Chapter 2
Meanwhile, in another stairwell of the run-down block of flats, Charlie dragged herself out of the shower.
Her whole body ached and the blue-purple bruises throbbed, but she had no choice.
Work was waiting. With stubborn determination, she got dressed, put on her make-up and prepared herself for the day.
It wasn't the first time Dennis had broken the restraining order, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. As long as his colleagues covered for him, there was nothing she could do.
All the reports and calls to the police had only resulted in more beatings, and as long as he didn't actually beat her to death, she apparently had to be satisfied with that.
The police and the authorities couldn't – or rather wouldn't – help her.
Through the open window, she heard the sound of a motorcycle and realised that the sexy biker who lived downstairs from her was coming home.
She found him extremely pleasant to look at, and sometimes she even hurried outside just to catch a glimpse of him. Not that he would ever look twice at someone like her, but there was nothing wrong with a little eye candy. It made her forget her own misery, if only for a fleeting moment.
She liked his slightly rough appearance, the short dark stubble covering his cheeks, the moustache and the long goatee.
The long, curly braid combined with the shaved sides of his head appealed to her, as did the tattoos behind his ears.
The fact that he was tall, muscular and handsome didn't exactly hurt either.
His smile was dazzling – not that he had ever looked at her long enough to smile at her – but she had seen him smile at the little girl she assumed was his daughter.
The girl shared his features, and they had the same dark eyes.
As Charlie came closer, she spotted them in the car park and heard him talking angrily on the phone. She did her best not to listen and instead let her gaze settle on the little girl, who had just caught sight of one of the first butterflies of spring.
The girl started chasing it, and while the biker was distracted by his phone call, Charlie caught sight of a lorry approaching out of the corner of her eye.
The girl squealed and laughed as she chased the butterfly, completely oblivious to the approaching danger.
Charlie heard herself scream before she took off at full speed towards her.
She didn't think. She simply caught the child in her arms and threw herself to the side just as the lorry thundered past them, missing them by mere inches.
She didn't even hear the biker shout, nor did she register the sharp pain tearing through her thigh. The girl was unharmed, and that was all that mattered.
The lorry continued on its way, either unaware of or indifferent to what had almost happened.
"Are you all right?" Charlie whispered uncertainly to the girl in her arms.
"Mmm." The girl nodded.
A second later, she was lifted out of Charlie's arms. Reeze smothered his daughter in hugs.
"Fuck, you scared me," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion.
Charlie, still too dazed to get to her feet, remained sitting in the dusty ditch. When Reeze had finally convinced himself that his daughter was unharmed, he turned to Charlie and held out his hand.
"Thank you. I don't know what would've happened otherwise... if you hadn't got there in time."
"It was nothing," Charlie stammered, letting his strong hand pull her upright.
The moment she was standing on the pavement, Reeze saw the blood. His gaze dropped to her thigh and he immediately spotted the large shard of glass that had gone straight through her jeans and into her flesh.
"Fuck," he swore. "You need to go to A&E."
"Nah, it's just a scratch," Charlie tried bravely, still dazed by what she'd just done. "I have to get to work."
The biker examined the wound again, as if checking whether it really was as bad as it looked.
"Fuck that," he said firmly. "Come on, I'll take you."
Charlie wasn't given time to protest before she found herself swept up in his strong arms and carried towards his motorcycle.
"But Dad, she can't ride on the bike," Molly giggled, already apparently recovered from her near-death experience.
"Fuck... you're right. Hang on, I'll call a taxi."
He made an attempt to put Charlie back down.
"Take my car," Charlie hissed, the dizziness beginning to catch up with her. "The keys are in my handbag."
"Get the keys, Molly. Which car is yours?"
He handed the handbag to his daughter.
"The white pile of junk in the far corner." Charlie was almost ashamed to admit that the most miserable-looking car in the entire car park belonged to her.
"Fuck..." Reeze swore again.
At that moment, Charlie went limp in his arms.
When Charlie eventually woke, she was lying on a bed in A&E. Molly was sitting beside her, and somewhere out in the corridor she could hear raised, agitated voices.
"I don't give a shit if your latest whore got hurt and you had to drag my kid here. Now I have to cancel my meeting to come and get her."
