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CHAPTER FOUR: CICELY

It feels weird to be back in my apartment. Although the clubhouse often resembled a frat house, it had felt like home for the few days I stayed there. I never felt lonely there, not like I do now. To shake off the melancholy, I blast some music as I thoroughly clean my apartment. After tossing the expired products from my fridge, I grab my purse to shop for groceries. An hour later, I’m sitting in front of my television, eating homemade mac and cheese while drinking a nice Chardonnay and binge-watching The Brokenwood Mysteries. I tell myself that I’m much happier being back at home. My apartment is quiet and clean. I no longer have to feel like a housemother. I also tell myself that I don’t miss Chrome. Nope. I don’t miss his stupid muscles, jet-black hair, thick beard, warm blue eyes, or his scent. No, I don’t miss any of those things. I also don’t miss his warmth, the feel of his hands on my skin, or the taste of him on my lips.

Fuck.

No.

I don’t miss him.

Really.

I don’t.

And if I keep telling myself this, it might be true one day.

After two shows ended without knowing what happened, I shut off the television to wash the dishes. Knowing I’ll have trouble sleeping, I run a bath and drop a lavender bath bomb into the steaming water. Sinking into the fragrant water, I sigh. I missed this. Taking a long soak in the tub. Chrome’s room had a shower, but no bathtub. Although Chrome’s shower had been impressive. It was large enough to hold a party. Multiple shower heads made a shower a religious experience, especially if Chrome joined me. I let my mind drift to the last time we had showered together.

My breasts feel heavy as the flush of arousal flows through my system at the memory. I massage my breasts. As I squeeze my mounds and twist my nipples, I imagine Chrome’s hands replacing mine. He could palm each of my breasts in his large hands. The callouses sent shockwaves through my system when he brushed them over my sensitive nipples.

Without his touch, my nipples take longer to work into hardened peaks, but once they are, I slide my hands over my stomach and between my legs. Pushing my thighs apart, I can almost feel the sizzle of Chrome’s eyes on me. My breath comes in shallow pants as I brush my thumb over my clit. Once. Twice. Shuddering, I slide my fingers between my folds as I pretend they belong to Chrome. Dipping my finger into my opening, I curse at how thin my fingers are when compared to his. To compensate, I slide in a second and then a third. It's better, but still lacking. I curse myself for not thinking of bringing a vibrator into the tub with me. Jamming my fingers in and out, I use my thumb to work my clit as the pleasure builds. My imagination calls up images of Chrome towering over me as he slams his cock inside me. My body’s memory of him pushes me up and over the edge until I fall over into pleasure.

A moment or two later, the cold seeps into my skin. I’m furious with myself for fantasizing about Chrome. I'm forlorn that I no longer have the real thing—just a pale imitation. I put on a robe as the water drains. Still feeling a chill, I put on my warmest pajamas. It’s barely ten, but I crawl under the covers. Before Chrome, sleep came easily. I sense it won’t come easily tonight.

My room is considerably smaller than Chrome’s. Instead of a King-sized bed, I could only fit in a double. In addition to the bed, I have a single nightstand and a dresser holding my television. I consider turning on the television just so I don’t feel so alone, but I decide to do without. It isn’t until after I’ve turned off the light that I've realized I’ve left my blinds open. Climbing out of bed, I step over, glance outside, and freeze. Standing across the street, just outside the circle of light from a streetlamp, stands a man wearing a white t-shirt. At first, I think it’s Chrome, but then the man lights up a cigarette. Chrome stopped smoking the day his mother told him she had lung cancer, with only a few months to live. I’d tried to explain to him that second-hand smoke was just as deadly, but he refused to order his men to stop smoking.

