Page 7

Crow

L eave me the fuck alone, Crow!

I need to push this fucker out. As soon as we both caught sight of Tarynn’s dad assaulting her, Raven tore the fuck out of me. He shoved me to the background, and I became the one floating in the dark background, while he thrust his way into the driver’s seat of our body. Assfuck, get the fuck out! I didn’t give you permission to do or say any of that shit!

Since when do I ask for permission? You’re just usually too good at resisting to let me out. Not this time, sweetheart. I think you might be losing your touch. Or is it just when you lose your shit that you’re vulnerable to letting me shove you out and takeover? Good to know.

I swear, Raven, if you don’t get out of my head this second, you’re fucking dead.

Get out? You know I can’t do that. Give over, you mean. Let you back in control? That’s so boring. Didn’t you see how I made her father almost piss his pants? No one touches her.

No one touches her.

At least, we’re in agreement on that.

A moment of quiet fills the inner turmoil slamming around in my skull.

I’m fighting to get back in control and Raven is fighting not to let me.

Our body may look perfectly placid from the exterior, but on the inside, it’s like a bloody battle. Imagine two men rolling around in the dirt, punching the shit out of each other until one of them has to surrender or get knocked the fuck out.

It’s not truly like that, but it feels pretty much the same way.

By the time I’m finally able to wrestle and shove Raven to the back and crash back into my body and brain, I know what’s going to happen. The battle likely only lasted a minute or maybe two, but it was savage and it’s going to take its toll. My insides feel pummeled, and the gore has to go somewhere.

It’s the same, every single time. It makes sense, given that head wounds tend to cause trauma throughout the whole body.

My muscles lock up as my temples throb, the migraine setting in so sharp and brilliant that it feels like glass has been wedged into my eyeballs. My stomach is a riot and this time, there’s no controlling it.

I slam my fist into the headrest again, demanding that Grave pull the fuck over.

Something in my tone must warn him that I’m serious, because he does it pretty much immediately. We’re on a residential street. It’s quaint, lined with a thick canopy of trees. The houses are all older bungalows and split levels. I paid attention while we drove here, every detail seared into my brain, but it’s nothing but a blur now.

I throw open the door and can’t get out of the truck in time before my stomach erupts. I haven’t had anything but water since dinner yesterday. My face was throbbing, thanks to the fact that I refused the freezing and painkillers Archer tried to give me when he stitched me up at his clinic, so that pretty much took care of my appetite.

It’s worse having almost nothing to spew. It makes me strain and heave until my eyes water and sweat pours down my face in rivulets. Every part of me is unsettled after that inner rebellion. My stomach is like Raven. It’s not going to calm down without a fight.

This is how we die. Straight. Up. Mortification.

I don’t know why this never happens to Raven when he tears free. As far as I’m aware, he’s never suffered any ill effects.

I hear the rustle of bags behind me and then, the gentlest touch on my shoulder. One small, warm hand moves down my back making tight circles like my mother used to do when I was sick as a kid. Before Raven. Before she and my father both hated and feared me.

“Are you okay?” Tarynn’s gentle tone floods my ear. “Oh- oh no! This isn’t because of what I did, is it? I noticed you felt fevered and now you’re throwing up. Please tell me you aren’t going to get lockjaw or blood poisoning. I thought the fact that you had professional looking stitches was a good thing, but maybe not? Didn’t you let them give you an antibiotic shot or a- a tetanus shot, or… oh, goodness, if you die because of me, I’m never going to forgive you.”

Decay snorts from the passenger seat while Grave tries to crane his head around.

“You better not be puking on my truck, man,” he groans. “Fuck. This is why I can’t have nice things. Because one of you douchebags gets the bright idea that as far as cages go, my truck isn’t so bad, and then someone wants a ride, which usually ends in blood, gore, bullet holes, puke, shit, or—”

“Some of the above or all of the above,” Decay finishes helpfully.

“Shut up,” I sigh, with no heat. Now that Raven’s tucked safely back in his invisible prison, I feel little better than if I’d just got jumped by twelve assholes in a back alley.

Twelve? Please. Even you would have the sense to let me out and I’d make short work of that. I’m like the love child of a cage fighting vampire and the grim reaper. Death incarnate. Twelve would be so. Much. Fun. Find me an alley. I’m starting to get ridiculously bored, and we both know that when I get bored, nothing good happens.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and spit out the foul taste.

