Chapter Sixteen
Lula
There was a split second of incomprehension.
The room was pitch black.
I’d been fast asleep.
And alcohol was still lingering at the edges of my mind.
For two seconds, three tops, I couldn’t wrap my head around why I was awake. Violently awake.
My head swirled.
My heart pounded.
Something coiled in my stomach.
But then I felt it.
The unmistakable feeling of a man’s hand around my throat.
For another second, my mind flashed back to the club, to Raff’s hand in the same place.
The difference being that Raff had been soft, almost gentle. And this hand was pressing hard enough to cut off my air, to make my throat hurt, and my head grow light.
I struck out blindly, swatting, grabbing, pulling, scratching.
When I couldn’t dislodge the hand, my hands struck out higher, using the heels of my hands to look for soft targets, only to find everything soft. So soft, it was fuzzy.
He had on a mask.
A choked sound escaped me at that realization just as another hand moved out, clamping over my mouth.
Was he just going to kill me in bed?
Even as I thought it, his giant mitt shifted so his meaty fingers pressed down on my nose too.
The lack of oxygen was instantaneous, making my chest constrict, burn, ache.
Panic settled in quickly, my blood surging through my veins, my heart jackhammering against my ribcage, my mind racing so fast it was impossible to catch up with a single thought.
Except… “no.”
No.
This couldn’t be it.
This wasn’t the end.
I couldn’t have my life snuffed out before I got a chance to turn it around, before I got home and restructured my priorities that had shifted a bit on this road trip, not until I got to find happiness, not just success. And, God, not before I got to take Raff to bed.
Maybe that last one should have been low on my list of priorities, but being suffocated had a funny way of showing you some unexpected things about yourself.
Wait.
Raff.
Raff was in the house.
The same Raff who came running, gun in hand, when I’d been scared by a lizard.
Raff who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot this asshole to get him off of me.
He just needed to know.
My head was getting fuzzy.
My chest felt on fire.
But I was thinking clearly enough to stop trying to dislodge his hands and fumbled out toward the nightstand instead. Where a heavy water pitcher and glass combo had been set out by the staff before we arrived.
I grabbed it by the neck, pulled it up, then swung with everything I had left in me into the bastard’s face.
It was still hard to see in the dark room, but I was pretty sure I caught the bastard somewhere near his nose.
Wherever the blow landed, it was with enough force that his hands automatically released me.
I didn’t pause to count my luck.
I rolled to the other side of the bed while gasping for air, surprised how much oxygen could hurt after being deprived of it for so long.
Hands shot out, grabbing my ankles, then dragging me before I could even try to kick out.
I couldn’t even breathe fully yet, let alone scream for help before I was across the bed and his knees were pinning my thighs to keep me in place, a pain that was both blunt and oddly sharp at the same time.
But that was quickly replaced by a new one as a fist slammed into my face.
The pain was like an explosion—a central point of detonation that shot outward until my whole face screamed.
A sharp gasp escaped me but was cut off by a grunt as another blow landed—this time higher, by my eye.
Tears flooded involuntarily down my cheeks as my body rocked, wiggled, writhed, trying to get out from under the silent man’s bulky frame.
A third blow came, but landed near my ear as I jerked out of the way just in time.
Still, my mouth flooded with blood, and there was something hard mixed in with it. My tooth?
Pain, fear, and adrenaline mingled together, giving me more strength—enough to free one of my legs and shove it with everything I had into the guy’s chest, sending him back a step.
As I rolled again—this time toward the foot of the bed—I sucked in a breath and tried to scream.
But only a yelp managed to escape me as hands reached down, deciding to help me along, shoving me until I flew off the end of the bed, landing hard on my side—the impact once again stealing my breath.
Before I could find it again, I heard his heavy footsteps.
Then his body was coming over me, knees caging in my hips as he forced me onto my belly.
Pain ricocheted off every nerve ending as his hand grabbed the back of my neck and slammed my face against the floor.
He was too big, heavy, strong.
There was no getting out from under him.
I drew in as deep a breath as the position allowed.
Then I screamed.
“Raff!”
