Chapter Eight
Why am I hearing Lady Gaga?
It was the first thing Kira thought when consciousness came back.
For a moment, she thought it was her neighbor playing the music at full volume, then she opened her eyes and saw she was in a strange bed, in a strange room, probably in a stranger’s house.
Memories flooded in, and panic engulfed her.
She sat up quickly and looked down at herself to see if she was clothed.
Her panties and bra were still on, but her uniform was gone.
No. No, no, no. Not again. Please not again!
Then off-key singing reached her once more and she recognized the voice.
Sinn. Did he ... did he rescue her? The entire left side of her face took that moment to bloom in pain.
Exploring, she discovered a bandage rested on her forehead.
Minor crusted scrapes left her skin tender to the touch.
She needed to know what happened, so she rose and gave a peak into the closet in the hope of finding something to cover her undergarments.
Her room was empty, so she pulled the top sheet off and wrapped it around her body like a Greek toga.
Leaving her room, she followed the music.
A new pop song started, and again, Sinn sang completely off key and at the top of his lungs.
Taking slow steps forward, she glanced in each room she passed.
A bathroom she’d need soon. A bedroom. A couple of closed doors.
She came to the foyer and finally, the hallway ended at a huge open floor plan.
Dark wood was offset with white marble. The living room had built-in bookcases framing an electric stone fireplace.
Above the mantle, the largest television she’d ever seen was mounted on the wall.
Oversized chairs and a wide sofa faced it.
The division from the living room to the kitchen was a huge island that dominated a large plot of land, complete with four barstools neatly pushed in.
Stainless steel appliances. More cabinets than the White House.
The overhead lights gave an industrial vibe, which took it away from being pretty.
It was a kitchen that should be featured in magazines.
It took her a moment to realize all he wore were boxers and socks, and he had some of the most beautiful tattoos she’d ever seen. Black-and-white motifs of mountains and lakes. Buffalo and horses. All depictions of Wyoming. The moment she stepped forward, Sinn turned and spotted her.
“Alexa, cancel,” he called out and the loud pop song abruptly ended. “Morning, darlin’! Have a seat at the island. Breakfast is coming right up.”
“Um, what are you wearing?”
He looked down at his apron that read, Smokin’ hot and I don’t mean the food. “Nothing but the truth.”
“Nice. Do you know where my uniform is?”
“In the dryer,” he answered. He plated bacon, some eggs and toast, and sat it on the island. “What are you waiting for? Come. Sit and eat while it’s hot.”
Her mouth already watering from the delicious smells wafting from the plate. “How long is it going to be before my uniform is ready?”
“Oh, probably thirty or forty minutes,” Sinn answered, waving his hand in the air in a dismissive wave. “Just enough time to eat some breakfast.”
“But I have to go to work. Actually, I’m late for work.”
“I called Joe for you. He’s good.”
“But—”
“I sent a few club girls to cover,” Saint said from behind her.
Startled, she spun so fast her foot got tangled in the sheet.
She was going down like the Titanic until he caught her, pulling her into his body.
Then, the most clichéd thing in the world happened.
Her heart skipped a beat, and not with fear.
Saint’s piercing gaze held her captive, as if he could see straight through her defenses.
The air crackled between them, thick with unspoken words.
A magnetic force that confused her as much as it tried to reel her in.
This wasn’t fear holding her immobile because she knew what that type of helplessness felt like, and strangely, never once did she feel intimidated or in danger from them.
She licked her lips. “I, ah, need to get to work.”
“Joe said you work too many hours, and gave you a few days of rest when I explained what happened,” he said.
She reached up to touch the left side of her face, gently probing the small, peppered scabs riding along her cheek. Now that he brought attention to it, the wounds began to throb. Last night slammed into her head with perfect clarity.
“You saved me,” she whispered to Saint.
“I saw the guy drag you into the alley between your apartment building and the next,” he explained. “Any clue who your stalker is?”
She shook her head, and he slowly put her upright. Holding her until she was steady on her feet.
“Why do you work so much?”
The abrupt change of topic befuddled her for a moment. “Because ... I, uh, I need the money, of course. Why do most people work?”
“You need the money?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Yeah.”
“If you need money so badly, why didn’t you keep the duffel bag full of cash?” His tone wasn’t harsh but it had a puzzled ring through it, as if he was truly trying to figure her out. “Why work fifteen hours a day?”
A dozen excuses popped into her head. Yet, the longer she maintained eye contact, the more the lies started to wither. Until all that was left was the truth.
“I work because it’s the only thing keeping me alive,” she whispered. Suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes. “I tell myself if I can just make it through one more day, then tomorrow will be better. Only, it’s never better.”
A tear splashed down onto her cheek. Before she reached up to wipe it away, Saint beat her to it, his touch gentle as he carefully dried her tears.
“Why is it never better?”
She didn’t want to answer that, and truthfully, she had no idea how to even start. When she shook her head and looked down, he placed a finger under her chin to tilt her face up so she had no choice except to stare into his eyes.
“Tell me.”
“I used to live in Laramie,” she started, faltering almost instantly. “Had a boyfriend. He wanted to be part of the local MC there, and even started to prospect—”
“What?” Saint snapped, and suddenly all the tenderness collapsed like a house of cards. The warmth in his eyes turned into frost. “I knew it. Fucking knew it.”
