“I don’t know when I became that girl, that stupid woman who let a man control her. I like to think my old self would’ve set his clothes on fire the minute he told me to step on the scale, but now I wonder if that me ever existed at all because someone that strong wouldn’t fall victim to the shit I did.”
She blinks and slowly turns to me, keeping her eyes cast downward.
“Anyway, after I stepped on the scale and he saw what I weighed, he went crazy. It started with a backhand across the face and I was so shocked, I didn’t process what was happening at the time. It wasn’t until I found myself hunched over the bathroom vanity, staring at our reflection in the mirror and watching the man who swore to love me forever take the cigarette from his lips and press the lit end to my skin that I realized he was a monster and I the stupid the girl who loved him. I had taken his hands and swallowed his brash words, but those burns, those burns would stay forever. I never wanted to feel that pain again. I never wanted to hear him say he was sorry again so, I started being conscious of what I ate. I didn’t consume more than twelve hundred calories a day and drank only water. I remember stepping on the scale two weeks later and smiling because I lost ten pounds. I was skinnier than when he met me and foolishly thought that my trim figure would make him remember the girl he fell in love with. I thought if I could make him love me again then he wouldn’t hurt me and for a while it worked. He looked pleased when he saw me and in those first few weeks, he was my Declan.”
Declan.
The faceless prick has a name.
“We went on elaborate dates and he showed me off to everyone. He didn’t look at me with disgust anymore and even started sleeping with me again.”
A grunt sounds from my throat, but I don’t say a word. I listen because there is something to be said about a woman when she is being heard. There’s a confidence she doesn’t even realize she possesses, and it radiates from her when she’s shown the respect for sharing her secrets. When she understands she isn’t being judged for the things that broke her but rather commended for her perseverance.
“I wanted to keep the momentum, and soon I became obsessed with losing weight. Not to the point where I forced myself to throw up, but rather where I packed my own food,” she shares.
“That’s what Chaz was talking about yesterday,” I say softly, drawing her hand to my lips. I press a kiss to her knuckles and she slowly turns her head, meeting my gaze.
“Yes,” I whisper. “But I don’t do that anymore.”
I want to trust that she doesn’t but my mind wanders to the day at Stewart’s when I first noticed her pick apart the salad.
“You cut your cucumbers and tomatoes in half,” I point out.
“Yes, and I chew every morsel of food twenty times before swallowing too. It’s a hard habit to break,” she confesses.
“It’s not a habit, Lydia, it’s a sickness,” I murmur softly. The last thing I want to think is that I’m coming down on her, but my concern for this woman runs deep, deeper than I ever imagined was possible.
“I know and believe it or not I’ve come a long way. Two years ago, I never would’ve let you watch me eat. I wouldn’t dare take a sip of alcohol and forget about ice cream…one spoon would have me in the gym for six hours the next day. I’m handling it, Bash. I promise.”
Taking a deep breath, I nod and squeeze her hand. I feel like an idiot for assuming it was just some odd thing she did and not a condition.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it,” I tell her.
“We barely know each other, Bash,” she murmurs.
Those words drive me crazy.
“Would you stop saying that?” I hiss, pulling her onto my lap and lift my hands to her cheeks. “Yeah, we may not know each other long but in the short time I’ve been here, I’ve paid more attention to you than I have any other woman. I should’ve spotted the signs.”
“I like to think I don’t walk around with the word victim stamped to my forehead, that I hide my pain well. Until now, you knew the Lydia I wanted you to know, the girl I’m desperately trying to find again. She’s been through hell and back, but she’s still breathing and for me to be her again, I need to let go of all the things that broke me that’s why I’m telling you this. I don’t want you to look at me and see some battered woman. I’m tired of that version of myself. I mean I’ve known Chaz a hell of a lot longer than I know you and he hasn’t caught on.” She pauses and a frown ticks the corners of her mouth. “At least I don’t think he has.” She bites down on her lower lip as she mulls over that last sentence. I brush a strand of hair away from her face and lean my forehead against hers.
