Thirty-One
THIRTY-ONE
VANESSA
Legs crossed on the chair beneath me, I chew on my bottom lip as I stare at the smartphone. I opened the fucking thing intent on sending Evelyn an email, but instead, I’m mesmerized by the colorful photo album icon.
Taunting.
Teasing.
Not at work, Ness. I’ve got ten minutes left of my break, and I haven’t eaten a damn bite of my muffin yet. My thumb hovers over the screen, itching to tap on the goddamn app, yet I force it lower and open my thread with Marianna to copy Evelyn’s email.
My heart races at the thought of facing him, let alone getting on the damn plane, but I’ve got to do this. If I ever want to entertain the delusion of being free of his influence one day, I need to.
Change doesn’t happen overnight. It creeps up on us in the incremental decisions we make daily to give ourselves better—what we deserve.
I didn’t wake up one day with a fully formed plan to escape the compound alive. It worked its way in there slowly, insidiously, over the years with everything he did to hurt me.
It only makes sense that the dissection from his oppression would happen equally slowly.
I sigh as I copy Evelyn’s address into the To field and hammer out a quick subject line. She offered to go with me, and yet, I still hesitated, that familiar niggling fear eating away at my confidence. What if she was merely being polite? Saying what I wanted to hear to avoid conflict?
Stop it, Ness. Grown-ass adults don’t fuck around with things like this. Or do they?
I drop the phone to bury my face in my outstretched arms and sigh.
The door bangs open. “Everything okay?” Theresa backs through with a stack of dirty plates filling her hands.
I lift my head and then the phone again, staring at the blank body of the email. “Yeah.”
“You sure?” Her tone is teasing, as is her smile when I glance her way.
“Trying to word an email to Evelyn.”
“Your aunt?”
I nod.
She ditches the dishes beside the plate washer and crosses the room. “What are you stuck on?”
“It’s okay.” I wave my hand toward the front. “Don’t neglect the customers. I’ll figure it out.”
“What customers?” She snorts. “Mike is coddling his cup as usual, and the Oldenburgs have just left with their usual box of cookies for the creche. If anyone wants a piece of me, there’s a bell.” She jerks her chin at my phone, wiping her hands off on her apron. “Is this about your mom?”
I lean back, setting the phone down on the table. “Yeah. She offered to go to the will reading with me if I changed my mind, but I can’t figure out a way to ask without sounding as though I’m being needy. Making something that isn’t her issue a responsibility for her.”
Theresa stills. “Honey…”
“I need to do this.” Even if my voice shakes. “I need to go so he knows he can’t always win.” I swallow rocks and force out the thought that rattled through my brain after Chaos left this morning. “What if standing up to him gives another girl the confidence to do the same? What if I start something important?”
Maybe that’s all it takes. What if that was the point of all this shit? Not to make life any different for me but to prove to others that it’s possible to escape his reach and find their freedom.
“Well,” Theresa states, pulling out the adjacent chair. “If I can help you do that, I will. So let’s figure this out.”
It takes us barely five minutes of back and forth to brainstorm the email, asking Evelyn for her support while detailing the limits of my willingness to speak with him. I don’t want her under any illusion that this is something I do easily, and after what happened when she visited, I figure it’s only fair to pre-warn her about what she’s up against.
I close the mail app with a rush of breath and drop the phone face down on the table. “Thank you.”
“Take another five, sweetie.” Her chair scrapes as she stands. “Have a breather before you come back out front.”
“Can I ask you something?”
She stalls on her way to the door. “Sure.”
I take a second to look at her— really look at her. Not the woman I know now, but to see past that and imagine the woman she once was. “How do you know the Kings of Anarchy?”
Her lips part, and she lifts an eyebrow with a slow exhale. “Well.” Theresa chuckles. “It’s a long story. Not something I can answer easily if you know what I mean?”
“Sorry.” I tug my abandoned muffin toward me and pick off a small bite. “Forget that I asked.” An awkward laugh passes my lips before I shove the food inside to save saying anything else stupid.
“It’s okay.” She folds her arms, glancing at the door. “I’m happy to talk about it. It’s just that I feel as though telling you a shortened version of it might, you know, give you the wrong impression about me.”
“Why?” I tear off more apple cinnamon goodness.
She winces. “Do you know what a club bunny is?”
“I’ve read about them.” Thanks, smartphone. “They’re sometimes called sweetbutts or property girls.”
“Mmm.” Lips pressed tight, she glances to the floor and toes an invisible spot on the linoleum. “Well, in a nutshell, I was one of those in my younger years.”
“Therese…” I coax, waiting until she lifts her head to continue. “I’m the last person to judge another’s history.”
She exhales, relief evident in the sag of her shoulders. “I know. It’s just…”
“You’re used to the stigma attached to the label.”
She releases her arms, flinging them at her sides. “Once a man’s seen your bare tits and ass swinging around a pole, it’s difficult for them to view you any other way.”
“I bet.”
She peeks at my smile, and we both laugh.
