"What do you think, genius?"
"Considering I'm a genius…a lot," Wolf fires back seamlessly. "What are you looking for?"
"A fucking ice pack."
I'm surprised when Lesher draws one out, considering how understocked the fridge is. Fights around the Clubhouse must be more frequent than I thought if they keep ice packs readily on hand.
"Are you hungry?" I ask him. Lesher has gone at least as long as I have without a meal. He pauses in front of the fridge, but doesn't respond immediately. I can practically hear the mental cogs whirling in his mind: give up his pissy mood to socialize and refuel? Or retreat back to his room with what he thinks remains of his dignity?
"Yeah, Lesh! Eat up," Wolf invites. He shoves the box of pizza across the kitchen bar toward Lesher. "Nancy and I practically delivered it ourselves."
"So you rode together."
It's as if an early winter freeze falls across the room in the wake of Lesher's statement. I glance at Wolf, but for once I can't read the expression he wears, either. Is this something that's against the rules? It's not as if I've exactly willingly ridden with Lesher in the past—but does a rider somehow stake a claim in his chosen passenger?
If this is true, then it would line up with Wolf's assertion that I am somehow "special" to Lesher. Thinking about the possibility gives me the same funny, almost lightheaded feeling, as if the rug has been pulled out from underneath me.
Lesher reads a confirmation into our startled silence. He turns and leaves the kitchen without another word; I hear his heavy footfalls as he climbs back up the stairs. The door slams, and he's once more disappeared into the bedroom.
"I should probably go up and talk to him," I say hesitantly.
"You sure?" Wolf leans forward and peers into my face. Again, I'm struck by an immensely grateful feeling—whatever happens, I'm not alone in this.
"Yeah," I say. "He needs someone. I mean, not to say I'm the person he needs," I amend quickly, "but just imagine what he must be feeling right now. I think that…whatever he intended to happen at the bank has just blown up in his face. He has no one to turn to, and no MC to back him up." I shake my head. "He must feel totally destabilized. Not to mention he looked like he was in a lot of physical pain. It almost makes me regret kicking him in the face."
"You kicked him in the face?" Wolf exclaims incredulously. "And you failed to mention that in your original story? That's the best part!"
"Anyway," I interrupt him hastily, "all I'm saying is that even if I may not agree with his…methods…or even know what's going on with him at the end of the day, I think I know what he must be feeling."
"I don't think Lesher feels things like other people do," Wolf responds. "Someone in your situation should be more aware of this than anyone, Nancy. I may have known him a lot longer, but even taking that into consideration, I probably can't claim to have spent even a total of two days with Lesher. He joked about my being a genius, but he's the real genius—he's far and away the smartest and most calculating of any of us. You really think a guy like that has feelings you can empathize with?"
I don't answer him directly; instead, I lower myself fully out of the stool. I do take a moment to squeeze his shoulder in gratitude.
"Thank you, Wolf," I say. "For staying with me. I'm sure I'll see you in a bit."
"I'll be right here," Wolf reminds me as I start up the stairs. "If you need anything, just holler down and I'll come running."
I turn back and give him a thumbs-up. Immediately, I feel ridiculous for doing so, but he returns my gesture with a grin. What an easy-going guy. If my heart wasn't already pining for someone else, someone completely unattainable…
But speaking of things I need, I still really need that shower. Maybe I can claim one as soon as I smooth things over with Lesher.
I summon a deep breath, and push the door open.
Lesher is lounging—yes, lounging—on the bed where we had previously deposited him, holding the ice pack to the shiner Flint gave him. He draws it back momentarily, blinking in surprise at my unexpected entry.
And there it is—the emotion—the feeling that Wolf claims doesn't exist. I know it does, even if Lesher won't always readily show it to me. Even if I have to startle him into behaving like a human.
"Flint didn't put you up in another room?" he asks after a moment. "There's plenty down the hall that way." He gestures vaguely toward the wall separating the room from the hallway.
"No," I say. "No, I didn't want them to worry about it for now."