“I want to know everything about you Lydia. The good, the bad and the in between. Every damn version there is. I want it all and I’ll do whatever I can to help you find the pieces of yourself that you feel are missing, but I gotta tell you I think you’re perfect the way you are and another thing….”
I let my voice trail as I stare into her eyes.
“I really like it when you eat.”
That single sentence earns me an eye roll, and all becomes right in my world. Then she smiles, and it’s the icing on the cake.
“When we went to Stewarts, and you took a big bite of that cheeseburger… “my voice trails as I groan and shake my head at the memory. “I could’ve bent you over the table and fucked you right then and there.”
“Bash!” She laughs.
“It’s true,” I say, pulling back a fraction to take in every beautiful feature. “Neither one of us knows where this will lead, but I want you to know I don’t care if you’re a twig or if there’s a little more of you to love, I want every inch.”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re going to be eating a lot more?”
He laughs.
“It is one of my favorite things to do.”
She wraps her arms around my neck.
“As long as it’s not grits,” she murmurs, brushing her lips against mine.
I think I just found her only flaw.
-Twenty-three-
Lydia
One. Two. Three.
“What are you doing?” Bash questions as I turn the locks on my apartment door. My hand freezes as he steps behind me and peels my hand away from the deadbolt. Turning to face him, I contemplate how I’m going to answer. While I shared some of my past with Bash, I didn’t tell him everything. As freeing as the experience was, it was also emotionally taxing. True to Bash’s character, he tried to keep things light and told me he loved it when I ate. Somehow that transpired into him eating me and well, I welcomed the reprieve and the orgasm.
We didn’t stop there though and before we both knew it; it was way past noon. Riggs and Lauren were expecting us at their house for dinner at four and I still needed to go home and change. We quickly showered and now, here we are. I’m obsessing over the locks and he’s being Bash. The biker with a heart of gold who accepts me for who I am and still wants me.
“It’s sort of my thing,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat. I suppose this would be a good opening to tell him more about Declan and how I hocked my grandmother’s engagement ring after she died to escape his wrath, but I think we’ve had enough revelations for one day.
There’s always tomorrow and quite frankly, I don’t want Declan to take up any more of my time with Bash. I want to enjoy him for a little while and feel like a woman, not a victim.
He winks at me.
“It’s locked, darlin’, if you turn it again, you’re going to unlock it. Now, go get dressed so we can get out of here. I need to eat something other than you,” he says, dropping a kiss to my nose.
“Right,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Make yourself at home,” I add, waving a hand around my tiny apartment. “It isn’t much, but it’s home.”
He takes a step back and I watch as he surveys the space. Walking towards my dresser, he lifts a pair of fishnet stockings from the top and wiggles his eyebrows.
“Now, these I’d love to see you in.”
<
br /> I stifle a laugh and cross my arms against my chest.
“Those are Chaz’s.”
The smirk falls from his face as he chucks the stockings across the room. I laugh and move to pick them up as he takes a seat on the foot of my bed.
“Speaking of our stocking clad friend, did you get in touch with him?” he questions as I walk towards the dresser. Pulling open the drawers, I grab a clean bra and a pair of panties. I move to the drawer where I keep my leggings and it gets stuck. I tug it with a little more force, and something falls behind the dresser.
“Here, let me get that,” Bash offers.
Realizing it’s probably my gun that’s fallen, I turn around abruptly and shake my head.
“No!”
He raises an eyebrow at my outburst and I quickly try to excuse my behavior by crumbling my panties in my fist. “The last thing I want is for you to go through my underwear drawer. As it stands, I’m already down a pair,” I stammer, pulling my lower lip between my teeth. Not sure if he believes me, I backtrack to the question he asked. “I sent Chaz a text. He takes his brother to therapy on Friday’s so, I didn’t expect him to answer, but I will leave him a note.”
“A note?”
“Yeah, just in case he decides to stop over before his show.”
