Guts & Glory: Ryder (In the Shadows Security Book 2)

by Jeanne St. James

  He gave her until he finished counting to ten in his head, then turned the knob. He knew it wouldn’t be locked because he never installed one on the door. It was never needed.

  He flung open the door and saw the shower curtain was wide open, the water running and no Kelsea.

  At least not in the shower.

  No, she had wedged herself into the tight spot between the toilet and sink. Her head was down, and she was curled into herself.

  Had she fallen asleep?

  What the fuck!

  He rushed over, shut the water off and turned to look at her.

  She was naked, and still dirty. Now that the shower was quiet, he could hear it. She was softly crying with her arms wrapped around her knees, her face hidden in her arms and covered by her long dark blonde hair.

  If that didn’t break his fucking heart, nothing would.

  He squatted down and scrubbed a hand down his face before reaching out and pulling back some of her hair. She had her face buried against her knees so he couldn’t see it.

  “Kelsea,” he said softly. “You need to get in the shower. You’ll feel better afterward.”

  “I’m tired,” came out on a muffled sob.

  “Yeah, darlin’, I know you are.”

  “I’m really fucking tired.”

  “I get it. I’ve been there.” He’d been there. Too many times he’d wanted to curl up in a ball in a corner and forget all the ugly shit that was going on in the world. But, even so, he had to pick himself back up, dust his ass off and face whatever it was head-on. He couldn’t hide because that shit was never going anywhere. It would wait until he was ready to deal with it. Like it or not.

  He dropped his ass to the floor, unlaced his boots, jerked them and his socks off, before standing again to peel off his T-shirt, jeans and boxers.

  Once he was as naked as she was, he leaned into the shower, turned the water back on, tested the temp and while it was only lukewarm, he was thankful it wasn’t ice cold. He’d bathed too many times in his life with freezing cold water, be it from a faucet or a natural source. It sucked.

  He turned back to her, wondering how he was going to haul her ass out of that tight spot she was in.

  “Darlin’, can you stand?” He held out his hand to her, even though her head was still buried.

  When she didn’t respond, he leaned down, hooked her under the arms and dragged her up. She was dead weight, almost as if she lost the will to live, or even to function.

  Yep, he’d been there, too.

  He had no idea what was going on in her fucked-up mind right now, but he could understand how some issues could be bad enough to cripple somebody.

  He’d seen it frequently.

  He’d heard about fellow veterans eating their own guns because they couldn’t take whatever was fucking with their head.

  Something besides simply wanting to be brat was fucking with this woman’s head.

  Pulling her against his front, he shuffled her forward and into the shower stall and tensed when the spray hit them. While it was somewhat warm, it wasn’t that fucking warm.

  Water ran in rivulets over their heads, and down their bodies. He waited until they were both wet before grabbing the small bottle of generic shampoo he kept in the shower and, with one arm hooked around her to hold her up, attempted to not only open the bottle but squeeze some out.

  “A little help would be nice, darlin’.”

  She didn’t respond, all her weight rested against him like she was a rag doll.

  Somehow, he did it. He washed her hair and his, used the bar of soap to clean every spot he could reach, including areas he’d never washed on a woman before and got them both rinsed off quickly. He shut the water down as soon as he could, then shuffled her back out, snagged the nearest towel and wrapped her up in it after drying her off as best as he could. He didn’t even bother to try to dry himself, he just picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the bathroom, across the cabin and tucked her under the sheets in his bed.

  When he moved her damp hair out of her face, her eyes were half open, staring sightlessly at the wall.

  “Sleep, darlin’. When you wake up, I’ll get you fed and then we need to set some rules.”

  He perched on the edge of the mattress for a few moments, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, and the way she curled up in a ball after he pulled the covers over her.

  “Fuck,” he whispered. This wasn’t what he expected at all.

  He had no fucking clue how to deal with her at this point.

  But no matter what, he had a call to make.