Segue, Nancy. Come on, you can do this.
"But I am worried about you," I continue. "As far as I know, you haven't eaten anything. No matter what the outcome is with these people—the Robber Barons—you need to eat something, Lesher. If you want, I can—"
"Do you still have the information I gave you?" Lesher interrupts.
"What information?" I ask in confusion. Almost the moment the question leaves my mouth, I wish I hadn't asked it.
He glares at me with the one good eye not eclipsed by the ice pack, and I feel smaller than he's made me feel yet. It's all I can do not to shrink back toward the door, but I stand resiliently. I haven't come this far, been kidnapped and dragged through Hell on the back of his death machine on wheels, to feel guilty or sheepish about some small oversight now.
"The flash drive, Nancy." I hate the way he elaborates, as if putting forth a follow-up explanation takes immense patience on his part. My eyes narrow in warning, even as I oblige him and hunt through the side pocket of his leather jacket.
Actually, I can do him one better. In almost the same motion I took dipping my hand into the pocket, I wrench the coat off my narrow shoulders, bundle it up, and toss it hard across the room toward his chest. I thought for sure he wouldn't have the reaction time, considering he's currently operating one-handed; I celebrate a personal victory too early, because Lesher's free hand comes up instantly and snatches his coat out of the air.
"Careful," he warns. I'm not sure if he's worried for the flash drive, or if he's cautioning me that I'm on thin ice.
Just what the hell did I do to make him cranky, anyway? I seem to remember that I am being incredibly patient for someone who has been taken hostage.
I cross my arms and study him as he lays the coat out across his thighs and checks the pocket. It's exactly where we both knew it would be; exactly where I kept it safe all along.
"You know, I don't owe you anything," I point out. "Whatever your precious information is, it was stolen from my company. In fact, I would say it's pretty stupid of you to trust me with it. What if I take it with me when I make a break for it?"
"You won't be breaking out any time soon." The fisted coat comes hurtling back to me, aimed as hard as a missile, and I struggle much more than he did to catch it. One of the arms pulls loose from the bundle and actually sweeps the floor as I crouch to keep it gathered to me. "You're the property of the Robber Barons now. They don't take kindly to unauthorized people passing through their clubhouses, and they take even less kindly to untested people wanting to leave in the same day."
"Hey!" I exclaim. "First of all, I'm not anyone's property, and I've never been anyone's property. Not yours, and definitely not your little club's!"
"Tell that to Wolf." I almost don't catch the words as they slide past his teeth. I think he's tormenting me by speaking in that maddeningly calm, inflectionless tone that he likes to use in moments of high intensity, before I notice that his jaw is clenched so forcefully a muscle twitches in his cheek.
I'm about to retort, mainly to express that I have no idea what he is talking about, but noticing Lesher's expression causes me pause. I feel more confused than angry, suddenly. I'm really tired of being thrown for a loop by this man. I wish I could keep my temper up long enough to pull a Flint on him and blacken his other eye. Before I can ask what he means, Lesher continues:
"He's all but marked his territory already. Tell me, Nancy, did you let him piss on you as well?"
&nbs
p; "How dare you?" My own voice sounds so dark and dangerous that I barely recognize it as mine. That thinly-veiled threat of imminent murder surely can't belong to the soft-spoken woman I've been my entire life, but there is no one else in the room with us, and there can be no mistaking it. I take a step forward into the room and let Lesher's leather jacket drop into a careless puddle on the floor. "Don't you dare project your biker bullshit onto me, Lesher. Just because you're jealous. At least Wolf behaves like a perfect gentleman, while you...you…!"
There are really no words to express all that I've been subjected to at the hands of this careless, selfish man. I wring my hands in front of me as if I can wrest them from the empty air, but when nothing comes to me, I let out a wordless and frustrated cry; my hands halfway come up to grip my hair, before I let them fall back down to my sides. I wheel and turn, stalking across the room and slamming the door to the bathroom behind me.
