by V. Theia
She was muttering to herself, words he didn't catch until he leaned forward.
"Can't get clean." Her tone was full of despair.
The noise tugged at Rider, unable to do anything but watch her vicious scrubs going over her belly, her small breasts with such dispassionate care for herself she was turning severely red, bumps rising on her tender skin.
Not pausing to think about it, he only had one fucking thought and that was stopping her vicious self -mistreatment when he started shucking his clothes, toed off his boots, leaving them in a pile behind him and he stepped into the small shower stall crowding her back against the far wall, water beat his back facing her, protecting her some from the heavy pelt of steam.
It was as if Rider wasn't even there, Zara continued with her unguarded ministrations scrubbing so hard on her arms blotches of blood under her skin could visibly be seen.
Oh, sweet baby, don't.
"No, baby. Icy-baby, quit that, you're gonna peel your skin off." he took her hands in his, stalling the next sweep of violence over her chest. Only then did her owl eyes look up and finally notice Rider.
Even then her eyes were clouded with her pain.
He thought her so strong, she'd been coping, he'd thought wrong.
So completely wrong.
Zara was a broken doll hidden behind her quiet veneer.
Tears were spilling over her beautiful eyes, ripping pain through Rider. He lifted those same hands causing untold pain to herself and kissed each fingertip
"No, baby, this isn't the way."
He didn't know what was. But scraping the skin from her body was not it.
He wanted to kill a motherfucker for this.
"I need. I need. I need to get clean, Rider. I can't. Can't. Can't. It just won't come off me, it’s in there, I can’t---- It's stained. I tried. I tried to get it off me. Why won’t it come off me, Rider? All that dirt in me, please, do you see it in me? I have to get it out, I can feel it, it hurts."
As her voice cracked so did Rider's heart, a straight up slash to his organ that was beating harder by the second. He resolved then to do what he had to do to help Zara. Reaching behind her he hooked up the pink bottle of shower soap, squirting a big dollop into his palm and in a voice, that didn't sound like his own, gentle... he told her.
"Shhh, Zara. I got you. I'm here now. I'll clean you. Stand still for me, baby, that's the way, I got you, let me wash it all off you."
If he thought she'd refuse, realize he was standing naked in the shower with her and kick him out, it never came.
The brave lion heart of a girl of the past few days shivered beneath the spray of water, a ghost of the self she'd presented, and waited docilely with her eyes so round and raw for Rider to draw his soaped hands over her body. Her trauma was catching up; she was looking down at her bare arms as though she could physically see something embedded into her skin.
If he felt an ounce of protective instincts towards Zara before then they just quadrupled and shot to the fucking moon. His chest burned with the urge to take care of whatever she needed from him.
He’d wash his girl to assuage that need she had and try to think of ways to help her long term. She’d need it from professionals, he determined, because he was clueless and as much as murdering someone would help him, for Zara it was not so effective.
With his own heart rapping against his ribs, his face drawn down to contained grimness, he reached out, hooked up the half bottle of shower gunk again, dumping a giant dollop into the middle of his palm.
He started at her left arm, never leaving a part of her cream skin and dotted freckles unattended, under her pit, along to her fingers, taking each one he rubbed delicately as if she was a precious little thing in need of much care and attention.
Next came her other arm, down across her chest and belly, up around her neck, more fruit scented soap poured into his hands, he stroked them together forming a sudsy lather before he went down on his haunches. He never thought the next time he saw Zara naked she'd be a shaking mess, or that he'd be touching her so carefully, afraid to hurt her without a hint of desire.
The fantasies he'd had about her this week were so far X-rated it was a wonder he could pull on his jeans most mornings, his dick ached morning till night, and having her sleeping in his bed did nothing to dampen that lust.
And yet the water fell over them, and he was far from thoughts of fucking her.
There was no sexual frisson in the way Rider tended to Zara when his hand slid between her legs, he was a dirty bastard, not a pig, and his girl was hurting.
