“I hate to ask,” I say, “but I need to know if you see one or two bullet holes on me.”
I expect her to be a little squeamish, but she reaches down to take the bottle of alcohol from me and does the same with the cotton pad on my knee before checking over the wound with concern. “Two,” she says as she brings the wipe to my skin and starts to clean it.
“I only got shot once,” I say, nodding. “Bullet comes in, bullet goes out. I’d know by now if the damage was serious. I got lucky.”
“Lucky,” she says with a faint laugh. “Understatement of the year.”
“Luck’s just about the only thing that really delivers, I’ve learned,” I say.
“I’m starting to understand why,” she says as her hand brushes around my wounds.
Once I’m cleaned, she dresses the wound with gauze, and I can tell she’s worked with it before.
“Ranch family?” I ask.
“No,” she says, “but my hometown is a long way from the hospital. It’s hard not to learn a little first aid growing up.”
“Bullet wounds?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing that exciting,” she admits.
“Exciting, huh?” I say, and I glance back at her when I feel her not move for a few seconds.
Her eyes seem to be drifting along the length of my back, but they snap to mine when she notices me, and she sits down on the bed, blushing and turning her head as she scoots to the center.
“Sorry, I’m just zoning out a little,” she says with a weak smile as she pulls the covers back and crawls in.
“Don’t sweat it,” I say with a warmer smile, looking at my bandage. “Feels great. Thanks, you didn’t have to do that. I’ll get you some water for the night,” I say, standing up and taking my shirt from the end of the bed.
I hear her murmur something like a sleepy thank-you from behind, and I grin as I pull my shirt on. By the time I sneak back into the room with a full glass of water, she seems to be fast asleep, her head nodding off to the side.
I decide to keep watch over her tonight. I’ve got a comfortable chair in the room, and I’ve stayed up overnight more times than I can count. The military changes the way you treat sleep--I’ll get it when I need it, and until then, I’ll make do.
She turns over in her sleep as I get settled, and my eyes watch the outline in her body as my cock starts to stir. I wipe my hands over my face and grab my book from the nightstand to let my mind wander in more chaste directions through the night.
But within minutes, I’m just staring at the pages and thinking over the night.
The Heartbreakers can’t keep up like this. We’re keeping up with Diesel, but only barely. I could have gotten ambushed in that town if I’d been less careful, and we should have known about his operation there before it even got off the ground. It makes me feel sloppy. I don’t like that.
Breaker knows what he’s up to, but Diesel himself has gone dark. We don’t know if he’s planning something big or running scared. The man’s like a cockroach, he keeps turning up in the worst places and just won’t die.
While that’s stewing in my head, I notice a twitching from the Justine-shaped lump on the bed. I can see her face now, and her brows keep furrowing as she shifts uncomfortably. I hear a whimper from her, and I realize she must be having a nightmare. I step over to her and gently reach out to put a hand on her shoulder and shake her awake. She seizes up with a sharp gasp and clutches my arm in terror.
“Wh- huh?” she asks blearily, turning and gawking up at me before slowly releasing my wrist--which both her hands have to wrap around.
“Bad dreams?” I ask, holding her water toward her.
A hand slithers out of the sheets to take it, and her hazy eyes look up at me gratefully before she drinks, but she doesn’t look that comforted. When she sets the glass down, she bunches the sheets close to her and lays her head sideways. The next moment, I see the tears welling up in her face, and I bend down just in time for the sobs to start coming.
I hold her tight against me and shush her gently, stroking her arm as she hugs me and curls into my body. I feel her tears stain my shirt as she trembles, and I give her hand a comforting squeeze.
“What’d you see?” I ask.
“I...I dreamt about a dead girl,” she murmurs, eyes clenched.
It takes me a few moments to realize I heard her right.
“A dead girl, Ironside,” she repeats in that flat voice, gaze flitting up to me. “Back at the club. I-I could see her eyes. God, they were so empty.”
