Page 8

Tarynn

I read from the book for a long while after I know Crow is asleep. It’s the kind of deep, dead to the world rest that can’t be faked.

Eventually I stop, closing the book and giving the room a slow perusal. I’m tired after not sleeping all night, and the chair is extra comfortable, but with everything that happened this morning, my adrenaline is still pumping far too hard for me to even think about drifting off.

Every single inch of space that can fit a bookshelf, has one. I think that a library is defined as a collection of a thousand or more books. If that’s true, then Crow basically lives in one.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find that ridiculously attractive.

I could try to sleep, but the room is too enticing. I have to get up, all those books calling out to me. My heart beats like a hammer with excitement. This is almost as good as walking into a used bookstore. They’re my absolute favorite, followed closely by any, and all other bookstores.

Each book has been sorted into sections by genre and then by author. The regimented organization tells me a lot about Crow. I wouldn’t have pegged him for someone that likes to read, but then, he’s quiet and solitary, so why not?

There are so many things I don’t know about him, primarily why he decided to help me. He’s one of those perpetually hard to read people who probably has so much going on in their head that it makes them ultra quiet.

I bet that he’s wicked smart, with a well above average IQ. Does he have a photographic memory? Most of the books here aren’t fiction unless they’re classics. Does he remember each and every detail about every book he’s read, or does he read more for the overall feeling? Does he feel that he needs to escape? It seems like he’s already living a life most people could only wish for, even if it is outside the law.

Bikers espouse a certain brand of freedom. I think that it’s part of the whole bad boy allure. Not that I’m falling into that or anything. Crow could have been anyone, and I would have been intrigued.

But he’s not just anyone.

No. No, he’s certainly not.

There are tons of books on psychology, but just as many on anatomy, biology, zoology, chemistry, and physics. I’m not entirely surprised to find a section on religion and philosophy. Two entire bookcases are dedicated to art theory and artists, another on history from just about every different period of the world from the dawn of time until the present day.

I have to say that my favorite bookcase is the one that is bursting full of classics. It’s clearly the fiction bookcase. There are authors that I’ve tried, but quit after deciding that getting a hundred pages in and not understanding a thing that was going on, just wasn’t for me.

I try not to look over at the bed. It’s not because I think that Crow is faking sleep as some kind of snoop or creep test for me. I just don’t know how I’d feel about a virtual stranger watching me sleep. Especially one who makes my blood sing like a damn freaking choir every time he’s near.

Then again, to think that I do that for him is just downright vain.

But why else would he be helping me unless he finds me… uh… attractive? Intriguing? Nice?

Those are all very different things.

A man like Crow could have anyone he wanted. He’s that level of ruggedly sexy. It doesn’t matter that he’s broody and scary looking. Women are drawn into that kind of aura, aren’t they? Jealousy twists through me like the hot, acrid snake my dad would liken it to. I feel myself growing uncomfortably sticky under my clothes, the fabric too tight and prickly even though it was soft and loose enough just a few seconds ago.

I smash my thighs together in front of the bookcase, my nipples hardening in my bra at the memory of what I did in the shower while thinking about Crow. Now, I’m in his inner sanctum. I’d be a liar if I said that the thought of him pounding me into his mattress doesn’t make me short of breath. My stomach flips with nerves, the rest of me tingles, and there’s an instant ache between my thighs.

I’ve had thoughts before, usually prompted by whatever smut I was reading, but I’d never had thoughts about a specific man. A man who is lying just feet away from me looking all manner of hot and sexy. I’m creeping, aren’t I? My cheeks flush with shame at the thoughts I’m having about him, so I tear my eyes back to the bookshelves, but my brain continues to put on a sexy time show until I can feel how wet my leggings are. Not damp. Wet .

I bend down and pick out a book blindly from the bookcase’s lower shelf, pleased to find a Jules Verne leather bound tome with golden tipped onion skin pages. He’s one author that I’ve never read, though I did see the movie adaptation of Journey To The Center Of The Earth .

I hope it’s a good distraction. I need to occupy my mind for so many different reasons.

Three hours later, I’m wondering just how on earth I’ve made it this far without ever knowing how amazing Verne’s books could be. I feel like I’m really there, on the greatest underwater experiment of my life, receiving an in depth biology lesson at the same time. I’m so into it that I didn’t know how much time had passed until I get blasted by sunshine from the small window by the bed. The blinds are closed, but it’s so strong out there that it’s pushing through.

It has to be two or three by now and now that I’ve just surfaced from the book, my stomach makes demands in a big way, growling viciously. I haven’t eaten anything since an early dinner last night before I left for work.

Crow’s warning about the naked, passed out people, and this being a biker clubhouse with real bikers in it has me shrinking back into the chair at the thought of leaving this room.

To distract myself, I pull my coil bound notebook and a pen out of my backpack. I turn to a fresh page and start making a list. It’s corny, but writing things down in list form or as a journal entry helps me get my thoughts in order.

