Reign nodded.
“He hurt you?”
I swallowed. “Repeatedly.”
“Fuck.”
“I'm fine,” I said, shrugging.
“You know that's a lie.”
It was a lie. But it was one I was trying really hard to make myself believe.
“Alright. It's late,” he said, putting his mug in the sink. “Let's sleep. Talk more tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I agreed, sucking the rest of my coffee down greedily. It was something in my belly. The first thing in there in days. And I wished it had more calories, but at least caffeine suppressed the appetite. I could get by a few more hours.
Then he turned and, at a loss for what to do, I put my mug in the sink and followed him. Down the hall. Past the bathroom. A bathroom I wouldn't have to ask to use. A bathroom I could use more than once a day, sitting, rocking and praying I didn't pee myself until I got the chance.
Reign disappeared into the room across from the bath and I followed. Then froze. It was the master bedroom. I glanced back into the hallway. And there were no other bedrooms. Crap. I hoped he didn't think I was going to sleep with him. That because I was one of V's girls that I was happy to spread my legs for any favor.
“Relax,” he said, turning to look at me, his head cocked to the side. “The bed is huge. You won't have to touch me.”
“I can...” I started, licking my lips. “I can sleep on the couch. It's fine.”
“You're sleepin' here where I can keep an eye on you,” he said, finality in his tone.
I wasn't really in a position to fight him. And the bed was huge. I was small. He was right. There would be feet between us.
“Okay.”
He turned away from me, grabbing a remote off the nightstand and flicking on a massive flatscreen television across from the bed. Oh, my god. TV. I missed TV. And music. Just any sounds other than men taunting me and women screaming. And my own mind driving me half crazy.
“You pick,” he said, tossing the remote across the bed as he got in one side.
It took everything I had to not dive at the remote. I made my way around the bed, pulling back the sheets, and climbing in. I settled, picking up the remote, and starting flicking through the channels. I finally settled on old black and white re-runs that made Reign's head turn toward me, one of his brows quirked up.
“Seriously?”
“You can change it,” I said automatically. Another knee-jerk reaction I had learned over the past few months. Don't disagree with the men. Always try to appease them. Save yourself the beating. Except on the days when they called my Dad. Those days I disagreed. I took the beatings. I practically asked for them.
“Nah, babe. I said you pick. You picked.”
Then he left it at that, laying there, watching the TV.
I cuddled under the blankets, smelling deeply of man. Something undefinable, but familiar. A trace of cologne. Of just plain old male musk. A non-floral smelling laundry detergent.
And then, to my absolute horror, my stomach growled ferociously, sounding like I had monsters trapped inside.
Reign's head turned to me automatically and I tried to ignore his eyes on me. “You're hungry, you say you're hungry,” he said simply, getting up off the bed.
“No. It's okay. I can wait till morning. Trust me.”
“Trust you?” he asked, turning back. “They didn't feed you? You're used to bein' hungry?”
I felt my face blush. Which was ridiculous. It wasn't like I had starved myself. “They fed me when they felt like it.”
“How often did they feel like it?”
I sucked in air. “Every few days if I was lucky.”
“Fuck.”
“It's really no big deal. I can wa...”
“How long you been waiting?”
“What?” I asked, pulling my knees to my chest.
“How long since they last fed you?”
Oh. Right.
“Um,” I started.
“The fact that you have to fuckin' think about that shit is why you're getting your ass up, coming in the kitchen, and stuffin' your face.”
Two days. It had been two days.
But Reign was gone and I was jumping out of bed, holding onto the waistband of my pants, and following behind.
As if sensing my presence, he said, “Do I even want to fucking know what they threw at you when they did feed you?”
No, he didn't. And I didn't have a choice about eating it either.
“No.”
“Fuck.”
And then there was a lot of movement. Pots and pans being put on the stove. Items being pulled out of the cabinets and refrigerator.
“It's late. I can just have some cereal or something...” I supplied, watching him move around, his strong back muscles turning and twisting in an altogether too sexy way for three o'clock in the morning.
He simply ignored me, moving around some more. Pouring water into a pot. Chopping something right on the counter. Because, well, it was butcher block.
“Can I help with anything?”
I wasn't really a cook. Okay. I wasn't a cook in any way shape or form. Dad always had servants for that. But being a motherless kid, I had spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Mae, our very heavy, very jovial Italian cook. And at her apron tails, I was taught it was always proper to offer to help, even if you didn't know what you were doing.
“You just spent three months in a hellhole having god-knows what done to you and you don't think you've earned the right to relax and have someone take care of you?”
Take care of me?
Was that what he was doing?
It was.
And it was too good.
I just...
Okay. I was a little emotional.
And by 'a little emotional' I meant I was pretty sure I was about to cry in front of him. And not just cry. Ugly snot cry. I turned away, looking off into the living room, deep breathing.
“Can I put music on?”
“As long as it's vinyl, yeah.”