“Did you see yourself?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and my heart sinks into my stomach. I have a feeling this might not have been a dream at all, but I don’t want to agitate her any further. That leaves my own anger to boil under the surface, though. Diesel’s operation has claimed many lives, and if Justine had stuck around to piss off the wrong customer...I don’t want to think about what might have happened to her.
I hold her while she sobs, and all I can do is support her while she lets it out.
“That’s not going to be you,” I assure her in a low, husky tone.
“Maybe it should have been,” she murmurs, making me frown and take her chin to turn her head up to look at me.
“None of that,” I chide her gently...yet firmly. “You deserve to live, Justine. Don’t tell yourself any different. I’ve been down that path. You’re not going to like what’s at the end of it.”
She seems to be paying attention, and she looks almost embarrassed, but she nods.
“I’m not blaming you,” I say. “You’ve been through hell. But you’ll heal. How long have you been with Diesel?”
“I’m...still not sure,” she says. “What’s the date?”
“The 4th,” I reply.
“Already?” she says, eyes widening. “I left Utah a week ago, so...less than that.”
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad I caught you early. You don’t want to know what could have happened to you otherwise. You don’t have to worry about that anymore as long as I can stand,” I told her firmly. “If you don’t have people, I’ll be your people--and I can protect you...if you want it.”
I mean every word, too.
She stares up at me with a searching gaze, as if she’s trying to figure that out for herself. Her face warms into a smile, and she cuddles closer to me, so I guess she found what she was looking for in my eyes. I’m surprised to feel her thighs brush against mine, and she pushes a foot against my leg as she stretches and snuggles against me.
“I’d like that,” she says softly.
She’s too naive to go this alone. I could have been a menace just as evil as Diesel, just stringing her along this whole time, and she’d have played right into my hands. I know people can be empathetic, but I can’t imagine she can read minds with those deep eyes of hers.
But I’d like to read hers right about now, I think as I feel her hips brush against mine. My cock stirs, and its ache reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve had a warm welcome for it to sink into. By the way Justine’s home life sounds, I have to assume she’s never been with someone else before. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.
Or does she? She’s sharper than she lets on. I’ve learned that the hard way.
Her nose is half-pressed into the pillow, a smile on her face as she breathes in and squirms against my side, supposedly still just getting comfortable. It’s like she feels comforted by the things that have my scent hanging on them, from my shirt to my sheets. I could give her a lot more than that for comfort. If she wants it, she probably needs it, bad.
No.
I suddenly disentangle myself from her, gently enough not to scare her but firmly enough for her to know I’m serious. I stand up and look down at her like a disapproving father as she gazes up at me, blushing.
“Kate keeps some tea for sleep behind the bar,” I say. “I’ll make you some. It’ll put you out for the night.”
The corridor is dark, and I flick t
he light on to get out the electric kettle from under the bar and start preparing tea. It takes about a minute for me to get the feeling that I’m being watched.
“You should stay in bed,” I say without turning around, watching the water slowly heat up. “Your body needs the rest.”
“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asks bluntly, and I turn around to see her staring at me as if the question is quite serious.
I stare her down for a few seconds, then chuckle and slowly approach her, until we’re only a few inches apart.
“You are,” I say, showing the most restraint I’ve shown in the past decade. “And you’re going to make someone very happy one day, when you’re older.”
“I’m nineteen!” she says with a defiant edge in her sleepy voice.
I’m starting to see where that rebellious streak I sensed lies.
“Exactly,” I say. “You’re clever, but I’ve got about a decade of experience on you, and right now, you need someone who can help you, because those plains aren’t going to be kind to you on your own, little girl.”
She takes a defiant step forward and glares up at me. “Are you calling me naive?”
“I’m trying to help you?” I say, tilting my head to the side.
“Look, I’m not some...nun from a convent,” she says, showing that boldness again that I can’t help but admire, even if it was brash. “I know what was going on back there. I know they were going to force me to have sex with people for money,” she says so matter-of-factly that I barely hear the kettle boiling behind us.
