Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Singular Words
“ W hat do you think you’re going to get from me?” Nelle asked. “Some wild secret or explanation?”
“Fuck it then,” Slade said. Nelle watched him walk to the bedroom door and open it. “Leave. You have nothing to worry about, right? Just so happens that both of your sisters were shot to death. Happens all the time.”
Nelle felt her heart shivering. She didn’t know how to explain her life to Slade. She didn’t know if she trusted Slade or these bikers.
“That’s what I thought,” Slade said.
He slammed the door. Nelle swallowed hard.
“Right now, sweetheart, your problems are causing problems for me. For my club. Shootings. Dead women. It all somehow reflects back to us. I’m not a fan of it, but we’ve earned it. It also means we fix it. You could be in a police station right now. Sipping shitty tasting coffee, answering questions.”
“Yeah, because this place is luxury,” Nelle blurted out.
Slade stomped toward her like a hungry giant ready for his next meal. She stepped back a few times, hit the edge of the bed and sat right down. Now staring up at the outlaw.
Oh, fuck, Nelle thought.
“You may not realize how this works, sweetheart,” Slade said in a low, deep voice. “Monte should be ten inches deep in you right now. I called him off and he rightfully wanted to fight me for you. Cyrus stepped in. The fucking President of this club. You may not feel like you owe anyone a thing, but I promise you, Nelle, you owe a lot… a fucking lot…”
Slade inched even closer. Nelle knew his cock—even tucked away in his jeans—was right there. Almost touching her face.
Is that what I’m supposed to do now? Suck his cock or something? Is that the price of admission for this insane outlaw world?
“I’ll get us a drink, sweetheart,” Slade said. “Then we’ll talk.”
Slade touched under Nelle’s chin with his pointer and middle fingers stuck together. He felt his cock pulsing, wanting her.
Nelle felt a comfortable yet guilty-ridden warmth between her legs. She told herself she needed to be crying over the death of Calista. And the death of Thalia.
Slade with his I’m going to fuck you eyes distracted Nelle. That was okay. She needed the distraction.
And maybe she needed to be fucked too.
Slade came back to the room with a bottle of whiskey. Nelle sat on the edge of the bed.
“You can get comfortable, sweetheart,” Slade said.
“I’m not sure that’s possible right now,” she replied. “My sisters are dead, Slade. Both of them. My two sisters. I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to protect them. I didn’t do that.”
Slade handed her the whiskey bottle. He touched under her chin again. Nelle hated to admit how sexy this move was to her. And what it did to her. Feeling grief and being turned on at the same time felt wrong in its own way.
“Tell me who you are, Nelle,” Slade said.
“I’m nobody. That’s the truth. Same for my sisters. We just minded our own business. Don’t believe me? I can show you where I live. Above an antique store. You believe that, Slade? That’s what I do. I sell antiques. For some grumpy old man who refuses to sell anything.”
“So how does that work?” Slade asked.
Nelle helped herself to a large gulp of the fire-tasting whiskey. It made her throat feel as though she swallowed glass. She never drank like this. Ever. That meant each second that went by, it hit her head harder and faster.
“I make videos online,” Nelle said. She quickly pointed up at Slade. “Not those kind of videos, you fucking sicko.”
“Calling me a fucking sicko? Your mind went in the gutter there, sweetheart. Not mine.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t think it.”
“What? Picturing you naked with your legs spread? Your fingers digging deep into your precious cunt?”
Nelle’s face burned hot. She caught herself taking deep breaths. She thought about Slade telling the Chief of Police what to do. And the guy listened to him! That was… power…
“I make videos about the antiques. And based on views and ads and all that stuff, the videos make money. That’s how I keep the old man in business. That’s what I do, Slade. Hidden from the world. So, yeah, nothing to ask me about.”
The whiskey told Nelle she had the perfect story. And she told it perfectly too. She felt so suddenly confident, she stood up from the bed and purposely bumped her body against Slade’s.
Hard.
His entire body… hard.
