by Nikki Landis
“Yep. He was hoping you would trust me.”
Our eyes met, and for a few seconds, I didn’t think I could. Trust was something earned, and few people in my life proved worth the effort.
My arm was aching, though, and I really needed the wound cleaned. The bandage was severely soiled. Slipping my arm out, I kept the blanket high up under my chin as he scooted closer.
“Is this alright? I have to be able to touch you and look at the wound. I’ll try not to make you uncomfortable and invade your space.”
He waited for my answer before moving. That simple act of asking for permission was more than I could handle. It had been far too long since anyone cared about what I wanted.
Tears filled my eyes and slipped down my cheeks as I nodded.
“Oh, sunshine. I’m sorry you were abused.” His voice held a note of sincerity that I couldn’t ignore. “I don’t want to hurt you any further, so you tell me if anything I do makes you feel uncomfortable or bothers you, okay?”
Swallowing hard, it took a few seconds to find my voice. “Patriot?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” I answered softly, sniffling. “No one has been that kind to me in a long time.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Patriot pulled the bandage off, and his jaw closed with a snap, a vein pulsing low in his cheek as he worked to clean the wound and care for the damaged skin. Every simple touch was painful.
I kept wincing, jerking whenever he accidentally brushed a finger over the exposed area. The tears kept falling, and I couldn’t hold them back, especially when I saw the extent of the damage to my skin.
“I’ll never be the same again,” I whispered, blubbering through my tears. “He made sure of that. I’ll have to look at that wound the rest of my life and remember what Alexi did to me.”
Patriot placed a new bandage over the top and taped it in place before dropping his supplies on a nearby table. He stood and disinfected his hands, returning with a warm washcloth. With great care, he wiped the tears and streaks of dirt from my face.
“Listen to me, sunshine.”
I lifted my chin, searching his dark eyes.
“That Russian fucker tried to take your life. He didn’t succeed. You fought. You won,” he emphasized, “because that son of a bitch will die a gruesome and painful death, but you will wake up every morning with the scars to prove that you’re incredibly strong and brave. Yeah, you’re not ever gonna be exactly the same. So? Every badass has a few scars. They’re a sign of character.”
Patriot lifted his shirt and turned around, showing a full view of his back. “You see that?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. His back was nothing but one gigantic scar, the flesh rippled, puckered, and pink in some spots while pale white in others. Some parts were much redder. One section sort of resembled strips of mangled flesh instead of muscle. “I’m sorry. Did that happen overseas?”
“Took the blast as I blocked the doorway while four of my Marine brothers escaped from the hut that we were in.” His voice was low, full of pain. “They were murdered anyway. Took me a long time to realize there wasn’t anything else I could have done to save them.”
“I understand what you’re saying.” Moving closer, I lifted a hand and brushed a fingertip over his skin. “Is that okay?”
Patriot nodded.
My palm brushed slowly over his scars as I swallowed hard. His muscles bunched slightly with my touch. “You’re still strong. I bet you’re just as strong as you were before it happened.”
“No,” he replied, turning back around. “I’m stronger. You will be too.”
“Patriot?”
“Yeah, sunshine?”
“You should go into therapy or something. You’re way too wise to ride a motorcycle all day long.”
The intended joke found its mark, and he grinned wide. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
Patriot stood and walked over to his dresser where he pulled out a locked case and inserted a key from a set he kept clipped to his belt. I heard the rustling around of pill bottles. “Got some strong painkillers and an antibiotic. You’ll need them both.” He was like a one-man drug store.
“Okay.” I took the pills with a bottle of water that was sitting on a nightstand within reach.
“You know something?”
I lay down on the bed, wrapping up in the blanket as tightly as I could. “No.”
“You’re healing well.”
“How do you know?”
He was watching me closely, sinking into a thick leather chair that he tugged closer to the bed. “It hurt when I was cleaning your arm, right?”
I nodded.
“How did it feel right after it happened?”
“Wasn’t as painful as I would have thought. It wasn’t my arm that was hurting the most.” I glanced downward, betraying the focus of my thoughts. Residual or actual pain, did it matter? I was still forced against my will. “I suppose you’re right. The pain means the nerves are repairing.”
“Yep.” He swallowed hard. “Are you healing,” he paused, and his eyes dipped lower for a second before rising again, “down lower?”
Shit. That was super weird to discuss with him. I tried to be clinical about it. “I, I don’t know exactly. I think so.” My chin wobbled a little as I held back more tears. It wasn’t like I had the opportunity to shower properly and check since I fled the hospital. Once I ate and rested, I would tackle that obstacle. Not now.
“I shouldn’t have asked.” He seemed embarrassed. “Just tell me to shut the fuck up if I talk too much. It’s a personality flaw.” He forced the smile that followed, but neither of us voiced it.
“I will,” I promised. It wasn’t the many violations I had experienced over the last couple of years that made my emotions surface. It was the stupid vulnerability I felt. What was the matter with me? I felt utterly off-kilter. Like someone had shifted every aspect of who I was, and I didn’t know if I could ever recover the parts that made up Naomi Peters.
Would I ever be whole again?