He let his fingers stroke with the soap washing in between her legs without even a whimper of protest from her, Zara was so far gone she allowed his care, down her thighs and back up again, only the noise of the water was the backdrop to this harrowing scene, he felt his belly roll over with anger at just how fucking dead he was going to make that piece of shit Hades when he found him.
Death was too quick, too easy for him, but he'd rip him limb from limb for starters, feed his innards to the wild cats up in the mountains, he'd give him every second of pain and torture Zara had felt under his hands tenfold and more.
His poor sweet Icy. Where had she gone? Fuck, she was killing him bit by bit.
He rose, looked her long in the face, her eyes vacant.
Without thinking about the action, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, cuddled her into his body for a moment. "It's gonna be okay, Icy. You believe me? I'll make this okay for you." Rider took particular care around her cheeks, caressing over the bruises. Her back was marred with old scars.
He was murderous.
No reply and she didn't lean into him, just stood with her mind somewhere else. Blank.
As if she'd gone somewhere else to deal with her burst emotions. The kicker? he wanted more than anything now for her to spit some of that venom at him again.
Anything but this fragile girl.
Only every few minutes during his administrations with hands and soap did he hear her hard-long inhale before her lungs deflated letting the air go on a shudder. He cocked his head up, piercing his gaze on her face.
He got back to doing what she needed from him.
"Lemme have your foot, baby." she lifted, allowing him to run his fingers up and under, over her arch, in between her toes, up her leg.
No skin was left unattended by Rider.
Putting it back to the shower floor, he stood.
She was coated in sweet scented soap, he pulled the shower head from its hook, rinsing her down, his free hand coasting her hair back tenderly. If anyone had have told him he'd be naked in a shower with Zara and wasn't fucking her stupid, his dick not even hard, he would have junk punched them for the bare faced fucking lie.
But here he was.
A lot could change in a day. Three years. A lifetime.
Now he wanted her back, the Icy he remembered.
"A-a-again" she stuttered, and his gaze flipped concerned to her face. Those wide wild eyes staring at Rider, imploring him. Nothing had hurt Rider more than the desperate look in her eyes. "I'm so soiled, Rider, I feel it on me, in me. The dirt. Please."
"Sure, baby." Voice raw. He gently palmed around the back of her head, kissed her forehead softly. "As much as you need, lemme grab more soap."
Then he started all over again. And again. And again.
Every time she issued she wasn't clean enough yet Rider snatched up the shower gel bottle. It was empty by the time he finally announced that was enough. As careful as he'd been with her she was lobster red.
Lightly wrapping her in a giant fluffy white towel, he used another on her hair. Only when Zara was dry and dressed in a rolled-up pair of his sweats and another of his black Henley's did he dry quickly and pull on his own clothes he'd picked up from the floor.
She was sat at the very edge of the bed where he’d left her, he went down on his haunches, hands braced to the comforter either side of her thighs. It said a lot that she didn't flinch from his tou
ch.
Thank fuck. Of all things, he didn't want Zara to be afraid of him.
A repeated pound in five heavy raps on the door reared both their heads up. "Goddammit it. Fuckin', wait!" Rider rose his voice telling whoever-the-fuck it was that was so anxious for his attention to hold their goddamn motherfucking horses. "We're gonna talk in a minute, okay, baby if you're up to it?"
"I'm okay." she nodded and he resisted calling her a liar.
If she was okay, then he was Mother Teresa's dildo.
He wanted to baby her, to wrap her up in his arms and never let another thing hurt her. If he could have built a bubble sure as shit he would have shoved Zara inside it, safe, secure and under his care.
His nerves were fraught and hanging by the fingertips. "lemme just go deal with whatever fucker wants to get punched out there and I'll come back. I'm bringing food. You'll eat." he growled the command.
She was too thin, so thin, all skin and bone.
