by P. Jameson
I should disrupt them. They shouldn’t be so careless right now when the shed was burning from Bastian’s attack. They should know that this was their fault.
I reached for the door handle and again, stopped. No. It wasn’t their fault. And I could take care of this without worrying them. They could just fucking keep laughing and not be any the wiser.
“Fuck,” I hissed, turning again to stalk away.
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t give one shit about whether or not the Dolls were laughing. Outside, getting my males together to do a sweep of the property. That’s where I was supposed to be.
“Remember your fucking place,” I murmured to myself.
Remember who you are.
Chapter Eleven
The next few days were a blur for Nyla. She didn’t resist when Marlee helped her dress and Skittles put her in his bed. She let him feed her small bits of food in between long bouts of sleep. She would awake to him changing her bandages, and she let him do that too. He made for a good doctor, and it seemed to please him to watch over her.
Part of her wanted to please the man. Part of her wanted to buck against it all and regain her independence.
But she slept on, knowing that she couldn’t do it until she was strong again.
Through her exhaustion, she tried to work out what Marlee had told her about him. That he’d chosen her to care for. But when she tried to make sense of why, she had no answers.
The other Dolls had visited some, but she could hardly stay awake long enough to have a full conversation with any of them.
Vegas stuck out in her mind though. All of them seemed healthier, happier. But Vegas had changed the most. And it wasn’t only in her looks. Hair was shinier, face had more color, eyes sparkled. But the biggest change was in her demeanor.
She was no longer a broken, battered shell of a human. She held her shoulders a bit higher. She was confident. Not arrogant, but… somehow sure of herself.
How was that possible?
How did little broken number One come back from the shit Bastian put her through? And how did she smile like it was possible for all them?
Nyla couldn’t make sense of it.
She didn’t know how many days she’d slept in Skittles’s bed, allowing him to feed and care for her, before she finally awoke with some clarity.
It was mostly dark in the room, with only the soft glow from one of the computer monitors on the desk to light the place. Nyla let her eyes really roam the area for the first time. The walls were painted a pale blue-gray. It should’ve been an unwelcome color after living in the dingy basement for so long, but she liked it. It was soothing.
A large framed photo of an antique motorcycle hung on one wall and several bookshelves took up another. In fact, there were books everywhere. Stacks of them on the desk, on the side table, even on the floor.
So the man liked to read. Interesting.
Reading and hacking and tattoos… oh my. It was the attraction trifecta. As if someone had taken all the traits she imagined her dream guy might have and put them all in this man.
How unfair. To find him now, when she was completely ruined and unable to think of anything but revenge.
Swinging her gaze around, she found him beside the bed, asleep in the Rolls Royce of desk chairs. His big arms were crossed over his chest, his chin dipped low, one foot propped up on the mattress, completely at ease. Next to him, on the nightstand was a sheathed knife. She could have it at his throat before he took his first blink.
Maybe he wasn’t as smart as she’d thought.
As though he could read her mind, he blinked awake, his gaze immediately going to her. He said nothing. Didn’t move. Just watched, as if judging whether or not she was actually lucid.
“Hi,” she said, deciding to help him out.
He sat forward in the chair, propping his forearms on his knees, muscles flexing the colorful tattoos that went all the way down to his wrists. Sexy. God, he was sexy.
“How do you feel?”
His voice was rough with sleep, and it danced along her skin, bathing her in delicious chills. Shit. How did he do that with just his words?
“Are you hungry, mate? Thirsty? Do you want to sit up—”
Nyla squeezed her eyes closed, trying to stop the way his voice lit her up inside. Like she was coming to life after being dead too long. Like when your foot falls asleep. Everything tingled, going from a welcome sensation to unwelcome between the beats of her heart.
“Are you in pain?” he rumbled, his voice going deeper, hotter. Oh god. It was the smoothest whiskey, just enough heat to melt her. “Nyla.”
And her name… the way he said her name.
“Nyla, tell me. Now.”
“Shhh,” she blurted. “Just… just stop talking.”
A blast of something hit her hard, and even though she felt it, it wasn’t physical. It was like… an emotion. If an emotion could manifest into something real.
She opened her eyes to find him standing over the bed, staring down at her angrily.
Had she just felt his anger like a hot wind?
“You will tell me if you need help, woman, and you will do it now.”
Woman? Was he serious?
Like a caveman. Bam bam, me want answer. The idea made her laugh. It was a weary sound and not exactly happy, but it was a laugh. And she hadn’t done that in… well, too long to remember.
“Are you mad because I told you to be quiet?”
Skittles frowned. “Don’t give a shit about that. You were in pain, and you wouldn’t answer me. Can’t get you what you need if you don’t answer.”
She eyed him. “So telling you to hush had nothing to do with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Riiight.”
He cocked his head. “Are you hurt or not? Marlee said you won’t want any medicine, but we have—”
“No.” Drugs. She didn’t want any of that, even if she did ache. Just the idea turned her stomach and churned up memories of the drugged water Bastian used to keep them docile. “I’m not hurt. It was just… your voice.”