"She's not a whore. She's my neighbour, and she just saved our daughter's life. What was I supposed to do, leave her lying there because someone pissed in your cornflakes?"
"I don't give a shit what she is, whore or not. You've ruined my whole fucking day, you arsehole."
"I have? Fuck no. Who called me this morning?"
Charlie turned her head and looked at Molly.
"My parents," the girl said quietly. "They're always like that."
"Always?" Charlie asked. She found it difficult to understand how anyone could argue so loudly when their child could hear every word.
"Yeah. They always think I can't hear them. But Mum's always mad at Dad... and the less he says, the angrier she gets."
They were interrupted by a doctor coming in to check on her.
"You were lucky. The piece of glass in your thigh didn't cause any serious damage, although it did bleed quite heavily.
You'll be sore for a while, though. We had to put in ten stitches, so unfortunately there will probably be a scar even if everything heals properly.
You'll be given painkillers and a course of antibiotics – you never know what might have been on a piece of glass lying outside.
Take it easy until we remove the stitches in about a week.
Try not to put too much weight on the leg for the first day or so, and no baths or saunas until the stitches are out.
Showering is fine, but change the dressing afterwards and let the wound get some air now and then. "
The doctor paused when Reeze knocked on the door and looked in.
"Molly, Mum wants to leave now."
"Okay."
Molly hugged Charlie.
"Thank you, neighbour, for saving me."
She smiled before skipping out, and Reeze took her place in the chair beside the bed.
"Sorry for interrupting," he said to the doctor.
"A nurse will bring the prescriptions and help you get ready, then you can go home," she said before turning to Reeze. "Make sure she takes it easy and doesn't put too much strain on that leg for the next few days."
"We're not..." Charlie began, but the doctor was already gone.
For the first time, they were alone.
"You don't have to..." Charlie tried again.
"Don't have to what?" Reeze smiled. "Before we do anything else, maybe we should actually introduce ourselves.
My name's Robert, but everyone calls me Reeze.
The girl you saved is Molly, my daughter.
The screaming woman in the corridor is my ex, Lotta.
We've been divorced for six years. And yes – I'm a member of Wallhalla MC. "
"Charlie." She held out her hand, and his smile widened.
"I think we might be past handshakes by now."
She blushed.
"You're probably right."
A light knock on the door interrupted them. The nurse came in with the paperwork and prescriptions, and once she had gone, it was time for Charlie to leave. Without waiting for permission, Reeze lifted her into his arms and carried her out to the car.
"I can walk," she protested.
"You're supposed to take it easy on that leg. And this is the least I can do for the woman who saved my daughter," he growled.
Charlie rested her head against his shoulder. It wasn't as though she minded being in his arms.
"So, tell me a bit about yourself," he prompted as he drove away from A&E.
"There's not much to tell. I work at the local newspaper and live one stairwell over from you."
"I know." He laughed. "I've seen you coming and going. Didn't you move in a few months ago?"
She nodded. The flat was her third attempt at hiding from Dennis. Not that she could tell Reeze that.
"What do you do?" she asked instead.
"Bartender. At the pub Wallhalla runs."
That wasn't exactly unexpected.
"So, Charlie... is that a nickname?"
"No. That's my name. Dad wanted a boy."
"You're joking."
"Not even slightly. But I like it. Dad drank himself to death years ago."
He didn't say anything more, merely glanced at her. During their conversation, they had reached the miserable block of flats God appeared to have forgotten. When Charlie tried to get out of the car, Reeze was immediately there to open the door.
"I appreciate the help, but you really don't have to," she said.
"I know. But I want to. And I'm guessing the lift in your stairwell doesn't work either."
She nodded. The lift had never worked – not that she would have dared use it even if, by some miracle, it did.
After that, he refused to listen to any further objections and carried her upstairs to her small flat.
"Anything else you need?" he asked as he carefully lowered her onto the sofa.
"No. It's fine. I'll manage."
"I'll get going, then." He handed her a business card. "My number, in case you need anything. If I don't answer straight away, I'll call you back when I can. Can't always hear the phone when I'm riding, and if I'm with the club, it might take a while."
"Thanks, but I'll be fine," she repeated.
He gave her another brief smile before leaving.