It's only after I've barricaded myself inside the bathroom that I realize I've forgotten a towel.
A fruitless hunt commences, but there is nothing to be found in either of the bathroom cupboards, nor in the tall bathroom closet. I stand for a long moment and study the fresh, standing water droplets accumulated at the bottom of the tub. I realize that Lesher must have just been in here taking a shower himself; more importantly, Lesher has used the only remaining towel. I recall, too late to save myself now, how I saw it crumpled beside him on the bed.
My face burns. There's no way I'm going to poke my head out after all that and ask him for it. He probably thinks this is just another win for him, another layer added to my continuing captivity at his hands. Well, I have some choice words for what he can do with that towel.
Choice words that I decide to keep to myself. No use calling premature attention to it now. Besides, what are the odds of him sticking around, now that I've made it perfectly clear just how furious I am with him? Chances are he'll be gone by the time I'm finished. And I intend to take a very, very long time, at the expense of the Robber Baron's water bill. They can certainly afford it.
Unfortunately, bravado doesn't make me any less wary when it comes to removing my clothes. I double- and triple-check that the lock is secure on the door behind me before unbuttoning my ruined blouse and shimmying out of my filth-caked skirt. Another problem soon becomes apparent to me, one that didn't cross my mind in my haste to think of an excuse to see Lesher again: I didn't bring a change of clothes. In fact, I don't own anything even resembling a change of clothes. Best-case scenario now is my running around the compound in only a towel and hoping I run into Ana before I run into any of the men. My opinion of the woman who rides with Flint is, so far, solidly positive. I'm certain that despite our differences in height and build and, let's face it, fashion tastes, she would float me something until...
Until when? Until Lesher feels like taking me on a shopping spree? Until someone like Flint or Wolf lets me order a new wardrobe off their Amazon account, since apparently I am now a prisoner to every member of this club? Yeah right.
My thoughts carry me through stripping out of my old clothes until finally I stand fully naked in a strange bathroom. I raise my eyes from where they study the floor to consider the woman laid bare in the mirror. I'm not a knockout like Ana by any means, but there must be something magnetic about me...something about my face, my body language, my expressions, that makes Lesher unable to let go of me. Am I as sexually magnetic to him as he is to me? Is it possible that someone as unassuming as I always thought I was could be so irresistible to a man who more resembles a force of nature than a moral and decent human being?
There's no use trying to figure out what Lesher sees in me now. I'm a wreck from the road, but at least I'm not a broken woman. In fact, I would almost say that my posture is straighter now than it was when I stood behind a desk back at the bank...but surely my eyes are playing tricks on me. There's no way that sitting on the back of a bike for hours on end could be healthy for a person, even if it is kind of fun after a while.
I wonder if I have Lesher's straight posture to thank for the attractive improvement of my own.
"Pah!" I mutter as I twist the tap on. Hot water gushes between my fingers instantly, and I find the sensation as pleasing as it is startling. How long have I been without a shower? God, do I even want to think about it?
I step into the porcelain tub and whisk the shower curtain closed behind me. After the incident with the vault back at Grand National Credit Union, I suppose I have a little more trouble trusting locks, especially when the lock is standing between Lesher and something he may or may not want to lay his hands on.
Thoughts of Lesher wanting me only serve to make me recall our earlier, nonsensical argument. Can he really be jealous of the time I spent with Wolf? It was such a short time, and completely unremarkable in the scheme of how much time I've spent with each Robber Baron up until this point. Lesher has consumed my body, my thoughts, and my schedule wholesale. How could he possibly be jealous?
Not to mention: how could he have possibly known I was spending time with Wolf if he was still unconscious?
Clearly he had been up earlier than I thought, maybe even long before I spotted him in the downstairs kitchen. The realization that he hadn't sought me out immediately only makes me more furious. I scrub a dollop of expensive, lavender-scented shampoo into my hair, and rub it furiously into a lather. I'm determined to get every trace of the road and our time together off me. What he said about the men of the RBMC "marking" their "territories" is very present in my mind. If Lesher can't even bother to come find me when he's the whole reason I'm here in this strange situation to begin with, then I'm determined not to be mistaken for "being his.”