I don’t want to be the world’s biggest cliché and title the list GOALS or THINGS TO DO, so I leave it blank and just start jotting out points.

1.) Apply to cosmetology school. Figure out funding. Get a loan if need be.

2.) Living space. Figure out a budget. Change my address on EVERYTHING.

3.) Get my wheels and learn how to ride.

4.) Get my license so said wheels are actually valid. Figure out a way to get to work until then. Do buses even go that far out here?

5.) Work on a side hustle.

6.) Stave off loneliness and any urge to go back to being ridiculously repressed by finding some new places to volunteer. Or adopt a cat.

7.) Side hustle could be buying a used sewing machine and making mitts from old sweaters like we used to do and give out to the homeless in Seattle.

Before I can write down an eighth point, my stomach starts to burn so badly that I have to set the notebook aside.

I scramble out of the chair. I hesitate by the bed. What if Crow is one of those people that reacts by doing some kind of weird karate when you wake them out of a dead sleep? Either way, I saw how tired he was. He needs to rest. I can’t help but sneak one quick peek at his face. He’s on his side, his bandaged hand hiding most of his face, but the way his thick, dark lashes fan against his bronzed cheek and a swatch of long, dark hair has fallen over his forehead, partially obscuring the side of his face, he’s almost adorable.

I back away from the vulnerable scene, hunger chasing me out of the room. I don’t know the code for the door, so I leave it open just a crack. I saw the way the hall opened up when we came in. If I want to find anything more than a row of locked doors, I have to go that way.

Even though it’s early afternoon, the place is so quiet that I can hear my boots squeaking with every step. Maybe I’m just imagining how loud they sound.

I trace my earlier route to the wide open space. All the lights are on. As soon as I turn the corner, it’s not just the sight of big, leather clad—erm, half leather clad—bodies that hits me. I get the full assault of old weed and stale alcohol. It smells a little bit like a late night at Patti’s, which isn’t entirely uncomfortable.

I don’t take a good look at the bodies, feeling that it’s an invasion of privacy. I’m the intruder here.

I walk past the area with the couches and TV, skirting quickly past. Thankfully, the first space that opens up is what passes as a kitchen. A round wooden table and chairs sits looking fairly unused in one corner, while on the opposite end of a bank of cabinets there’s one large stainless steel fridge followed by two commercial drink coolers with glass doors right next to it. Those are fully stocked with beer, which isn’t going to help my hunger issue. Even if it would, I had a sip once at Patti’s and couldn’t stand the taste.

Yup, that’s me. The waitress who serves alcohol all night long and has never had more than a single sip of wine and beer in her life.

I pull open the fridge slowly, trying not to make a bunch of noise. Thankfully, it’s fully stocked. The packages of deli meat and cheese all have expiry dates that are still good and there are several loaves of bread on the top shelf. It seems strange to put it in the fridge, but it’s probably to keep it from going moldy in the summer humidity.

Not that it’s hot in here. The place must have central air.

I make myself a ham and cheese sandwich, but before I can scarf it down, I glance at the stove in the far corner. Crow likes grilled cheese. I could make him a sandwich or two and wake him up to make sure he eats.

That feels an awful lot like taking care of him, which feels an awful lot like something I have no right to be doing, but I assemble the sandwiches anyway. I find a frying pan in the bottom cupboard and get grilling.

I’ve just flipped both over when a motion at the entrance to the kitchen catches my eye. I suck in a little gasp when I see a fully naked woman go streaking past the doorway. Before I can finish up at the stove and beat a fast trail back to Crow’s room, two burly men walk right in like they own the place.

Which, of course, they do.

Thank the stars, they’re dressed, but with their barrel chests, long hair, beards, tattoos, and leather vests, they look nothing short of intimidating.

I have never seen them at Patti’s before, which just fucking figures.

The first scrunches his brow like he’s seeing double and scratches the top of his head like he’s in a cartoon. The second crosses his arms so hard, his leather vest creaks. Neither of them have patches on the front denoting rank.

“Who might you be?” Arm Crosser asks, not in an unfriendly tone.

“I- uh- I’m Tarynn. I’m here with Crow.”

That makes both men frown. They eye each other dubiously. It’s clear that they don’t believe me, but they’re not going to tell me that straight to my face. They want to feel me out first, figure out why I’m lying, what I’m hiding, how I got in here, and why the ever loving tarnation I’m cooking lunch in their kitchen.

“I think I’ve seen you around somewhere,” the first man grunts. The other is still crossing his arms so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t explode.

I swallow hard, taking the sandwiches out of the frying pan and plating them before they burn. “I work at Patterson’s. You’ve probably seen me there. I just started a month ago, though.”

He snaps his fingers. “That’s definitely where I’ve seen you.” It’s a little unnerving, since I can’t place him. “You have nice hair. It stands out.”

“Still. Doesn’t explain what you’re doing—” Arm Crosser doesn’t get to finish that sentence before he’s jerked so hard from behind he goes flying backwards through the doorway like a black hole just opened up back there and sucked him in.

