Chapter 22
Hannah
Masochist.
Poking my head out of the bathroom, I spot the emergency exit just a few feet away. It feels like it was placed there just for me. Glancing toward the table, I see Sarge’s gaze is fixed on the front door. Perfect.
As quietly as I can, I press the bar on the exit and slip out. Thank God no alarm sounds; that would have made my exit anything but covert.
“I blame the drugs,” I mutter, shaking my head as I put distance between myself and the diner. “That’s all it was. Messed with my head. Made me stupid.” My voice is barely a whisper, sounding bitter in my own ears. “I let my guard down because he cared, or seemed to.”
This is why I don’t let my emotions get involved. They’re dumb, and they can’t be trusted. I reach the sidewalk and immediately wish I had grabbed my jacket. My feet move as fast as they can go without breaking into a full-on jog.
“Hannah!”
Shit, I’ve been spotted. I should have known his military-trained eyes wouldn’t miss me fleeing the building.
“Hannah, will you come back here?”
Like a child, I play the ‘I can’t hear you’ game and just keep on my trip. Power walking, I cover a decent distance on foot. Not far enough to be out of earshot of motorcycle pipes firing up.
Lovely.
A gunmetal gray Harley rolls up next to me in the bike lane.
“I don’t think that lane is meant for that kind of a bike, Sarge. But I know my way home. I’ll be fine.” I yell over the roaring sound of his bike, hoping he listens and leaves me alone.
“Can you please come back inside so we can talk? You’re out of luck if you think I’m leaving you. Not doing that again.”
Awesome. Looks like he’s not going anywhere. He kills the engine and, still seated, bounces from foot to foot, trotting his bike along the sidewalk.
“You’re lucky we’re in public, Butterfly.”
“Oh? Why is that? Big, bad biker gonna hurt me? You don’t seem the type, Sarge. But I’ve been wrong before.”
“Because if we were alone, I’d take you over my knee like the child you’re successfully impersonating right now. I will never hurt you in the way you’re meaning. Any pain I put you through will be consensual, and you’ll be begging for more.”
“Masochist.” I huff out. “And why do you insist on calling me Butterfly?”
Sarge’s face twists into a grin. “No, baby, that would make you the masochist. And the reason I call you Butterfly is because when I first saw you I thought you looked delicate and beautiful.”
“Oh, I am not that delicate, Sarge. I can take care of myself just fine. I’ve done it long before you came along, and I’ll still be doing it long after you leave.” Forcing out an annoyed breath, I continue my angry march.
“Oh, I’ve learned that much about you very quickly; you can hold your own well enough.
” He chuckles, “Good luck getting rid of me, though. Not going away that easily.” He huffs out an exasperated breath.
“Will you get on the bike? You haven’t even eaten.
” He shouts as he continues guiding his bike along the road, effortlessly keeping up with me.
“You’ve been put through a lot; your body needs nutrition.”
He’s right, and I am, in fact, very hungry.
I stop abruptly and spin toward him, crossing my arms tight over my chest. I stare him down, mentally bracing myself to stand my ground.
“I’m not some good deed or a quick lay, Sarge. Let’s save us both the time and the headache. You go your way, I’ll go mine.”
Between the momentum of the bike and my abrupt stop, he had rolled a bit past me.
Digging his boots into the pavement, he begins backing the heavy bike up until he’s right next to me.
The silence of the street makes the air between us feel heavy.
One of his eyebrows kicks up, looking more amused than insulted.
“Don’t exactly know what’s come over you, Butterfly, but I don’t see you as a score to settle or someone disposable.
” He looks down for a second, shaking his head as if he’s trying to keep a smile at bay.
“Will you please come eat with me? We can talk, and maybe we can make some sense of whatever mess is swirling around in that pretty head of yours.”
I keep my arms folded, letting out a fast huff of air while my teeth worry my bottom lip. My stomach chooses that exact moment to growl, betraying me.
“Fine. I’ll eat. I’m not one to turn down a free meal,” I mutter, pivoting back toward the diner. I only get two steps before I spin around again, pointing a finger at him. “And for the record, I’m not a masochist.”
“We’ll see about that,” he winks. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’re not wanting a ride back?” he asks, adjusting his gloves in between his fingers. His strong, calloused fingers that I am definitely not admiring.
Turning on my heel, I begin the trek back to the restaurant.
I hear a laugh rumble from his chest, followed by thunderous pipes. I make it a point not to look over my shoulder. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. The bike idles for a bit before the engine picks up, the sound fading as he pulls a U-turn.
Then, of course, the sound gets louder again. Less than a minute later, I catch him casually cruising back into the restaurant parking lot, reclaiming the same spot right next to the door.
Meeting me at the door, he waits until I get there so he can hold the door open.
“After you,” he gestures.
How gentlemanly of him. I think of how many other women he’s held this same door open for and almost lose my appetite.
Almost.
I plop down in the booth just in time for Aimee to come to our table again. “I thought you two had left. Glad to see you’re still here”.
Smiling stiffly, I offer, “Ha, yeah, my stomach wins this time”.
Aimee gently laughs, “Well, you and your stomach are in the right place. What can I get for you?”
I realize I never settled on anything to eat; it all looks good. I flip it open and point to the first picture that catches my eye. “I’ll take that, please.”
Sarge orders quickly after me, without even looking at his menu.
