Chapter 4 Lynx
LYNX
Ibury my face further into Reaper’s shirt, breathing in his diesel and spice scent. The warmth of his embrace infuses strength into my very being, and I’m finding it hard to let him go.
He was only steadying me when I fell, but as soon as I collided with his chest, I couldn’t seem to separate myself from him. I still can’t.
Reaper continues smoothing his hand up and down my spine, surprising me with his gentle touch. He buries his nose into the top of my head, smelling my hair and holding me tighter still.
The combination of his surprisingly tender gestures, coupled with the steady beat of his heart, calms me down enough to gain my footing once again.
I reluctantly untangled myself from Reaper’s embrace, though I can’t deny the chill sweeping through my bones when I take a step away from him.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Reaper’s frown is because of our distance, but that’s probably just me projecting.
I stare at the ground, unsure of how to move forward. He wants answers, but I’m not ready to give them. I know he didn’t buy my bullshit excuse of wanting to scare him, but at least he didn’t call me out on it.
“Come on,” Reaper says in an authoritative tone, “let’s get you inside and get your knee patched up.” The massive man turns on his heel and starts walking toward the shop, but then he stops abruptly, waiting for me to catch up.
I walk next to him, and he matches my smaller strides so as not to leave me behind. I try my hardest to walk normally, but every few steps I wince at the sharp stinging in my left knee. Reaper’s hand hovers next to me, ready to catch me again if I fall.
When we get to the front door, Reaper not only unlocks it, but also holds it open for me to walk through. I turn to him and give him my biggest smile, loving how it seems to catch him off guard every single time.
“If I knew this is what it took to get you to invite me inside willingly, I would’ve tried it much sooner,” I joke as I step inside.
Reaper grunts and rolls his eyes as he leads me down the hallway and into his office, but I don’t miss the slight smirk curling up one side of his lips. It feels like a major victory.
“Sit,” Reaper commands, pointing a thick finger at the couch in the corner of his office.
“Sir, yes, sir!“ I reply cheekily, giving him a salute. He doesn't say anything, probably because he’s trying to hide his laughter at how hilarious I am.
Reaper pulls out a first aid kit from a drawer in his desk, and then kneels in front of me, focusing on my knee. He traces his finger around the outside of the cluster of scrapes and bits of gravel, pushing up the hem of my dress slightly, so he can see the extent of my wound.
I know it’s purely for medical reasons, but the feeling of the rough pad of his finger ghosting up my thigh has me thinking all kinds of dirty thoughts.
Which isn’t like me at all. I mean, I’m twenty-three, and I’ve never kissed a boy.
I wouldn’t know what to do with the hunk of man and muscle kneeling before me.
He gets to work picking out the small pieces of gravel, his eyes coming up to meet mine after each little rock is removed, silently checking to see if I’m okay. It’s the most kindness I think I’ve ever been shown, and so unexpected, it overshadows any pain I feel.
Reaper sanitizes the area once all the dirt and gravel have been removed, wincing slightly as if the rubbing alcohol were stinging his skin instead of mine. Is he really that afraid of hurting me? I suppose he said as much this morning after I embarrassed myself in front of him.
I hold my breath when Reaper’s fingers glide along an old scar on my shin. It’s about three inches long, and though it’s old and faded, it was deep enough to leave a permanent mark. Instinctively, I reach down and cover it up with my hand, which I realize all too late isn’t going to help anything.
Slowly, silently, Reaper grazes his fingertips over a yellowing bruise on my forearm, then another one on the inside of my wrist. He studies every inch of my exposed skin like he’s truly seeing me for the first time.
I fidget on the couch, knowing he probably sees my father’s anger etched all over.
Most of the scars are old, while the bruises that are just starting to heal came from the night I finally broke free.
He doesn’t ask any questions, and I don’t volunteer any information.
Reaper blinks a few times and shakes his head, refocusing on the task at hand.
He covers my knee with a soft gauze pad and secures it with medical tape.
It’s a little extreme for the tiny, shallow cuts on my knee, but he nods in approval at his handiwork.
