Chapter 7 Willow
Willow
Idon’t know how many hours have passed since Pans slammed the door and stomped upstairs, shutting me out as well as shutting me in. But my lips still smart from the kiss.
The fluorescent light glows dimly, illuminating the basement. It could be the middle of the night or the middle of the day. I have no idea.
I tried to sleep but my body was too awake, remembering the press of Pans’s weight on top of me, his stubble grazing my cheeks and scratching my skin, his hot breath on my throat. The hungry look in his eyes and the way he devoured me for a few blissful moments.
And then the moment he pulled back, horrified at what he was doing. Not realizing it's exactly what I want him to do.
I'm drawn to the man. Despite being in a cage, despite being locked up, or maybe because of it.
There's something dark inside him that stirs something in me.
Makes me long for him to press his body against mine again, to find out where that kiss would take us.
My body shudders at the memory. I've never let a man touch me the way that I want him to touch me.
I'm inexperienced, still a virgin, but I would give that up for Pans.
Restless, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The pain is not as sharp as it was earlier, but it’s still a struggle to get to the table for food.
I rustle the last bag of Cheetos, but it’s empty. I’ve devoured the snacks Gina brought me. Pans took the bread and other groceries upstairs, but he hasn’t come back with a sandwich.
A tremor of fear shakes my insides. What if he’s not coming back?
Who would know I'm here? How long would it take to find me? How long can I survive on Cheeto crumbs and two cans of diet Cola?
But something tells me Pans won't leave me here. He will come for me. I know from the hungry look that was in his eyes. He won't be able to stay away.
I flick through the magazine that Gina left me and discard it. I've already read it cover to cover.
I should sleep. But every time I close my eyes, I feel the press of Pans’s body, the scrape of his lips, his hardness straining against me.
My thighs squeeze together and my hand wanders down my body, needing to ease this ache.
The door to the basement opens, and I sit up with a start.
"Pans?"
My voice comes out with a squeak.
Ignoring the pain in my foot, I hobble to the bars. He's carrying a plate of food, and hungry though I am, my eyes go to him. He has a hard expression on his face, as if he's trying to forget what happened between us.
"I brought you some lunch." He stops by the door of the cage and eyes me warily. "If I open the door, will you try to escape?"
I tighten my grip on the bars and give him what I hope is a defiant look.
"If you open the door, will you try to kiss me again?"
His body goes rigid, and his gaze meets mine. The heat in that look could scorch the earth.
He steps close so there's only metal bars between us.
“You can be sure, Willow, that I won't kiss you again."
Disappointment floods me, and I look down so he doesn't see my face flush with heat. I want him to kiss me. I desperately want him to kiss me. But it’s obvious it was a mistake that he’s not willing to repeat.
I step aside and he opens the door, putting the tray down on the table. I try not to fall on the food, but I'm so hungry I can't help myself. It's a ham sandwich with fresh bread, and I dive into it eagerly.
Pans’s eyes travel to my swollen ankle, which looks slightly less purple today.
“How are you feeling?"
Confused, frustrated, and horny are all the things I don’t say.
"Fine. I feel fine."
I've sat on the side of the bench bed to eat and Pans stands next to me, watching me devour the sandwich.
“Take a seat," I say, moving my arm expansively as if this is my home and he’s a guest.
He grunts and sits next to me on the bed. He could have sat further down, but he sits right up close so that our thighs are nearly touching. I'm aware of the heat jumping between us, so hot it could melt butter.
"We're tracking The Reapers.”
I swallow the last bite of sandwich, and it sticks in my suddenly dry throat.
"What will you do when you find them?"
Pan scratches his chin and looks away, not meeting my eyes, which makes me think that whatever the fate of The Reapers is, it won’t be good.
"My main concern is for them to leave you alone," he says “To convince them you’re not a threat. While you're staying on our premises, you’re under our protection. But as soon as you leave here, we can't account for what happens to you."
There's a flicker of fear in his eyes that makes my chest constrict. Does Pans care what happens to me? The way I'm beginning to care about him?
I wonder what it would be like to be with this man. To always have a safe place and protection from the club.
"You said you don't have family. Where will you go?"
His words pull me out of my reverie.
The last few days have been surreal. I should be mad at my situation, but the truth is I’ve been healing and resting and it’s been a nice distraction. I haven’t had to think about the future. I’ve just had to exist.
“Where will I go?” I repeat the question slowly, thinking through the answer. Pans gives me an odd look.
"Where will you go once we make it safe for you? Where were you going when you had the accident?”
Oh, that's a good question. Because I don't really know. All my life I've been going, going, going. It was always my mom and me, on the road from one small town to the next, Mom picking up odd jobs here and there. Until I turned eighteen.
I woke up the day after my birthday to find her gone. She left a note saying that I was an adult now, and it was time for her to be on her own.
I didn’t try to catch up with her. I was too mad. It took me a long time to want to track her down. And when I did, it was too late.
"I was going to visit my mother's grave."
The hard mask Pans’s been wearing since he brought me the food disintegrates, and a softness comes into his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I've been living on my own for the last three years. I've gotten used to it. My mother was a free spirit, and I always knew she would leave me one day. I’m still coming to grips with the fact that she's left, left. Left this world for good, you know what I mean?”
There’s the sting of tears in my eyes, and I blink them back. I've done my share of crying for my mom, and I know it's not what she'd want.
Pans sets a hand on my shoulder, and heat immediately surges through my body.
"Do you have any other family; anywhere else you can go?"
