Chapter 5
Tori
I wake with a dry mouth, a throbbing headache, and the sickening feeling of shameful embarrassment as I recall the events of last night.
I deal with my basic needs first, before downing a glass of water that someone left on my nightstand.
I hunt through the bathroom cabinets for something for my headache and pop a couple of Advil.
There’s a new toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as bodywash and shampoo, neatly left out for visitors.
I brush my teeth, before running the shower and climbing under the warm stream.
Afterward, I feel a little bit more human.
But there’s nothing I can do about the embarrassment I feel about what I did last night.
Did I really ask Hunter to kiss me? I cringe at the memory of his rejection.
It was rejection, I wasn’t too drunk to forget that, but still.
What the hell got into me? If that’s how I act when I’ve drunk too much, perhaps I should steer clear of alcohol altogether.
Sure, Hunter was flirting with me, I’m not so deluded as to have imagined that, but he’s probably the kind of guy who flirts with everyone.
It’s clear he’s a bit of a player. He must think I’m some stupid kid, falling for the first guy to show me any affection.
I climb back into bed, placing the pillow over my head and wishing the ground would swallow me whole.
There’s a knock at the door, and I consider ignoring it. I’m too ashamed to want to face Hunter yet, or any of the guys, for that matter. “Is everything okay in there?” Cyrus says through the door when I don’t respond.
“I’m fine,” I call out, hoping he’ll go away.
“Can I come in?” he tentatively asks.
I want to say no, but I can’t exactly refuse him entry when this is his house. “Yes.” I sit up in bed, pulling the sheets close to cover me. I’m only wearing a pair of panties; the last thing I want is for Cyrus to think I’m throwing myself at him, too.
“Morning,” Cyrus says brightly, a smile warming his face.
“I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some food.” He’s carrying a tray laden with food that he sets in front of me on the bed.
Toast, eggs and bacon, yogurt with fruit, a bowl of cereal, as well as a coffee with cream on the side, and a glass of orange juice.
“I didn’t know what you like…” Cyrus sheepishly admits with a self-deprecating shrug.
I’m speechless for a moment by the gesture, staring at the feast before me.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, frowning anxiously as his eyes study the plate, looking for problems.
I shake my head. “No. Nothing. It’s just that I’ve never been made breakfast in bed before. Thank you.”
Cyrus beams at me. “It was my pleasure. How are you feeling this morning?” he asks as I sip the coffee, unable to face food just yet.
“Awful,” I reply with a small smile.
He grins back. “I’d like to say the hangovers get better, but it’s actually the opposite. They get even worse when you’re old like me.”
“You’re not old.”
He chuckles. “You’re kind. Old enough to know better than to get drunk, but I still do it anyway.” I want to ask how old he is, but I don’t know how to. Thankfully, he answers my question before I have to ask it. “I’m forty-two. Ancient to you, I’m sure.”
I shake my head. “Not at all. You seem younger.”
“You seem older, no offense,” he hastily adds. I glow with happiness.
“None taken at all. I guess I had to grow up pretty fast. My dad wasn’t exactly hands-on when I was young.
” I grimace as I remember just how neglectful he was.
“He left me in the care of whichever woman he was dating at the time. Women who resented me and only pretended to care when he was around, until they realized he didn’t love me either.
” I’m surprised to have blurted that out and shared it. Shame creeps up my neck.
Cyrus looks sad. “I’m sorry, no kid deserves that.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal. “What about you? What were your parents like?” It’s rare for me to have a genuine conversation with someone.
I didn’t have friends growing up. I wasn’t allowed to, and I was barely spoken to by any of the club members.
Now I have someone to talk to, albeit under strange circumstances, I’m hungry for human interaction and to learn more about the men who have shown me kindness, despite their original reasons for taking me.
“I was lucky compared to Hunter and Flint. My parents were good people, the kind of parents all kids deserve. My father was a member of Ghost Riders. That’s how I met Flint and Hunter when we were kids,” Cyrus explains.
“Their parents were members too?” I ask curiously as I hesitantly take a small bite of toast.