“I didn’t realize people still left notes,” he comments, thoughtfully before snapping his fingers. “Back to your panties. I have them, I just prefer you not wear them.”
“I can’t walk around without underwear, Bash.”
“Yeah, I’m not convinced.”
Gently shoving his arm, I take my crumbled panties and instead of risking another drawer incident, I grab something out the laundry basket in the corner. I head for the bathroom and silently vow to find a way to bring up Declan and all the reasons I keep a gun behind my dresser.
It doesn’t take me long to throw my clothes on and when I emerge from the bathroom, I find Bash searching my cabinets for something to eat. He settles on a granola bar as I quickly jot a note for Chaz. I place it on top of the kitchen table, and we leave the apartment without me obsessing over the locks.
Before we straddle his bike, I tell him we need to stop off at a bakery. He looks at me like I have a third eye but doesn’t ask any questions. Giving him the directions to Renato’s, I climb onto the bike and wrap my arms around his midsection. Riding isn’t so bad. Once you ditch the thong, it’s actually quite enjoyable. Having the wind in your hair and someone to hold on to—well, it’s pretty amazing.
Finding a spot on one of the side streets next to the bakery, Bash parks his bike and drops the kickstand. I remove my helmet and shake my hair out like a pro, earning me a grin my handsome rider. He takes my hand in his and pulls me into the crook of his arm and we start for the storefront.
“It’s real sweet of you to think about getting me a snack, but the granola bar probably would’ve held me over until the spaghetti and meatballs.”
Nudging him with my elbow, I laugh. His brows pinch together in confusion as I reach for the door and I realize he’s serious.
“We’re not here to get you a snack,” I correct, taking a step inside the bakery. The aroma of freshly baked bread mixed with decadent pastries fills my nostrils and reminds me of my grandmother. She wasn’t much of a baker, but she loved her pastry and every Sunday, after mass, we’d stop off at our local bakery and buy half a dozen pastries. Her favorite was a napoleon. She’d cut it in two, eating half of it after dinner and the other half the following morning with her coffee. I much rather prefer an éclair but today I think I might just get a napoleon in her honor.
“Okay, then I guess we’re here to get you a snack,” Bash says, walking around me. I watch as he takes a whiff and raises his eyebrow, scoping out the display cases.
“No, we’re here for dessert. We can’t show up to Riggs and Lauren’s house empty-handed.”
My gram would roll in her grave.
Bash pauses in front of the showcase of pastries and bends his knees to get a better look. The action makes me wonder if he’s ever been inside a bakery before.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he murmurs. Tapping the glass with his finger he looks over his shoulder at me. “That right there, that’s one of those little fried pancake things Riggs keeps talking. The cream looks like Cool Whip but what are those little green things?”
I’d laugh, but the man is serious.
There’s no assuming, my gram is definitely rolling in her grave, cursing in Italian because her only granddaughter is sleeping with a man who thinks a cannoli is a fried pancake. Forget the Cool Whip. That’s just too much.
“Those are pistachio nuts and that is not a pancake, it’s a cannoli.”
“A ca what?”
“Can-no-lee.”
The young girl behind the counter giggles and I shake my head.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, but that right there is a little pancake with Cool Whip and some green crap.”
“It’s not Cool Whip! It’s cannoli cream… you know ricotta.”
Straightening to his full height, he scoffs and waves me off like I’m the one who doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I watch as he diverts his attention to the young girl and tips his hat like the perfect southern gentleman.
“Darlin’ ya’ll have ding dongs here?”
I close my eyes and smack my palm against my forehead. This isn’t really happening, is it? Opening my eyes, I sigh and step around Bash.
“I’m going to be getting a dozen mixed pastries and cheesecake, but can you give him a cannoli in the meantime?’