I didn’t even recognize my own voice—how high, shrill, and animalistic it sounded.
“Shut the fuck up,” the man snarled, his hand shifting and pushing me harder against the floor, making it hard to draw in a breath, let alone scream again.
But just when I was losing hope, I heard them.
Footsteps.
Thundering down the hallway.
Coming closer.
A little whimper escaped me just before the door burst open.
The light from the hallway spilled inward, casting him mostly in shadow. I could only see his legs from my position, but this… this wasn’t Raff.
His legs were too thick around the ankle.
Oh, God.
Had I screamed and brought reinforcements running? Was this guy here to help the other one kill me? Or, maybe worse yet, kidnap me and do who-knew-what with me?
But as the door cracked off the wall, the man on top of me jerked in surprise.
Then his weight was off me as he got to his feet.
I didn’t pause.
I got on all fours and crawled toward the bathroom door as I heard bodies crashing together.
Grunts and heavy breathing filled the room as my hands and knees met the cool tile floor in the bathroom.
Only then did I turn, did I look.
I was right.
It wasn’t Raff.
This was that tall, wide, lumberjack guy.
York.
Wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.
Why had York come to my rescue? Where was Raff?
A pathetic little whimper escaped me as I grabbed the trash can and spat my tooth into it. The blood spraying all around the white liner made a whimper escape me.
There was a thunderous crash then, making my heart drop as my head whipped over.
And there I saw York, face twisted in determination, moving behind my attacker, who was down on his knees.
I watched in a horrific kind of fascination as York wrapped his arm around the man’s throat, his muscles bulging, his face sweating as the other man struggled for five seconds, ten, but by the time I counted to fifteen, the masked attacker was limp, leaning back against York’s wide frame.
But York didn’t move, didn’t shift his arm, just kept press, press, pressing.
My own heartbeat hammered, then little by little, started to slow. Like, I imagined, the other man’s did as well.
It was slow and horrific.
Seconds stretched to minutes, minutes to hours, as I did nothing but watch York strangle the other man.
There was a fierce concentration in York’s face, and his lips moved ever so slightly, but no sound came out.
I could only assume he was counting.
Not sure what else to do, mentally, I started counting with him.
When I reached five minutes, I watched as York’s arms suddenly relaxed, and the man’s body slumped, lifeless, to the floor.
York himself was panting, sweating, shaking with the effort of, I assumed, killing the man.
He reached down, pressing his hand to the man’s neck, waiting. Then he did the same under his nose. Then back to his neck.
To, I guess, confirm the kill.
Only when he was satisfied did he lower the man fully down and look over at me.
“Fuck,” he whispered to himself.
I guess I looked as terrible as I felt.
Everything seemed to be stabbing and throbbing with pain.
“Okay. Listen to me,” he said, moving over toward me. “I need you to stay in this bathroom for a minute. Quietly. Okay?”
I nodded.
What other choice did I have?
“Why?”
“I have someone over,” he explained, glancing back toward the hallway. “And she can’t know what just happened here.”
Because he’d killed a man.
In self-defense, sure, but still.
I nodded again.
“I am going to get her out of here. And then I’m going to come back for you, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Don’t look at him,” he demanded when my gaze moved hopelessly in that direction. “And don’t you fucking dare feel sorry for him. If you were looking at what I’m looking at, you’d know he had it coming.”
I glanced back at York.
“Where’s Raff?”
“I’m calling him. He will meet us at the clinic.”
The clinic?
But even as I thought it, every ache seemed to intensify.
Yeah, the clinic seemed like a smart idea.
“Can you scoot back for me?” he asked as he reached for the door.
He wanted to close it. To prevent me from looking at the body more.
Silently, I shifted across the floor.
“Five minutes, okay?”
He waited for me to nod, then moved out of the bathroom and closed the door.
I listened to his footsteps, then the soft click of the bedroom door.
The house was eerily quiet. Enough that I could hear York’s timbre and the soft voice of a woman as they moved through the house a moment later.
Alone, I tried to focus on my breath instead of all the aches and pains.
