Chapter 17 #2
His brow furrows. “Why you smiling? I’m pouring my heart out here.”
“Give me your hand,” I say, grabbing it and placing it on my stomach.
His eyes light up in amazement as her little kicks hit the side of my stomach.
“Holy shit! That’s amazing.”
His eyes fill with admiration, and he leans closer to my stomach. “Bumble bee, Daddy loves you. I’m going to make this right.” I smile at the tenderness he’s showing, and then she kicks again.
He glances back up at me. “Thank you,” he whispers, and I nod, not trusting myself to actually speak right now.
There is a gentle tap on my door, and I shimmy myself up the bed so that I’m sitting. The tightening has slowed down, so maybe Drifter was right and all I needed was to rest.
He pops his head in.
“You okay?” he whispers, and I nod. “You sure you’re up for this?”
I’d asked him to bring Marissa to me. She’d be scared, especially going from one biker club to another, surrounded by loud men. Even if the men in our club won’t touch her. I needed her to feel safe.
I nod.
“You sure?” he asks again, his brows pinching together with concern.
“I promise,” I say, and he opens the door wider, letting Marissa into the room.
She stands in the doorway, pulling at her sleeves. Her body is bruised on just about every visible inch.
Drifter turns to leave.
“Drifter,” I call, and he turns back.
“Can you get Marissa a change of clothes out the drawer, please? Something comfy?”
He nods, making his way over to rummage through the drawers.
“They’ll be a bit big for you, but at least you’ll be more comfortable,” I tell her.
She looks at me, her eyes full of unshed tears, but she doesn’t move from the doorway. Drifter places a change of clothes on the bed, then makes his way to the door.
“I’ll be just outside,” he says, and I know that means he’ll have his ear pressed to the door. She steps aside, letting him close the door softly.
“You can come in,” I say, shuffling further up the bed.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”
She walks over, lifting the clothes and running the fabric through her hands.
“If you want to get changed, there’s an en suite over there.” I point to the door at the other side of the room.
She nods, before hobbling over to the bathroom.
A few moments later, she reappears in the clothes that almost bury her. I move over on the bed, patting the space beside me, she takes a seat. Her back rests against the headboard as she hugs her knees.
“Do you need anything?” I ask.
Her eyes are sunken, with some swelling around her left eye. She shakes her head like a scared animal.
“You’re safe here, but we’ll get the doc to check you over. You’re covered in bruises.”
“I’m fine,” she rushes out, panicked.
I place my hand on her arm. “Relax, no one will hurt you here. How old are you?”
She rests her head on her knees and a lone tear sits on her lashes. “Nineteen,” she whispers, and I place my hand over my mouth in shock. I knew she was young, but looking at this poor girl battered and bruised makes my blood boil.
“How long have you been with the Steel Delinquents?”
She clears her throat. “Two years. I ran away from home, and initially, I thought they were looking out for me.” She goes quiet, then a small sob escapes her lips.
“I was so wrong. After the first week, they told me I had to earn my keep, fuck the brothers. I refused, but it didn’t stop them .
. .” Her voice trails off as she stares into the distance.
I rub my hand up and down her arm, attempting to offer her some comfort. A girl of nineteen should be enjoying her life, not sitting here battered and bruised with the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“You can stay here as long as you need. None of these men will touch you,” I reassure her. She swallows hard and her eyes find mine.
“But––”
“No fucking buts. That is not how we work here. Fuck, I’d stab any of these fuckers for forcing themselves on you. I promise you’re safe here.”
She closes her eyes as her bottom lip trembles, then she lets out a long, drawn-out breath. I wipe away her tears with my thumb.
“I’ll get Drifter to set you up a room.” I throw the duvet back and go to stand, but I get a sharp stabbing pain, which I can only describe as fanny daggers.
“Drifter,” I shout, and he pushes open the bedroom door. The second he spots me hunched, he comes flying across the room.
“You need to rest,” he orders, grabbing hold of my hand and lowering me back onto the bed.
I pat away at his arm. “I’m fine. Could we set up a room for Marissa, get her checked over by the doc, and make sure she gets some food in her?” He lifts my legs onto the bed, and I frown. “I’m not an invalid.”
“I know,” he says, pulling the duvet back over my legs. “Doc’s already en route, and Red is setting up a room for her up here.”
“You don’t have to do all this,” she cries.
“Yes, we do. You need somewhere safe to heal, physically and mentally. If you need anything at all, you come find me, night or day,” I add. Drifter frowns but doesn’t say a word. He knows better.