Stress tightened in his chest, tighter than a coiled spring, he was so ready to snap, he'd never seen such despair on anyone and with Zara, he felt helpless.
A sentiment not linked with the Souls president, he didn't know what to do with it other than succumb to the anger flooding his brain.
Salt on an open sore, he took one measured breath, dropped a kiss on her forehead and stalked to the door to see what the noise was about.
Capone's face was grim so already Rider could figure his Sergeant at arms hadn't brought him news about unicorn piss curing cancer. He stepped out into the hall, pulling the door half closed behind him, not wanting his brother to see Zara as she was, already it was happening, that line between his life with the club and the one he wanted to take shape with her.
An invisible divide of a man looking after his old lady when she needed it the most.
His old lady. Where the fuck had that come from? Rider wasn't denying it.
"What it is?" he asked.
Capone's voice dropped, his dark eyes turbulent but hyper as fuck as he leaned in to share. "Grinder got 'em, presidente. He fucking rounded up the last three of those shit stains. They were holed up like maggots on stink over by the lake house in Vail, one of Hades' properties, shitfucks didn't even have the smarts to go further afield while waiting for transport out to the sticks. Fucking got em."
Somber, Rider didn't grin like a sinister motherfucker as Capone was doing, but he clapped him on the arm. "No one can run from Grinder for long. He bringin' them in?" Vail was a six-hour ride by bike, with three hostages his tracker was going to need a bigger ride to cart them in.
"Sí, hermano, he radioed in. Hawk is already on his way there now; he took the black SUV." Good. An unmarked vehicle with no connection to his club. Rider's banked anger began to rise to the surface. A hot surge of it until it pooled into his throat, flexing his fists at his side.
The last three Raging Rebels members and then that left Hades.
It was going to be twelve hours at least before Grinder arrived back. They were taking additional risks bringing the men here, especially if cops had eyes on their compound, but these murders he wanted slow, painful, with his own hands.
After just witnessing his girl's breakdown there was going to be no mindless quick death for them. No, he wanted them to know why they were dying, to feel every last inch of it, to beg for death.
He couldn't go back in his room just yet, not with a fire burning through his gut, he was likely to growl and scare the fuck out of Zara. Instead, he closed the door over quietly, jutted his head the other way, and had Capone walk down to the kitchen with him. As he fixed her a plate of leftovers, nuking potatoes, and chicken fried steak in the microwave, giving it a liberal dousing in sausage gravy, adding a couple of biscuits to the side of the plate, he discussed the terms of how things would go down next.
Funny he could talk murder like he was ordering a new pair of boots.
It was nothing.
And strange how his chest tightened when Capone's watchful gaze bounced from him to the tray he was fixing and asked: "The niña, she means something to you, Prez?"
Murder was an easy conversation.
Discussing what he felt for Zara ... not so much, not when his dick had done most of the thinking this week.
Adding a cold can of soda to the tray, before he decided the caffeine might not be a good idea and switched it out for water Pretty Boy kept in the fridge.
He gave Capone a brief chin jut. He wasn't about sharing his fucking feelings like a pussy either. "She’s a good woman." And left it at that, however, Capone wanted to translate his leader's cryptic reply.
"Then we will finish this for her, Prez. For your girl and for our club. We drown the rest of those rats once and for all."
Rider smiled at that. Goodwill bastard. No one would ever guess Capone's underlined motivations for most of what he did within the club and why. He was an outlaw just like the rest of them, a pit bull when he needed to be and a gentle giant the rest of the time, Rider trusted the guy at his back and with his club.
With his girl's well-being.
"We finish this." he agreed.
Back in his room, she was where he'd left her. The picture of her in his oversized clothes dwarfing her, damp strands of blond hanging down by her shoulders and the haunted look in her eyes pulled at something deep with Rider, a slick of dread for what happens if he couldn't help her. That place he never knew existed the place that said he cared-a-fucking-lot for this girl.