“My voice?”
“It was…” She was not going to tell him the truth. “… grating on my nerves.”
Something flickered across his gaze and he pressed his lips into a hard line. He turned away, messing with something on the desk. She couldn’t see what it was, but she did notice how the tips of his ears turned a blazing red. He blew out a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while clicking away at the computer. His strong shoulders were rigid, his back muscles tight enough to notice through his shirt.
What she’d said bothered him. Was he… hurt?
She didn’t like the idea.
It was a bitchy thing to say. Not to mention, a complete lie. He had the most gorgeous voice she’d ever heard. It wasn’t his fault it turned her on and made her feel things she hadn’t felt in an eternity.
Nyla opened her mouth to fix the mistake, but she couldn’t find words.
A few moments later, soft music filtered into the room. It was slow and soothing, working to relax her own confused emotions.
Skittles walked back over to the bed, staring down at her, his eyes not giving away his thoughts. “I’ll go get you food,” he whispered softly, as if that would fix the problem she had with his tone.
But it didn’t. It sent a pang of desire through her middle and a jolt of something else straight to her heart. What was it?
“Thank you,” she whispered back, more confused than ever.
He stared a few moments longer, looking like he wanted to say more, do more. But then he turned and headed for the door, leaving her… and the knife… alone in the room.
***
Skittles stalked down the hall toward the kitchen, reeling from this new revelation.
My voice hurts her. How was he supposed to learn and bond with her if his voice was a source of discomfort. Shit. Not only that, it filled him with shame to know there was a part of h
im that his mate didn’t like.
His beast was pissed too. It grumbled beneath the surface, unhappy with everything.
It had been a week since they rescued Nyla from Bastian’s torture room. And it was clear that’s exactly what had been done there. Torture. It was evident in the wounds that covered her body. The bruised, swollen eyes that were in different stages of healing. The places she’d been cut, scabbed over, and then cut again. The spots where the hair had been ripped from her scalp in chunks, strategically, where it would hurt the most. The starvation and dehydration…
He’d had a lot of time to think about it while she recovered.
For hours on end, he let his eyes roam over her, memorizing every single harm that had been done to her. And he’d committed other things to memory too. The sounds she made as she slept. The even lift and rise of her chest. The way her nose crinkled if she was dreaming.
And he made plans.
He imagined what he would say to her when she could stay awake long enough to talk back. What they’d do first when she could walk outside of his room. Where he would take her, how he would tell her about himself and his past. The things he wanted to share with her…
The sunset over the city as it could be seen from the warehouse roof.
A ride on his Harley, out on a country road to remind her what freedom felt like.
The songs he listened to as he’d stared at her picture, waiting for her, imagining their future.
His favorite passage from his favorite book, read to her out loud as she rested in his arms.
Guess he could mark that one off the list.
His voice caused her pain.
The idea left an empty hole in his chest.
Pushing into the kitchen, he found Mama Kitty at the counter, chopping something and dumping it into a steaming pot on the stove. She glanced over her shoulder, before returning to her work.
“How’s your female?” she asked quietly.
Mama Kitty was a shell of her former self. And that wasn’t saying much because as long as he’d known her—his whole life—she had always been a little broken.
Long ago, she’d mated one of the evil clan Fathers, and became pregnant with Ratchet. Like all the females of years past, she’d fallen for the formidable male, believing that he could love her.
But the Fathers weren’t capable of love unless it was the love of power.
Once she was with child, it was too late to escape the clan. She could have left like many of the other mates did. Like Skittles’s own mother did. Like Monster’s and Fang’s and the others.
But Mama Kitty was made of different shit than those females. She wasn’t about to leave her son alone with the Fathers, for them to raise and turn into a monster. Not without being right there next to him to at least try and teach him how to be better.
She’d failed.
Ratchet was cruel before he found Marlee in the storage shed and decided to protect her. But when Mama Kitty stuck around for him, and gave him love through all the hard lessons the Fathers dealt, she also had enough to share with the rest of the young males.
Because she stayed, Skittles had learned to use his frustration to master computers and systems.
Because she stayed, Monster was able to find a way to endure the vicious cutting religiously done to his face and body.
Because she stayed, they were able to do what the Fathers could not, and find a way to love past everything that hurt. They could choose a better way even if it wasn’t what they were taught.
Because she stayed…
Was it the right choice? Probably not. And definitely not, for her. But it saved a lot of them. She saved a lot of them, and she didn’t even know it.
She’d done a lot of good, it was true. But a few months ago, she almost gave Marlee back to Bastian in order to protect Ratchet from the man’s wrath. It was her biggest mistake, even if it had come from a place of motherly love.
Still, it had drawn a wedge between her and the clan. Ratchet hadn’t forgiven her for the betrayal, and after the latest revelation that she had helped many of their females and young escape throughout the years, none of them trusted her like they once had.