“Sure,” she says, grabbing a piece of a wax paper. She takes one of the cannoli’s from the showcase and hands it to Bash. Reaching for it, he takes it in his hand and stares at it like it’s a foreign object. I guess for someone who’s a fan of grits, it is, but once he gets that first taste, he’ll forget all about the glop he served this morning. Maybe one night, after I get off from the bar, we can have a cannoli night and try making them ourselves.
God, I sound ridiculous.
This guy is never going to make cannolis.
I bet he’ll roast a pig in the yard, though.
Hey, maybe he can teach me how to make gumbo.
After taking another whiff of the pastry, he takes his first bite. I instantly lean forward anticipating the praise I’m sure is about to come from his mouth, but he says nothing. He takes another bite and chews thoughtfully.
“Well?”
“It’s like a donut.”
My shoulders slump in defeat.
“I thought you might be the one,” I groan.
Slinging his arm around my shoulders he lets out a hearty laugh.
“We’ll take a dozen of those pancake things too,” he tells the girl before smacking a kiss to my cheek. “I’m the one, huh?” he teases.
“No,” I grunt. “Not anymore.”
“Even if I promise to feed you cannoli’s for the rest of your life.”
Well, maybe there’s still hope for him after all.
-Twenty-four-
Bash
I think I might be sick. First, they fed me a bunch of cheeses, then it was something called soppressata and these little hot peppers stuffed with prosciutto and that was before the macaroni and meatballs. I knew these people liked to eat, but I didn’t know they made a fucking art out of it. Heaven forbid you tell them you’re full, they all start making the sign of the cross like they’re warding off the devil. It’s pretty hilarious if you think about it. I mean it’s not every day you see a group of men who go by the name Satan’s Knights make the sign of the cross like a bunch of holy rollers. The one who scared me most, though, was Maria. They weren’t kidding about the frying pan thing, something I realized when I politely declined to taste her tiramisu. Now, I’m sitting on the sofa wondering if it’s possible to have clogged all the arteries in my body after consuming a single meal, watching Wolf as he walks around the living room handing out lollipops to Riggs’
kids. I swear the guy must’ve scored a pallet of suckers from Big Lots or something.
“Here, have a Dum Dum,” Wolf says, shoving a handful of blue raspberry lollipops in my face. Having learned my lesson, I don’t decline. Fuck that shit. I’ve already got a knot the size of an egg on the back of my head from his wife, I ain’t looking for another.
I’ll take the suckers, thank you very much.
Storing them in the inside pocket of my kutte, I watch as he takes a seat next to me. He kicks up his legs and crosses his boots on top of the coffee table.
That, no one freaks out about.
Go figure.
“What’s this shit I’m hearing about Lydia crashing her car?”
Unbuttoning the top button of my pants, I turn to him and contemplate how much I should divulge. I don’t think he cares to know how she ran from my apartment, so I tell him what I learned this morning in between her revealing the truth about the burns and our sex fest.
“From what she’s told me it sounds like her tire blew out. I guess she didn’t know what to do and instead of leaning into the curve—”
“She drove into a guard rail,” he interrupts.
“Yeah, I called Riggs, and he had Linc tow it to the garage. Pipe was going to have a look at it and let me know the damage,” I add, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Is he still coming here?”
He jerks his head in response and pops one of his infamous suckers into his mouth.
“This thing between you and her looks pretty serious,” he comments. My eyes instantly leave him and go in search of Lydia. Sitting at the dining room table with Lauren and Maria, she laughs at something Lauren says and I can’t help but think how right she looks sitting there with them.
How right she fits into my life.
“Nico tells me she spent the night at your place last night and I saw the way you looked at her over dinner. Does that mean you’re sticking around?”
Tearing my gaze away from the women in the next room, I focus on the man in charge. Originally, I told him I’d give him a month, and it’s barely been a week. However, there’s no use in lying to either of us anymore. I don’t have any intention of going back to Texas and I’m starting to wonder if I ever really did. I’ll always hold the Charon MC in high regard, but they were only a pitstop on my journey, not the destination. The men who groomed me to be the man I am today.
Shifting Gears (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 1) Page 17
