by Kim Jones
He gives suspicious look. “Why are you so pale? And shaky?”
“I’m sick. Possibly contagious. It’s probably best if you leave right now and not tell anyone where I am. Because then they might try to come out here. And then they’ll get sick. And I don’t wish this feeling on anyone. Not even you.”
“A hangover is hardly contagious, Apple.”
“I’m not hungover.”
“A thief, a drunk and a liar. Your parents must be real proud.”
“Damnit Bouncer, please! I can’t—” My voice breaks. I bite back a sob and look away when tears cloud my vision.
He stands and closes the few feet of distance between us. He grasps my chin and forces me to look at him. When I do, there’s worry in his eyes. He slides his hand to my head and then drags his knuckles over my cheek. “You’re burning up.”
“I beg to differ.” As if my body needs to prove the point, a violent shiver rocks me and I bite my lip to keep my teeth from chattering.
Bouncer stiffens and a look of determination settles on his face. “You’re coming back to the clubhouse with me.”
Before I can protest, he grabs my backpack from the floor and starts shoveling shit from my milkcrate-dresser inside.
“I don’t want to go to the clubhouse.”
“Don’t care what you want. You’re going.”
“You can’t make me.” I tried to be firm. I failed.
“Yes. I can make you. If you’re smart, you won’t test me on that.”
I heave a sigh. Cough. Nearly fall to my knees at the pain radiating in my chest. When I catch my breath and look at him, his expression screams I told you so.
“I don’t want them to know I’m here. If they knew, they’d try to move me in the clubhouse, or set me up to live with one of the strippers or Ol’ Lady’s or put me up in an apartment. I can’t have that. I don’t expect you to understand, but I need to be here. On my own. It’s…important to me.”
He nods. “Okay.”
It can’t be that simple….
“You come back with me and I won’t tell them. But only if you stay until I decide you’re well enough to leave.”
Confident that I won’t get a better offer from him, and beyond ready to be warm and able to sleep, I agree. “Deal.”
“Good girl. You walking, or am I carrying you?”
“You’re not carrying me.”
“Fine. Move.”
I turn to the door and fumble with the straps. When he steps up next to me and gently swats my hand away to do it himself, I let him.
Just like I let him hold my hand.
And steer me through the woods.
And carry my backpack.
And trust him with my secrets.
Ten
BOUNCER
I’m a fucking storm of emotions.
For two hours I sat in that tent and waited on her—my anger building with every passing second. She’d disrespected me. Stole from my brothers. Lied to them.
Lied to me.
Deceiving me was her greatest transgression of all. I just couldn’t shake it. But it still didn’t stop me from the feeling of regret that nearly suffocated me at the sight of her.
I’m the reason she spent the last three days and nights outside, in a tent, during record low temps. I’m the reason she’s sick. I don’t even know if she’s been to the doctor. I never even thought to ask. I was too busy questioning her. Making her stand there when it was clear she was dead on her feet. Pushing her to the point of tears and then forcing her to walk a half mile through the woods back to the clubhouse.
I look down at her and frown. I don’t like how pale she looks. Or how she continues to stumble even when I slow my pace. Her hand in mine has lost its grip and I have to tighten my hold to keep the connection.
“If I carried you we’d get there quicker and you could rest sooner.”
“If you’d have left me alone I’d already be resting.”
Brat.
When we finally make it, we enter the clubhouse through a side door, hoping to eliminate any attention from the rest of the club. We aren’t successful. Nearly the entire club sits in the main room, eyes turned on us as we ease around the corner.
I feel Apple stiffen beside me. “Did I mention I have shitty luck?”
Apparently, we both do. Because Jinx gets up from his seat, long strides getting him to Apple’s side in seconds.
“What happened? Here, let me—”
“I’ve got it.” I cut him off. Not just because I’ve got it, but because I need to leave little room for questions. “I’m taking her to my room.”
“Apple, are you okay?” he asks over my shoulder as I maneuver around him and toward the hall leading to my room.
“Not even a little. If he dismembers my body, one of you motherfuckers better at least get me a Dateline or 48 Hours special,” Apple calls over her shoulder, her voice worn and raspy.
I don’t waste time getting us behind the closed door of my room.
“Really? Dismemberment?”
“You look capable.”
I push through the door of the bathroom, flipping on the light. “Sit.” I point to the closed lid of the toilet, beyond amazed when she actually fucking does it.
I pull back the curtain and grimace. I’m not sure what nasty motherfucker’s been in here, but there’s a black ring around the side of the tub and sand on the floor of it. I grip the back of my neck, looking over at Apple.
Her eyes are half-lidded. The little skin I can see is pale. She sits with her arms wrapped around her middle, unaware of the dilemma I’m faced with.
“Where’s the cleaning supplies?”
“Under the sink, behind the toiletries.” She answers, her eyes drawn in confusion.
I don’t bother explaining. I just squat before the sink and open the cabinets, spotting a couple of bottles of cleaner and some rags in the back of the cabinet.
