12. Mila
12
I close my eyes, tighten my grip around Reaper’s waist and lean my cheek against his back. Wind plays with my hair, and the engine rumbles between my legs. For a short time, life is simple.
I wish I could live in that moment forever, but now that I’m not worried about my life, my ribs are crying and I can taste copper in my mouth. More than anything, I want to take some painkillers, soak in the tub and then curl up on the couch. Maybe zone out watching TV to distract me from everything that happened tonight.
Everything I brought on myself. How could I be so stupid?
When we get to the apartment, it’s dark and empty. Meghan's working at the campus bar until late, and Carrie and Liz are gone for a few days. I don’t want to be alone, but it’s good that nobody is there to ask why I’m a wreck, or why I’m being brought home by three scary bikers. The guys park their bikes and lead me up the stairs to the front entrance.
Using Meghan's door code, I buzz it open and turn to them. “Thanks for giving me a ride.”
“Anyone there to take care of you? Your roommate?” Mack raises his eyebrows in question.
“I don’t know. My friend was working, but I'm sure she'll be home soon.”
“Fuck that,” says Scrapper and reaches above my head to hold the door open. “We're not leaving you alone. Lead the way.”
“What? No, I can't ask you to?—”
“You're not,” says Reaper. “We’re telling you. Go on, show the way.”
“But I already feel bad for putting you in danger. You don't have to stay with me.”
“You didn't make us do shit. We chose to help and we’re not fucking leaving until we’re satisfied you’re safe,” Mack says, his stern voice leaving no room for debate. “Besides, you still owe us an explanation.”
Fine. I don't even know why I'm resisting the help. Maybe I just don’t want to admit that I messed up. Not by focusing on Mullerby. If anything, this proves I’m on the right track, but I let myself underestimate him because on the surface he seems so ordinary. The kind of guy that might be bending the law to put money in his own pocket, but not one that would arrange for me to be roughed up. I should have been more skeptical of the message after how he reacted during the interview.
“I'm home!” I yell out when I open the door, just in case Meghan did come home early. When the guys leave, I’ll send her a message so she knows I’m safe. Mostly.
“Just us?” asks Reaper. He looks around the apartment, opening all the doors and looking into my roommate's rooms.
“Hey! It’s not polite to go snooping around in other people’s spaces.”
“I don’t live here, so that’s not my problem. What would be my problem is if someone knew where you lived and was waiting here to finish what they started.”
Oh. Right. My shoulders started to relax when I came in, but now I'm shivering again.
“Which room’s yours?” asks Mack. He's leaning against the island that separates the kitchen from the living room.
“Here.” I point to a plastic laundry basket next to the couch, where my blankets and pillow are folded up and put aside so they're not in the way when I'm not sleeping.
“The couch?”
“I'm looking for a place, remember?” I can feel my skin warming with embarrassment. I'm a college senior. I'm supposed to have my shit together better than this. “It's hard right now, with classes starting up and everyone else looking at the same time.”
Scrapper doesn’t look happy about the situation. “Let’s take her back to the club. She’s safer there.”
I shiver a little. I knew who they were from the beginning, but now when I look at Scrapper, I see both the sweet guy who’s kissed and joked around with me, and also the one pointing a gun at someone’s head and threatening to kill them. I can’t pretend that their life is just sex, booze and rock and roll. It might be that, but it’s also scary and violent.
“You okay?” Reaper asks.
That violence saved me tonight, but I feel a little like I’ve been playing with lions, thinking they were safely chained up, only to realize the chains are made of paper. I nod.
Mack looks over at Scrapper. “Think they hit her on the head?”
Scrapper shrugs. “Could be.”
“You guys should go before my roommate comes home.” I sink into the couch, feeling a little odd and spaced out. I could have died tonight.
Mack shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Scrapper? Figure out how they make coffee. Reaper, you and me need to get her into the bathroom and make sure there’s nothing serious going on.”
“I’m just a little tired,” I insist, but is that really it?
“Come on, baby, time to get cleaned up.” Reaper takes my hand and pulls me off the couch.
“You're not getting me naked that easy,” I mumble through numb lips.
He laughs. “Wasn't a problem last time. But relax, we’re just gonna check you over and make sure you aren’t about to collapse on us. We're no fucking doctors, but between the three of us, we have plenty of experience with both sides of ass kicking. Let us give you a once-over. Then if you start feeling better and decide you want to show how thankful you are, I won’t turn it down.”
Mack laughs. “Yeah, darlin’. Nothing personal, but the walking dead look isn’t really my thing.”