“Do I need to go to the car wash now?” Grave whines. He can’t help it. He has impossible prick syndrome. This is the way he’s built.

Decay opens up a pack of gum and hands me a stick. “Chew that. No one wants to smell your puke breath all the way back to the clubhouse.”

I ignore Decay’s scowl and pop the gum in my mouth. It’s some tropical fruit flavor that is two degrees removed from the taste of old vomit.

I’m not focused enough to prepare myself for Tarynn. She leans over her bags. Her hand lands gently on my jaw. I freeze. The breath knocks out of my lungs in a great whoosh. I’m utterly frozen and defenseless as she tilts my head gently so she can see the stitches.

“Crow?” I don’t like the furrowed consternation on her face. I don’t like that her eyes are deep wells of worry and secondhand pain. For me. She looks as tired as I feel. Did she sleep last night? I don’t suppose that she did.

“I’m fine,” I say gruffly. I hold up my trembling hands to prove my point, not realizing until I do that there’s blood leaking all over the place.

“Motherfucker!” Grave shouts, punching his steering wheel like that’s going to help. “I’m taking your window punching dumb ass straight back to Archer’s. He can deal with you. After, you’re going to pay to get my truck detailed. Good thing it’s fucking leather and the carpet is black.”

Reach over the seat and grab his head in your hands. Smear all that blood on his face. Make him taste it as you ram your fist into his mouth to shut him the fuck up. Break his teeth, then take his neck and snap it.

I don’t dignify that with a response. I don’t even get that terrible burning anger that often accompanies Raven dumping that shit into my mind. “I’m fine,” I grunt. “Just small cuts. Nothing that I can’t fix up at the clubhouse.”

I brought these two with me because I outrank them. I didn’t want to involve Tyrant, my Prez, or Raiden, our VP in this. I didn’t actually know who to ask, but then I thought of Grave and his big, ugly, jacked up to the sky, ridiculous truck. I’d need something with enough seats and enough storage to get her things.

I didn’t realize she’d have so few bags.

Tarynn’s hand slides from my face to hover over mine. She’s so very careful, her fingers trembling so that I want to reach out and grab them to make them stop. Getting her covered in my blood—again—isn’t going to help anything, so I tuck my hands between my knees.

She seems to take that as a sign to sit back and get her seatbelt back on.

The rest of us don’t bother.

I’m grateful for the silence, though it probably won’t last, considering the twins don’t like keeping their ugly yaps shut for more than a minute at a time.

My head bounces against the window gently where I rest it. It hurts to think right now, but I have to go over what the fuck happened back there.

The truth is, we have to share this body and that means an uneasy truce to keep from killing it. In violent situations, Raven is always at the forefront. I can never hold him back when we’re threatened.

But we weren’t threatened.

Raven has only ever come out in our defense. Never for someone else.

The stillness actually lasts until we get to the clubhouse. Nowhere is a long ride in Hart, and since it’s early enough that no one is out and about yet, we’re there in fifteen minutes.

Grave drives straight into the compound once the prospects at the gate open it for us.

I steal a glance over at Tarynn. Any regular person would have asked her if she was okay by now, but what is there to say? She’d no doubt politely reply that she is, even if she’s freaking out and falling apart on the inside. Society is so pretentious. I’ve never thought about how exhausting it must be even as a regular person, to try to fit into it.

I try to comprehend what the compound and clubhouse looks like from her point of view. Right now, all she can see are the rows of neatly parked, gleaming bikes, most of them Harleys, and the few cages that my club brothers own parked beyond those.

The clubhouse was converted by our current Prez’s father. He bought out an old warehouse. With it, came an almost overabundance of space on the inside, but the outside met all the club needs. The place was surrounded by asphalt parking lots. It wasn’t much trouble to put up chain link and razor wire to ensure that not just our bikes are protected, but also the main entrance and exit into the clubhouse.

Technically, there’s a front door under the signage on the side of the building that faces the street, but we almost never use it.

I’m worried about getting blood on Tarynn’s bags, so I very carefully slide them out with my good hand and hoist them onto my shoulder. The duffels are full, but they’re so light that they can only contain clothes.

She snatches the backpack before I can reach it and gives me one of those looks like she knows what I’m doing and isn’t going to have any of it. I shoot one back, saying I know what she’s doing and it’s not like a little blood and a few cuts won’t stop me.

