CHAPTER 15
GRAYCIE
The hot water in the shower is helping to get my head back on straight. Even though I hated waking up alone in Turner’s bed, I needed a little distance. I needed to be able to think. Now, finally, it feels like I can think clearly.
I realize how ridiculous I’ve been.
Why did I head straight to the Saint’s Outlaws clubhouse when I opened that envelope? Sure, Turner makes me feel safe and it’s obvious that he’s not afraid of getting his hands dirty, but a motorcycle club? What was I thinking?
Sylvester sent me the card to scare me. But would he really go out of his way to track me down and show up here?
I don’t think so.
I’m not worth that kind of effort.
The silence in the bathroom, which is much nicer than I was expecting considering the clubhouse is a converted warehouse, echoes around me and I take a deep breath of the steamy air. My skin is pink from the heat of the water, but if it’s not almost scalding you, are you really taking a shower?
After wrapping my body in a surprisingly fluffy towel, which I’m sure Opal had something to do with, I step out into Turner’s room and almost jump out of my skin.
His gray eyes take me in from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and then back again.
The way he looks at me has my body responding immediately.
Even if I did overreact by coming here when all I got in the mail was a card, I don’t regret giving myself to Turner. How could I? He made me feel things I’ve never even thought about before. It was more than desire being satisfied by pleasure. It was deeper, more.
“Hi,” I squeak out while clutching the towel to me.
It’s not because I’m scared of him. No, I’m scared about what I’m about to do. Like dropping the towel and throwing myself at him when all he’s doing is sitting on the edge of his own damn bed.
Is it really his fault that he’s sexy as fuck? I mean, maybe.
Turner takes a deep breath, and I can’t help but watch the way the fabric of his t-shirt pulls tight across his chest. Tattoos peek out of the bottom of the short sleeves and my eyes trail down his arms to take in the black ink which make up the designs I was touching not too long ago.
Including two snakes.
My thighs clench and I grip the towel a little tighter and my knuckles turn white.
“Hey.” He pauses before adding, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.” Turner’s voice is rough and the way his hands grip his knees give away how much control he’s using right now.
I take a step closer without even realizing I’m doing it. My man tracks the movement like a predator which causes goosebumps to pop up all over my body. He does something wicked to me, something I never want to stop, with just a look.
It’s a delicious feeling, decadent in the best of ways.
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I needed a moment to think about things.” I look away from him, unable to handle the weight of his stare.
“I think I overreacted. I shouldn’t have come here.
” I shrug my shoulders helplessly, feeling more than a little silly about my breakdown earlier.
“So, I got a card in the mail; it’s not that big of a deal. ”
“Graycie,” there’s a warning in Turner’s voice, but I still can’t bear to look at him.
What if he agrees with me? Maybe he’ll think I thrive off the drama of my past instead of me wanting nothing to do with it. If I could forget, I would in an instant. My scars won’t let me.
Turner stands up slowly and I have to tip my head back slightly to look up into his eyes. The way he dwarfs me should make me want to flinch back from him, but I’ve felt his touch. I’m not afraid, even with how much bigger he is than me.
When his hands come down on my bare shoulders, a shiver works its way up my spine. I’m letting out small, panting breaths while trying to hold myself back. Not that I don’t want him, I do, but I’ve never felt so wanton before and I’m not entirely sure how to act.
My pussy feels so fucking empty without him filling me with his cock.
“Hey,” he murmurs and my gaze snaps up to his. One side of his mouth quirks up and his gray eyes dance with tempered amusement. “Where’d you go just now?”
“Hmm?” I shake my head, trying to clear the lust fog which always seems to descend whenever he’s around. “Oh, nowhere. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure,” he drawls while letting go of one of my shoulders to allow his fingers to glide back and forth along the edge of my towel.
Taunting.
Teasing.
Testing.
He clears his throat and his eyes harden slightly. “You were right to come to me, Angel,” he rasps.
Something in his voice has my hackles rising. “Wh-why do you say that?”
When his eyes find mine again, the intensity there has my breath stalling in my lungs. Something has happened. I don’t need him to say it to know. Dread coils in my gut and even though my mind is screaming at me to run, to hide, my feet keep me rooted in place.
“While you were sleeping, we had church,” he starts to tell me.