PATRIOT SAW ME THEN, and he did now.
He didn’t judge me, think less of me, or even try to fix me. Just focused those intense blue orbs on my face as if he could read my sorrows and regrets, pain, and shame like an open book tattooed on my face in endless lines of inky black.
His perusal hid no part of me. I was fully exposed and stripped raw before him, and only someone with the same type of past could understand what that meant.
I wasn’t ignorant of the wounds he also kept bandaged, as unhealed and festering as my own. We both lived with the aftermath of regret and the debilitating pain of personal loss. The worst kind of loss, the innocence of the soul. We’d both had parts ripped away in the worst of ways.
There was no coming back from that kind of experience. Some injuries never healed.
I finally met his tortured gaze, knowing that I affected him as deeply as he affected me. We didn’t speak, but there wasn’t a need. He lifted his hand and tapped his heart over his t-shirt once.
With a trembling finger, I did the same.
Holding his gaze, I swallowed hard. “I know. I see you too.”
Patriot was a good man, even if he was a bad boy biker. I might have been tempted or excited by the fine male specimen entirely too close to my personal space in another life, but that wasn’t my reality.
My vision blurred a little and then cleared as I read the patches on his vest.
Royal Bastards MC. Road Captain.
“Fight it,” he whispered, knowing the deepest, most exposed parts I hid within were crying out for help I could never dare to ask or hope for in this world. Those parts wanted to pull me into despair and depression. It was so hard to resist.
Patriot was a fighter. A Marine. He didn’t understand the concept of surrender.
I closed my eyes and faced the cold, hard truth. I was nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. That was what Alexi called me. A used-up whore.
How did you find yourself again? How did you begin to recover and walk that long, desperate road of recovery?
When you’re lost to the darkness, what hope was left?
“Blackjack!” I roared, sitting up in bed as the word left my lips with a haunting desperation that proved I would never leave my past behind.
Soaked in sweat, I couldn’t resist a shiver as I ran a hand over my head and down my face, my fingers grazing the dark stubble on my chin. “Fuck,” I exhaled, hoping the racing beats of my heart would stop their frantic rhythm. My chest felt tight, and I had to drag in a couple of deep breaths before I felt the pressure ease.
A soft hand slid across the mattress and rested briefly on my arm. The gentle touch was instantly soothing and familiar, providing a welcome distraction from my chronic nightmares. They were less often since I met Naomi but didn’t completely go away.
Too much to hope for, I thought, gritting my teeth.
“You’re here, in the present,” Mimi whispered, “with me.”
My lungs dragged in another ragged breath, desperate to forget the memories that flooded the night and controlled the restless hours from sunset to sunrise. I didn’t want to be a slave to their vicious resurrection every time I shut my eyes. Lately, they resurfaced with a vengeance. Probably had something to do with the nights I spent alone when Mimi was in that coma.
Reaching out, I placed my other hand lightly over hers. “You’re my anchor,” I confessed. “My lighthouse in the storm. That tiny bit of light that shines in the dark and shows me where to go, that’s happy to bring me back from the unforgiving edge and preventing me from a dangerous crash.”
“A lighthouse? Is that why I’m your sunshine?”
“Yes,” I answered truthfully. “I’m no longer chained down in the pit of darkness.” I didn’t add that my darkness would always linger in the shadows and that my Reaper enjoyed the hunt, reaping souls in order to feed his ravenous hunger.
“Me either. You took me away from the cold unknown,” she agreed. “I’m safe. Warm. No longer alone.”
“Free,” I added, my voice catching. That was what mattered most. She understood what that kind of freedom meant. To not be locked down in your mind and a slave to the horrors of the past. Mimi was still dealing with the aftermath but she wasn’t a victim anymore.
“Yeah.”
I was hoping she would feel that same freedom and when she didn’t say it, I knew I would help her find her way with time.
We both remained still, barely able to see one another as the rising sun bleached the sky with shades of navy and blue.
“What’s Blackjack mean?”
Her tiny voice held only curiosity, but I still stiffened with the reminder.
“You don’t have to answer. I’ll understand.”
I knew she would. That wasn’t the problem. Saying what happened to my platoon overseas was not only painful but gut-wrenching. Didn’t think I could speak of it, even to the person who would sympathize the most.
“Not yet,” I choked out.
“Someday then. When you’re ready.”
“I will,” I promised, and I meant it.
She already knew about my back, and the physical trauma I’d endured but somehow, sharing the mental and emotional scars was much harder.
I should have been caring for her instead. This was her first night back at the Crossroads in my room after being discharged from the hospital. She was calm, but I was the one all fucked-up in the middle of the night. Mimi kept her hand on my arm and squeezed it before slipping her fingers away. I instantly missed her touch but would never stop her from doing what she wanted.
It was quiet so long that I was sure that she fell back asleep until she turned on her side, facing me with the innocent sweetness of an angel. Delicate features framed by her long hair made her seem much younger. I wanted to run my fingers along the soft contour of her cheek, but that wasn’t possible. Expressive eyes roamed my face as I rolled her way but kept my distance.
“What’s on your mind, sunshine?”