After carrying this wilted flower around the plains like I did, I’m stunned to hear her talk like this. I’m not angry about it. If anything, I’m more curious than ever.
“You’ve got some spirit, considering what you’ve been through,” I say, turning my back on her and stalking toward the kettle to pour the tea and stir it with a spoon.
“Just because my family was...strict…” she says uncomfortably, “doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” She crosses her arms, and I can almost see her trying to hold back a smirk as she says, “In fact, Daddy sent me to boarding school for a few years when I acted up at home. I’m no stranger to discipline.”
I’m puzzled by why she has that look on her face until it occurs to me that she’s been brought into the grittiest biker bar she’s probably ever seen, and she’s trying to entice the one that took a bullet to the shoulder and is still making her tea. Is...she trying to impress me?
“Alright, rebel girl,” I tease her as I carry the tea back to the room, and she pads after me. “Drink this and get some rest. You’ll have a clear head in the morning, and we can go from there. Don’t flex your rebel streak until then,” I say, winking at her.
“I’ll be good,” she mutters, slipping past me and sliding back into bed to start drinking the tea.
But after sipping it, her eyes go back up to me with that mischievous light in them.
“Where are you going to sleep?” she asks, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“Chair,” I grunt.
She looks at me with a silent plea in her eyes, drinking from the warm tea that cast a veil of thin, wispy steam over her eyes.
“No,” I say preemptively.
“I don’t want to sleep alone, Ironside,” she whines, clutching the mug. “I...I think I’ll sleep better knowing someone’s next to me. Seriously. It’ll remind me I’m not...back there,” she finishes uneasily.
I know it’s against my better judgment, but I can’t deny those eyes a request like that, deep down. Begrudgingly, I move to the bed, and she delightedly scoots over to make room for me. I have to admit, caving to her and seeing her happy for it makes it all the more tempting.
She finishes her tea, then curls against me once more with a contented murmur. Her warmth presses against me, and the way she’s twisting, I can tell what she wants. I wrap my arms around her slowly, and I feel her whole body seem to relax in blissful peace.
Even though I’m fighting every nerve in my body, it’s truly warming to know that this girl can feel so safe in my arms. I may not get a wink of sleep tonight with her ass pressed up against my cock--brat--but it’s worth it.
It’s good to know I can still make someone feel safe.
Justine
I feel so warm and cozy and safe for possibly the first time in years. I am curled up under the sheets with my cheek resting on the soft pillow, Ironside’s arms draped around me protectively. I can smell his musky scent, masculine and slightly spicy. It’s like the world’s most divine cologne, and it’s all him. I sense every ripple and twinge of his muscles as he dreams, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s dreaming out. What kind of harrowing adventures does his mind get up to when the lights are out? Does he dream of someone? As far as I know, he could have a wife or a girlfriend somewhere waiting for him to come home. I can just picture her-- flowing long hair, wistful eyes, a white dress. Standing on a front porch, watching the street with a powerful sense of longing. If he has a girl, she must be missing him something fierce. I have only just met Ironside and I already feel attached to him. On top of that, the idea of him being with some other girl makes me want to be sick. It isn’t even just jealousy-- it’s pure dread. In such a short window of time I have somehow managed to get so wrapped up in his charm that I don’t want to imagine spending a night without him. This is the first time, but I hope with every shred of soul in me that it isn’t the last time. I want him here, always, holding me and keeping me safe.