I shake my head.
"Everything I owned was in the back of that car. I was going to look for seasonal work in Southern California.”
“You're going to pick fruit?” Pans sounds surprised.
“Why not?” I stick my chin out defiantly. “I did it with Mom when I was younger. I was going to go for the season. Maybe stay, maybe move on."
“Just because your mother lived a certain way doesn’t mean you have to, Willow.”
I turn away. I can't bear the intense look Pans gives me, as if he can see into my soul and see the emptiness there.
Because the truth is I've yearned to be a part of something for so long. I hated the way we moved around all the time, but I don’t know anything else. I don’t know how to stay.
"I'm sorry, Willow," he says as I swipe at a tear. God damn this man for bringing up so many emotions.
His fingers brush my cheek, wiping away the last of my tears. His touch is warm, and I close my eyes. I lean my chin into the palm of his hand, and he cups my face.
I take his other hand, and without thinking bring it to my lips, brushing them over the scarred skin.
"Willow." It comes out choked, like a warning, and when I open my eyes there's a tortured look on his face.
I turn his hand over to the unblemished skin and press my lips to his wrist, feeling his pulse jump under my kiss.
"You don't know what you're unleashing," he says.
His grip tightens on my chin, and it sends a shiver all the way down my spine. My lady parts thrum as he caresses my throat.
"There's something inside me, something dark." His fingers dig into the soft skin of my throat. "I cannot unleash that on you."
His words are tight with restraint, and knowing how much he’s fighting it turns me on all the more.
I clench my thighs together, wondering if he knows the effect he's having on me. Heat surges inside me as his thumb scrapes over my throat. I part my lips, waiting for the kiss.
When it comes, it's like a bolt of electricity shooting between us. My veins come alive. My blood is on fire. I feel the energy of this man, the darkness inside him fighting to get out. And I want it. I want to feel its power.
His hands slide down my neck and his fingers close around my throat; his grip tightens, and I gasp in his mouth as new sensations course through my body.
The gasp startles him, and Pans drops his hold on me and springs off the bed.
“Christ…” Pans looks pained as he runs his hands through his hair. A groan wrenches from his chest, and he staggers to the door of the cage.
“Don’t leave.” I try to pull him back, but with my bad leg but I’m too slow.
He slams the door behind him and locks it in place as I drag myself to the side of the cage. I don't know if he's locking me in or locking himself out.
“Pans,” I call out again, and he must hear the desperation in my voice because he turns to face me.
His face is a picture of agony. The struggle that’s going on inside of him is clear on his face.
"Willow, when I'm around you something comes over me.” He paces as he talks, and I grip the sides of the bars and lean my heated forehead against the cool metal.
“There’s a beast inside me, a darkness, and when I’m around you, I can’t control it.”
"Maybe I don't want you to control it." My voice comes out as a whisper, but it stops him in his tracks. “Maybe I want to see what’s inside of you. Maybe I want to know all of you.”
He takes a step towards me, and his fingers close over mine.
"You couldn't handle me, precious. I would break you."
"Maybe I want to be broken."
We take in deep, ragged breaths, staring at each other. His face is agonized and vulnerable, like a man broken.
"Where does it come from?" I ask suddenly. Because I see a broken man, a man battling with his demons.
I slide my hand free from his and reach through the bars to caress his face. Some of the agony relaxes from his expression.
"Talk to me, Pans. Tell me what you’re so afraid of.”
He stares at me for a long time, and I met his gaze, unwavering. Whatever he’s got to tell me, I’m ready to hear.
After a long moment, he closes his eyes and starts to speak.
"I was in the military for a lot of years.” He says it with a long exhale of breath as if that's the explanation, and maybe it is. "I was in Afghanistan.”
He’s still got his eyes closed, and his forehead creases as if he's reliving the memories.
"I saw too many things. I did terrible things. Things that were sanctioned because we were at war.”
His eyes flick open, and they’re troubled.
“I’m too broken, Willow, and too damaged. I saw the worst of humanity. I tried to be the best, but I saw the worst and I gave in to it. I made this darkness inside of me through the choices I made.”
My fingers reach the furrow of his brow, wanting to smooth away his darkness. I feel for this man, what he gave up for our country.
“It swallowed me whole. The person that I was has become too damaged. There's no good left inside of me."
I think of Pans saving me on his bike, gently tending to my wounds.
“That's not true. You saved me. You protected me, and you could have left me to die on the road.”
My hands travel down his throat, past his pulse, beating against my fingertips, down to his chest until I get to his solid heart. I press my palm to his chest.
"There's still good in here, Pans. I know there is.”
Because I believe it's true. There's kindness in this man. I’ve experienced it.
“Whatever the military made you, it’s not all of who you are.”
My fingers keep moving over his chest. I lift up his T shirt and trace the scars on his body.
“Are these from Afghanistan?”
He nods quietly. I want to ask what happened, but I don't want him to relive it. Maybe one day he'll tell me. But for now, I trace the puckered skin.
“I believe in the good inside of you, Pans. I believe in you.”
My ankle’s been throbbing and now I sink to my knees, relieving the pain.
My lips close over the puckered skin on Pans’s body, and he sucks in a sharp breath.
His hands reach for mine, stopping them.
"What are you doing?"
I look up, meeting his gaze levelly.
"I believe you're a good man. You’ve had some shitty experiences, and now I want to give you a little tenderness.”
My lips dip to the hollow of skin above his jeans. Slowly, he releases my hands and I slide them down, between the bars to his belt buckle.