Chapter 3
Willow
I did imply that I was a smart, capable woman who could take care of herself, and yet somehow, I’ve followed a lethal looking man straight down into a dubious-as-fuck basement that could double as a real life torture chamber.
When I say that my life has taken a sharp left turn straight off the damn rails, it’s no longer an overstatement.
After bringing me inside the club, Odin took me straight to a small, tidy bathroom.
I expected it to be a little bit gross, in a clubhouse with a bunch of rough men, but it was immaculate.
The water was hot, and there were fluffy black towels inside.
I washed away the evidence of all those tears I’d tried so ruthlessly to hold back.
When I stepped back into the hallway, Odin was there, a bottle of whiskey and a glass tumbler in hand.
I think he meant to pour me an ounce or two to steady me, but I took the bottle from him, twisted off the cap, and dumped a good few swallows down my throat.
I’d never had anything more than a few glasses of wine or a shot of vodka at a party I’d been grudgingly convinced to go to, back when I was in college.
I drank until I started to sputter, then I handed the bottle back, wiped my burning eyes, and forced a wobbly smile.
I thought the whiskey would kick in immediately, and I guess it did, because the heat hit me hard, but my head is only now starting to swim.
I should be far more afraid of this darkened basement, lit only with a few fluorescent bulbs running along the massive ceiling beams, but even when my eyes track to the dark, weird stains on the concrete floor and over to the even stranger hooks on the ceiling, all I get is a shiver of unease instead of the instinctual gut wrenching panic.
I raise my hand and point to one of the particularly nasty looking hooks. “That seems like it’s something for meat. Do you guys buy wholesale from a farmer and hang it up in here to age?”
I snort laugh after a moment of silence, watching Odin’s heavy brows crash down over his strong nose. One disappears into his eyepatch, that’s how wildly they dip. You’d think a man with that many scars would have a hitch or two in his nose, but it’s perfectly straight.
Holy shit, I’m completely drunk.
I can feel it in the languid heat surging through my body, in the sudden swimming in my brain, in the tingling in my legs and feet. I guess drinking eight or nine gulps of whiskey hits hard when it hits bottom.
Odin sets the bottle and the glass down on the floor and walks over, arms crossed over his massive chest. His leather jacket doesn’t like it. Even though it’s worn soft, it still struggles to contain that amount of flex.
I nearly giggle again, but bite down hard on my bottom lip. “Or do you bring people down here and torture them?” The fact that I nearly laugh again proves to me just how far gone I am.
Odin only sighs. His expression doesn’t change except for a flicker of worry, and it’s not about being found out. It’s all for me. I hold up a hand to reassure him, suddenly seeing two of them. Hands and him.
“I know I’m buzzed, but I’m still in my right mind.
I chose to come here. I chose to find you and to come down here with you and do this.
You’re not making me do something against my will.
I’m a consenting adult. This is a bad idea, but it’s all my bad idea and I still want to go through with it.
You can tell me what you wanted to do down here.
I’m not going to freak out.” I might have, at least internally, but the whiskey is definitely helping with that.
I fully understand the meaning of lowered inhibitions now.
It’s wild, given how hard I always fought to stay perfectly in control all throughout my life.
His soft brown eye shoots up to that gleaming hook in the ceiling.
“I thought I’d tie you up. Not really, but just enough for show.
You could stand on a chair so it looks like you’re hanging from the ceiling.
Fully clothed. You could wrap your legs around my waist when you’re ready, kiss me on the cheek, then smile. ”
I’m the one who frowns now. “But a photo wouldn’t show both. It would be the kiss or the smile.”
“I’m into photography, actually. Videography too. I do a lot of it for the club, but I go out and do nature stuff too.”
The last thing I want to be is a cliched asshole who is surprised that a man who looks like he’s only suited for the worst kind of violence and thuggery could have other interests.
I swallow thickly, hoping my voice and face don’t give away what a stereotype I am. “That must have taken forever to learn. Anyone can use a camera, but taking good photos is like poker. A minute to learn, a lifetime to master. I think. I think that’s what they say?”
A ghost of a smile breaks through when he turns to study me.
He might only have one eye, but his gaze is just as potent, probably more so.
I’ve rarely had anyone look at me as though they wanted to peel back layers.
Layers of clothing, maybe, but nothing more.
Nothing past skin, all the way down to my heart and soul.
“Learning can be challenging, but rewarding, if you have the time and desire.”
Desire.
He doesn’t speak the word in a strange tone. It’s not rougher than the rest of his deep baritone, but it still resounds through me, warming me faster and far more thoroughly than the whiskey.
“I thought I could set up a camera and set a timer to take photos every couple of seconds. You could choose which one you like best.”
“Ooh! We could edit them after and put them into one of those old school photo booth strips. The kind that they used to have in malls.”
He hedges. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“It’s not like we can’t go back. We could take the photos and I could always change my mind. I don’t have to send anything.”
“That’s… true. I guess.”
“Do you not want to do this?”
I’m not so drunk that I can’t see the emotions flickering across his face.
Regret, maybe something that even looks a little bit shy.
This man might have had a rough start, or got into some trouble when he was younger, but whatever happened, he’s used it to become kinder and gentler, not rough and mean.
