Chapter 5 Kiera
KIERA
My brow furrowed, as I recalculated everything I’d just seen. The big, burly “men” who’d saved me weren’t men at all.
Seeing them in the pale moonlight, I felt silly for assuming they had been in the first place. After all, had I ever known a man as strong, tall, confident, or helpful as this? But I couldn't help laughing — if Gabe found out he’d gotten his ass handed to him by two women, he’d be so pissed.
“What’s wrong? You thought women couldn’t drive?” The lean one — the one I’d spotted at the bar — took the helmet from my hands and set it on the back of her bike. Looking at her jacket now, I realized it was the same one I’d spotted across the bar, the one I’d wanted to ask about.
“What? No!” Heat flushed my cheeks as I stammered for a response. “I just— I—”
“Relax. I’m fucking with you.” The cocky grin curving her lips took me back to the bar in an instant — the moment before Gabe arrived, the tiny universe that existed in the tension of our eye contact.
What was that?
“Name’s Spencer.” She eyed me up and down as she pulled off her gloves. “And you are…?”
“Uh, Kiera.” I couldn’t believe that I’d ridden off with these strangers without even knowing their names. Was I trying to get killed?
“Nice to meet you Kiera. The punching machine is Leo.” She nodded to her broader friend, who was pulling a cover over her own bike.
“Thanks.” I cleared my throat as I called over to Leo, fighting to keep the words flowing once she locked eyes with me. “For what you did back there. I appreciate you helping me out.”
“Any time.” She nodded, towering over me as she stood.
“He deserved worse, if you ask me.” Spencer’s lip curled ever so slightly.
Before I could ask what Spencer meant, her friend gave her a clap on the shoulder. “Let’s get inside. It’s late.”
She led the way toward the mansion behind us, and I had no choice but to follow, scanning the grounds one last time for any sign of where they’d taken me.
Despite the obvious heft of the ornate, oak doors, she swung them open like they were weightless, gesturing silently for us to step through.
The inside was just as stunning as the exterior, if a bit worse for wear.
Stately marble arches bordered the room, sheltering the doorways and staircases that branched off into each hidden corner of this sprawling mansion.
Across from the door was a freshly polished grand staircase.
The lip of each step encased a small strip of lights that illuminated the stair below it, making it one of the only light sources in the room aside from the moonlight.
“What are you, fucking heiresses?” My words echoed off the stone, warping into something sharp as they bounced around alcoves.
My broader savior flinched at the sound, while the other moved to draw me through an arch to our left with a gentle hand on my elbow. Lowering her lips to my ear, Spencer murmured, “Do we look like heiresses?”
I was going to say no, but as I started to move I nearly lost my balance. When I looked down, a hand gripped my ankle, which was still wobbly from my fall.
Down on her knees, Leo looked up at me. “Kind of a no-shoes household.”
Spencer rolled her eyes as she slipped off her black Timberland boots.
With easy hands, Leo undid the clasp at the side of my ankle, gently pulling my heel off as she patted her shoulder for me to hold on.
I swallowed hard as her traps bulged beneath my fingers, trying not to whimper with relief as my aching foot met the cool floor.
Once both shoes were off, I smiled politely. “Thank you.” Looking down at Leo, I finally got a good look at her face. Her jaw line was sharp but wide-set, a low taper fade haircut made her face look even more chiseled than the muscles she’d been hiding under that jacket.
“Not too bad a view from here, Princess.” With a wink, she stayed on her knees as Spencer grabbed a hold of my arm and guided me forward.
I turned my face away, admiring the baroque sconces to hide my growing blush. Between my present company and the night I’d had, I couldn’t help the unease fluttering at the pit of my stomach.
But that wasn’t all it was — as we shuffled past plastic-tarped fainting chairs and chandeliers waiting to be rehung, I couldn’t quite reconcile how a place so abandoned could also feel so lived in.
Every once in a while, between the wreckage of the renovations, I could see books sprawled across a table or laundry in a half-folded pile.
It had been a long time since I’d been in a house this nice, and dread was already brewing in the pit of my stomach.
I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake the feeling. As haunted as the mansion might feel, there were no ghosts here — the real monster was pacing the shadows at home, probably breaking dishes he’d expect me to clean in the morning.
But I wasn’t going back — not ever.
The relief of that thought settled over me like a wave.