It’s been a long time since I put down roots anywhere. I live between the clubhouse and cheap hotels. So, it’s also been a while since I’ve had to scrub a bathroom. Since my military days. But I do it. I spray the cleaner and quickly scrub the ring from the tub, rinsing it out thoroughly before plugging it off and filling it with clean, warm water.
I turn my attention back to Apple. Her hair has fallen over her face and I push it behind her ear. She looks up at me through long, dark lashes.
“Get this shit off.” I tug on the arm of the trash bag sized sweatshirt she wears. I remember the way she felt the other night, the body under this, and I can’t figure out why she wears clothes that are three times too big.
She slaps my hand away. “Uh, I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you.”
My eyes lock with hers. “You can use my knee as a fucking post for that little pussy, but you’re suddenly too shy to take off your clothes?”
She gasps and my eyes drop briefly to her mouth. “Y-you know?”
“Yes.” My short answer does little to settle her nerves. But it’s all she’s getting—right now. We will have this conversation. She will tell me everything, starting with what happened that night and ending with why she kept her identity from me. Then I’m going to take my belt to her ass until I’m convinced she understands that I am not the one to keep shit from.
I easily pull her to standing. “Strip. We need to get your body temperature up.”
She drops her arms from her middle, hands fisting at her sides. “I can do it myself, asshole.” She turns away from me and attempts to pull her arm from her sleeve, but has to stop to steady herself.
I grab her shoulders and turn her back to me. She doesn’t meet my eyes, so I tilt her chin up, seeing the fatigue written on her face. My protective instincts flare. She needs me to take care of her. Because she’s too stubborn to take care of herself.
“Stop fighting me on this. You’re getting a bath. Raise your arms.”
Her eyes say—for once—what her mouth doesn’t. Without argument, she lift
s her arms and I pull the shirt over her head. What’s underneath surprises me.
I’ve seen lingerie. But what’s left covering her curves isn’t just lingerie. It’s fucking body art. Black straps crisscross over her chest, deep purple triangles barely cover the nipples of her full tits. With a flick of my fingers the material falls away and I nearly groan at the sight of her light brown nipples hardening into perfect little peaks right before my eyes.
Fuck.
She clears her throat and I stiffen, remembering myself. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” I gravel, dropping to one knee to remove her tattered old boots. I hook my thumbs into her pants and strip them down her legs—making sure to pull down the panties underneath with them.
I’ve seen enough.
I cut off the water and help her over the edge. She releases a contented moan and I grit my teeth, turning to busy myself looking for a towel.
A knock comes from the bedroom door.
“You good?”
She turns her head toward me, chin atop her drawn knees. “I’m great.”
Why is that what makes my dick twitch?
I hold on to the door jam a second longer than necessary before walking to the bedroom.
“Who is it?”
“Jinx.”
I open the door halfway. “What?”
“Just wanted to check, see if I need to send Talia.”
“Why would you need to do that?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, the two of you aren’t fans of each other’s. It might be better—easier if my Ol’ Lady takes over. You know what I mean?”
“I found her. I’ll take care of her.”
He holds his hands up in response, sensing my temper shortening.
If he knew my patience waning had more to do with the naked woman in my tub, he would better understand. But I’m damn sure not arming him with that information to take back out to the rest of the brothers.
“Alright, man. I hear you.” He starts to back away down the hall. “Holler if anything changes.”
I nod. “Let me get her to bed and I’ll be out.”
Pushing the door shut behind me, I walk over to the thermostat, bumping it up a couple degrees. When I peak through the cracked doorway of the bathroom, I see Apple lathering shampoo in her hair.
I remove my gun from the waistband of my jeans, checking the chamber and clicking the safety, placing it on the nightstand. I count the steps from my side of the bed to the window, checking each is securely locked.
Apple’s backpack is sitting half-open on the end of the bed. I pull out the few articles of clothing, but there isn’t much to choose from. Besides several bras and panties of the same style and fabric as what she wore earlier, there is an old worn hoodie, a couple moth-eaten T-shirts and another pair of joggers.
I grab a pair of her socks and panties, walking over to where my clothes are and choosing one of my own T-shirts for her to wear instead of the shit in her bag.
I hear water splash and the sound of skin against the porcelain of the tub. I take quick steps to get to the bathroom.
“Everything okay?” I peek my head in.
Apple is standing in the tub, reaching for the towel I left out. Her skin is flushed, color returning to her cheeks.
I walk over to her and she scrambles to get the towel around her. The smell of her skin, her hair. It’s good.
“I’m sick, not an invalid. I can get out of the bath, Sir.” My blood runs hot, the surface of my skin pricking at the word.
“Hold still.” I reach one hand around the back of her neck, using my forearm to check her temperature. Every part of her is warm, pliable, soft.
She squirms, almost losing her footing and slipping over the side of the tub.
Her tits. The sound of Sir from her lips. Her defiance….
My reaction is part habitual and part pure fucking need at this point. But I lift my leg to prop on the edge of the tub and bend her over my knee, landing two sharp smacks to the round of her ass.
