a quick lick she couldn’t help but stare at.
Note to self, Saint likes to eat. And you can stop staring at his mouth anytime now.
Now that some of the utter shock of the day was settling from sharp and jarring to a dull disbelief, she was able to really look at him, and, God, was there a lot of him to look at. He was big, muscular, and one of the hottest men she’d ever seen.
Most of what she remembered of him from when she’d spent her younger years around the club was a surly, volatile guy in his twenties who drove Thunder and Makenna crazy for a few years while finding himself and his place in life.
She could relate.
Back then, he’d been tall and gangly, all elbows and attitude that had fascinated her.
Now, he’d filled out into this rock-solid, powerful man full of tattoos and capability.
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about his demeanor gave off the impression that he could handle anything that came his way with ease.
There was a quiet confidence about him that she admired.
Saint wouldn’t be the loud, center-of-attention guy at a party, but he’d be the one to call when shit hit the fan.
That realization gave her a sense of security she hadn’t felt in a long time and hadn’t even realized was missing until tonight.
Not missing. Stolen. Jason stole it piece by piece while you watched.
Like the frog slowly boiling in the pot, her life had reached the point of unbearable, and she only recognized it now that this man had helped her escape.
Seriously, when had Saint developed all those muscles? Riding behind him, with her arms around his waist on the way to the motel, had been eye-opening and distracting in ways she didn’t have the bandwidth to think about.
Not that she was in any position to do something about it, but two solid days of clinging to him on the back of a bike would be its own brand of torture.
Maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t in the headspace to think about anything more than appreciating his good looks.
Her dad would flip his shit if he knew she was attracted to one of his MC guys.
From the moment her hormones started surging, he’d drilled into her brain how she was not to so much as look at the men in his club.
“You gonna stare at me all night, or you gonna eat something?”
Her face burned as she jumped.
Busted.
She grabbed the closest thing, which happened to be a rolled taco smothered in cheese, sour cream, and guac. Yum. “Yes, of course.”
What the hell is wrong with you? Caught lost in thought twice in less than an hour.
She needed to get her head in the game.
“Okay, because if I’m so hot it’s too distracting, I can put a pillowcase over my head or some shit.” He winked before taking a long sip from his super-sized soda, large enough to induce diabetes.
“Funny,” she said, even as the butterflies in her stomach agreed with his description of himself. “You seem to think very highly of yourself. Sounds to me like you might need a bigger helmet.”
“I do have a big… head,” he said with another wink.
That had her sputtering out an unladylike half snort, half laugh. She did not remember Saint being open and funny, but the fact that he could make her laugh despite all that had happened today felt incredible.
“Wow. I see you have the sense of humor of a thirteen-year-old.”
He grunted. “Eat your dinner, brat.”