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Bee

My head is pounding when I wake up.

This is a normal, everyday occurrence for me. What's different is the ache I have in my jaw. What the hell happened last night?

I roll over in my bed reaching for my pillow only to fall face first onto a thick shag carpet.

"What the fuck?" I croak and try to push myself up. The world spins, but I'm able to right myself.

I don't have a shag carpet. Blinking a few times, I take in my surroundings, and it doesn't take long for me to realize that I'm not home in my bed.

If I'm not home, where the hell am I. Reaching to my side, I search for my cell phone that isn't there. I had a bag last night didn't I? Fuck what the hell.

Climbing back up on the couch, I drop my head in my hands and groan. I've had wild drink fueled nights before but I don't remember the last time it was this bad. I fight to remember what exactly happen, and the memories come back like a tsunami.

I was leaving the bar with someone. I don't know his name and even if I really concentrate on it, I can't even remember what he looks like. Then he got pushy and I tried to get away.

A deep gasp rockets through my system when I realize why my jaw hurts, that fucking bastard tried to rape me.

Did he succeed, am I in his house? Fuck no. No way in hell. I'm going to get another set of balls for Vexx's collection.

Steadying myself on my feet, I, as silently as I can, tip toe in the direction of the back room. It's not lost on me that I don't have a weapon, so on my way to the hallway I stop in the kitchen and grab a knife off the counter. It's a simple steak knife, but it'll do. No one forces me to do anything I don't want to do. It's just not how I roll. This bastard is going to wish he never laid a goddamn hand on me.

My head is pounding. Throbbing so hard I can hear it in my ears, feel it behind my eyes. My mouth is dry, my stomach twisted up in knots, and my skin is slick with sweat even though the apartment is freezing.

I don’t know where I am.

My eyes scan the room trying to see if there are any other weapons around or anyone else for that matter. Always watch my back. I wish I was sane enough last night to follow that rule. Dark cabinets, black marble countertops, stainless steel appliances surround the small kitchen. Sleek. Expensive. Masculine. A heavy scent of coffee lingers in the air, but the pot is empty. No personal touches, no warmth. Just a place to exist, to function.

The hallway is the same—clean, sharp, too neat. Dark wood floors, sparse photographs in cold metal frames. The kind of place a man keeps because it looks good, not because it feels like home.

A pit opens in my stomach.

This is his place.

I swallow, my throat tight, my hands clenching at my sides as flashes of last night pulse through my head like a strobe light—hands grabbing me, breath on my neck, my own voice screaming, then fading.

I don’t remember how I got away.

I don’t remember getting here.

But if I’m in his apartment, then I know exactly what needs to happen next.

I make it to the back room. The door is cracked open, the air inside thick and still. I push it open slowly, my fingers gripping the knife so hard my knuckles ache.

A man is in the bed.

Covers pulled high, hiding most of him except for a messy shock of dark hair. He’s sleeping, breathing deep, completely unaware of what’s coming.

My pulse hammers against my ribs.

I could end this now. Just lunge forward, sink the blade into him before he even knows he’s awake.

But I don’t.

I want to see his face. I want him to know.

I step closer, my breath shallow, my fingers twitching. Then, slowly, I press the tip of the knife into the blanket, just enough to make contact.

The body stirs. A sharp inhale. Then?—

Stormy gray eyes snap open.

I freeze.

The man jerks up, scrambling back against the headboard, his hands flying up in surrender. The covers drop from his face, and suddenly, I’m staring at a familiar face—one that doesn’t belong to my attacker.

His gaze locks onto mine, sharp, alert, flicking down to the knife before meeting my eyes again.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes. "Do you even remember who I am?"

The voice. Deep. Rough. Familiar.

It slams into me all at once. The bar. The whiskey. The bartender.

He’s not the man who hurt me.

The knife in my hand trembles. The room tilts. My stomach churns.

I got it wrong.

I almost?—

I stagger back, my breath shuddering, my mind racing to catch up.

The bartender watches me carefully, his hands still up, his chest rising and falling a little too fast.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix the moment before it shatters completely.

Dropping the knife on the floor I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. I fucked this up completely. This man saved me and here I am brandishing a weapon about to kill him. Thankfully I didn't follow through with my intrusive thoughts just to kill him while he sleeped.

"Hey, you good?" He asks finally dropping his hands down.

"No, man. Does it look like I'm good?" I snap at him and instantly regret it. This isn't how I show him my gratitude or the fact that I'm sorry he was woken up like that.

"I don't know what the hell you look like right now besides a crazy woman with a knife."

"I dropped it see, now I'm just a crazy woman." I smirk sarcastically at him.

"Yeah, sure. You need a hospital or something?" He asks stepping around me and to his dresser where he pulls out a plain white t-shirt.

"No, I'm fine. I just need to get out of here. How did I end up here in the first place?" I cross my arms over my chest and it's only then that I realize that I'm not wearing my clothes but something that belongs to him. "Where the hell are my clothes?"

"Bag out front."

"You changed me?" The inflection of my voice goes up a couple of octaves.

"You were drenched in piss and vomit. I wasn't about to lay you on my couch like that. I left your bra and underwear on." He shrugs as he turns back in my direction, his stance identical to mine.

I think back through the fog to the night before, and I do remember making a mess all over myself. "Fine, why am I here?"

"I didn't want to take you to the hospital in case you had issues with it. You were already passed out and my apartment was the closest safe place."

"What about my stuff?" I ask.

"You didn't have anything on you." He answers quickly.

I want to argue and tell him that I did but then again I've already insulted him more than once today.

"I need to get home. My club is probably worried sick."

"Eve's Fury? I doubt it. They probably think you're out on another all night bender." He shrugs and walks over near the door trying hard to get away from me.