Although, I'm willing to admit to myself, there in the privacy of a bathroom behind a thrice-checked locked door, that there's something pleasurably satisfying about knowing Lesher is as subject to inconvenient human emotions as the rest of us. Green looks almost as good on him as black does.
Once I'm scrubbed clean, and I've decided I can't possibly stall any longer, I turn the shower off and step out onto the lush bath rug. I wiggle my toes, enjoying the feel of the soft, almost cloud-like material. Even in the throwaway room that we've been provided with, everything feels spacious and luxurious. I'm curious what the other rooms in the mansion are like—it would take me hours, maybe even days, to explore them all. The thought sends a little thrill through me, before I quickly remember to stamp it back down.
I'm just as much a prisoner here as I was back at the warehouse. And Lesher is as just as much a villain as he was before…even if what he's after at the end of the day isn't what he expected.
I almost wish I had called Wolf's attention to the flash drive after all. Surely there must be at least one functioning computer in this house, if not a stable full of laptops and other cutting-edge appliances.
But I'm glad I kept silent, even if I'm still in the dark about what's happening to me, and about what Lesher is after. I can't shake the impression that it was the right decision. And anyway, it makes me feel like I'm on moral high ground.
Not that in my interactions with Lesher I've ever inhabited anything but the moral high ground.
I re-examine my reflection in the fogged over mirror. Not stunning, but better: my auburn hair, darkened by water, is finally hanging relatively straight around my pale, pointed face. Persisting smudges of filth that decorated my cheeks and upturned button nose are finally scrubbed clean. I look presentable; more importantly, I look in control. I brace myself on the counter and suck in a long breath.
It's only a towel. A towel and a pair of clothes.
I can totally do this.
But just in case I can't, I unlock the door and ease it open slowly, peering around the side of the frame. To my surprise, the room is dark. The light has been turned off. For a moment, I breathe a sigh of relief. Clearly Lesher has vacated the premises. Maybe it's too much to hope at this stage that he took my words to heart, but at least he felt cowed enough
to...
There is gentle white light filtering in through the drawn curtains. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows of the guest bedroom, but when they do, I feel my heart freeze all beating in my chest.
There is no mistaking the figure lounging on the bed. I can't believe I didn't notice him before, considering he's scarcely moved from where I left him. The leather jacket is hung up on a desk chair, and the ice pack sits retired on the wooden bedside table...very likely leaving an enormous water stain in its perspiring wake; and I have no doubt the careless gesture was intentional.
Lesher is shirtless, but there is something about the low lighting of the room that makes his state of undress more apparent, more stirring. The muted light from the windows above the bed pools in the contours of his pectoral muscles, his abdominals, and his biceps. He lies with his arms crossed beneath his head. For a moment, I almost imagine he might be sleeping.
"What's the problem?" His voice is sedated once more, darkly and quietly amused by my reluctance to come any further out from behind the door. "Did I use up all the hot water?"
"N-no." I almost ease the bathroom door closed to punctuate my response, but where is there for me to go? Clearly Lesher isn't planning on moving out of the room any time soon despite my wishes. "There...there was only one towel."
"Don't be ridiculous," he replies.
My face burns. "Excuse me, but I seem to remember checking every drawer thoroughly myself, and..."
"I mean, don't just stand there hiding." The bed creaks beneath him as he raises himself up slightly, and I shrink further back into the relative safety of the bathroom. I can tell he isn't wearing a shirt, but I can't tell what sort of expression he's wearing. He's come back into command of his voice, and there is no trace of the surprising, almost endearing petulance from earlier; he's not giving away a thing.
Least of all the towel he took from the bathroom.
"I'm not hiding," I protest, although I'm not sure who I think I'm fooling at this point. "I just...can you please hand me the towel? I don't care if you used it already."
BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books Page 24