Grave and Decay head in first, Grave muttering the whole time about how his truck stinks like blood and shit and puke. I’m not sure who or what is responsible for the shit part.

Tarynn sticks close to me. It’s a lucky thing that this entrance leads directly to all the back rooms. Each member of the club has their own. The rooms are larger for officers and are down the long hallway, on the far side.

We walk past door after door. Some of them open, but most of them closed.

Right at the head of the hallway, the club opens up. I quickly cut Tarynn’s view off, aware that the level of debauchery in the lounge last night likely reached peak levels. I spent hours at Archer’s and then stormed directly back to my room here, but no doubt there are half-clad and entirely naked bodies still passed out all over the place.

I basically herd Tarynn down the rest of the hall, until I reach my room. Each door has a code that has to be punched in. I jam my left hand against it, stabbing at the little keypad until I hear the lock click.

I’m used to throwing myself in here like I’m being pursued, but Tarynn lingers at the door. She’s frozen, her eyes sweeping around the large square room.

My room is one of the larger ones, since I’m an officer at the club. There’s an ensuite bathroom, but other than the gap in the wall for the door, every square inch of space is lined with bookshelves crammed to bursting. The rest of the furniture looks like an afterthought, arranged around the rows and rows of books.

“You live in a library?” she breathes.

I drop her bags, step around her, and shut the door.

I hate people staring at me, but having them in my personal space is a no-go. No one else has ever been in this room, at least not after it became mine.

It’s not that I don’t feel that coiled length of rope slipping over my neck to cut off my air supply with Tarynn in here. It’s just… different. Like the noose is there, but no one’s going to tighten it.

I need to clean my hand before I get blood on the floor. I’m meticulous about my space, especially my books. I head straight to the bathroom. It’s compact and simple with a stand up shower, a toilet, and a sink with a small cupboard below and a mirror above.

I have a toolbox of medical supplies that I compiled. No token first aid kit shit for me. I run my hand under water first, washing it out, inspecting it to make sure there’s no glass anywhere. I don’t find anything. It just feels like it was cut up. I raise my pantleg to see what damage Raven did to my leg, but my boot obviously took the brunt of the impact, steel toes and all, and the jeans protected my skin. All I got was a few scratches for my effort.

I catch the faintest movement out of the corner of my eye and find Tarynn leaning against the doorframe, chewing hard on her lip. The sight of her, with her massive green eyes, half scared, half excited, freckles standing out stark against her pale skin, so small and vulnerable, makes something in my chest go tight.

The noose tightens, but then… lets up.

She’s staring right at me. I feel like she can see miles below the surface, through to every single thing about me, but it doesn’t make my skin crawl. It doesn’t even make Raven thrash around. He knows that Tarynn poses no threat.

She can’t say the same about me.

She trusted me enough to come with me, even without knowing him. Me, a man that most people would cower away from, and with good reason. She looks scared, but not of me.

“I found you a place until you can find one of your own,” I tell her, too gruff. My throat feels like it’s lined with razorblades.

It’s a testament to her bravery, or maybe to the shock that’s settling in, that she looks at me with blind acceptance. Her willingness to put her faith in me feels both like a blade in my side and a hot, warm blanket after coming in out of a frigid storm.

“How did you know where I lived?”

Fuck. I keep my eye on my hand as I get out the shit to sanitize and bandage it. “I made a promise, and I wasn’t going to let anything stop me from carrying it out. I asked our IT guy to find it for me.”

I don’t want her to know that long before we ever exchanged a word, I was enthralled by her. Maybe that’s why having her here in my space doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like a dream, but one that these past few weeks have been leading straight up to.

“Does this place have a kitchen?”

“No.” I pour rubbing alcohol straight over my hand, ignoring the sting. “Well… yes. But I don’t want you going out there.”

“Why not?” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. She casts her chin down like she’s worried that I’m ashamed of her or that she’s a bother.

I want to assure her that in no world would she ever be a burden. It’s irrational, but I nearly blurt out that I’m glad she’s here, and that’s coming from a man like me barely comprehends the meaning of words like joy, relaxation, or kindness.

“There was a party here last night. Most of the occupants are passed out in the lounge, which is directly on the way to the kitchen. Men and women alike. I don’t want you seeing that.”

Her entire face goes a shade of bright red.

Great. Keep her stifled and smothered. Make all her decisions for her. Be a controlling, overbearing piece of human waste, all while pretending it’s for her own good, just like her father.