Before I knew it, we were crossing into the warm glow of the kitchen light. The ambery overhead lights lent the coziness of a humble home. But a kitchen like this was fit for a king… or a queen.
Calacatta counters wrapped around every wall with a matching island at the center. Stand mixers, espresso machines, and blenders lined each surface.
Two sinks, a pot filler, an eight burner stove.
And a fridge hidden behind a matching dark cabinet front.
It was the nicest kitchen I’d ever seen, large windows pointing out to the darkness waiting beyond these thick stone walls.
“Hungry?” Spencer dropped my arm to pull out a chair for me.
My stomach growled in response, deepening the blush on my cheeks. “How’d you guess?”
“Grilled cheese okay?”
“Grilled cheese sounds perfect.” I hadn’t gotten a chance to eat anything before rushing out the door to meet Gabe.
And while the ride to this hidden mansion had been smooth, my stomach could use the buttery bread and gooey cheese to help soak up some of the alcohol gurgling at the pit of my stomach.
I took a seat at the Calacatta marble counter, trying to calm the livewire of my nervous system as Spencer headed for the fridge and Leo rifled through a pantry closet.
The anxiety I wore like a scratchy safety blanket morphed into something entirely different every time these women looked at me. My heart raced not with fear, but excitement.
That’s new…
But the revelation brought that familiar anxiety creeping back in at the edges.
How the fuck are they doing this to me? I’m straight.
To be fair, less than twenty minutes ago, I’d been thoroughly convinced that they were men. And no one had ever stood up for me the way they had. That plus the adrenaline and alcohol in my system were blending into a heavy concoction of confusion.
My brain is fried. It’ll pass in the morning.
Besides, there wasn’t much harm in coasting through the feeling tonight — I’d never see them again come morning.
“Alright, darlin’. Let’s tend to that hand of yours.
” Leo broke my attention, turning on the tap of the nearest sink and testing the temperature against her wrist. “Do me a favor and rinse out what you can, but don’t touch anything.
I don’t want you driving those splinters any deeper before I get the chance to grab ‘em.”
“My hand…?” I looked down at my palm and was shocked at the bloody mess that greeted me. The fall outside the bar had been much worse than I’d processed through the adrenaline. I knew I’d hit glass, but I didn’t realize quite how deep it had cut.
Blinking, I did as she bid, crossing over to the sink and letting the warm water melt away dirt and dried blood from my open wounds.
As my blood swirled into the drain, I could hear her set a bag down on the counter and open it up, unfurl some sort of plastic sheet, and then open up a small, paper packet before scrubbing her hands at the other sink.
By the time I finished up, she was snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves.
Back at the counter, the plastic sheet housed a couple pairs of sterile tweezers and a small metal tray.
Next to it, a hefty black pouch with a black and white American flag patch sat unzipped, ready for anything else she might need to retrieve.
“Ready to let me see that hand?” She took a seat at the counter, beckoning me closer.
I sat back in my own seat, swallowing hard as she cradled my hand in her palm, gloved fingers gently angling my wounds toward the light. Every movement was precise and considered. As she studied my cuts, her eyebrow furrowed ever so slightly with concentration.
“So,” I broke the silence, “what are you, some kind of doctor?”
“Yep.” The reply was instant. She didn’t look up as she reached for her tweezers.
I waited for her laughter, but it didn’t come. I tilted my head. “Wait, are you serious?”
Her eyes flicked up to mine for just a second, goldish flecks sparkling in a pool of cognac paired with a cocky smile that could have stopped my heart right there. “Deadly.”
At that moment, I didn’t doubt she was deadly. One look from her made it hard to breathe. I could only imagine what those eyes would do aimed at an attainable prize.
Glass clinked against the metal tray, drawing my attention. She was so gentle, I hadn’t even noticed the growing pile. The worst piece was still lodged square at the center of my palm, though.
The sight of it was enough to turn my stomach. I kept my eyes focused on her face instead, searching for any way to distract myself.
Her face was hardened, grizzled almost. But her eyes sparkled and her skin was taut. She couldn’t have been much older than me. “Aren’t you kind of young to be a doctor?”
Her arms, now exposed from under her leather jacket, were covered in tattoos, sleeves of ink caressing the thick muscles of her forearms and biceps. I could tell that even more hid beneath her shirt. Over her crewneck collar, I could the handle of what looked like a sword peeked out.