Page 10

Chelsea

I wonder what club enforcers usually do on a boring Tuesday afternoon.

I bet they don’t spend it in the bathtub with the girl they sort of kidnapped, with bubbles floating all around the bath.

Hound probably has a million things to do, and yet here I am, keeping him to myself.

But wrapped in his strong muscles with my body deliciously lax, I can’t find it within myself to feel bad about it.

Is this… Stockholm syndrome?

These feelings I have for a man who is no more than a stranger to me cannot be healthy. Something in me wilted when I thought he didn’t want me. The feeling was so strong and scary for it to be brought about by a man this dangerous. Thoughts of him with other women were crushing to my psyche.

And then he offered me a kernel of hope. “You’re the first woman I’ve brought here, to the clubhouse .” And then another. “You’re the exception.” They kept coming, words that worked to soothe the ache. Words that opened me up like a flower, and all was forgiven.

He kissed me like I was precious, then made love to me like he wanted to swallow me whole.

And now I’m sitting between his legs with my back to his front, taking a bath because he insisted it would help with my soreness as I try to retrace my steps to when exactly I gave my heart to this dangerous man.

“I can practically see the wheels in your brain turning,” Hound teases, his breath brushing softly against my ear and sending goosebumps licking up my body. “Tell me what’s on your mind, kitten.”

I shift my head and angle it so I’m staring into those steely gray eyes. “Why do you call me that?”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s just… I’ve never heard anyone use it before,” I muse. “Is it my hair?”

He laughs, and there’s that sound again.

I can tell he doesn’t make it often, and a part of me wants to stick around longer to hear more of it—to tease it out of him.

“It’s not your hair,” he says with a deep chuckle.

“You were bold when we first met, pulling out your claws and threatening to call the cops on the guy holding a gun in your living room.”

Right, and was that only yesterday? And now I’m in the bathtub with that very man. I must be out of my goddamned mind.

“What happens if Ransom can’t pay back all the money?” I ask, half terrified that whatever’s happened between us is not strong enough to override his duty to the club. “Will you kill him?”

“No.”

I search his face for any sign that he’s lying, but find none, and that puts me at ease.

I turn around to face the front, leaning against his chest. “He and my grandmother are the only family I have left,” I confess.

Maybe it’s the water or the bubbles. Or perhaps it’s the strong man behind me, but I find myself dropping my guard.

“Our parents were in a car accident six years ago. I was fourteen and Ransom was twenty-three at the time and had just finished college. He was set to move to LA to work for some big tech company when the accident happened. Our parents didn’t make it. ”

“I’m sorry.”

My eyes flutter to a close, burrowing into his arms for comfort.

“Ransom had to stay here in Chicago and look after me. I was a high school freshman, and Nonna was already in the nursing home. He had to take care of a teen and an elderly woman all on his own.” I’ve always felt sorry that Ransom had to sacrifice his dream, and now that he’s close to living his life without the burden of taking care of me, he gets in trouble with a freaking MC.

He hadn’t told me how bad our financial situation had gotten, insisting that I save all the money I made from my retail job, little as the pay may be.

“If it comes down to it, don’t hurt my brother. Take me instead.”

“No one will hurt either of you. I promise.”

I’m a fool to trust the words of a man like him, but I do. With my body thrumming with pleasure and heart racing with every thought of him, I allow myself to believe. “What about you?” I ask, choosing to change the topic. “I don’t imagine your parents like what you do.”

Hound stills against me for a second before the tension releases with a sigh. “My parents don’t care about much of anything when it comes to me. Haven’t seen them since I was fifteen.”

Shit, I should have realized it was a sore subject when he shut down earlier when I asked him if he had any plans of getting married and having kids. It’s the bubbles, they’ve clouded my mind.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” I hurry to say, closing a hand over his large forearm. “You don’t have to talk about them—”

“I don’t mind.” His rough tone says otherwise, but I don’t comment on it, choosing instead to run a soothing hand over his wet skin.

“My parents spent a lot of time in and out of jail. Petty crimes that ranged from shoplifting to disorderly conduct and multiple visits from children services for child neglect. They made it abundantly clear that they never wanted me, reminded me every day so I never forgot.”

I shudder at his words; they’re cold, and his tone carries a deep-seated hatred.

