Chapter 12
TWELVE
KALANI
As Sugar escorted me back to his room, I tried to figure out what was going on. Something wasn’t right. Even if what they were saying was true, I should’ve heard something from Birdie. They were lying about part of the story; I just didn’t know which part or why.
Walking to the chair I’d been occupying, I sat without being told to do so. I didn’t want to argue or play games. I wanted to think.
Sugar looked at me and jerked his head toward the bathroom. “You heard Prez. You need to shower.”
“I also need clothes.”
“I’ll get something from one of the sirens.”
“The what?”
“The sirens,” he repeated. “The girls who live here and work for the club.”
“I have clothes in my truck.”
“Of course you do,” Sugar breathed. “Get in the shower.”
“Don’t you want to know where my truck is?” I assumed they hadn’t asked about it because they didn’t find keys on me. I knew better than to keep anything identifying on me.
He laughed. “We have your truck, your clothes, and your phone.”
“Great!” It wasn’t great. I needed to know where my truck was so I could use it once I finally got away from the grumpy bikers. “If you’ll tell me where it is, I’ll get my clothes.”
“Nice try. Shower.”
I extended my bound hands. “It’ll be easier to wash all the blood off if I can use my hands.”
“Go,” he snapped.
“Fine,” I grumbled and stomped to the bathroom.
He followed me inside and grabbed my hands, quickly slicing through the tape with his knife. Then he shoved me back and closed the door. “Towels are under the sink. You’ve got five minutes.”
“Ten,” I argued as I pulled the tape from my wrists. “I need more than five minutes just to get the blood out of my hair.”
“Seven.”
“Twelve.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Fine,” I said. His president was the one who said I needed to shower, so he could explain why I was still bloody if he didn’t give me enough time to get it done.
I turned on the water and gathered the towels.
After taking off my shirt, I hid the comb in the folds of one of the towels.
I knew he would come in to get my clothes, but I hoped he wouldn’t search through the towels.
That comb felt like a lifeline to me. It might have been the only thing keeping me from completely losing my shit.
I mean, I was being held captive by an outlaw motorcycle club for killing someone on their property and stabbing their enforcer the last time I was on their property.
They were treating me far better than they should have …
which made me wonder what in the hell Birdie did all those years ago.
Stepping into the shower, I intended to wash myself and get out, but I was transported back to the first and last time I stepped into a shower and rinsed someone else’s blood from my body.
The feeling of emptiness that had hit me when the water finally ran clear was astounding.
I didn’t know I would miss the last evidence of my mother’s vengeance until it was too late.
The pain was overwhelming. Through years of mandated therapy, I later learned that I was grieving the loss of my mother, not the loss of her killer’s last drop of blood—or that’s what they said.
But as the water started to run clear, the same feelings returned, and I panicked.
Diving for the drain stopper, I slipped and fell over the edge of the tub, taking the shower curtain down with me and landing on the hard tile floor with a thud. As I scrambled to check the tub and make sure the drain was stopped, Sugar burst through the door.
“What the fuck?” he yelled.
“Help me,” I cried. “The drain!”
“You just twist it to unstop it,” he said and reached for the drain.
“No!” I screamed and lunged for him, causing us both to fall into the tub. We were going to soak up the small bit of bloody water left. “Fuck! Get out! Get out!”
I jumped out, and he followed, grabbing me by the shoulders. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I—” I sobbed. “I need to … Can I have a jar or something with a lid?”
He looked at me like I was crazy. It was a look I’d received from many people during my life, but his was slightly endearing.
“Please,” I sniffled.
“Tell me why,” he said flatly.
“I want to save some of his blood before it’s all gone.” I tried to say it smoothly, but I couldn’t stop crying. “I need it for my mom.”
“Fuck,” he whispered before he gently kissed my forehead. I stood frozen as he turned and left the bathroom. He returned moments later with a glass jar and filled it full of bloody water.
“Thank you,” I breathed.
He nodded and placed the jar on his bathroom counter. “You should get dressed,” he said and left the room, closing the door behind him.
That was when I realized I’d been completely naked the entire time, but I couldn’t find it within myself to care. Glancing at the jar of bloody water, I inhaled deeply and drained the water remaining in the tub. Then I put the shower curtain back and finished my shower.
When I got out, the clothes from my car were on top of the towels and my bloody clothes were gone. I moved my clothes and grabbed the top towel, breathing a sigh of relief when I found the comb where I’d left it.
A comb and a jar of bloody water are my most prized possessions. How did I get here?
Knowing I’d been in the bathroom for far longer than ten minutes, I hurried to dry off and get dressed. I tucked the comb into my sleeve and picked up the jar before inhaling deeply and exiting the bathroom.
I didn’t know where to go or what to do, but I didn’t want to ask or even look at Sugar because I didn’t want to acknowledge anything that happened in his bathroom—except for the jar.
“What should I do with this?” I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the jar.
He took it from my hands and placed it on the table. “Sit.”
I glanced at the chair my ass had become well acquainted with and desperately wanted to ask if I could sit somewhere else, but I didn’t. It was my way of attempting to reestablish the boundaries that were clearly broken in the bathroom.
But then I felt offended when he taped my wrists together and taped me to the chair the same way he had each time before. I thought we shared a moment. What the fuck was wrong with me?
After giving it some thought, I determined I wasn’t handling the stress of my second murder and not knowing where Birdie was well. That had to be it.
“Are you hungry?” Sugar asked, interrupting my self-analysis.
I wasn’t. Not in the slightest. But I knew I shouldn’t pass up the opportunity to eat because I didn’t know when I’d get another chance. “I could eat.”
Several minutes later, someone knocked on Sugar’s door. When he opened it, I couldn’t see around him, but I heard a woman’s voice. “Do you want me to bring it in?”
“I got it,” Sugar replied.
“Well, I hope this doesn’t mean what I think it does.”
“It doesn’t,” Sugar said as he pulled the cart inside.
I caught a glimpse of her face, and she seemed to be quite pleased with his answer. “Good. I might miss you.”
Sugar let the door close without acknowledging her comment and rolled the cart directly in front of me. It was so close it was almost touching my chest. When I looked at him in confusion, he grinned and removed the cover from my plate, revealing eggs, rice, and … “What the fuck is that?”
“Pureed SPAM.”
My face contorted with disgust. “Why the fuck—?” I started but changed course when I suddenly realized the answer—he was going to make me eat using only my mouth.
I glanced at the pink-colored goo on my plate.
“I will remember this,” I vowed quietly, before I pursed my lips and slurped up as much SPAM as I could.
Fuck him.
Smirking, I raised my head. “I was in prison for seven years. That’s amateur shit.”
He shrugged. “I have to feed you, but I don’t have to fucking trust you.”
I wouldn’t have trusted me either if I were him, but I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I finished my meal in silence. It wasn’t hard to eat without my hands, but it was messy. I felt like I needed another shower.
“Can I wipe my face off please?”
“Sure.” He returned moments later and placed a wet towel on the table in front of me.
As I leaned forward and rubbed my face against the wet towel, I realized I didn’t feel as bad about stabbing him as I initially did.