Page 5

Pirate

“This is your room,” I said, pushed open the door, and stepped aside to let her in first.

I shrugged off my cut and hung it on the back of the chair like always. Comfortable. Familiar. My space.

“Okay,” she said simply. Saylor didn’t move more than a few steps in. Her eyes scanned the room like it was a puzzle she had to solve. “Why am I in your room?” she asked and turned to me.

“Because this is where you’re going to be staying.”

She blinked, clearly not a fan of that answer. She stood near the bed and did a slow turn, taking it all in. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a king bed, a dresser, a flat screen mounted on the wall, a chair in the corner. Clean but lived in. My home inside the clubhouse.

“Why am I staying here? Why can’t I stay with Mac? That makes more sense than me staying here.”

“Mac, Mark, and Drew are sleeping on air mattresses in the interview room,” I said, already knowing her next argument.

She crossed her arms, stubborn as hell. “Am I supposed to see a problem with that? I can sleep on an air mattress.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re up for sleeping on an air mattress that slowly deflates every night until you’re practically on the floor.” I nodded to the bed. “You’ll sleep there.”

She pointed at the mattress like it was cursed. “And where are you going to sleep?”

I nodded again. “Right there with you, baby. I’ll stay on top of the covers if that makes you more comfortable.”

Her jaw tightened. “Or Mac could come sleep in here with me, and then you could go out there with the guys.”

I let out a flat laugh. “Yeah, that shit isn’t going to happen. The cameras have made my life hell for months. I’m not about to give up my bed.”

“You’re giving it up to me.”

I shook my head, smirking. “Nope. Just adding you to it. Lay down and rest. I can see how exhausted you are.”

“I can’t sleep all day,” she muttered, arms still crossed.

“I’m not blind, Saylor. Anyone could see you’re tired—and I don’t blame you. You’ve been through hell.”

She glared at me like she wanted to argue, but her body betrayed her. She was swaying on her feet. Her arms dropped to her sides.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“Whatever. Don’t sleep. But at least sit down. I can put a movie on or something.”

With a sigh of exaggerated annoyance, she sat on the edge of the bed. “Maybe you can tell me why you’re stuck to me like glue.”

I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The screen flickered to life. “What do you like to watch?”

“Anything but reality TV.”

I glanced at her, amused. “You don’t watch the type of TV you help make?”

“Find a movie,” she deadpanned.

I didn’t turn back to the TV right away. “Avoiding my question?”

“Just like you avoided mine,” she shot back.

I opened Netflix and started flipping through movies. “What question did you ask?”

“Why are you stuck to me like glue?”

I’d heard her the first time. I just didn’t have a real answer.

“Thirsty?” I asked instead.

She laughed, even if she was trying not to. “You’re making me feel like I’m crazy, Pirate. Am I really talking?”

“I hear you, baby. I just don’t know the answer to your question. I’m here because this is where it feels right. That enough?”

She gave me a look, her lips quirking up like she didn’t buy it but wasn’t going to push. “Not really. But I’m pretty sure you’re not going to give me anything else. And I just learned you’re good at avoiding me when you don’t want to hear me.”

She yawned and tried to hide it behind her hand.

“The movie’s starting. Why don’t you lay down? I’ll get you something to drink.”

“I’m not sleeping,” she insisted.

I held up my hands. “Never said you should sleep. I just want you to rest.”

“Horizontally,” she muttered.

Still, she scooted backward on the bed, easing herself down slowly. When her head hit the pillows, she let out a soft sigh.

“This what you want?” she asked.

“That’ll do. I’ll be right back.”

I set the remote down on the nightstand and headed for the door. Before leaving, I flicked off the overhead light so only the glow of the TV lit the room. I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind me.

The clubhouse was quiet, the steady hum of voices down the hall and the smell of food cooking the only signs of life.

I followed the scent to the kitchen.

Adalee stood at the stove, stirring something in a huge pot. She glanced over when I walked in.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Just getting some water.” I opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles.

“Think she’ll be up for dinner? I’m making sausage, potato, and kale soup.”

I curled my lip. “I’m sure it tastes better than it sounds.” I didn’t even know what kale was—some kind of lettuce?

Adalee laughed. “I promise it’s good.” She pointed toward the oven. “I’ve also got a carrot cake in there.”

“Good. I’ll have three slices of that.”

She rolled her eyes. “I bet you’ll have two bowls of soup too.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that. What time’s dinner?”

“Should be ready by six. Want me to bring some to your room?”

I shook my head. “I’ll come out and get it. Thanks, Adalee.”

She smiled and went back to stirring.

“Pirate,” Yarder called from the bar, beer in hand.

I stepped over. “Yeah?”

“How’s it going?”

“Going. Just getting her settled in.”

Yarder nodded. “Good. Church in the morning.”

“Something happen?”

He shook his head. “Just be there.”

“Will do.”

I made my way back to my room, the cold water bottles sweating in my hands. The hallway was dim, quiet except for the occasional creak of the wood under my boots.

Back at my door, I pushed it open gently and stepped inside.

Saylor was curled on her side, already asleep, the TV screen casting a faint blue light over her. Her hair spilled across the pillow, her breathing soft and steady—and she was snoring. Not loud. Just a faint, rhythmic little sound.

“So much for not sleeping, baby,” I whispered.

I set the bottles on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. I untied my boots and slipped them off, setting them neatly beside the chair. Then I eased myself onto the bed next to her, careful not to jostle her or touch her. She needed the rest more than anything.

She looked fragile in sleep, her usual edge softened. A fresh bruise bloomed along her cheekbone, and a shallow cut marked her forehead. Seeing it all laid out like that in the dim light—yeah. She’d been through hell.

But even with the bruises, she was beautiful.

Her black hair had that shine to it, falling in a messy halo. A silver ring pierced her nose, and her ears were studded with piercings that glinted in the TV’s glow. Her tattoos snaked down her arms—some small and funny, others bold and dark. She had a look that most people didn’t understand. Goth, yeah. But there was softness there, too. Something delicate in the way she held herself, even when she was trying to look like she didn’t give a damn.

I laid on my back and closed my eyes. I’d gotten some sleep the night before, but it had been choppy—nurses coming in and out of the hospital room, strange sounds pulling me out of what little rest I got. I hadn’t let myself sleep too deeply, not while she was hooked up to machines and looking like a shadow of herself.

But here?

We were safe in the clubhouse. She was next to me. And for the first time in days, I let myself breathe easy.

Sleep came quick.