I expect her to protest. Flail. Yell. Because that’s what she does when we’re outside this room. And because what sort of asshole spanks a sick girl? Apparently, I do. Because this woman drives me out of my mind in more ways than one.
What I don’t expect is her complete silence. I can’t even hear her breathe. Good. I’ve got her attention.
“I told you to hold still. You didn’t listen and almost hurt yourself,” I speak soft. Firm into her ear, smoothing my hand over the heated skin.
I stand her up, helping secure the towel around her middle. Her eyes are open wider. They look unsure and a little hurt. I force myself to ignore the tremble in her bottom lip.
“Wrap your arms around my neck.”
She does, eyes unmoving. I lift her from the tub and carry her to the bedroom—aware of her watching me. Sitting her on the edge of the bed, I take her socks from the pile. When I take her foot in my hand, I can’t miss the nail of each small toe painted a vivid pink.
I look up to see her studying me. Or maybe that’s…concern? I slip the socks on and grab my folded T-shirt, pulling it over her head. “Lay down.” I pat her hip to get her moving. I pull the covers up and over her. I frown when she turns her back to me and curls in on herself.
Did I go too far?
Was it too much?
Just as I open my mouth to check on her, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Jinx: Talia is still here if you need her.
I roll my eyes. Jinx of all people should know I’m fully capable of taking care of a woman. He’s seen me with many subs over the years.
Apple’s breathing evens out and I silently slip out the door—unable to shake the feeling that’s bothering me. The one that assures me that this crazy, weird woman is about to throw a kink in my carefully controlled life.
Every eye is on me when I walk into the main room of the clubhouse. I can tell by their silence they were talking about me before I entered. I’m not upset. I simply don’t care. Aside from what they need to know, what’s happening between me and Apple is none of their business. I have no issue telling them that.
North is the first to pipe up. “How’s our girl?”
I barely refrain from telling him she’s not “our” anything.
“She’ll live. I think.” I pull up a seat, settling in for the questionnaire I know I’m about to get dealt.
The rest of the guys sit around. Sly and Bash play cards. Jinx has a beer in his hand, eyes on me, concerned.
Great.
“You think it’s a good idea for you two to be cooped up in that room together? I mean, if anyone knows how you are, I do,” he says.
“Don’t worry about it. I got it.”
“I do worry about it. The first time she mouths off…” his words die off in thought.
“Then I’ll handle it.”
He gives me a doubtful look. “She’s not the type of…woman you just handle, Brother.” His voice drops. “She’s not some trained sub who knows better. Apple doesn’t have a submissive bone in her body.”
I know better, but that’s not my business to tell. I might just be here temporarily, but Apple’s life is here. She works with these men every day. It would be unfair of me to expose her secrets when it’s obvious she’s kept that side of her hidden.
“Submissive or not, she could definitely benefit from some control in her life.”
Sly laughs. “Control Apple? Yeah. Okay.”
Jinx’s frown deepens. He’s protective. I get it. But I don’t much give a fuck, either. “The only person around here who has a problem with Apple is you, Bouncer. We like her just fine the way she is.”
I hold his stare. “Liking her and caring for her are two different things.”
“We all care about her, Brother,” Bash grunts, sliding his gaze to mine for a moment before turning back to his cards. “Consider her one of our own.”
“Did you know one of your own was sleeping in a fucking tent in the woods half a mile
from here?”
They all turn to stare at me. I see a number of emotions in their eyes—worry. Regret. Curiosity. Doubt. I immediately feel like shit for snapping on them. I hold my hands up.
“I shouldn’t have said it like that. I know that every Brother in this room would’ve helped her if they had known she was in trouble. Apple knows that too. Which is why she kept it from y’all and asked me not to say anything. But, considering the circumstances, I thought y’all deserved to know. You should also know that until she’s better, I’m going to be looking out for her. If that’s a problem, tell me now.”
No one says anything. The only sound between us is the flick of my lighter as I light a cigarette. They’re all still reeling from the bomb I dropped on them. It was a dick thing for me to do, but it’s done. I blow out a breath of smoke. “So it’s settled. Now, do we have some real business to discuss?”
Chaos steers the conversation in a much-needed direction and the subject is dropped. We spend the next half hour going over the details of important things. The shit that matters to me. But for the first time since I sewed my patch on, club business seems minor in comparison to my need to be with Apple.
Eleven
APPLE
You didn’t listen.
You almost hurt yourself.
If I wasn’t still processing him bending me over his knee and smacking my ass, I might’ve used my mouth to say what my heart was screaming.
What do you care?
Fuck him for pretending he actually gives a shit about me just because he feels guilty. I’ve made it just fine for years without anyone caring about my safety. What gives him the right to just show up and…care?
He doesn’t care about you.
He’s doing this for his own selfish reasons.
My head pounds. My chest aches. My throat burns. I can’t get warm. Or comfortable. My emotional distress worsens my turmoil. My body is weak. My heart is fragile. I’m sad and scared and confused and so fucking lonely it hurts.