I don’t know how long I stand staring at the figure below, but long enough for him to finish his cigarette before tossing the butt away. Backing away from the window, I close the curtains and climb into bed. Was the man out there watching me on Chrome’s orders? If so, what does that mean? Am I still in danger? If I am, why did Chrome want me to leave the clubhouse? Was it because he was done with me? The idea cracks my heart.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but my alarm wakes me. Crawling out of bed, I move to the window and peer through the tiny slit. I can’t see much of anything. After showering and getting dressed, I open the blinds and scan the street. Not seeing anyone lurking, I grab my purse and head for my car, where I find four flat tires. God dammit. Who the fuck slashed my tires? Taking out my phone, I search for someone who will do house calls, so to speak. After I send him a photograph of my slashed tires, he assures me he’ll be with me soon. Worried about being late, I call for an Uber.

“Someone doesn’t like you,” the tire guy says after he examines my tires. The name tag on his overalls is Stevie. “Unless it was kids.”

I feel it in my gut that kids didn’t do this, but I don’t contradict him. My mind flashes to the man I saw last night. If he was here to guard me, he dropped the ball. Although with the building between him and the parking lot, he wouldn’t have seen anything.

“I have to get to work,” I tell Stevie when the Uber arrives.

“Give me your work address and I’ll drop your car off along with the bill,” he offers.

Grateful, I gave him the address and hopped into Uber. At the hospital, I dash into the locker room and change into my scrubs.

“You’re late,” Sara chides me when I relieve her.

“I’m so sorry. Someone slashed my tires. I had to call for service and then take an Uber. I’ll make it up to you,” I promise.

She waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been a quiet day. They moved Mr. Goldstein to a room downstairs.”

Each nurse in the ICU is assigned to three rooms. Most of the time, only one or two rooms are occupied. I was glad to hear Mr. Goldstein had healed enough to leave the ICU. The older man had fallen and had broken his hip. He had a long road of physical therapy ahead of him, but at least he was now on that road. His son and daughter visited him often with their spouses. I knew he was in good hands once the hospital released him. His kids had been planning to move him into one of their homes.

“Who else do we have?” I ask.

“Mr. Blue Michaelson is in ICU-2. He was brought into the hospital unconscious early this morning. He was found lying in a ditch on the highway. A passing motorist found him and called for help. Dr. Kemper is confident he’ll wake up soon. The patient in ICU-1 is Mr. Shane MacLeod. He’s a biker,” she says in a hushed whisper.

I nod because I’m familiar with this particular patient. I’m surprised Chrome brought Mode to my hospital, but I’m glad he and Stitch took my suggestion and brought him in. Can’t say I’m too upset to be the one to continue caring for him.

“Okay, I’m off. A bunch of us are going out for Chinese tonight. Want to join us?”

Since returning to my apartment and eating alone doesn’t appeal, I nod. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“See ya there,” Sara says as she waves goodbye.

I wait for her to leave before entering Mode’s room to check on him. He’s hooked to the machines that will monitor his vitals. I’m pleased to see they’ve inserted a feeding tube. After squeezing Mode’s hand, I erase the board to write in my name. A disturbance behind me draws my attention to the door. Three older men wearing black leather kuttes enter the room. They each give me a nod before spreading about the room. Two take the visitors’ chairs while the third leans against the far wall. When they walk past me, I see the familiar snarling dog at the center of their kuttes. The top rocker contains the Demon Dawgs, but the lower has Nomads, where Chrome’s kutte has Chicago.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” I ask. Each man is attractive in a different way. The tallest of the three has long, wavy brown hair. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, which makes him look like a rockstar. On his patch is the road name, Padre. The shortest of the three is bald with piercing dark eyes. He reminds me of a bald eagle, but his patch says Stone. When I read the patch of the third man, I had to hold back a chuckle. His name is Eagle. Eagle has sandy blonde hair with a matching scruff. His hazel green eyes study me as I study them.

“We’re visiting our friend,” Eagle says.

I frown at them. “You’re friends with Mode?” I ask.

All three turn to look at me. “You know him?” Eagle asks.

I nod. “How do you know Mode? I don’t remember seeing you before. Are you all members of another club? Like Babe?”

“You know, Babe?” Eagle asks. He and his friends share a look before turning back to me.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“A friend of the club,” growls Chrome as he enters the room.