  And he could already hear Diesel bellowing from four hundred plus miles away.

  Chapter Three

  His back was fucking killing him. Last night after eating two bowls of chili by himself, he had grabbed a sleeping bag and slept on the couch. Problem was, he might have been better off sleeping on the floor than on that old piece of shit.

  Kelsea had slept all night and he figured it best not to wake her. She was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. He wasn’t sure if the shower and sleep would help, but he sure as hell hoped so.

  And when she finally woke up, he hoped it would be with a better outlook. But he wasn’t putting money on that one.

  Leaning back against the counter, he was enjoying his second cup of coffee when he heard the bathroom door close and a minute or two later, the toilet flush and the water running in the sink.

  He must have been too tied up in his own thoughts to have noticed her slipping out of bed and into the bathroom.

  He was lifting his steaming mug to his lips when the bathroom door opened and...

  Jesus fuck.

  Every muscle in his body went tight as she strolled toward him like she was taking a relaxing walk in the woods. Only, she was completely naked.

  He kept his expression blank as she came closer and closer, a gleam in her eyes. She was definitely feeling better since she seemed to be up to her old tricks of being a brat.

  His breath caught as she brushed against him since his ass was planted next to the coffeemaker. Grabbing the empty mug he’d set out for her, she filled it and, ignoring him, took her first sip and wrinkled her nose.

  She probably didn’t drink it black normally, but if she wanted sugar and creamer, too fucking bad. It wasn’t like he’d had a spare moment for a grocery run. Bottom line, if she wanted to drink his coffee, she’d have to drink it the way the good Lord intended. Black. Which was the direction his mood was headed, especially when she asked, “What’s for breakfast?” like she wasn’t standing buck fucking naked in his kitchen.

  “Not havin’ breakfast until you put on some clothes.”

  She pursed her lips, turned and leaned her naked ass against the counter right beside him. The fuck if she didn’t. “Why? Does me being comfortable in my own skin bother you?”

  The last thing she was, was comfortable in her own skin. Last night proved it. Once again, she was lying to him. He’d already warned her once that lying had consequences.

  “No, if that was true. But pubes in my breakfast do.”

  She ran a hand down her stomach until she cupped her bare mound. "If you haven’t noticed, there are no worries about that.”

  Unfortunately, he did notice, not only last night when he scrubbed her there, but he couldn’t ignore it now that her fingers were caressing it, drawing his attention. Last night when he was taking care of her, he’d shut down all thoughts of her being a living, breathing woman. To him, she’d been someone he had to deal with like any other mission. Do what you had to do and get it over with.

  This morning, he was having a difficult time forgetting that she was a woman in her late twenties, with curves and an attitude that wouldn’t quit.

  “Darlin’, you know who doesn’t have pubes? Little girls. You know who wanders into a room totally fuckin’ naked because she’s being a smart ass and also because she’s not gettin’ what she wants? A little girl.”

  “In case you’ve f
orgotten, I don’t have any clothes.”

  “Hard to forget when you’re standin’ there buck naked, sippin’ on my coffee. But I got a drawer full of T-shirts and I’m sure that ass of yours will fit in a pair of my boxers. Go put them on.” That ass would definitely fill his boxers, there was nothing small about it.

  He finally took a sip of his coffee.

  It wasn’t strong enough.

  Not nearly strong enough.

  If he still drank whiskey, a half bottle in his coffee might be strong enough for him to deal with her. But even then, he wondered.

  He inhaled deeply, shook his head, and took another sip of his coffee. As soon as she moved away from him, he turned around, put his mug on the counter and adjusted himself since his “job” wasn’t the only thing awake.

  Fuck.

  He turned his head to watch her stroll back over to the corner of the cabin that held his bed and his dressers. His gaze fell on the sway of her hips and that sweet, plump ass of hers.

  The one Slash had tapped. Who knew how many times.

  He ground his teeth.

  They needed groceries.

