Page 33 of Dirty Salvation

Rider was tired as hell, his eyes burned, and didn’t want to hunt a bed elsewhere.

Truth was he hadn’t for a second thought he’d sleep anywhere else.

He could insist this was his room, he was president, he’d sleep wherever the fuck he wanted, but again the truth was he felt he should be close by to Zara if she needed him.

Need me? She doesn’t know you, bud.

He mentally shrugged, the effects of the booze meant he didn’t listen to himself when he took a spot on the floor, close enough to the bed he could watch her.

He punched the pillow under his neck.

Rider vaguely recalled Zara liked to sleep with a lot of pillows, she’d told him post-coital when his balls had been drained and he’d felt a hundred feet tall for all the flattering statements the little virgin had paid him;You’re so big. Omg, I’ve never felt that before. Can we do it again and again and again? More. Harder. Faster. Please.

Fuck.Shut up thinking of that.

His glance reached out through the dark, noticing his one flat as fuck pillow on the bed under all her blonde hair.Strangethat he was remembering how she liked to sleep now when the shit volcano had just begun to boil.

It scared the crap outer him that he wanted to make her his concern. He already had enough on his plate without adding more.

Club was all. Club waseverything.

First and foremost.

So why was he thinking of doing it then? Why did Zara stir every forgotten instinct Rider had in his body?

A good man would do a good deed without expectation of thanks or reward. But Rider wasn’t a good man, far from it. He could still taste the latest murder on his tongue, he was the least good man there was.

Andyet.

He gave the lump under his bed covers a cursory glance, a long glance. His dirty bastard thoughts reappearing. He blamed it on being drunk.

He blamed it on the situation, the danger made him horny, and usually, he would have fucked his adrenaline away already if things had gone to plan.

Some fast-meaningless fuck that lasted only the minutes it took to empty his balls and drain the surge of his spiked energy. forgotten instantly.

Wanting Zara was not new. He’d sullied that good girl once and wanted to again.

Only now it wasn’t so easy. So, could he be what she needed instead, to make her his concern?

With a tired sigh, no more thinking, an arm slung over his eyes, he let sleep claim him.

Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Rider groaned. Bloodshot eyes stared back making him wince.Right, that's why I don't drink a bottle of whiskey at a time anymore.

His head was giving an imitation of one of those African tribal dances he'd saw once on the news, the kind with the drums.

Lotsa fucking drums all out of sync playing loudly between his ears.

He moved lethargically, searched around under the sink hoping to find a bottle of pills he could down. He kept the number to three, swallowing them dry, cursing when they didn't immediately have an effect.

Rider didn't appreciate the reminder of his own stupidity, nor did he have time to dwell on it, not with an MC to run, businesses still flagging that needed his attention. Why the hell had he been drinking a dark mood again?The woman asleep in my bed.Oh yes, her.

Zara was still passed out, did women sleep this long, this deeply? Usually, he kicked them out, didn't reach the sleep portion. He poked his head back into his bedroom, she was in the fetal position, the covers pulled up to her forehead, if not for the odd twitch and movement he would have guessed she was dead.

He frowned. Scraped a hand over his clipped beard. Deep in thought around the throb of his temples.Fuck this pain.

Maybe he should wake her?let her fucking sleep, shithead, she's been through an ordeal.

Yeah, sleep was good for her. As an MC president, he'd witnessed some really fucked up stuff over the years, really fucked up, sadly to admit some from within his own club before he'd cleaned house of the scum dragging them down into the dirt, but none were in the stratosphere as that poor girl on the other side of the door.