There wasn’t an innocent one among them. They’d all done shitty things. Even her. But Mama Kitty knew how to love… even when her love wasn’t returned. And that made her a little better than all of them.
Skittles moved beside her, awkwardly putting and arm around her shoulders. She stiffened, but relaxed when he dropped a kiss to the top of her head.
“What was that for?” she asked as he pulled away and reached into the cabinet for some glasses.
He shrugged. “Haven’t said thank you in a while.”
She snorted softly. “You ain’t never said thank you, kiddo.”
Kiddo. She hadn’t called him that in twenty years. Maybe more.
“Probably right about that.”
“Mm. You didn’t answer my question. How’s your female?”
Skittles started putting together some food to take Nyla. He knew she was tired of bread but he had no idea what she liked. He’d fill up a tray and let her choose what she wanted.
“She’s awake, and more coherent.”
Mama Kittty looked over at him. “But?”
Of course, she heard the troubled hitch in his voice.
Skittles shrugged her off. “But nothing.”
She went back to chopping and dumping.
“It can’t be easy,” she murmured. “For these girls, coming into this place, with all these brutal men, and trying to heal from the wrongs done to them.”
Skittles stayed quiet. He knew she was right. The Alley Cat warehouse was no place for a broken female to heal. But it was the only option they had.
“There’s a lot of power in the bond though. If you’re patient enough, like the others were…” She sighed long and heavy. “… it will work itself out.”
He stacked some cookies and brownies onto a plate and added it to the tray before answering.
“I’ve been patient, Mama. More than anyone else here.” He couldn’t help the edge in his voice. How much more patient could he be? How much longer would he have to wait to have what the others had?
He just wanted to get close to his female, soothe her, and let her soothe him. Just wanted to fucking breathe. He wanted relief. She was here now, and the hardest part was supposed to be over. Yet, complications continued to stack against them until it seemed like he’d never have even a chance with Nyla.
“You were always more level than the others. You’re smart, Skittles. You’ll find a way to help your mate. And when you do, the rewards will be greater than you ever expected.”
“How do you know?”
“Eh, I don’t know. I just have a feeling. There’s something special about this one.”
“My girl?”
She shook her head. “Your story. And hers. The way you’ve come together. I just… have a feeling.”
But they weren’t together. That was the troubling part. Nyla had been in his possession for a week and it was like the world had stopped rotating.
He was no closer to her than when she was a mere photo.
Skittles was quiet as he made some sandwiches and picked the best pieces of fruit he could find. He poured juice and milk, piling all the offerings on the tray.
“She might like some hot chocolate,” Mama Kitty suggested. “It’s been drafty in the warehouse.”
Skittles nodded.
“Want me to show you how to make it?”
If his mate liked it, he would need to know how, so he could do it again.
“Yes.”
Mama Kitty made quick work of warming the milk and melting the chocolate in before showing him how to cover the top with whipped cream. She added a dusting of cinnamon and set the steaming mug on Skittles’s tray.
“Thank you,” he grunted. Maybe he would start saying it more.
Maybe it was time to be grateful for the things he had instead of al
l he was missing. After all, he had his beast back, he had his girl under his protection, and he had a chance, small as it seemed, at winning her heart.
It was time to take every advantage he could.
It was time to straighten the hell up.
Chapter Twelve
Skittles pushed into his room, tray in hand, fully expecting to find his mate still in bed where he’d left her. So when he saw the bed was empty, a fist of panic gripped his throat. Quickly scanning the room, he found Nyla sitting at his desk, immersed in reading something on one of the computer screens.
He blew out a hard breath, trying to loosen the hold on his air.
Shit.
He set the tray on the side table and noticed the weapon he’d left there was missing. Again, he let his gaze travel the room, but it was nowhere to be seen. Nyla must’ve taken it, but he didn’t say anything. If she thought she needed it to be safe, then he’d let her have it. Like Mama Kitty said, it would take time for her to realize she was safe here.
Nyla glanced at him and then back to the computer. “Hope you don’t mind,” she said.
Skittles shook his head. Until he could figure out why his voice bothered her, he would use it as little as possible.
Going to stand behind her, he peered down at the screen to see what she was doing. A blurry photo of an older woman was pulled up. Nothing else. It looked as though it could be from a newspaper, but with his colorblindness, he couldn’t be sure. Nyla didn’t look anywhere but the photo, and even though her hand was on the mouse, she didn’t click away from it.
Curiosity made him forget about his voice and he asked, “Who is it?” When Nyla flinched, he grunted out, “Shit, sorry,” and reached for a pen and paper to write his question down. It felt all wrong, but he would do whatever he needed to as long as it meant getting to know her.
“My Gran,” Nyla murmured, eyes never leaving the screen. “Just needed to see her.”
Where is she? Skittles scribbled on the notepad before shoving it in front of Nyla. If he could find her Gran and she could see her in person… well, that would help things between them, wouldn’t it?
Nyla frowned, staring down at the message before lifting her questioning eyes to him.
