Chapter 8 #2
Resting my hand in my lap, I glanced toward the hallway, listening for any movement.
A part of me knew I should be freaking out, but I felt strangely calm.
The man I married killed a Copper King with his bare hands then locked me in a room all night until he could figure out what to do with me.
He could have chosen any fate, and yet he chose to put a ring on my finger.
He let me put one on his, too.
Not to mention…
That kiss.
For the first time all day, I felt compelled to think about our situation from his point of view.
He didn’t plan on me walking out of the diner when I did, which meant he did have a plan, and it didn’t include marrying me.
Not at first, anyway. We were both unprepared for matrimony, yet we still both said I do.
And that kiss.
The memory of our night together on my birthday was still very much alive in my mind.
In spite of everything, it’s what kept my fear at bay.
It made sense that a man who could make me come that many times—a man who gave as much as he took—he wouldn’t hurt me.
While he hadn’t exactly been a prince, men like him never were.
There was plenty I didn’t know about Riley Wells, but I knew he was a Wild Stallion, and he made me his.
Now that I was clearheaded, I knew that meant I was safe.
So long as I had his ring on my finger, I was under the protection of the club.
It was one thing to be considered Viv’s girl; it was another thing to be part of the Stallion clan.
I was legit.
After all these years, I wasn’t a club whore or a hang-around. I was a wife.
It didn’t make me his ol’ lady, but he could have buried me with that King instead of marrying me. That counted for something. Maybe it wasn’t completely far-fetched to imagine ol’ lady status could come in time.
Crazy though it might have been, I spent years chasing ol’ lady status. Now, I was as close as ever, after I’d been trying to convince myself to steer clear of the man, sure he would break my heart if I let him.
I pressed my eyelids closed tight and shook my head, trying to ground myself in reality. A quicky ceremony at the courthouse didn’t mean he had my heart—but he didn’t have nothing, either.
Bits and pieces of my birthday fluttered across my mind, reminding me how badly I wanted him only twenty-four hours ago. I knew his kiss at the courthouse didn’t exactly hold any promises, but it was a reminder of sorts. When I really thought about it, he somehow kept choosing me.
To be the woman in his bed.
To be the wife under his roof.
I shrugged away the thought, willing myself not to get lost in a fairytale. Pistol and I were going to be living together. No matter how much I wanted his body, things were about to get really complicated. But I could do hard things. I had been all my life.
I was Lyla Gibbs.
Er, Lyla Wells.
In any case, I was a fighter.
My stomach growled, distracting me from my thoughts while reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the breakfast sandwich Pistol tossed at me earlier.
I wasn’t sure how late it was, but I decided it was time to wake my husband.
The day wasn’t over. There was enough time to salvage what would always be our wedding day.
Wedding day.
I traced the ring with my thumb for the dozenth time, still trying to make the words make sense. Ignoring how odd it seemed, I pushed myself off the couch and padded my way on bare feet toward the hallway. I stopped short when I noticed his bedroom door was open. It looked dark inside. Unoccupied.
“Pistol?” I called softly, venturing across the hall.
As I suspected, the room was empty. I reached for the light switch and turned it on, brazenly taking in his space.
He had a king-sized bed. Unlike his guest room, his mattress was lifted up off the floor on a bed frame—but he didn’t have a headboard or footboard, the bed merely pushed up against the wall.
It was unmade, the sheets askew, showcasing he had, at some point, been there.
Where he was now was anyone’s guess.
His nightstand, a simple, black surface with a single drawer, had a phone charger on top, but his phone wasn’t there, either. One look at the floor around his bed, and I noticed aside from a pair of socks, it was notably neat. Glancing toward the far side of the room, I saw Reaper’s bed—also empty.
“Pistol?” I called again, louder this time, as I turned toward the kitchen.
I knew before I got there I wouldn’t find him.
“Pistol!” I yelled his name, thinking maybe he was in the basement, but I was met with nothing but the silence of an otherwise empty house.
I blew out a breath of defeat, disappointed as I was confused.
I wondered where he went.
I wondered why.
I wondered when he would be back.
Most of all, I wondered why I wasn’t relieved.