“Soon as I’m done, I’m taking you some place else.” Apparently, I can’t stop.

Tarynn doesn’t look like she minds. She could tell me where to go and I would most definitely head straight in that direction. If she wanted to argue about the kitchen, I’d cave.

How sweet, sunshine.

“Are we going to go there on your bike?” Tarynn asks.

She still doesn’t understand what that means. I was going to explain it to her, but haven’t had a chance. I don’t have anything else, though, so the bike it will be, and damn the usual rules of what that implies. I have no right to even think about laying claim to any part of Tarynn’s life. She’ll never be mine. Raven is pretty much my worst enemy. It sucks I can’t wish our curse on him.

“Where?” she prods gently, watching my every move.

I unwind the bandage and start wrapping it over my palm and weaving it through my fingers. “I have a few rental houses here and happen to have two empty right now. You can have your pick. There’s not much furniture, but I could order something while we’re gone and have it ready for when we get back. I could always rent it furnished after, if you find somewhere else you like better.”

She digs the toe of her red cowboy boot into the old hardwood floor. It’s original to the warehouse, thin plank, in that honey tone that apparently isn’t trendy anymore. I happen to like it just fine, right along with the open brick walls, ducting, and beams that this place has running through it. It’s raw and unfinished, like the men who call it home.

I tie off the bandage and start putting the shit all back into the toolbox.

“So… do you live here, or do you live in one of your houses?”

“A little of both. Mostly here. I have a place above my tattoo parlor downtown.”

I don’t know if she’s more surprised about what I do for a living or that I have a job. I think most people assume that a biker’s life revolves around drugs, sex, and violence. In some cases, they might be right, but not here.

A lot of the guys work at the club’s garage, some oversee the operations of the legit businesses—the nightclubs, tattoo shops, restaurants, even the damn laundromat. Tyrant helps out at the garage, but since he’s our president, he spends most of his time here, running the place. There are a few of us who do focus solely on product—in our case—moving weapons and contraband across the border, as well as liaising with our weed farms up north. I’m an officer, but like owning my own business. I have staff and a manager, and can set my own hours around my club obligations.

“Most of us have jobs,” I tell her, even though I wasn’t going to. “Families too. Just because we don’t fit with society doesn’t mean we’re not human.”

She makes a low noise in her throat. “I’ve never thought that.”

She takes a step into the bathroom. I freeze. I’m not good with being hemmed in. Caged. Claustrophobia is a real thing. It was real long before anyone ever attempted to strap me to a bed and do fuck knows what to my messed up head.

Probably diagnose you. Us. Fuck them and fuck that. Fuck anyone who wants to tell us that there’s something wrong with the way we are.

I’m not ready for it. I don’t even have time to get my hands up to ward her off before she launchers herself at me and grasps my arms. She tries to slide her hands to the back of me, which is about as far as she gets before her arm span ends.

She’s… hugging me.

This shit inside of me that doesn’t like being touched goes haywire. The shit inside of me that always longed for it when I was a little kid also short circuits. I can’t move. I’m winded again, sucked straight back into the past. All the terrible moments, all the moments of longing and fear and confusion. My muscles go rock hard, tensing for battle, for a fight, for flight and pain. It never comes.

This isn’t supposed to hurt.

It’s supposed to do the opposite.

Even Raven is too stunned to snark me off.

Tarynn presses her cheek to my chest, the top of her head tucked against my chin. She smells so good. When I finally get a shaky inhale to open my lungs back up, I drink in the sunshine, fresh laundry scent of her. It makes me realize just how badly I probably stink. Like sweat and blood and vomit. It’s like she doesn’t even notice. She’s so frighteningly guileless.

She talked to me when no one else would.

She sees me in a way that most people can’t and won’t.

She has to know that I’m not a good man, but she has no idea how dangerous I am.

And yet… maybe it’s her instincts are stronger and more finely honed than anyone I’ve ever met.

We stay holding each other for far too long. It’s the oddest thing that’s happened to me, and with the life I’ve lived, that’s saying something.

She finally pulls back, but keeps her hands on my arms. The heat of her palms scorches straight down into that space where I should have a soul. She looks up at me, her eyes even larger and more luminous than they usually are.

“You’re in no condition to take me anywhere. Let’s just order a ride or something.”