The other guy spins around and immediately throws both his hands up in a gesture of pleading supplication. “Hey, chill! We found her in the kitchen. We were just trying to figure out how she got in here. She said she was with you, but we didn’t believe it. We weren’t gonna hurt her.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when Crow steps into the kitchen. He looks like he did this morning facing down my father. An absolute menace.

No, not quite the same.

His eyes are different.

He doesn’t look like he’s ready for war, just ready to intervene. When his head swivels in my direction, he doesn’t look angry, but it’s easy to see the frayed annoyance on his face that I just couldn’t stay put.

Ignoring the lunch that I just made, he stalks across the room and picks up my hand. The heat of him and his calloused palm against mine nearly makes something inside my midsection explode.

“We’re leaving,” he states gruffly. He twists his head over his shoulder to pin the guy hovering in the large doorway with what has to be quite a look. I watch the way he freezes. “Tell Tyrant that I’m taking a few days off. Going for a ride. A personal one. To buy her a bike.”

“She rides?” The guy is totally incredulous.

“Right.” He turns back to me, scanning my face. Having his eyes on me that way makes me feel totally naked.

It makes me wish I was totally naked.

Uh- no. I- erm, shit .

“Fuck. We can’t ride anywhere because you don’t know how to ride, and we’ll have two bikes to bring back then. Anything we buy has to be small enough for you, so there won’t be room for two. We’ll fly… somewhere. I’ll buy you a return ticket back. I’ll ride your bike back here.”

He visibly pales after he lays that plan out for me like it’s airtight and absolutely beyond argument. Is he scared of planes?

“Where should I tell Tyrant you’re going?” The man at the doorway asks, as amused at all of this as he was shocked a few minutes ago.

Crow pulls me through the kitchen, past the guy at the door. I’m not sure where those two came from, but the other is gone and the lounge is still full of passed out bodies.

“Vegas,” he calls over his shoulder.

Vegas? Did he just pull that out of his ass? My eyes drop straight down to that part of him as I get tugged along. I wish I didn’t have such pale skin that’s prime for turning every shade of pink and red. I can feel my cheeks getting hot and quickly tear my eyes away from Crow’s rear, but not before the image is seared into my brain. He doesn’t have a bubble bum, which is nice. I don’t like that on guys. I actually wasn’t truly aware that I had an opinion about male butts before, but I suppose that I do. I like the way that Crow’s fills out his jeans without being too round. His ass is hard and muscular.

He leads me back to his room and points at my things. “Pack a bag. You have ID?”

“I have my passport and driver’s license, yes.”

“Just take what you need. The rest of your things will be safe here until we get back.”

I crouch down, ready to do exactly as he says because I’m so damn used to always following the rules, but my hands stop on the zipper of my backpack. I look up at him and it seems like he’s noticed the very same thing. My easy acquiescence. Instead of being flushed with pleasure or triumph, he looks almost guilty and regretful, like he didn’t mean to order me around.

“Are you serious about all of this?”

“I am.” His jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth, like he’s debating with himself, but not about Vegas.

“Okay.” My hands tremble against the zipper, making a strange metallic sound. “This is really overwhelming.”

“Sometimes, the only way forward is to not look back.”

“Yeah.” I bow my head, trying not to hear the pain in his voice. He’s speaking from experience, and it feels like a heavy lash right across my back.

His voice is deeper and less husky, like he didn’t mean to go to that place and has shrugged off whatever painful memories just cropped up for him. “The way back isn’t charred for you. I’m the one who kicked down your parents’ door. Not you. You did nothing wrong. Leave it for a few weeks. If they’re giving you trouble at that time, I’ll get it sorted. Apologize or something.”

My head snaps up. He’s completely wiped his face so I can’t read anything there. My eyes fall to the swollen line of fresh stitches before dropping back to the ground. I want to thank him. I want to produce a thousand other words that would be adequate and elegant, but I don’t trust myself to do any of that. My emotions are scrambled and they’re all riding dangerously close to the surface.

Apparently, my hormones are right up there with them.

“The diner!” I gasp. “I can’t just leave. I have shifts.”

Crow blinks. “I’ll get that sorted too.” He says it with the kind of finality that doesn’t involve an argument.

I want to question him, but instead I busy myself getting my backpack ready with a change of clothes and my wallet. Everything else, I leave behind in the duffels. As soon as I straighten up, I find Crow standing with a black tactical looking backpack slung over his shoulder.

“You’re ready?”

I nod.

“Alright, let’s go.”

In the end, I don’t say a single thing. Not a word about the sandwiches in the kitchen or how I’m still hungry. Nothing about how my head is whirling so fast that I feel dizzy. Nothing of the endless fears I have over the battles that I’m going to have to face very freaking soon. Nothing about my worries over going to Vegas, of all places. If there’s anywhere in the world known for sin and debauchery, surely it’s there.

That couldn’t have been Crow’s reason for choosing it.

Then again, maybe it absolutely was.