I all but flew across the room, making a show of looking through the records, pretending to ignore my shaking hands. I knew I was dealing with some heavy shit, especially heavy considering what a pampered life I had led, but I needed to keep my head on straight. I couldn't go all hysterical woman because someone was taking care of me. That was what you were supposed to do when you find someone in need of help, right? Even when you were a big, bad, criminal biker dude.
I grabbed a record I recognized, lifted the needle, and dropped it. There was a hum for a long second before the sound came flooding out of the speakers. I backed up toward the couch, lowering myself down. Planning on just keeping my distance for a few minutes. But the couch was one of those leather couches. The well-loved ones. The ones that felt buttery to the touch. And as soon as I had myself laid up on it, comforted with the idea of not being startled awake by someone trying to hurt me, I fell fast asleep.
And I had nightmares.
But they weren't nightmares.
They were memories.
**
“Wakey wakey!” one of them, Deke I had heard one of the other guys call him, said. No. Not said. Screamed. Right in my ear. Making me lurch up in bed so fast I forgot all about being tied to it and the ropes seared at the already torn skin on my wrists, the pain at once so intense I had to choke down the bile in my throat.
“Almost pissed the bed,” Martin said, chuckling.
The smell of them was always what got me the most. The cigarette smoke that seemed to seep out of their pores. Mixed with the vodka on their breaths. The almost overpowering smell of body odor.
You could literally smell them coming down the hall if you were awake.
Being I had been fast asleep, it assaulted me at once, cutting through the fog of sleep like a strong wind.
“She really is a pretty one,” Deke said, his fingers reaching out for my face, stroking down the side of my neck. “So ripe,” he said, his hand movin
g over my breast that had no protection of a bra from his prying fingers. “She needs a good fucking, don't you think, Mart?”
“Damn right. From both ends at once, I'd say.”
“Yeah,” he said, his hand sliding down my belly. “They always like it like that, don't they?”
I bit my lip to keep from screaming. Or pleading. They weren't supposed to touch me. V made that point clear.
“She gets hurt when I say she gets hurt. How I say she gets hurt. Hands and dicks off otherwise.” Those had been his words.
But I knew that meant nothing to them. Not when they came in the middle of the night, half drunk, eyes cloudy with lust. I knew they could lie their way out of it.
“Fucking dead fish,” Deke scolded, grabbing my breast so hard tears sprang to my eyes. I looked away. Because I might not have known much about men like them. But I knew they got off on the reaction. The power they held over girls like me. The fear. If I didn't give them that, they might just go away. They might not be able to get it up. Or they might just get annoyed enough to leave me alone and go find someone else.
God. How I hated myself for thinking that. That I hoped they went to someone else. Knowing that girl had no rules around her. Knowing no one gave a shit if she screamed or died. But I wanted it so badly to not be me, that I hoped they moved on.
And when they eventually did, I rolled halfway onto my stomach, my face buried in the pillow, and I screamed. Never cried. Never let there be traces of weakness in the morning. So instead, I screamed. Until my throat was raw. Until no more sound would come out. Until I passed out again.
**
I bolted up on the couch, my heart slamming hard.
“Just a dream,” Reign's voice reached me, calm, reassuring. Close. My head snapped, my eyes wild, to find Reign sitting on the coffee table, looking very much like he had been there a while. “Take a breath. It was just a dream.”
“No,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face, “it wasn't.”
Reign's eyes flashed with recognition and he nodded. “I didn't know if I should wake you,” he said, sounding strained. “You were screaming and screaming but I didn't know if it would be worse to wake up to someone holding you.”
I put my feet on the floor, stuffing my shaking hands between my knees and shrugging. “I don't know,” I answered honestly. “I've never had nightmares before.”
“You want to talk about it? Shit can't stay bottled up. I know it's fresh and it smites, but you can't let it get infected. It'll eat you up.”
I don't know why. But I found my mouth opening. I found myself needing to share. Share the burden. The guilt. It was so heavy on my shoulders that I felt like I couldn't lift them.
I was free.
The rest were still there.
Still praying every night praying it would be someone else.
Instead of them.
“They used to come in at night,” I started, looking down at my feet. “I would be tied to the bed,” I said, lifting my wrists as if he needed proof. I knew he really didn't. Maybe I did. “Scare me out of sleep. And then... touch me. And...”
“And,” he prompted.
“And I would just lay there praying they would go on to someone else. That they would leave me alone. Lose interest in me and go find another girl. And when they did, I felt so bad. So guilty. So disgusted in myself that I would scream into my pillow until I couldn't scream anymore. Because that was such a horrible thing to think. I shouldn't have...”
“Hey,” he said, his big hand landing hard on my knee. “Eyes,” he said, and my gaze lifted. “You were scared. They wanted to hurt you. You wanted it to stop. You didn't do anything wrong. Okay?”
Somehow, hearing someone else say it made it feel a little more true. Though I was pretty sure there would never be a time in my life where I didn't feel that guilt, it didn't feel quite so all-consuming when I shared it.
“Okay.”
“'Kay,” he said, his hand dropping as he stood. “Food is ready. You still want to eat?”