“No one is going to let me into their car,” I scoff. “They’re generally against giving rides to people who look like homicidal maniacs who just came out the wrong side of a chainsaw battle.”

She scowls. “We can just say that you’re a professional fighter.”

“Even worse.”

“That’s mean.” She clearly doesn’t like it. “It’s discrimination or just plain ignorance.”

“I’m fine. We’ll go on my bike.”

She fists her hands on her hips and steps back, blocking the door. It’s hilarious that she thinks that she could stop me from leaving, but she’s… right. I would never move her if she didn’t want to be moved.

“Not until you tell me why you threw up.”

“Just the antibiotic shot I got at the clinic,” I lie. “They wreck your stomach.”

She purses her lips, walks past me, and pours water into the plastic cup I keep on the edge of the sink right by my toothbrush.

Which you should definitely put to good use so that you don’t keep breathing your barf breath onto her. Ugh, I can taste it all the way in here. Do something about it.

“Drink this, please. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

I’m about to argue when she cups the side of my face that doesn’t look like I was pieced together by Dr. Frankenstein. I don’t know how she’s able to touch me without me wanting to escape, without awakening Raven’s violent urges.

“You didn’t have to do any of this,” she whispers, oblivious to my turmoil. “You need to sleep before we go anywhere.”

In truth, I feel like I’ve been fucked into the ground by a bulldozer. When Raven comes out, it kicks my ass. I’m going to sleep like the dead, and it’s not like I can just lock her out. She’ll be in here, with me, seeing me defenseless and vulnerable.

It’s not like she’s going to pull a knife on me or anything, but it’s far too… personal. I’d use the word intimate, if it wasn’t laughable.

I don’t do this. I don’t trust people. I don’t let them in just so they can hurt me, or risk myself hurting them first. All of this is wrong. Tarynn should be far away. Why did I agree to help her? I’m nothing but a liability. Raven could break out when I can’t hold him back and—

And what? I’d never hurt her, dickwad. Didn’t I break down a door for her? Nearly annihilate her father? I only stopped because I didn’t want her to suffer the pain of seeing his spine ripped out of him via his asshole and wrapped around his neck like a scarf for merry fucking early Christmas.

Christ on a cracker, you like her?

I nearly reel back. Well, I don’t not like her. You’re clearly head over fucking tits for her, so what could it hurt?

I down the water and grab my toothbrush, whirling just so Tarynn leaves and gives me space. She might think I’m agreeing to her suggestion, but I’m not.

I saw away at my teeth, irrationally jealous, even though at the same time, I’m oddly relieved. Raven is violent, but if he says he won’t hurt someone, I know that he means it.

It’s astounding, given how protective he is. I’ll admit that he’s the only reason that we escaped that hospital where my parents locked us. That didn’t turn out well for anyone. Ever seen a doctor take a syringe full of sedative stabbed straight into his own neck?

If you can trust anyone, it’s me.

Tarynn peeks her head in the doorway right as I’m finishing up, looking like a kid on Christmas morning, eyes wide and sparkly. “You have Dickens.”

“Yes.”

“Can I read to you? While you fall asleep?”

She’s not taking no for an answer. Not when she skips away and plucks the red leather volume off the shelf, not when she curls up in the reclining chair and pulls the lever so forcefully, she almost flips over backwards. Not when she opens the book and stares me down expectantly.

I’m practically dead on my feet. I feel like shit. My head is throbbing, my stomach could still rebel. I’m clammy, sweaty, and need a shower. My face is a wreck, my hand is now a mess, and all I want to do is climb into bed and sleep for a few hours until I wake up and feel like a regular person again.

Hilarious.

Fine. About as regular as someone like me can be.

“Five minutes,” I mumble, throwing myself down on the bed and flopping my bandaged hand over my eyes. “That’s it, then we’re going.”

“Five minutes with Dickens is better than five minutes without.”

Well… shit. That might be the truest thing I’ve ever heard.

It’s an instant relief to close my grainy eyes. My body presses into the bed like a jet just dropped out of the sky and landed on top of me while I already had the world’s worst case of food poisoning.

So dramatic, baby doll.

Tarynn’s voice drowns out Raven eventually, or he just shuts up to listen too. We both happen to like Dickens.

I can’t help but get lost in it, lost in all of it. I try counting the minutes until I have to get up, but all that does is let the black suck harder at me until I can’t count any longer and Tarynn’s voice fades away.