“It wasn’t on my bingo card of things to do on a Saturday night. But here we are.”
I start laughing then stop. “Now I feel like I’m making you do something you don’t want to do. Sorry.”
“No apologies, sweetheart. I might look like someone’s worst nightmare, the kind of man who’d get off on tying a woman to a meat hook, but I’m a decent guy.
All my club brothers are. I’ve never known a better group of men.
Some came here broken, searching for a place to belong, but we’ve found a place here. ”
He stops, looking embarrassed as fuck. The lighting down here is so bad that it’s mostly shadows, but I swear that his cheeks flush beneath his tanned skin.
“Preston didn’t talk about you. There were only a few times.
One time, he said the club here was a pussy biker club full of guys who like to go around sucking each other’s dicks.
” I don’t know why I said that. I clap a hand over my mouth, but Odin lets out a big guffaw of laughter, the sound warm and rich, filling up the empty basement, bouncing off concrete, reaching all the way to the rafters.
“He was trying to be mean,” I rush to explain. “I always hated when he felt like he had to force it. It smacked of insecurity and jealousy. He was scared of anyone who was different, when it came down to it. He wanted to be perfect because that’s who his parents pushed him to be.”
Odin lifts one great shoulder in a shrug.
He strokes his hand down his beard, thoroughly amused.
“I guess there’s a grain of truth in every rumor.
Other clubs probably look at us as a bunch of pussies too, but it doesn’t bother any of us.
I’d rather be known for putting good back into a community than for terrorizing it.
All the men here, they’ve done their time in one way or another.
They don’t need more of the same shit they’ve come here to escape. ”
“I- I don’t want to ask you to do something that hurts you,” I whisper, toeing the ground with the pointy end of my two thousand dollar shoe.
“Same here,” he responds, a little wryly, but with a whole lot of raw sincerity.
“Should we not? Or should we just give it a try and see how it goes?” A giggle slips out when I think about how ridiculous this truly is. “Or do you just want to get drunk and hang out? You’re surprisingly nice. You seem like a guy who has cool stories. If you want to tell them, I want to listen.”
He shoots me a very fatherly look. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate.”
“Appropriate?” I choke-laugh. “I don’t think driving for two days to enact a revenge plan after finding my fiancé plowing my mom, getting here, turning into a crying mess, then following a basic stranger down into a super creepy basement slash former torture area to set up a camera and film a fake romance is appropriate at all.
I think I’m pretty fucking far past worrying about that. ”
His head cocks to the side. He strokes his beard again, as though it brings him comfort and it’s not a nervous reaction, and then his one eye narrows. “Yeah. I’d say you’re about right.”
The whiskey gives me some straight up courage.
I now understand the true meaning of that too.
“After we do our fake photos, I’d like to see some of your real work, if you want to show it to me.
Somewhere public, if that’s what you’d be more comfortable with.
I passed this super nice diner on the way in that says they’re open late.
We could go there. Have blueberry pancakes and a milkshake or something. ”
He laughs and shakes his head. “The lady who owns that diner is kind of a club partner. On the weekends, it’s basically a club hangout spot. But we could go there. Have those pancakes, or whatever else you want. I’m buying. My treat.”
“I feel like I should be treating you for agreeing to do this.”
“And I feel like I should buy you an apology dinner, as if that could make up for my son’s actions.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to worry about that. You were basically just a sperm donor.” I freeze in horror, realizing just how bad lowered inhibitions and my terrible sense of dry humor can be when they mix together.
Odin’s grin only widens. Maybe we share the same sense of humor, because he laughs so hard that his nostrils flare and his eye crinkles up until it’s nearly hidden.
“That’s about true, no matter that I wish it could have been different.
Like I said, it is what it is. You don’t have to worry about tiptoeing around my feelings.
I’m a tough old biker. I can handle the truth, and I know you didn’t mean it in a mean way.
I don’t think you have a bad bone in your body, Willow. ”
Ridiculous.
It’s ridiculous how good my name sounds coming from his mouth. The shivers that run straight down to gather between my legs… that’s all the whiskey. I think. I hope.
“Just give me five minutes to get my camera.” He points out a wooden chair in the corner. “You can sit there, if you want to.”
“Thanks.” I walk over and plop down.
It’s a nice chair, the kind of thing you’d see behind one of those ancient post office desks.
It’s surprisingly comfortable. I cross my legs and settle in to wait. Odin still pauses, like he wants to make sure that I’m not scared of being alone down here, and then he turns, scoops up the whiskey bottle, and hurries back up the stairs on the far side of the room.
I stroke the wooden arms of the chair. Antiques were never a passion, but I’d like them to be. By the time I got interested, Preston made it clear he hated them. I was never allowed to bring anything into his house that he didn’t like.
When I think back on it now, there were a ton of red flags.
I ignored them because I thought I was in love in high school.
When we met again in college, just about walking right into each other in the library, it seemed…
fated. I’d never stopped thinking about him.
Your first love will do that to you. Haunt you.
I forgave a lot of things I shouldn’t when it came to his behavior.
I passed a lot of things off on his parents.
I guess the person I was really and truly in love with was the person I hoped he could be.
Goddamn fucking hindsight.