"What the hell do you know about it. And if you know who my club is why wouldn't you just call them to pick me up?"

"I don't have their number on speed dial, the only reason I know you're part of that club is the countless times one of them has come to pick you up from my place. You didn't have a phone on you and I don't have a phone book handy to search them out. I did what I could, maybe you should be a little more grateful for that." He snarls at me and I can tell from the way he's breathing that I'm starting to push him too far.

He's right though. If it wasn't for him I'd be still passed out or worse in the back alley.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just... this wasn't supposed to happen to me." I tighten my arms around myself and do my best to squeeze the feeling of being a victim out of my system.

My muscles tremble and I know it's not from a chill.

"You have anything to drink here?" I ask and his eyes pop open.

"Drink? You're not talking about water are you?"

"No, a beer? A shot? Unleaded gasoline?" I joke but he doesn't laugh with me.

He looks over my shoulder to the nightstand by his bed, "It's seven in the morning and you want a drink?"

"I just want to take the edge off, that's all." I don't want to be judged. He doesn't know what I'm going through right now.

He opens his mouth to say something but instead just shakes his head and walks out of the room. Not wanting to be in his personal space without him I follow behind him back into the kitchen. He gestures to one of the wooden chairs at the dining table and I take a seat.

"I would ask if you make this a habit but I already know the answer is yes." He sighs as he pulls out a bottle of jack daniels and pours me a healthy glass.

"What makes you think that?"

He scoffs and looks over his shoulder, "Did you forget I'm the same man who serves you every night. I know how much you drink when you're at my place. I guess I only hoped it was at night and not through out the day."

Looking away from him I think about what he's saying. It's the same thing most of the girls at the club have been saying for weeks now. I have a problem. I don't think I do. I just want to have fun but it seems like the fun is dragging me down a very dangerous road.

"Lucky for you I'm not paying you to clock how much I drink." I reach for the glass as he gets closer to me and down the double in one gulp. The burn feels good in my chest and slowly the trauma of what happened last night starts to receed.

"If last night is any indication, you don't pay me at all." He raises an eyebrow at me.

Fuck, I never paid my tab last night.

"Damn, I'll get that bill paid today. I just need to go home and get my things." I nod my head and look down at the empty glass in front of me. I could sure use another.

"You're not getting any more from me. You're already too out of your mind, I'm not going to add to it."

My mouth drops open, "You're cutting me off?"

"Someone has too." He shrugs and leans against the counter. He's not going to go back on his word. I don't need to push the topic. I'm sure I'll be able to make it back home before I need another drink.

We sit there in silence for a few minutes before he opens his mouth again to talk. "You sure you're good. I can drive you to the hospital if you need me to."

"No, I'm fine." I shrug away his concern. "I do have a question for you though."

He lifts his eyebrow at me indicating that I should go on.

"What happened to the asshole from last night. I'd like to have a chance to put his ass in the hospital." I growl.

"Violent little thing aren't you." He jokes and I shoot daggers at him through my eyes.

"You've got no idea. You haven't answered the question though."

"The last time I saw him, he was running away with my blood dripping from his blade."

My eyes scan his body and it's the first time I notice the stark white bandage on his forearm.

"Shit, he got you? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

He laughs at that, "Nah, I've had worse. This isn't the first time I've had to stitch myself up."

More and more, I'm hating myself for getting him involved in all this. It also reminds me that I never actually said thank you. He's done a hell of a lot more than anyone else would have done.

"You know about that, I...umm..." I hate having to do this but I know it has to be done. "Well, thank you for what you did yesterday. I apprciate it."

He nods his head once but doesn't say anything in return.

The level of discomfort I'm feeling from this conversation is enough to make my skn crawl. "Well I guess I should get on home." I walk to the side and pick up my bag of soiled clothes more than ready to take that long walk back to the clubhouse.

I'm not looking forward to it but I'd rather get home than be out any longer. I don't necessarily want to hear there mess but there's no getting around it. Vexx is going to chew me out. I just know it.

"Yeah, no way I'm letting you walk home on your own right now. I'll get the car."

"I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own."

"And I'm perfectly capable of saying I don't have a concussion. Something you can't say for certain now can you?" He raises an eyebrow at me and just off instinct I tilt my head from side to side and it does indeed feel like my brain is sloshing inside my skull.

I'm not looking forward to this at all.

It was one thing being stuck in his house with him for the few minutes since I woke up but now having him drive me back to my space somehow makes what happened yesterday all the more real.

I glare at him for a second waiting for him to change his mind. Of course he doesn't.

"Who are you anyway. I don't even know your name." I kiss my teeth together and walk in the direction of the door fully aware that he's following behind me.

"That's such a shame. I see you everyday and you still don't know my name."

I spin catching him off guard and stand right up next to him. It's not until then that I truly realize just how large he is. At minimum the man is six foot three inches tall. His shoulders are so broad he nearly has to turn sideways to get out of the door. Just one of his biceps is the same size as my ample thighs. But it's those dark ash gray eyes that has my breath caught in my throat.

He's a rugged looking man. If I saw him on the same side of the street as me walking in my direction I'd cross over. But now that I'm this close to him I can see the gentleness lurking deep inside. A gentleness he keeps hidden from the world.

I'm not going to make things easy for him though, not my style. "Are you going to tell me your name or am I going to have to keep calling you Bear."

"Bear?" He questions but doesn't wait for my response, "I guess I can understand where you got that from. My name is Rye."

"Seriously, that's your name."

He grunts in response and I shrug a shoulder, "Well Rye, I'm Bee. Pleasure to make your acquaintence."

"No it's not. Come on, let's get this over with." He grabs hold of the door from me and I make my way out.

The very second I step outside I'm grateful for Rye being here next to me. He's a safety net I never thought I'd need again. Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to do once the net is gone.