  She needed clothes.

  He needed to go to town before he did something stupid.

  Kelsea sat on his bed, bored to tears. He’d gone to “town.” Wherever the hell that was.

  But if there was a town close by, and if she could find her way to it, that meant she could call someone to come rescue her from the boonies. Because all of this just wasn’t going to work out for her.

  No. Not after hearing his so-called “rules” this morning.

  She answered to no one. Not her mother, not her half-sister, not even her cousin, Diesel.

  Especially not Ryder.

  She’d be interested in hearing what Diesel had to say about Ryder bringing her here. Knowing her hot-tempered cousin, he wouldn’t be thrilled with one of his men kidnapping her and bringing her to Kentucky, of all places.

  This morning, as they sat at the small wood table which was situated between what would be the kitchen and living room, eating cornbread with no butter and leftover chili—who the hell ate chili for breakfast? Rednecks, that was who—and sucking down black coffee, he told her his “rules.”

  One... Life as she knew it was over. That’s exactly what he said. Word for word.

  Two... Things were going to change. And they weren’t leaving that cabin until they did.

  Right. That’s what he said. That’s what she heard.

  And three... “No drinking. No smoking. No drugs while in my cabin.”

  Why was she so misunderstood? “I’m not an alcoholic or an addict, Ryder.”

  “Know it. But you’re headed down that path. And anyway... My place. My rules.”

  “I didn’t agree to any of this,” she said, yesterday’s panic starting to bubble up again. How can someone just get away with kidnapping another person against their will? It was illegal and he could go to jail. She just needed a phone to dial 911. Or Diesel.

  Though, knowing Diesel, he might just grunt and hang up on her.

  Ryder continued to shovel spoonfuls of chili into his rule-making mouth. Her attention became caught on his lips as they opened and closed. Full spoon going in, empty spoon coming out. When he’d take a bite of his cornbread, he’d smile as he chewed it. Like the cornbread was as good as sex.

  It wasn’t. To be honest, she thought it was a bit dry without butter. And to wash it down, she had to use that bitter, black coffee. Who didn’t like a bit of cream and sugar in their coffee? Savages, that was who.

  But the savage who had sat across from her had mesmerizing lips. And it didn’t help that he hadn’t shaved this morning, so light brown scruff covered his cheeks and chin. He was also wearing a baseball cap low enough so she couldn’t see his eyes clearly.

  She already knew they were green. Which were usually narrowed with annoyance on her, since he was right... He’d “rescued” her out of situations too many times before. Even when she hadn’t wanted to be rescued. Like the other night. She’d been having a perfectly good time when...

  Shit.

  A flash of Ryder pulling another female off her while they were...

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Motherfucking shit.

  Had she been so fucked up that Slash had convinced her to have sex with another woman?

  She shoved her still-full bowl away. She’d never been a big fan of chili or having sex with other women and that shard of memory just destroyed any appetite she’d had.

  She stared at the man across from her, just casually eating chili for breakfast like he did that on a daily basis. The man had seen her in the middle of a threesome with another woman.

  Would a normal woman be embarrassed about being caught in that kind of situation? Well, she never said she was normal.

  Ryder would probably agree.

  “How long are you keeping me hostage?”

  “As long as it takes for you to be clean.”

  “Of what?”

  “Booze. Drugs. Strange dick.”

  “Did I not just tell you I’m not an addict?” she yelled, stopping herself before she slammed her hand on the table. “There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun. You should try it. And the dick isn’t considered ‘strange’ if you know his name.”

  He lifted his head and she could finally see his eyes. Oh, yes. That’s how she was used to seeing them when he looked at her. Narrowed and full of annoyance. Though, they were shadowed from the bill of his baseball cap. “Keep your voice down. If you’re gonna take attitude with me, you’re gonna get it back. Promisin’ you that, darlin’. And I keep my promises. Unlike you.”

  “You don’t know shit about me,” she grumbled.