He’s kind of… Sweet. Adorable even, though I’m sure he’d scoff at that description.
“I’ll get you some water, and then you can tell me exactly what brought you here.”
I watch him stand and rifle through a mini fridge and a nearby cupboard before returning to my side. I gratefully take the water bottle, chugging half of it down before erupting into a coughing fit.
God, I’m so pathetic. I can’t even drink water properly.
Reaper sits next to me, close enough that our thighs are touching. He pats my back awkwardly, and I struggle to pull air into my lungs.
“Slow down,” Reaper demands. He clears his throat and repeats himself, softer this time.
“Slow down, Lynx. You can have all the water you want.” He opens his mouth and then closes it, pressing his lips into a thin line.
“How…” Reaper trails off and takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself or something.
“How long has it been since you had anything to eat or drink?”
At least he didn’t ask me how long I’ve been sleeping in the back of that truck, which is a relief. “A few hours,” I hedge. He lifts an eyebrow in that accusatory way of his.
“How many hours?”
“Well, I just woke up a few minutes ago, so that makes it at least… Eight hours.” I smile at him, pleased with my answer. It’s not a lie. It has been at least eight hours since I’ve had anything to eat or drink. Twenty-something hours has at least eight hours in it, after all.
Reaper sighs heavily, tugging at his beard in frustration. “Are you always this dodgy with personal questions?”
I shrug and give him an innocent smile, loving the way he grits his teeth and narrows his eyes at me. I’m not sure why it brings me such joy to poke the grumpy bear, but I need to hang on to any moment of happiness I can get these days.
Reaper blows out a breath, then returns to the fridge for another water bottle. He hands it to me along with some string cheese and a bag of chips.
“That’s all we have around here, but I’ll stock up this afternoon.“
“That can be my first task as your new secretary,” I offer with a smile
To my shock, Reaper nods his head and begins pacing in front of me.
“After that, I’ll show you the computer system.
You’ll be responsible for scheduling appointments and keeping the front lobby clean and presentable.
That includes making coffee and having snacks available for our customers.
” His eyes meet mine for half a second, and then he adds,“and staff.”
“I can definitely handle that,” I tell him confidently. I stand from the couch, too excited to sit still. I’m not sure what changed, but I’m not complaining.
“This will be a full-time job. That’s forty hours a week, and will require you to work some weekends as well.
” He glances over at me, and I nod. “You’ll start out at thirty dollars an hour, with quarterly raises.
” My eyes bug out of my head when he mentions the pay.
“The position also comes with an apartment, located behind the Wicked Riders clubhouse. It’s within walking distance. ”
“Oh, that’s really not necessary.” He’s already being generous.
Too generous, now that I think about it.
I rest my hands on my hips and square my shoulders, looking him up and down with suspicion.
“Wait a minute,” I start. “Why are you being so nice to me? You went from grunting at me to ignoring me, and now you’re offering me a job and a place to stay? What gives?”
Reaper’s stoic, serious expression never wavers, his blue eyes locked on mine. His next words are measured carefully. “I know what it’s like to need someone to give you a chance. I got one and turned it into being the President of a motorcycle club. Now it’s my turn to give someone else a chance.”
His eyes convey more emotion than I’ve ever seen from him. For one fleeting moment, both of our defenses drop, and we’re simply two people sharing a similar pain and longing for acceptance.
The giant, mysterious, and surprisingly sweet biker clears his throat and breaks eye contact. “You start this afternoon,” he states. “After you’ve had more to eat and drink, and rested a bit on the couch.”
“I’m okay, really. I can start right now.“
Reaper stands in front of the doorway, his hulking shoulders nearly filling the entire frame.
“Rest,” he commands. “You’ll still get paid for the whole day,” he adds.
Before I get a chance to protest, he turns around and walks out the door.
The last thing I hear before he closes it is, “Don’t screw up your one chance. ”
I can’t help but giggle at his grunted words. Reaper is a bear, all right. A big, squishy teddy bear with a secretly tender heart buried beneath all that muscle.