I roll my eyes so hard they just might get stuck. Aimee trots off, saying something along the lines of, “Your food will be out shortly,” but I’m still fuming and don’t catch it.
How tacky can you be to take women all to the same restaurant? He must not care at all to offer some variety.
Flattening my hands together between my thighs, I squirm around in my seat. I feel fidgety from low blood sugar and anger. Not the best combination, but here we are.
“So, do you often run away from your beverage order?” Sarge asks with the most annoyingly handsome smirk on his face.
“It wasn’t the drink I was fleeing,” adjusting myself in the soft booth seat again.
“I really don’t want to be another notch on your belt.
I appreciate the help the other night, and I appreciate you bringing me out for food.
I know you feel responsible for me and need to make sure I’m okay, but I’m fine.
See?” I ask, gesturing to myself. “I won’t tell anyone what happened, and we can just go our separate ways.
You don’t need to be my knight in soft leather.
I’ve been taking care of myself for a while now, and I do just fine. ”
My eyes lock with Sarge’s, hoping my words sound as convincing as I need them to be. He stares back with a look of faint amusement, but I’m clearly missing the joke.
The only thing amusing here is the idea that I’d be as easy as the other women he’s come across. Well, jokes on you, Sarge. The days of me taking a man at face value are long gone. My heart has been shattered one too many times to fall for a man’s saccharine-drenched words.
“Well,” he starts, “it’s not soft leather. It’s more of a firm denim. And I actually enjoy being there for you, Hannah. It’s not a requirement from the club or some kind of damage control. I’m here because I want to be.”
Sarge sits up straight and casually takes a sip of his black coffee.
Blech. Maybe this man really doesn’t have any taste in anything.
“Well, whether that’s true or not, I’m very busy, and I don’t have time for.
.. whatever this is.” I gesture between him and me.
“Clearly, you bring other women here. Women who resemble me enough that Aimee thought you’d brought me before.
You must have a type.” I pause, my voice dripping with mock appreciation. “I’m flattered.”
The words don’t match my face. I’m looking at him as though I’ve just tasted something sour, the “compliment” dying on my tongue before it can even pretend to be real.
“Scarlett seemed rather protective of you—maybe you should pursue that. You really seem to have your hands full with all the attention you get, and maybe you like it that way. No commitment, and that’s fine. Don’t let me slow your game down; I just don’t want to be part of it.”
On my last word, plates hit our table, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a plate of food in my entire life. I start bouncing in my seat and unwrap my silverware.
I dive into my eggs like they might run away, and I hear a chuckle from across the table.
Mouth full, I glare up at the chuckler.
“Did you just do a little dance for your food? That’s adorable. You’re either really hungry or you just really like food,” Sarge teases.
“Both,” I manage through a mouthful.
“Hm, I like you with your mouth full.” Sarge turns up one side of his smile at me and starts in on his chicken-fried chicken.
“That’s cute, everything is a joke to you, huh?” I ask between bites, “Does that line usually work for you?”
“You’ve got me all figured out, huh, Hannah? Biker in a club, taking home a different girl every night, never settling down. Throttle wide open, whichever way the wind blows me. Does that about sum it up?”
I finally swallow my food long enough to speak clearly, “Add tacky and tasteless, and then yep. You’ve summed yourself up quite well.”
Laughing, he responds, “Okay, well, what if I told you that I’ve known Scarlett since the sixth grade and we’ve never so much as held hands?” Sarge leans towards me with his forearms propped on the table.
“And that girl Aimee saw me here with, the one she says shares your likeness, was one of my brothers’ little sisters from the club.
Her boyfriend had just tried to beat the shit out of her.
He was almost successful, too, until she managed to knee him in the balls and run away.
Her brother wasn’t close by enough to help her, so he called me.
” He settles back into his seat before continuing.
“I brought her here because I like it here. It’s small and secluded; I can keep an eye on the front entrance, and, big plus, they have great food.
I wanted to calm her nerves in a neutral place and keep her safe until her brother could get here.
So, we sat here and waited while we ate and talked. ”
Staring at my almost empty plate, I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.
“Hannah, I don’t know you very well, and I won’t pretend that I do, but I want to show you how a man builds his woman up—makes her feel loved, safe, secure, and taken care of.
I don’t know what you’ve been through or why you have a wall the size of Texas built up.
” Looking away, he draws in a breath before looking back at me.
“I’d like to get my hands on the piece of shit who made you feel so fucking terrified to be loved.” His voice takes on a softer tone, so genuine that I want to believe him. “If you’ll let me, I’d consider myself lucky to be the man to tear your walls down, brick by brick, with my bare hands.”
I must still be on drugs. Or dreaming. Hallucinating, maybe? I really need to look up how long Rohypnol stays in your system.
“I don’t just say shit to say it, Hannah. I mean what I say. More importantly, I’m going to show you. But you need to let me.”
As Sarge continues, I finally find the courage to lock eyes with him.
“Living in the comfort of your fortress is convenient,” he says.
“When things go bad, you can proudly say I told you so. And yeah, stepping outside of that fortress leaves you open to being hurt, but staying inside of it all the time closes the door on opportunity. It closes the door on the possibility of someone proving you wrong.”
Sarge finds my legs under the table and playfully wraps his own around mine. “Butterfly, I’m going to make you love being wrong.”