Having sent her away cruelly, purposefully all that time ago, here was his only chance to make it all right again, to carve their pieces back together, to see the sunshine in her eyes again and not the pain and suffering he was looking at now.
Jesus, who could say they got that chance again?
Don't ruin it, idiot.
As he placed the tray on the tall dresser and took that short walk back over to her to go down on his haunches, he vowed to himself he'd do that. If it was the last thing Rider ever did, he'd see the brightness radiate from her again.
Broken pieces could be fixed, he knew.
Whatever it took, however long it took him, he'd put his Icy together again.
"Think you can eat, baby?"
He watched her blink back into focus. Her face flushed. "Rider. I'm sorry. God. What must you think of me? I'm sorry. That was---"
"You don't apologize to me, Zara. You don't apologize, you hearin' me? You were due to crash. When it happens again I'll be here. If it happens further I'll be here, you wanna shower for twenty hours I'ma be right here. Though I kinda stink like a whore house now, so fruity, so maybe I'ma buy you something biker friendly ‘cause my boy's’ gonna give me shit for how I smell."
His eyes glinted as he said it, and he winked at her just to see her smile shyly, her head dipped, but he wouldn't let her look down, he caught her chin.
She didn't flinch. My good girl, he grinned. "Are you gonna eat somethin' and talk to me?"
"I ... I don't want you to know any of it, Rider." Worry masked her face.
Rider shifted himself up, helped her to her feet, and when he sat in the leather armchair, he pulled Zara across his lap. It felt as though they'd gone one hundred miles together tonight alone when she settled deep into him without a spec of protest, just fitted herself in against his ribs.
He kept his hold as casual as he could for a man who fucking wanted her still in dirty ways, one hand cupped around her hip.
"I don't want it hauntin' you, festering in here." he pressed a hand to her belly. "killin' you, baby. I hear you dreamin', you're never settled. It's like I can hear those soft-footed nightmares crawlin' into your head. Tell me how I can help. When you wanna talk, I'm here."
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "You're being sweet again, big bad biker man. What's a girl supposed to do with that."
Hearing it was rhetorical Rider still grinned and answered.
"You take it, baby. Now fuckin' eat would you, before I can't even feel you on my lap."
The sound of her watery chuckle was music to his weary ears. In twelve hours or so he'd be knee deep in blood and homicide, but while his sweet girl was on his lap poking the fork into the biscuits Rider had all he needed and he was right where he wanted to be.
Caring didn't come naturally to him, and he figured it was not gonna be a new thing that he slung around to everybody. Zara was an exception to everything and he was slowly ... surely ... accepting the newness in his life.
Not about to fuck up what he was seeing as a second chance.
She called him a big bad biker man, she just didn't know how much yet, especially when he wanted something.
Wanted her.
Would get her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Mark my words, we’ll have a new queen soon…” - Uncle Jed
The Renegade Souls compound sat unpretentiously against a backdrop of the Colorado mountains. A picturesque scene if you can claim rows and rows of steel built hard wearing buildings with a larger state-of-the-art bike shop as its base was pretty. Around the compound was an eight-foot wire fence with a motion controlled wrought iron gate on a rolling mechanism. Censors dotted along the perimeter, not even a rogue rabbit could hop along without the cameras picking it up. Zara knew this because she'd quizzed Rider intricately that second night, needing to know the safety levels of his club. Instead of rolling his eyes, being annoyed at her, he'd sat with his legs braced, arms resting on his thighs and he'd answered every question until Zara was satisfied.
For all its ugliness unwelcoming attraction from the outside, the gaudy buildings against the wash of nature and the coming Fall in the background were quite lovely, the stark mountain peaks reaching into the clouds, she had nodded and felt safe behind the gate and fence and security system.
It would take a person three layers of intense security to get through to reach her inside the club. She had to believe that was enough of a deterrent for any fool.
