Chapter 8 Kiera
KIERA
Despite how difficult it was to fall asleep staring up at the vaulted ceilings of this massive bedroom, I managed to sleep well. The room was pitch black at night, and the sound of late-fall crickets crept in through the old windows like a familiar lullaby.
But as I looked around the room, I realized in the light of day just how insane this room was.
Despite the delicious grilled cheese and the sobering motorcycle ride the night before, I’d still been out of it by the time I was crawling into this plush bed.
So out of it, in fact, that I’d fallen asleep in my clothes.
Yawning, I tossed my legs over the side of the bed and rose from the mattress. It felt like staying in a luxury hotel. The sheets had been made perfectly, the corners tucked in like the room had been turned over just hours before I arrived.
Like they knew I was coming.
Shaking my head, I looked around the room. On the dresser by the door, my eyes caught on a stack of folded clothes.
Muttering to myself, I stepped closer. “What the fuck.”
I reached into the pile, unfolding the tannish-green t-shirt on top. It was oversized: just the way I liked. I threw it on after I stripped off my sheer, black button up from the night before. A waft of warm wood, leather, and tobacco rushed to my nose.
Then I grabbed the pair of jeans underneath. Checking the tag, my brows furrowed as I read the sizing.
Spot on.
I guess these women have good eyes for bodies.
I felt my chest tighten at the thought, the idea that they’d been observing my hips making my face flush.
A part of me was a little surprised they had clothes my size.
It wasn’t everyday that I could walk into a friend’s closet and borrow their stuff.
But then again, they were built and, from the looks of it, mostly shopped in the men's section.
But these clothes hadn’t been here when I’d fallen asleep. Which meant someone had snuck inside and placed them there.
And why did these three strangers have a supply of extra clothes for guests when the nasty one — Dom, was it? — seemed to keep the place shuttered to new arrivals? A part of me wished that I’d bitten back, that I’d put her in her place before she ever got the idea that I could be walked all over.
But if I’d learned anything from being around Gabe and the rich assholes my mother had dated, it was that they hated being put in their place. At least in front of other people.
And frankly, I needed this halfway house. Even if I hated the owner.
Dressed, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and turned off Do Not Disturb, allowing a tidal wave of texts and missed calls to bombard my home screen.
Over a dozen calls from Mom: her boyfriend must’ve been busy.
“Ugh.” I tucked the phone into my pocket and looked out the window onto the manicured lawns outside. In broad daylight, the property was even more impressive. The distraction of considering how high their landscaping bill must be only helped for a moment.
Gabe had gotten to my mother already, must’ve called her when I didn’t come back to his place last night.
I’d already been dodging her calls, trying desperately not to meet her new boyfriend. She claimed he was a real gem, a nice guy who wanted to take care of her. But after years of complete and utter duds, I knew better than to trust her taste.
Still, Gabe knew how to needle a weak spot. And despite my best efforts to cut off my mother, I still cared about her. At least most days I did.
I’ll deal with this later.
Without speaking to her, I already knew what her advice would be: shut up and fall for the rich man. Take his money and deal with the assholery of it all. At least you’ll be taken care of.
Not much good it did for her.
But she wasn’t here, and I didn’t have to hear that shit. Not now at least.
So instead, I strode across the gorgeous bedroom I’d occupied for the night and opened the towering mahogany door. It was heavier than I remembered, but alcohol always made me feel a bit stronger than I really was.
Plus my bones were aching from the exhausting night I’d had before. I could only imagine how much worse it would have been on a shittier mattress.
As soon as I was in the hallway, I doubted my ability to find my way out of this labyrinthian house.
I went by memory for the first few hallways, the hardwood floors creaking beneath the carpet under my feet. Maybe my steps would help my two saviors echolocate me. I’d fallen asleep thinking about them, the way they came to my rescue. The way Spencer had watched me from across the bar.
The way they threw Gabe to the ground and gave him what he’d been asking for.
My chest tightened.
Stop thinking about him.
But as I walked through the house, getting more and more lost with each turn I took, reality set in. I’d run away from him. All of my stuff was in his apartment. And after what happened, there was no way to get that shit back without begging for forgiveness.
And I wasn’t one to beg. Not to him.
I turned a sharp corner, following the wainscoting on the walls around it. Running my finger along the ridges of the wood, I felt my mind flash back to being a kid. To letting my fingers explore every space, guiding me down dozens of hallways just like this.
Shaking my head, my fugue state was interrupted by a rustling plastic tarp hanging over the threshold to a new hallway.
I stopped moving and stared at it. A wave of dread washed over me, the smell of fresh spackle filling my nose as I glared through the translucent sheet.
Though the details were blurred through the plastic, it seemed like the whole hallway was closed off. I guessed every wing needed to be renovated one at a time.
I hadn’t crossed through this area last night though. I’d definitely have remembered the distinct “do not enter” vibes emanating from the doorway.
I couldn’t stop the curiosity from growing in my body.
I had every intention of leaving the mansion and facing down the terrors that waited in the wake of the bar fight.
But with every second I spent here, I felt myself drawn further in.
I wanted — no, needed — to know more about these strange bikers.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d stood there staring at the plastic sheet before I reached out my hand to feel the waxy panel.
My fingers were centimeters from ripping it down and peeking down the hallway when a firm hand clamped my shoulder and ripped me away from the sheeting.
From the grip alone, I knew it wasn’t one of the sweethearts who’d come to my aid last night.
She snarled down at me — the cruel one who’d wanted me out on the street. Last night, she wouldn’t spare me a glance, but now, she towered inches from my face, her fingertips burning my skin where she’d pinned me against the wall.
I squirmed to get away, but her grip was iron, her breath hot as it washed over my face and invaded my lungs. “Where do you think you’re going?”