No. I didn't.
But then my stomach twisted and groaned and I knew I was going to eat. It wouldn't do me any good to punish myself because I felt bad for being free. When they were still trapped.
So I ate.
I watched reruns.
And then I slept.
Six
Reign
I'd never heard a woman scream like that. Men, yeah. Men I had needed to teach a lesson to. Men who needed to not be of this earth anymore. Screams of pure, unfiltered fear and pain.
I heard those screams in my head before sleep at night. My own personal demons that I could never seem to shake. And hoped I wouldn't. Because if I ever got to a day where I was okay with what I had to do, then I would be a monster.
So I knew those screams.
It was so much worse hearing them from a woman. Someone who suffered at the hands of some scumbag. Someone who wasn't able to defend herself.
I set the food aside, moving toward the couch, toward her, her hair half-covering her face, her eyes closed, her body taut as a bow as she just... screamed.
I never had to sleep next to someone before so I knew jack shit about waking people up from bad dreams. So I just sat there and listened, waiting for her to wake up so I could remind her that she was okay. She was away from those things.
And then she told me she felt guilty.
The girl who endured fuck-knew what for months and she felt guilty because there were nights she didn't want to suffer anymore.
Fucking hell.
I wanted to find those sons of bitches, whoever the hell they were, and show them some vigilante justice.
But I needed to watch myself. I needed to think of my men first. Brotherhood before everything else. Most especially bitches. Especially bitches I didn't even know.
So then I fed her.
Then she slept.
And I did too for a few short hours before the sun started coming through the windows and I climbed out of bed, going through to the kitchen to put coffee on and call my brother.
“Cash,” he answered, sounding as awake as I was. Neither of us had ever been much for sleeping. Could be up all night and still be wide awake in the early morning.
“Got a problem.”
Whatever noise that was going on around him stopped and his normally laid-back voice got serious. “What kind of problem?”
“A big clusterfuck of a problem,” I admitted, running a hand down my face.
“Can't help if you don't talk to me.”
“I have one of V's girls.”
There was a long silence. “The fuck?”
“I was driving home from the bar and I heard a crash. Then some bitch hopped out of the car and started running. Thought she was half-whacked. And I fucking took her home.”
“To the compound?”
“To my house.”
“The fuck?”
I snorted. Cash was the only other person aside from me who had been to my house. Bringing some random car-crash woman over was not only unexpected, but completely out of character. “I dunno. It was late. The storm was bad. I wasn't thinking. She's got V's brand on her ass.”
“You fucked her?”
“No I didn't fuck her,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just caught sight of it. V had her for three months. The storm made his men careless. She got away.”
“Shit.”
“She has nightmares, man.”
“What?”
“Nightmares,” I said, shaking my head. “Like... where she screams.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I told her she could stay until things blow over and I'll get her on her way.”
“Seriously? You're keeping one of V's girls from him?”
“The fuck else I'm gonna do? Hand her back? He's a fucking monster, Cash.”
Cash let out a low whistle. “What do you need?”
“For you to keep yo
ur mouth shut. This doesn't involve the club.”
“You know that that isn't...”
“This isn't going to touch the club.”
“Alright,” he conceded, but I knew he had more to say.
“I need supplies,” I decided, shrugging.
“Supplies?”
“Yeah for bitches. She looks sweet in my clothes and all but they're falling off her ass.”
“So clothes?”
“Yeah. Small. She's tiny. And I don't know... shampoo and soap and shit. Whatever the fuck bitches like. You'd know better than me.” It was no secret my brother was the biggest whore around. He liked women. And they damn sure liked him back.
“Anything else?” he asked and I could hear the humor in his voice.
“Food. Don't know what she likes but I know they've been starving her.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Be there in an hour.”
“Aight,” I said, hanging up and going back into my bedroom to grab clothes.
She was still on the bed, curled up on her side, knees to her belly, her wrists on full display. Wrists that had barely-healed ligature marks marring them. Several of them. She'd been tied up for most of the time she had been there.
All I could think about through my shower was her screams.
There was a knock on the door a little over an hour later, loud. Like he was kicking instead of actually knocking, making the door shake in the jamb.
I walked over, pulling it open.
And there was Cash.
We were similar in facial features and that was about it. He got our mother's dark blonde hair that he kept long, but shaved up one side. His eyes were a deeper shade of green, and he walked with a fucking swagger. Always had. He was a toddling swaggerer. There was an air about Cash that I didn't have. A laid-back, calm, almost jovial demeanor that made women flock to him in droves. That wasn't to say he couldn't handle his shit. He was a capable, deadly fuck when he needed to be. But any other time, he was the guy a man wanted to have a beer with and a woman wanted to roll around the sheets with.
“Gonna let me in? Hands are kinda full here.”
And they were. He had a dozen bags in his hands and hanging off his arms. There was the strong smell of eggs and I noticed a brown bag in his hand. The other hand held a tray of coffee. Well, there were two coffees. And then there was one monstrous frozen drink thing with whipped cream on top.
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