That stings a little. “Fine. The bathroom’s over there.”
It’s not a tiny bathroom, but it feels small with the three of us in there, especially since Reaper and Mack are super-size. They help me sit on the edge of the tub, and Reaper lifts my arms to help Mack pull off my shirt, but they leave my bra. I hiss in pain when my side is touched.
“Shit, that’s going to be pretty in the morning,” Reaper says under his breath. “We should have shot those fuckers.”
Mack’s touch burns like fire as he traces my ribs. I find myself holding my breath while he gently examines me. For such rough hands, he's got a soft touch. “This looks fucking personal. Four guys their size? They could’ve fucked her up a lot worse than they did.”
“Yeah, they were real gentle,” I say bitterly.
But Reaper nods, agreeing with Mack. He takes my hands and starts cleaning off the dried blood with a warm washcloth. “Are you ready to tell us what happened?”
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I lie. Guilt prickles at my conscience, but I know what I did wrong and I won’t make that mistake again. Admitting it to them will just cause more problems and maybe get someone killed.
“That’s your story?” Mack raises an eyebrow.
They stand me up and Reaper reaches for the top of my pants.
“Wait! There’s nothing?—”
With practiced ease, he unbuttons my jeans and tugs them down over my hips. “Shhh, what did we say? Looking at your body isn’t exactly a hardship, but that’s not why I want into your pants right now.”
I close my eyes and press my lips together to stay quiet while they gently strip me to my underwear and socks. The worst part is when they reveal the ugly burn scars on my leg. The party was the first time I was intimate with anyone since the fire, but it wasn’t exactly a slow exploration. Even though this isn’t sex, I feel more exposed right now than I did then. I focus on a spot on the wall and try to keep my breathing even.
“What the fuck, Mila? You think we’re here to fucking judge you?” Reaper pulls off his own shirt and grabs my wrist, putting one of my hands over the scar on his right shoulder before I realize what he’s doing. “Does this disgust you?”
“Of course not!” I know what he’s saying. If I don’t mind his scars, then why should he mind mine, right? But… it’s different. On dangerous men it’s hot. When people see my scars, they get this sad look in their eyes like I’m a chipped mug. Not broken enough to throw away, but never the one you reach for first. Still, my fingers trace the smooth raised lines of his injury. “How long ago did it happen?”
“Shit, almost ten years I guess. Car accident. I hated it for a long time, but our bodies tell a story and it’s just part of me, like my ink. These scars remind me that I fucking survived. You should?—”
“Back off, Reaper,” Mack says softly, but it’s clearly an order. He strokes a red spot on the outside of my thigh. “Does this hurt?”
It doesn’t, but as his strong fingers skim over my sensitive skin, I do feel some other things. “You're being very thorough,” I whisper.
Mack pulls down the side of my underwear and kisses my hip. “Because I don’t want you hurting, but also, I just like touching you. How about we go see if Scrapper has the coffee ready and get some sugar and caffeine into you? A shower or bath would be good for you, but not if you pass out. Then we’ll get you some painkillers and you can crash.”
Of course, that's when the front door opens and I hear a little scream from the living room.
I grab a towel and wrap it around myself, running out of the bathroom with Reaper and Mack on my heels. “Meghan! It’s fine. They’re with me.”
“What’s going on?” Meghan is standing in the doorway, looking back and forth between the four of us. “Why are you naked? Why are they here with you while you’re naked!”
“I’m wearing underwear.” I pull the towel tight around me like a shield. “I wasn’t expecting you home until later.”
She looks mad. “Clearly. Well maybe if you’d messaged me to let me know you were okay, I wouldn’t have left early! I was really worried about you.”
“Hello again,” Scrapper says, holding up a mug. “Coffee?”
“Hi,” she says, distracted. “Mila, what happened? I thought you were meeting Mullerby? Why are your hands all messed up?”
I can’t believe this is happening. “Meghan, this is Reaper and Mack. Guys, this is my friend Meghan. I swear nothing was going on. I got into a little trouble earlier.”
“What kind of trouble? Did they hurt you?” She reaches for her phone. “Should I call the police?”
“No! They didn’t have anything to do with it, I swear. They helped me out, and they were just leaving.”
Scrapper snorts. “Actually we weren’t, but now that you have someone to stay with you, I suppose we can get going.”
Reaper's expression hardens. “We'll go, but lock your fucking doors, alright?”
I nod.
As they pass by, Mack takes my arm and leans in. “Get some rest tonight, because tomorrow? We’re getting the whole fucking story.”