He gripped her arm and shook her as his fingers dug into her flesh. She cried out and tried to pry them off her but he wouldn’t let go.
“You’re working with the Bone Breakers, aren’t you? Acting like Little Miss Innocent. Flashing your wounded eyes. Deceiving me!”
“What?” she cried out. “Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
“Saint, let her go,” Sinn ordered. “Now.”
Saint turned his head to stare at his brother. “You heard her.”
“And you didn’t. Look at her, Brother. Look at her and tell me you don’t see she’s just as messed up as you and I.”
Saint did just that. He stared at her face.
Studied her eyes. Whatever he saw bit through the anger and little by little, his grip eased up until she yanked away and ran back through the hall.
Her uniform had to be dry enough by now.
Even if it were damp, she was going to get the damn thing and never, ever return.
Perhaps she’d finally leave Wyoming for good.
“I’m sorry.”
She gasped and spun around. Saint stood in the doorway of the bedroom where she’d woken up.
Kira threw up her hands. She didn’t want to be hurt anymore. “I just need my uniform. I won’t bother you again. You can forget about me and I can forget about you. In fact, I’ll ... I’ll leave town—”
“Fuck,” he muttered, interrupting her panicky diatribe. “Look, it seems I have a pervasive feeling of being conspired against.”
She blinked, not understanding that at all. “What?”
“Sinn is an amateur psychologist,” he explained. “Apparently, I suffer from paranoia.”
“Uh. Okay.” She didn’t care. “I just want my uniform.”
He took a step forward and she took a panicked step back. His hand went up like he was trying to approach a wounded animal.
“It’s not you. As idiotic as it sounds, it’s me.
Look, I don’t do this.” He gestured the space between them.
“I don’t comfort. I don’t have empathy. The only things I care about are my brother and my club, and I protect those fiercely.
I was looking for deceit from you because people always have ulterior motives. ”
“Because you’re paranoid,” she added softly.
They stared at one another. Slowly, her defenses lowered. Not all, but enough to realize they shared paranoia.
“I think Sinn would say the same about me.”
“I’ll get him to drive you back to your apartment. We won’t bother you again.”
“You made that promise already and I woke up in your house.”
“I saved you,” he reminded.
“Thank you. Can I go now?”
He opened his mouth to say something but then must have decided to let it go. He nodded just as Sinn entered the bedroom, holding her uniform.
“Lay it on the bed, please.”
He did, and then the brothers left the bedroom.
Saint closed the door behind him, and a wave of relief washed over her.
What was that? Did she actually have something in common with Saint?
Moving quickly, she dropped the sheet and dressed quickly.
When she entered the kitchen again, only Sinn was present.
“I’ll take you home, Kira,” he said. Seems like she lost her nickname.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and led the way outside, where a pickup truck waited.
She had expected motorcycles, but she was quite surprised to see that Sinn and Saint lived in a perfectly ordinary suburban community.
The grass was trimmed, the branches of a tree offered shade.
A large garage rested just off the driveway, and a white picket fence was the cherry on top.
It certainly wasn’t the image she thought of when someone mentioned bikers.
“I thought all bikers lived at the clubhouse.”
“When we were younger we did,” Sinn said.
He held open the truck door and went to help her, but she pulled away from him.
He sighed and backed up so she could hop into the cab.
He resumed talking when he was behind the wheel.
“He and I are the leaders, so we decided it was time to find our own space.”
She was curious in spite of herself. “You never wanted to live apart?”
He shrugged. “Saw no reason to. We work together so we live together.”
“It must be nice to have family.”
“You have no one?”
“No.” She rarely thought about her past. Many mistakes hung around her neck like a noose. “My parents stopped talking to me when I wouldn’t stop dating this guy. I moved in with him and then a few weeks later, they were dead. House fire.”
They rode a few minutes in silence.
“Our parents died too,” Sinn said, snapping her out of her recollections. “Car accident when we were fifteen. State took over since we had no other family, but we never stayed in any one foster home too long. Prospected with the Sons of Sin at seventeen and been with them ever since.”
She had a feeling there was more to the story, but she wouldn’t pry.
That was their story to tell, not hers to demand.
Suddenly, heavy plumes of black smoke could be seen rising in the air, and a dreadful feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.
Sinn must have picked up on her sense of dread because he stepped on the gas.
Moments later, he skidded to a halt because of barricades.
She wasted no time jumping out of the truck in an effort to get closer.
“Stay back!” a policeman yelled at her.
“But that’s my apartment building,” she cried.
The fire blazed hot and high, bursting from every window as the building was quickly consumed.
Kira stood mesmerized, as she watched her entire world implode once more.
It was all gone. Everything she had, decimated in a single moment.
A weight settled on her shoulders, dragging her down into despair, and she had no idea if she was strong enough to actually pick up the pieces and rebuild herself one more time.
Everything spun and she closed her eyes, hoping the merry-go-round soon stopped.
It was too hard. Everything was always too hard.
There came a point when it was all meaningless.
Then a gentle hand landed on her shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” Sinn said softly.
Then he scooped her up, bridal style, and headed back to the truck. She didn’t care what he did with her. All her self-perseverance disappeared. She didn’t care about anything anymore.