I was alone, but I wasn’t trapped.
I could leave, if I wanted.
I could go home. Shower. Brush my teeth.
Glancing at the back door, I remembered I didn’t have my car. I saw it parked at the compound. But the inconvenience of my situation wasn’t what kept me standing in the kitchen. I didn’t want to leave. What I wanted was to raid the fridge.
Not surprisingly, it was empty. Except for Reaper’s fancy dog food.
Most of the cupboards were bare, too.
I wondered if it was wishful thinking to imagine he left me to do a food run.
Peeking out the kitchen window, I noticed his truck was still parked in the driveway. This told me two things: wherever he went, he’d left on his hog; and chances were low his destination was the grocery store.
Folding my arms across my chest, I considered my options.
I wanted us to talk. To clear the air. Everything had been so intense since the moment I stepped out into the alley behind the diner until he shut me out of his bedroom to get some sleep.
If we were going to do this—and it was hard to argue against the fact we already were—it would be nice to know a few things.
I didn’t want to live with a stranger, let alone be married to one.
What we’d done was crazy, and the only person who understood that as much as I did was him.
Remembering his charger and my dead phone, I decided I could wait him out until my battery had full power again.
I went to plug it in and then wandered aimlessly around the quiet house.
Eventually, I made myself comfortable at his dining room table and started sorting his mail, simply to have something to do.
Most of it was junk. Even less of it was interesting.
After the heap was organized into three neat piles, I started to grow impatient. Pistol said he wanted me under his roof to keep tabs on me, but that was kind of hard to do if he wasn’t around.
I sat waiting for him to come back for as long as I could stand it.
When I grew so hungry it felt like my stomach was going to go in on itself, I went to grab my phone.
I found I had two new text messages from Maxine and one from Viv.
I didn’t bother to open them, frustrated by the reminder I didn’t even have Pistol’s contact info.
I had his last name but not his phone number.
Irritated, I stomped back toward the kitchen—as if staring out the window would make him come back faster. Then I spotted them. The keys to his truck. They’d slid under my purse.
Hesitating a moment, I asked myself whether or not I wanted to drive around town in the vehicle that had not long ago carted a dead body to its final resting place.
Then my stomach gurgled uncomfortably.
More than creeped out by Pistol’s truck, I was annoyed he’d left me again with no food.
He did a better job of taking care of his dog, for crying out loud. Surely he got hungry, too. More importantly, he couldn’t possibly expect me to make myself at home in this place in its barely lived-in state.
My mind made up, I went to fetch my heels, tucked my feet inside, then returned to the kitchen to gather my things and his keys. I fiddled with the few he had on his ring, trying to work out how to lock up behind me. Once I figured it out, I hurried for the truck.
After adjusting the seat and the mirrors, I cranked the engine and slowly began to back my way out of the long driveway.
Night coated his neighborhood in darkness, only a few street lamps along the main drag giving me any clues as to where I was.
I drove, in search of the nearest major road, and was pleasantly surprised to find he didn’t live far from the clubhouse.
He actually lived closer to the clubhouse than the nearest grocery store.
Noting this, I decided to do a drive-by to see if he was there.
When I pulled onto the compound, I spotted his Harley right away. Until I saw it parked in front of the clubhouse, I didn’t know it was his—but I didn’t need to be told the hog with the doggy sidecar belonged to Riley Wells.
I swear, he didn’t go anywhere without Reaper.
Now, I was even more irritated to learn he left me to come party with his brothers. Up until this point, he’d been calling all the shots. But I wasn’t some shy little wallflower to be trampled upon. I followed his lead all day. The least he could do was feed me.
Wouldn’t say no to an orgasm, either, I admitted to myself.
I parked behind the row of bikes, not the least bit concerned I was blocking in a good number of them.
I killed the engine of the truck, but I didn’t bother pulling the keys from the ignition.
I left my purse behind, too, so focused on my mission to have a word with Mr. Wells I didn’t think twice about it.
I tugged open one of the front doors and stepped inside then stopped short and scanned the lounge hurriedly. It didn’t look much different than any other night. Maybe a little quieter, but it was Monday.