Is it any wonder he chose the profession he did?

A man raised in a cold home grew into a cold, unfeeling man.

One who doesn’t seem terrified by the thought of pulling a trigger.

He was probably seeking the family he never had when he joined the Steel Rebels.

“I’m sorry,” I offer.

“Don’t be,” he says, his voice distant. Almost as if he’s re-living his childhood over again.

“They were arrested for armed robbery when I was fifteen, and I decided I wouldn’t be there when they came back from jail.

Packed my shit and left before children services could put me in a group home.

I lived with an uncle for a couple of years and then left when I turned eighteen.

Joined the military because I had nowhere to go, and later, the Rebels. ”

There are questions I have, but with the mood suddenly so dark, I figure this isn’t the right time. I search my mind for what to say to chase off the dark cloud looming over us, but come up blank.

“I love gardening,” I blurt out when nothing else comes to mind.

It’s so off topic that I feel Hound’s confusion from behind me.

“Nonna, my grandma in the nursing home, used to own this beautiful garden at her house in the suburbs. It had tomatoes and herbs like rosemary and sweet basil. One time, she and I were harvesting the tomatoes to make some sauce when I spotted this heart-shaped tomato. My grandma told me that if I placed the tomato on my nightstand and wished very hard on it at night, like one does a wishing star, then I would be visited by prince charming.”

“I assume you were not so easily fooled,” he says, his voice much lighter than it was a few seconds ago.

“In my defense, I was six,” I argue. “And I trusted my grandmother implicitly, so I took the heart-shaped tomato and wished on it every night, but the thing about tomatoes on nightstands is that they have a short lifespan.”

“Of course,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, well, let’s just say my prince charming never showed up.” I sigh, trailing a finger up his arm. “For all the wishing I did, I was rewarded by a swarm of ants. Someone tossed it in the garbage when I wasn’t looking.”

“My guess, you learned from that experience.”

“Hmm, not quite,” I muse, turning slightly to trail my hand over his firm pecs, loving the feel of his muscles under my fingertips.

He hisses when I absentmindedly graze his nipple with my nail, so I do it again.

“Nonna was great at weaving stories; I fell for so many of them.” I lay my hand flat on his pec, smiling when it shifts under my palm.

“I’d bet you fifty bucks that she’s selling tall tales to all the little old ladies at the nursing home. ”

“Fuck,” he hisses when I tweak his nipple playfully.

“I want to get back into gardening,” I say, sliding my hand down his chest to the firm ridges of his stomach, pretending not to notice the effect my touch has on him, though it’s heady.

“The feeling of dirt under my fingertips and the smell of fresh herbs and vegetables was my favorite thing.” His stomach contracts under my touch as I count the ridges, wondering how much work he has to do to get his body this firm.

“I don’t hate my job at the retail store, although the customers can be a bit much, but…

If I had to pick, I would garden my entire life.

Not much space for it here in the city, though. ”

“Chelsea—”

“I can just see it,” I muse, dragging my nails softly over his skin as I picture myself on my knees in a small garden, sowing some tomato seedlings into the earth.

“There was this one cute pair of brown overalls with sunflowers painted all over them. I used to wear them whenever we gardened. I wonder if I can find a similar pair. It was so long ago—”

Hound’s hand grabs my wrist and yanks me back from my fantasy. My brows draw in confusion at the move, so I look down at where our hands are joined. Heat climbs up my neck and brightens my cheeks when I realize my hand is inches away from his manhood—his very erect manhood.

“Oh,” I gasp, the sound breathy and uneven. “I… Sorry, I was so carried away that I didn’t notice.”

His eyes are hooded when I look up to meet them. “You got me all worked up, kitten,” he says, voice thick and husky. “I’m this close to bending you over this tub and fucking you senseless.”

“Oh!”

“I’m not going to do that, though. You’re sore,” he says, raggedly, releasing my hand, and I know I should pull back, apologize, and stop teasing the man when he looks like he’s in pain, but I don’t.

“Is there something I can do?” I ask, my eyes locked on his jutting cock, fascinated by the size. I bite my lip as I look up at him once more, all thoughts of mischievous grandmothers and gardening gone. “Maybe you can show me…teach me how to please you?”

“Teach you?”