My eyelids are slowly starting to droop again, feeling heavier than a bag of wet sand. The room is darkened and everything is quiet except for the faint, muffled conversation from the bar area above. Their voices mingle together, making the words unintelligible and the tones unreadable. Every now and then I catch a little flicker of laughter, but beyond that, it is out of my comprehension. A voice in the back of my mind urges me to stay awake, to stay alert. To pay attention to the voices upstairs and watch for any signs of trouble. After all, I’m not out of the woods just yet. In fact, I have no way of knowing whether I am truly on a path to safety and stability or not. My world has been so violently rocked from all angles that it’s hard for me to tell what’s good and bad. For example: the handsome, powerful man gripping me protectively in his strong arms right now seems to operate on both sides of the moral compass. On the one hand, he rescued me from an undoubtedly evil operation. That would make him good, right? But then, he seems to be on the opposite side of the police, and I grew up being taught that the police are a force for good and safety and logic. Now, I may be sheltered but I’m not a complete fool. I know police are just people, and people can be good or bad. But that doesn’t make it much easier to pick out the good from the bad.
My instincts are screaming at me that this is a good place to be. That I have never been safer than I am here in Ironside’s arms. It certainly feels warm and inviting. And strangest of all, it feels natural. Like I was meant to end up here. Something about our union seems divinely-ordained. Like fate itself intervened to bring him to me and vice versa. I can see our individual paths when I close my eyes, watching two serpentine trails winding through the wild, dark woods until they meet at a crossroads, from which we left the forest altogether and levitated hand-in-hand up to the stars. The fantasy softens and smoothes out and I feel the exhaustion sinking deliciously into my limbs and dwelling there. My body loosens up as I wriggle back against Ironside’s broad, muscular chest. All logic and reason fall away as my smoky, sleepy dream world settles in like a thick fog. I drift off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that I am safe as long as he is holding me.
I dream of a darkened room, the acrid stench of pain and suffering burns like acid in my nose. I try to draw only shallow breaths, wanting to avoid sucking in all this filthy, tainted air. I can hardly keep my head above water. It’s so humid and dank and dark in here I might as well be at the bottom of the ocean. Goosebumps cover my entire body, and I feel utterly exposed, totally vulnerable. I hate this place. I never
thought I would see it again, but here I am. I feel so detached from my body, like I’m watching myself from across the room. I’m a curled-up, fragile pile of skin and bones, melting into a puddle of tears. It breaks my heart to see myself this way. But then something changes-- a shaft of blinding white light beaming into the room. Illuminating my body as though with a glow from within. I watch as I lift my head and make eye contact with myself. But there’s such a troubling look in my own eyes that I stumble back out of the room, jerking back from the doorway with a frightened instinct. The door slams shut and I whirl around to find myself in a wide open field of tall, swaying grasses. The wind whips and curls around me as I try to find the moon above to light my way, but the sky is flat black and starless. I begin to breathe heavily now, my heart beat picking up as my hands begin to sweat and I feel nausea in the pit of my stomach. I spin around in place, the darkness becoming so thick and impenetrable I can almost grab it with my hands. The night presses in on my throat and I begin to hyperventilate, pulling and tugging myself in different directions in a vain attempt to escape.
And I must be pulling hard, because I suddenly jolt back to consciousness to find that somehow, I have managed to roll out of Ironside’s arms. I’m lying a foot away from him in the bed, my legs fitfully twisted up in the slick sheets. I’m sweating all over, my heart still racing like crazy as the remnants of my dream slowly slither away and are forgotten again. I glance over at Ironside and watch him for a moment, following the soothing, steady rhythm of his powerful chest rising and falling. In the low light, I can just barely make out the hard outlines of his muscles, his sharp jawline and rounded cheekbones. His face and body are resplendent to look at, even in the near-darkness. He is one hell of a man. Everything about Ironside is big. Everything is bulged and strained, even now as he rests comfortably in the bed.
Part of me wants to snuggle up closer to him and force myself to drift off into rest again, but there’s another part of me, much more persistent, that urges me to get up and go exploring. I do feel a little antsy and restless. I don’t know where I am or why or how, but maybe under the cover of night I can do a little reconnaissance and figure it out. At least find some clues about the nature of the people who are taking care of me here.
Ironside: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (Heartbreakers MC Book 3) Page 7
