Chapter 6
Chapter Six
All at once, all the fight goes out of me.
Seeing him in the mirror behind me. Seeing myself. Small. Damaged. Exhausted.
I break somewhere deep down inside.
I’ve lived in danger all my life. Learned how to slice apart anyone who got close with razor-edged words. But this…
I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this.
And this man looks like he can and will positively break me.
“Shhhh,” he murmurs, stroking a hand down my hair, and it feels like some kind of cruel trick.
“Don’t,” I groan. “Don’t play nice, it only makes this worse.”
He holds me away from him, looking down at me with storm-blue eyes, a creased brow and his lips pressed into a hard crease.
“You think I’m playing?” he asks, his tone low, brutal in its weight.
I open my mouth to speak, but for the first time in a long time, I have no idea what to say.
“If I was playing, I wouldn’t have chased your ass down when you tore out of that club.”
I blink at him. Wait. No. He followed me?
This can’t be possible.
Struggling to speak, I whisper, “You were there?”
He nods once. “You ran into me in the hallway.”
“Oh my god.” Pieces of the night filter back into my mind. “I had no idea who that was, I just had to get out of there.”
His thumb brushes over the bottom of my throat as he studies my eyes.
“What scared you?” he asks, and I have to look away from the intensity of his piercing inspection.
For one brief second I consider telling him about the horror of walking into that room and finding out what my father was up to.
I can’t tell this man my father was going to sell me.
He grumbles, and I’m shocked when he lifts me, gently placing me on the bathroom counter, his hands bracing on either side of my hips.
“Tell me what happened.”
A sharp object pierces my heart, slipping right through the armor I built there during a lifetime of being a powerful man’s problem daughter.
“I’m still processing all of it,” I murmur, avoiding looking at him.
But he’s not buying that. His large, warm hand cradles my face, making me meet his gaze.
“Tell me.”
“Please don’t.”
I try to look away, but he moves closer, his breath ghosting over my skin.
“I need to know who I have to kill,” he says plainly, husky, right next to my ear.
My mind splinters and before I realize what’s happening my arms fly around him and I bury my face in the warmth of his neck.
“Please just hold me,” I whimper.
He growls, pressing himself between my legs, molding me to his body. “I got you, baby,” he murmurs.
Crap.
I need to get away from this man. His arms feel too good. The safety in his bathroom is dangerously far from my real life.
“I can’t stay here,” I say, when I catch enough of my breath to speak.
“Yeah, you can. And you will.”
When he pulls back to look down at me again, the expression he’s wearing is raw and filled with hunger and possessiveness.
“Where I go, you go. I’ll deal with whoever fucked you over, and I’ll take out anyone that hassles you in the future.”
Mayhem shouldn’t feel like balm to my soul.
Maybe I’m as crazy as this stranger is.
As if my fate is decided, he says, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I’m too tired to protest so I slump on his counter while he gets out an industrial-sized first-aid kit.
I know the kind of kit well. It will have sutures and pain meds, antibiotics strong enough for a bull. All the things a member of an MC needs to deal with the constant fighting and the occasional motorcycle wreck.
When he returns he kneels in front of my legs, a deep line between his two dark, slanting eyebrows.
“Fuck, honey, your legs are a mess.”
“Crawling out of a car wreck will do that to you.”
His gaze bounces up toward my face. “You don’t have a headache do you?”
“My neck is a little stiff. Nothing else.”
He doesn’t look satisfied with my answer, and it won’t surprise me a damned bit if he doesn’t let me fall asleep tonight because the big jerk is watching my pupils.
Without saying anything else, he tends my wounds, carefully inspecting each cut for debris, cleaning them, and putting on medicated cream.
“Hold on,” he murmurs and I brace for the sting.
For a giant with scarred hands, he’s incredibly gentle.
And my body stands up and takes notice. Lord. Is it hot in here?
I reach for the zipper on the jacket, and the sound is stupidly loud in the bathroom, echoing off the tile. When he looks up at me again, there’s a new energy in his eyes.
Anticipation.
Oh boy. And I know why.
I shouldn’t unzip, but I edge the zipper down enough for some ventilation. Not enough to reveal anything private.
“For fuck’s sake, woman, I watched you masturbating with a stripper pole, there’s nothing I haven’t seen.”
Oh my god. My face was warm before, now I’m going to set off the fire alarm.
“You watched me dance?” I stammer, shocked.
“A few times,” he replies.
A rival MC member has been in the Pussy Palace. This makes no sense at all. “Wait… you’ve been to my father’s club before?”
He nods, dabbing some antiseptic on a cut by my ankle. I hiss from the sting. “Ouch.”
His hands still, that powerful thumb stroking my skin. “Sorry, this one’s deep.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had worse. But you didn’t answer my question.”
He works on the cut, and I try not to stare at the way those tanned, rugged hands look against my skin. And I fail miserably.
“I’ve been through there a few times,” he remarks casually.
Suddenly all the warmth in my face is ice cold. “Did you…”
I clear my throat, feeling very off balance. “Did the other girls?” I ask, but I can’t even finish what I want to say.
He stands up, tossing the gauze into the trashcan. When he swings his gaze my way, it’s hard. “No. I don’t buy pussy, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Blunt.
I appreciate it.
“But they offer other things.”
He leans a hand against the counter, studying my reaction. “I wasn’t interested in them. I was interested in you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I whisper, a lifetime of insecurity swamping me.
“You look shocked.”
”I am shocked. This doesn’t feel real. Any of it.”
His free hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back until my neck is exposed.
He’s breathing hard. So am I.
Moving closer, his denim brushes my knees, and a warm twist tightens in my lower tummy.
“You smell delicious,” he murmurs, his mouth lowering to my neck, just hovering.
I’m trembling and mysteriously my hands are now twisted in the hem of his shirt.
When he opens his mouth along my neck, I moan on a shaky breath.
Freaking moan.
What is wrong with me? This man is a stranger.
In a hot voice, he murmurs, “Mmmm. Taste even better.”
“Oh god,” I wheeze as his tongue slides along my pulse, flicking at the tender spot below my ear.
Then he’s biting his way across my jaw, his five-o’clock shadow whiskers sending my nerves into a frenzy.
In a sultry voice, he speaks against my lips. “Do you want me to kiss you, Gigi?”
“Yes, please.”
Those whispered words don’t even sound like my own. But I’m aching, hungry and desperate for something I’ve never had before.