Thick and hard. Big muscles. Strength. Danger. Control. Power. Singular words rushing through Nelle’s head.
“And you think that’s it, sweetheart?” Slade whispered. “I’m going to take that at face value? You’re like a fucking model. A perfect body. Perfect tits. A beautiful face. Your sisters the same. The three of you could take a dead man’s breath away. And that’s it? You’re hidden away, huh? Your one sister works as a waitress at a pizza place. Your other sister is some whore for rock stars. They’re dead. You’re not.”
“Oh, you are such a bastard,” Nelle said. “So much to unpack there. What’s wrong with being a waitress? And Calista was not a whore!”
“Yes, she was,” Slade growled. “I could have fucked her myself. Maybe I should have. Maybe that would have saved her.”
“Oh yeah? Why didn’t you?”
“You seemed more appealing, if I’m being honest.”
Nelle’s stomach did a backflip.
So you’re telling me that because this biker would rather fuck me instead of Calista… that’s why she’s dead…?
“You do know I’m fucking around when I say that,” Slade said. “Anything can happen at any time. And I know you’re full of shit right now because these two attacks were planned out. Want me to go into details, sweetheart?”
Nelle’s body jumped and she put her hands to Slade’s chest and pushed. Slade read the writing on the wall and started to step back. Nelle curled her hands around his leather cut and hunched forward, throwing up. Vomit splashed all over the tips of Slade’s boots.
He stood there and stared forward, curling his lip, now wondering himself if he should have just fucked Calista. Maybe he could have kept her close and safe. Probably for only one night though. It was pretty evident whoever wanted these sisters dead was smart and calculated.
“I’m so sorry!” Nelle cried out. “I threw up on you. I’m sorry.”
Slade touched Nelle’s back. “Not the first woman to throw up on me, sweetheart.”
“I puked on myself too. Oh, fuck, what is happening to me…”
The wave of emotion that had been hanging high over Nelle’s head suddenly crashed down. Her grip loosened on Slade’s leather cut and she fell to the floor. Hands and knees, right in her own vomit.
Slade gritted his teeth. This was the opportune time to call Chief Dick to come get his best source of information. Or just go out there and tell Monte he could have Nelle. Honestly, both of those decisions made Slade fill with rage.
A voice somewhere in his body— most likely from his still throbbing cock —called out…
She’s mine! I claimed her for tonight! Mine!
Just what he needed though. A mess of vomit at his feet, along with a beautiful woman. Slade reached down and scooped Nelle up off the floor. He stepped out of his boots, then carried Nelle to the bathroom.
“You need a shower,” Slade said. “Or a bath if you can’t stand up.”
“I think there’s something wrong with that whiskey,” Nelle slurred.
“Yeah. You’re not used to slamming it like that, I bet.”
“I’m a wine girl.”
Slade curled his lip. “Fucking wine women.”
“Shut up, you bastard.”
Nelle’s body jumped again.
She wanted to tell Slade she was going to puke again but she feared opening her mouth. Plus, Slade wasn’t a moron. He knew she was going to throw up. He quickly dropped to one knee and held Nelle over the tub.
As he turned the water on, she began to vomit once more. Splattering all over the inside of the tub. At least that part of the mess was easy to clean. The water and the drain did its job.
This time when Nelle finished vomiting, she began to cry. Slade turned and sat on the edge of the tub. He touched her back again, this time gently digging his fingers a little.
Losing someone is a shitty thing to experience. Losing someone to murder… shot to death… that’s a whole different feeling…
And to have it happen to both her sisters. One at a time. Not that far apart in time. The fact that Nelle was just vomiting now and starting to cry told Slade a lot about her. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was tough. The dangerous kind of tough in a woman.
Slade knew she had one hell of a story to tell. That’s why he sat there and rubbed her back while she puked and cried. Nelle couldn’t believe that this was happening. Right here. Like this. Too much whiskey. Two dead sisters.
She knew deep inside her, the chaos was only just beginning.