It wasn’t long, though, before all thoughts shifted to Raff.
Who I’d screamed for.
Who hadn’t come running.
Because he wasn’t at the house.
York said he had to call him.
So where was he?
Had he gone home with one of those women?
I wasn’t prepared for the way my stomach twisted. My hand flew there as I curled against the sudden pain, a whimper escaping me.
Why did it matter? I’d seen Raff with dozens of women over the years at The Boy. I knew he went back to the clubhouse with them, went to bed with them. So what? Why would it feel different now?
Only, I knew why.
And it wasn’t even the kiss.
It was everything I’d been feeling since I first found him in my motel room back in Shady Valley.
Since I cried into his chest and felt the first relief I had in weeks.
It was the conspiratorial smiles as we had little road trip adventures; it was how he remembered even the smallest details about me; it was the way I couldn’t seem to focus on anything at all without him forcing his way into my mind.
I liked him.
For better or worse.
And now he could be out there… making someone else smile, laugh, feel special.
My stomach twisted again, but I tried to ignore it as I listened to York’s voice downstairs.
Then, what felt like a lifetime later, several other male voices.
Velle and Dixon, maybe? Back from their adventures.
I had no idea.
All I knew was that there were several sets of footsteps making their way up the stairs, down the hall, and into the bedroom.
“It’s York,” York called before slowly opening the door and flicking on the light.
He winced as he looked at me.
If this big, scary biker guy thought I looked bad enough to wince, I didn’t even want to see myself.
“Okay. You, me, Velle, and our friend Teddy are going to bring you to the clinic, okay?”
I nodded but didn’t move from my position on the ground.
Someone nudged York out of the way, and then there was Velle, looking like he’d been woken up and was still adjusting to that inconvenience. But he had a pair of my flip-flops in his hands and my beach cover-up thrown over his shoulder.
“Heya, honey.” His voice was soft, soothing. And he worked hard not to have a reaction to whatever horror show he was looking at when he glanced at my face. “Let’s go get you some medical care, huh? Can I put these on you?” he asked, flashing the shoes.
I nodded and held out one foot, then the other.
“Do you want me to help you to your feet, or do you want to do it yourself?”
I shook my head, stubborn to my core, and whimpered and grunted my way to my own feet.
“Can I help you with this?” he asked, holding out the cover-up. “I don’t think twisting is a good idea until we know your ribs aren’t broken.”
Keeping my gaze down so I didn’t catch sight of myself in the mirror, I nodded and let him help.
“Alright. Do you want us to grab anything for you before we go? Phone? Blanket?”
“No.”
“Okay. Then let’s get you down to Teddy’s car.”
I followed him out, seeing a group of men I didn’t know in the bedroom, mostly blocking my view of the body as I moved past.
When I was in the hallway, I heard Dixon’s familiar voice say to the group, “Raff is going to be so fucking pissed.”
York held the front door open for me, and I approached the fancy-looking town car with blackout windows.
Standing beside it was, I assumed, Teddy.
Theodore Kane.
Billionaire.
Owner of the house.
Wearer of a jaunty scally cap with his three-piece suit.
Teddy was a little person with keen, but soft eyes, and a gentle smile.
“Lula,” he said, pressing a hand to his heart. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m sorry we have to meet in these circumstances,” he said as he pulled open the door for me.
“Lula,” Velle interjected. “If it’s okay, York and I are going to follow on the bikes while you go with Teddy and his driver. But I can stay with you if you want.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said as I lowered into my seat.
“Raff is going to meet us at the clinic,” York told me before he closed the door.
The men shared a few more words before Teddy climbed into the front seat and the others got on their bikes.
“Thanks for letting us stay in your house,” I said when the silence in the car felt awkward.
“It’s nothing,” Teddy assured me. “I only regret it wasn’t more secure. The clinic is only about ten minutes away, but would you like us to stop for something? Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m okay.”
I was far, far from okay.
But someone was going to fix my face.
Now I just needed someone to fix the ache in my chest at the idea that Raff left me to spend his time with someone else.
But I wasn’t holding my breath for that one.
So I settled into my seat and wallowed.