  “I know more than you realize.”

  What did that mean? She knew Diesel’s crew had access to information on people. Stuff not even cops could get. Had he done some sort of background search on her?

  What did he think he knew?

  He continued, “You’re drinkin’ to dull the pain. Know it, since I did it myself. But there’s no reason for your self-destructive behavior. None.”

  “You don’t think I have a good reason?”

  “No, darlin’, you don’t. What you’re doin’ isn’t makin’ you feel better. It’s makin’ it worse. You’ve got people who love and care about you. You’ve got family. The DAMC sisterhood. You’re not your father. You didn’t even know Pierce was your fuckin’ father for most of your life. Yeah, he was a dick and did fucked-up shit. But none of that affected you directly, so stop playin’ the victim in all of this. What he did to Zak, to Diamond, to Brooke, was so much more fucked up. And you don’t see them spreadin’ their legs for anyone while high and drunk.”

  When she found out the truth—that Pierce, the former president of the Dirty Angels MC, was her father—her life had taken an even uglier turn.

  Pierce had been a monster. A cancer that rotted the DAMC from the inside out. A traitor. A child molester. A rapist. And he tried to have his own daughter raped and murdered. A woman herself born out of rape. Kelsea’s half-sister, Brooke.

  She had no idea Pierce was her father for her first twenty-seven plus years. All she knew was he’d been the leader of their “family.” But it turned out the only reason he’d become the club president was because he set Zak up to go to prison for ten years, so he could nab the top spot instead.

  Ten whole fucking years.

  That asshole’s blood was running through her veins. And her mother knew. She knew all that time she was Pierce’s daughter and told no one. Not even Pierce. She had locked down that secret and let it fester for decades.

  “Know you’re fucked in the head with all the truth that came out about Pierce. I got it, darlin’, I do. But there’s no reason to destroy yourself because your DNA donor was a piece of fuckin’ shit. And that’s all he was, a sperm donor. He was never a father to you. But even so, you worry about his tainted blood runnin’ through your veins? Y
ou forget your granddaddy’s sittin’ in SCI Greene for fuckin’ murder. And for not just a single count, either. So, you’re worryin’ for nothin’.”

  Yep, her biological father had been a scourge on the earth, and her grandfather on her mother’s side was doing life in prison for murdering a few rival MC members. She was doomed with that family tree.

  He thought she was worrying for nothing. She didn’t agree.

  She also hadn’t agreed to staying in the cabin under duress with this man. “I want to go home.”

  “Which home? That shit hole apartment you share with two other skanky bitches who have all kinds of strange dick coming in and out at all hours? Or back to your mother’s?”

  “How do you know about my roommates?”

  Ryder snorted. “Is that what you call them?”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you’re my fuckin’ job, Kelsea. You. I’m the sucker who’s forced to watch your ass. Me. And do you know how much that fuckin’ sucks? I told D to go fuck himself a thousand times, but I stayed. Don’t know why, but I did. I’d rather be back in Kabul than be here with you.”

  “You’d rather be back in the Middle East than keep an eye on me? Is it that bad?”

  “Fuck yeah, it is. Watchin’ you be stupid is insultin’ to not only my intelligence, but my skills. D’s given me a bump in pay four times. But your shit’s not worth it. So like I told you before, this is the last time, woman. The last. I’m done. If your ass doesn’t straighten up and fly right after this, my ass is gone. And then you can face your pissed-off bull of a cousin to explain why he lost one of his men.”

  If she was the cause of Diesel losing one of his highly skilled men? “He’ll kill me.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  It wasn’t long after that discussion, he had cleaned up breakfast and she watched him move around the cabin.

  Most of the times Ryder was sent to drag her back to Shadow Valley, he’d simply deliver her to Diesel. D would give her hell, she’d go back to her apartment and a few weeks later, she’d find herself being dragged out of a party, another MC’s clubhouse, or a bar by Ryder once again.