My eyebrows furrow with confusion. Church? I don’t exactly picture the men of the Saint’s Outlaws MC as being the type to attend a service.
Turner’s chuckle is a low rumble as he explains with a shrug, “It’s what we call meetings around here.”
“Oh,” I hold the word out with dawning understanding, “that makes a lot more sense.”
“Pretty sure we’d be struck down if we were talking about an actual church service,” Turner has a sheepish look on his face as he rubs the underside of his jaw.
I track the movement and can almost feel the way his stubble roughly rubbed against my skin earlier. Instead of telling him I want to feel it again, I bite my lip and wait. He’s not done with whatever he has to say.
“Ryker called in everyone who was available,” he goes on to explain and I nod absently; I’m half listening and half fantasizing.
Can you really blame me?
Turner Garner is sexy as hell and I’m practically naked. It wouldn’t take anything for him to grip the towel, tug it out of my hands, and let it fall to the floor. My nipples become painfully hard, and I hope the towel hides my body’s reaction to him.
“Whiskey was able to get information on,” he swallows hard before spitting out, “that bastard.” I nod with his words, a little amused because he won’t say his name. Not that I blame him. “He thinks he’s a big shot, but he’s not as connected as he’d like people to believe.”
“He always made it sound like he was representing some underground kingpin who could make a body disappear and was vital to the whole operation.” My words don’t sound like a protest, but they are.
Because if Sylvester wasn’t as powerful as he said, as I thought he was, then I could have run a lot sooner. I should have.
Turner shakes his head slowly. “He’s represented a few low-level dealers and a few criminals with flights of fancy about their own place in the world, but that’s about it. The only power he has is in his head.”
My shoulders slump as I look down at the floor. “I’m a fucking moron,” I mutter to myself.
“No,” Turner barks and I jump slightly, not because I’m scared, but because the venom in his voice takes me by surprise. “You’re not a moron. We’ve already been over this.” The look he gives me has my lips clamping shut and cutting off whatever protest I was about to lodge.
We have already been over this.
I’m tired of going over the same ground which is littered with self-recrimination. It’s exhausting. And I’ve been doing it for so damn long.
“You need to know something else.” His voice softens as if it will lessen the impact of whatever he’s about to say; my gut is screaming at me, and I try to mentally brace myself. “He took a leave of absence from his job and Whiskey tracked him to the Nasvhille airport where he rented a car.”
My knees go weak and my entire body buckles. But Turner is there to keep me upright.
“No,” I whisper as my eyes fill with tears. I swear every scar on my body, the ones he put there, throb with the impending confrontation.
Was I really in the fucking shower trying to convince myself it wasn’t that bad? That he was just trying to scare me and wouldn’t really come after me?
“No,” my voice is filled with pain.
Turner wraps his arms around me and pulls me flush against his chest. My forehead rests there and, in the safety of his embrace, I allow myself to fall apart. Again.
The tears come fast and race down my cheeks as fear grips my heart and makes my chest ache. He holds me steady, his arms strong and sure. There is no hesitation in the way he holds me.
“I’ve got you, Angel,” he murmurs the words against the top of my head. “We’ll find him. The moment he steps foot in town, we’ll know.”
“I’m not worth it,” I gasp the words, terror filling every syllable along with the hope that he believes them, takes them, and runs with them. “I need to go. You need to let me go.”
Because nothing good can come of me being here. Of me bringing a monster to the gates.
His hands are unyielding as his fingers dive into my hair, and he shakes me gently while pulling me just far enough away from his body for my towel to fall free. Because I wasn’t holding it, I was holding him. “There,” he growls, “that’s better.”
“Turner,” his name on my lips is almost a moan, almost a plea, almost an admonishment.
“I’ve got you now, Graycie-girl,” for the first time the endearment sounds like a threat.
My nipples harden, exposed to the cooler air and the nearness of him. Unavoidable. Inevitable.
“And I’m going to fuck those thoughts right out of your head,” he growls.
Then we’re moving. I’m laid out on the bed underneath him, the roughness of his jeans against my thighs as my legs drop open for him. His cut feels like a hiss against my skin, a skimming and a catch, a hook, a desire.
“Take my cock out.” His words are a demand, and my hands are scrambling to comply before I even realize what I need to do.