“Look at it this way.” I pop another piece of muffin in my mouth and quickly eat it before continuing. “If any dude has put himself in a situation to see your ass, he should be the one expecting others to question why he was there.”
“True that.” She reaches for the door, turning back to say, “Regardless, tread carefully with those boys when they come here. They may seem lovely at face value with their pleases and ma’ams, but they dabble in a lot of shit you’d be best to avoid.” She nods to my phone. “Especially when you’re dealing with that already.”
The mood shifts, the easy smile falling from my face. “I will.”
She disappears to the counter and I lift my phone to wake the screen. Shit you’d be best to avoid. Like letting themselves in my damn house and watching me sleep. Putting one of them on guard—yeah, I saw Circus down the street when I clocked into work this morning. Kind of hard to miss his tattooed face.
I thumb the photo app and tap my volume to mute.
Chaos fills my screen, arm taking up most of the shot as he adjusts the position of his phone. His frown deepens before he gets the device to sit still, backing away to check how much it captures. He draws a deep breath, shoulders rising before he grins and turns away, dragging a hand over his face like he can’t believe what he’s about to do.
It took me by surprise that he followed my order, too.
I don’t know what I expected when my whim told me to send him on his way to test his devotion to me. But my racing heart and shaking hands told me my subconscious had prepared for the worst. For him to argue. Push me around and take what he wanted anyway.
Like the men in the compound always did.
But Chaos sighed, shook his head, and dressed silently before kissing my lips and leaving the same way he’d got in—without my help.
I pause the video when he turns back to the camera, zooming in on his face. It’s as though he looks right at me, not a piece of plastic and technology. As though he sees my face when he looks at the screen.
I tap to resume and watch as he glances above the phone, fixed on something in the distance. No matter how much it piqued my curiosity on my walks, I haven't been to the farmhouse. It felt like a violation, helping myself to a place that wasn’t mine. But maybe I should snag the opportunity before it’s gone. Before they move in.
Then I’d know if he was looking at me. At my house in the distance before he slowly brought his wide hand to the base of his throat and closed his eyes.
I squirm in my seat and shove more muffin in my mouth. Pay attention to where you are, Ness. My nipples are stupidly hard already.
His fingertips trace the swell of his bottom lip as though remembering where I sat. How I tasted.
I push more food into my mouth and fight the urge to moan at the vision before me.
He breaks away from the moment, shoving a rough hand through his unruly hair. My eyes flick constantly around the screen as he walks to the far side of the room and stands with his hands on his waist, elbows wide. Fuck, the man is pretty. My thoughts shift to the visage of him this morning, seated on his bike outside my house.
A blacked-out helmet, leather cut slung over strong shoulders, and a gray printed T-shirt tugging at his thick waist. And those goddamn jeans. It was like they were made to worship his fucking thighs as he sat astride that machine.
I snap back to the image before me as he moves back to the camera, eyes crinkling at the outer corners with his cheeky grin. He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and then reaches for his belt.
“You wanted this. Remember that.”
His lips move without sound due to the lowered volume, but the rough cadence of his voice is burned into my memory. I gently push the muffin aside.
He tugs the belt free, fingers working the clasp of his jeans next. His focus shifts above the phone again, gaze hooded.
I place a hand in my lap, pushing against the apex of my thighs with the heel of my hand. You should stop. Tap that screen and save this for a more appropriate moment. My gaze flicks to the door, the muted sounds of Theresa moving on the other side and distant conversation. Just a bit more.
I look down and find Chaos with his jeans tossed aside, strong hand pulling his cock free of his boxers.
There’s no hope of looking away now—not when I know what comes next.
Desire builds low in my gut, the heat between my legs growing slicker by the second.
I know how that tastes. I dart my tongue out to wet my lips as he drags his fist down his thick length.
What I’d do to taste it again now.
What the fuck am I doing? I smack the screen to pause the image and then swipe up to close the app. Goddamn. What is he doing to me?
Ditching the remainder of the muffin in the trash, I shove my phone into my bag and shake my hands. Fucking hell. As if my goddam nervous system isn’t wired enough already, a constant buzz living beneath my skin and a sense of impending doom shading every interaction I make through the day.
I need that goddamn appointment, but my regular doctor is on leave.
“Focus, Ness.”
I’m no use to anyone like this. I need to get my shit squared away before I dive headfirst into the quicksand that is Chaos.
Theresa turns as I push through the breakroom door. “Good?”
“Yeah.” I snatch up my apron, breasts aching with the arousal that still courses my veins. Those goddamn hands. His smile. Shit. “Hey. If I could get an appointment tomorrow, would it be okay to shift my break?”
“Sure. Appointment for what?” She lifts a hand to wave at Mike as he slips out the front door.
“Doctor.” I tie my apron off. “Are they hard to get into here?”
“Nope.” She briefly sets a hand on my shoulder as she moves past me. “Not since they got a new one on board.”
Good.
Because this level of stress in my body can’t be good for my long-term health.
And it’s about to get worse.