CHAPTER FIVE - BIRDIE #2
I swallow a groan as I make my way over to the nearest window.
I knew winter was serious in the mountains, but this is brutal, the drifts so thick I can barely see the trunks of the nearest pines.
When I catch sight of the small snowmobile outside, I feel another flash of hope, but Maggie doesn’t waste any time snuffing it out.
“I’d give you a ride, but it’s dangerous enough for one in this kind of weather.
Besides, my cabin is even further up the ridge.
” She gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t tell the guys I said so, but it has nothing on this place for creature comforts. ”
Like zip ties and basement holding cells?
I can almost taste how sour my expression is, but Maggie just pats my shoulder and steers me over to one of the lumpy leather sofas. “You should rest while you can. The guys will look after you until you need to get down the mountain again. Shouldn’t be more than a week or so.”
A week or so?
I turn my head so she can’t see my disappointment, but she touches my shoulder again, that cautious look back in her eyes. “Hey, they’re good guys, Birdie. I mean, Hog and Colt aren’t at their best right now, but that’s only because they loved your brother so much…”
Her voice fades as she studies my neutral expression.
She probably thinks I’m a heartless bitch for not mourning Charlie properly, but I’m really trying to suppress a sneer.
She seems to think these guys are doing me a favor, when I’d be happy for them to go drown in the deepest snowdrift out there.
Although, given the sweet ache between my thighs, I’d probably endure another encounter with Hog, if he was feeling in the mood.
But instead of the man with the magic fingers, it’s the drunk clown who wanders into the room, his eyes lighting up when he sees me sitting on the sofa. “Risen from the dead,” he drawls, bumping his hip against an armchair as he navigates across the room. “How are you feeling, Baggage?”
Maggie huffs at the nickname, but I just cross my arms and smile sweetly at him. Do your worst, pretty boy.
Which isn’t likely to be much, considering the eye-watering fumes coming off him as he slides onto the sofa next to me.
He clearly needs some kind of intervention, so I don’t know why he hasn’t been locked in the basement and force-fed Maggie’s happy juice.
I study his face, taking in the hollows under his high cheekbones, the raw patch on his scalp, and the bruised look in his denim gaze.
Is this what mourning looks like? My only experience of losing someone is when my stepfather told me my mom had died in the night and they’d already burned her body, so tears were a waste of water.
It was a lot for a thirteen-year-old to digest over breakfast.
“If you’re feeling well enough, I’ll tell Axel I’m heading off,” Maggie says, then points a finger at Colt, who’s returning my stare with a tiny smirk. “Behave, Sergeant. Birdie’s had a tough time of it, and she needs you to treat her with a little consideration.”
He flashes his glassy blues at her in a devastating flutter of his lashes. “Of course, beautiful. Anything for you.”
She just sighs and heads to the back of the house while Colt slides closer, a sloppy smile on his lips. “Has anyone ever told you what a great scowl you have, Baggage? Completely unfiltered, like a rat with its tail caught in a trap.”
If I’m a rat, I should fit right in with the rest of the animals here, but I just give a careless shrug.
Unfortunately, it draws his attention to my clothes, which are pale blue and about three sizes too large.
“Like the duds? They’re PT sweats. Since I’m the only normal sized guy in this place, I gave you mine.
” He runs a finger along my thigh, a dirty nail hooking in the fabric over my knee.
“I bet it feels good, being so close to my skin.”
I’d rather wrap myself in a recently occupied body bag.
My distaste must be fairly obvious, because he suddenly grabs the front of my sweatshirt, bunching it in his fist. “What’s wrong, Baggage?” Challenge flashes in that blue, blue gaze, along with a sparkle of wicked glee. “If they’re not to your liking, I could always take ‘em back.”
And I could knee you in the balls so hard, you have to wear a skirt for a week.
I slap his hand away right as Gung Ho enters the room with Maggie at his side.
While she gazes up at him like he hung the moon, Gung Ho scowls ferociously in our direction.
Colt immediately throws his hands in the air, like a kid caught reaching into the cookie jar.
“I’m just checking her over, boss. Making sure she’s worked out all of those junkie kinks. ”
I smile sweetly at Gung Ho, while reaching down and pinching Colt’s waist. Hard. I half expect an elbow to the face, especially since he doesn’t seem to have any whiskey fat to cushion the bite. But he just gives a shudder and makes a grunting sound that’s more pleasure than pain.
Twisted asshole.
“Watch yourself, Colt,” Gung Ho mutters, eyeing us suspiciously as he shows Maggie to the door.
I’m returning Colt’s stare – twin flames of blue beneath hooded lids – when a gust of frigid air has us both shivering.
Colt leans forward, his body heat leaching away some of the cold as he murmurs, “Wanna come up to my room for some mutual warming up? I’ve heard that skin-to-skin works best.”
As much as it pains me to admit it, I can see how this bullshit might work on some of his targets.
He’s got the lazy charm of a guy who knows he won the genetic lottery, and the no fucks attitude of someone who doesn’t have anything left to lose.
It’s attractive in a screwed-up way, but Hog is much more to my taste.
Big, blunt, and too impatient for bullshit games.
But I still form a pincer claw with my fingers, and wave it threateningly under Colt’s nose.
Predictably, he grins and shoves a thick digit through the hole in a lewd gesture.
“Don’t tease me with a good time, baby.”
Gung Ho shuts the door with enough force to rattle the frame.
I snatch my hand back, but when he turns to face us, his arms are folded and his expression frosty.
“Some ground rules,” he says, a thread of alpha command in his voice.
“Colt, you don’t lay a finger on Birdie.
She’s our guest, not a toy to pass the time. ”
I glare at him for that comparison, but Colt snorts. “She’s the one with the grabby hands, boss.” He lifts his ass off the couch, pulling up his shirt to display the corner of an impressive Adonis belt. “Look what the little meanie did to me!”
Gung Ho’s scowl deepens as he takes in the bruise already forming on Colt’s golden skin. “Then the rule applies both ways. Hands to yourselves, and no goddamn pinching.” He rubs the back of his nape, suddenly looking weary. “Let’s just try to keep things civil until the road clears, okay?”
I want to snort in derision, since the only civil thing about this experience just drove off on her snowmobile. While Colt mutters something about spoiling his fun, Gung Ho ignores him and nods towards a hallway. “Birdie, if you come with me, I’ll show you to your room.”
No fucking way.