Cyrus tilts his head slightly, as if contemplating how much to share with me.
“Flint’s dad, Tracker, was a member. He never knew his mom, but Maggie, our former Prez’s old lady, was like one to him, to both of us, really.
Tracker died ten years ago.” He glances at me then, and I can tell he’s wrestling with telling me how he died or not.
“He was killed the last time we were at war with your father’s club. ”
Although I know it wasn’t my fault, that I was just a kid then, and I can barely recall the war, guilt floods me knowing that my father was responsible in some way for Flint no longer having a dad.
Flint must hate me. Cyrus doesn’t offer any further information, and I’m not sure I want to know either. “I’m sorry,” I offer lamely.
Cyrus makes sure I meet his gaze before speaking.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says forcefully.
“Hunter didn’t grow up in the Ghost Riders like Flint and me; he joined later on.
He had a rough home life. Maggie took him in one day after she found him trying to steal from one of the businesses.
She realized he was doing it because he was starving.
His junkie parents weren’t feeding him. The courts kept sending him home, and he’d run away again.
That went on for a while. When he was eighteen, he moved in here for food and started prospecting. ”
“Poor Hunter. I guess I’m not the only one with a fucked up family,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “So, you said your father was a member. Where are your parents now?” I ask, imagining them retired in Florida or something.
“Dead. My parents died when I was fifteen in a motorcycle accident,” Cyrus clarifies, making me feel like shit for asking. Trust me to land my foot in it and turn the conversation from gloomy to depressing with one question.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching out to squeeze his hand without thinking. My blanket slips, and I quickly pull my hand away to cover my dignity. All of a sudden, I’m reminded of how naked I am.
Cyrus must realize this, too, as he blushes and stands up abruptly. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I should get going, leave you to eat in peace. Don’t feel like you’ve gotta stay in this room. You can hang out in the living room or in the clubhouse if you want.”
“Right, yes. Thanks for the food. And for talking to me,” I add. As much as I’m kicking myself for screwing up the conversation, I’m grateful that Cyrus took the time to speak to me and for his honesty.
“You don’t need to thank me for speaking to you,” Cyrus says with a sad smile. “I’ll see you later, Tori.” With that, he quietly closes the door behind him, and I hear his footsteps heading downstairs; no doubt he’s desperate to get away from me.
He said I can leave this room at any time and explore, but right now I want to lock myself away and hide. I’ve not even been here a day, and I’ve already managed to embarrass myself in front of two of them.
***
My plan to stay in my room doesn’t last long.
After a couple of hours, I feel like I’m going stir-crazy.
The room is nice enough, simple yet comfortable, a classic guest room, but there isn’t a lot to do in here.
There’s no TV or books, and my phone was confiscated from me last night.
Despite our agreement, I can’t blame Flint for being cautious and deciding to hold onto it.
They don’t yet know for sure if they can trust me.
Besides, I don’t really need my phone, it’s not like I have anyone I can talk to.
When my boredom finally becomes unbearable, I get out of bed and get dressed.
I’ll have to speak to the guys about getting me some more clothes if I’m going to stay here a while.
I can’t live in the same outfit day in and day out.
My stomach rumbles, my appetite coming back with a vengeance, so I go in search of the kitchen.
I assume that the bedrooms will be in one area and the kitchen and living area in another, so I walk toward the door at the end of the corridor.
I open it to find a large, open plan kitchen and living area.
The kitchen is sleek and masculine, with black countertops and slate-gray cabinets.
A giant flatscreen TV dominates the living room with a big, comfortable-looking L-shaped gray sofa in front of it.
There are no pictures on the walls, no knick-knacks or feminine touches.
The house screams bachelor pad. I’m relieved to find the room empty, and I wonder if the guys are in their rooms or downstairs in the clubhouse.
I’m guessing they’re in the clubhouse. A small part of me is tempted to go and snoop in their rooms, out of pure curiosity to learn more about them, but I push the thought aside.
They’ve trusted me enough to leave me alone here.