“We haven’t talked about this,” she began, and I wanted to groan since no sentence usually ended well with those words, “but should I stay in your room?”
Where else would she be staying?
“Why are you asking? Would you rather be in another room?”
Fuck. Please say no.
She shook her head. “No, but,” she paused and nibbled her bottom lip with her teeth, “I don’t want to keep you from, um, company,” she emphasized.
Aw shit. I didn’t know how to reply to that.
“You know,” she rushed on, “because it would be awkward to bring a girl in the room if I’m here. I’ve seen the other guys, uh sharing their rooms with the club girls.”
This was fuckin’ adorable.
The side of my mouth twitched in response. “If I want company of that kind, I’ll let you know.”
She visibly swallowed and then nodded. “Okay. That’s good.”
Sitting up, Mimi slid from the bed and headed toward the bathroom as if her feet were on fire. Once the door shut, I flopped back and chuckled. Little thing was unpredictable and surprising almost every damn day. She was sturdier than she realized and fierce in a way that my Reaper found irresistible.
Slipping from the bed, I headed toward my closet and a change of clothes, dressing as I heard the shower running. Good thing I kept extra deodorant in my dresser. I’d use one of the main bathrooms to brush my teeth, so I didn’t freak her out by barging in. Once my bandana was in place, and I slid my cut on, I knocked on the door.
“Gonna head to chow. Want me to bring you something back?”
Her muffled voice was low, but I heard her say she wasn’t hungry. Frowning, I wasn’t about to let her skip meals. Sure, she could do whatever the fuck she wanted, but Mimi couldn’t afford to keep losing weight. She needed to gain a few pounds after that coma. Didn’t affect how damn cute she was, but I didn’t want her unwell.
When I exited my room and entered the hall, I caught the prospect Shadow leaning against the wall, head down and hands in his pockets. Kid was borderline depressed, and all of us could see it. I knew he didn’t take Stefanie’s death well. He had a crush on Trish’s cousin and seemed withdrawn since hearing the news. Maybe it was more than a crush.
“Prospect,” I nearly shouted, catching him by surprise. “Got a job for you.”
His head snapped up. “Sure. What can I do for you, Mr. Dixon?”
Snorting with humor, I had to hide the fact that Grim had told the prospects to call us by our real last names. It was a joke that stuck. They didn’t do it outside of the Crossroads, but everyone got a kick out of it. Hazing these kids was a highlight of the club’s day.
We all put in our fair share of shit duty when we prospected. Only seemed fitting to pass the tradition along.
“Need you to stick close to Naomi. Don’t fucking call her anything else. Not Trixie or Mimi. Get her whatever she wants, and if she leaves this room, you’re her escort. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m getting her some breakfast, and I want you to knock and give the tray to her when I come back.”
He nodded, standing taller.
“Good. Don’t make me regret this.”
“You won’t.”
Didn’t think I would, but I kept that knowledge to myself.
The kitchen was full of people and busy as fuck when I entered. It was already 0900, and I needed a cup of coffee before I dealt with the rest of this day, including church. Grim wanted to meet at noon. Most of my brothers were late risers, but Nylah was a nurse, and she was up before everyone but the club girls who always made all the meals.
I caught Rael as he poured a cup of coffee and then grabbed a mug, filling another before handing it over.
“Thanks.” I took a sip and welcomed the hot liquid, burning my throat like I was used to for the last twenty years. Learned to like it black in boot
camp when I was eighteen and never stopped.
“Got somethin’ I want to talk about,” he began.
I shot him a look, downing more coffee.
“Don’t be a dick. I promised Nylah.”
Well shit. “Let me grab a plate for Mimi first.”
Snooki was scramblin’ eggs and scooping them into a bowl while Becca fried bacon and flipped sausage patties. LeeAnn was buttering a mound of toast and stacking it next to the eggs. That left Harley to keep the coffee going, and boiling water for tea since a few of the girls drank it and set out orange juice and fresh fruit that someone cut up.
Plates, silverware, napkins, and glasses finished off the assembly line opposite the granite countertop. Didn’t seem like many people had gone through it yet, which meant there would be plenty of food, and it was all hot. Containers of condiments like salt, pepper, jelly, and extra butter were available for those who wanted to eat in their rooms instead of buffet style.
The dining area was a separate room but right off the kitchen. One way led to the common room and bar. The other to the chow hall, as I liked to call it. Reminded me of my days as a young Marine. Rows of tables with benches and quite a few tables with chairs. The room was fucking huge.
I ticked my head toward Snooki. She was the head club girl, and most of the guys showed her that respect.
“Gonna need a tray for Mimi.”
“Sure thing, honey.” She pulled out a plate and scooped eggs first. “She still like cheddar cheese on her eggs and sausage patties? I’ll add the apple butter she likes with wheat toast. She usually eats the fruit up, so I’ll give her extra of that too.”
I winked her way. “Thanks for setting my girl up.”
“My pleasure.”
I noticed a couple of the girls giving each other a look when I said Mimi was my girl. So what? I could call her whatever the fuck I wanted, and since she was under my protection, I needed to make it clear that she was in my room for a reason. Of course, I didn’t say ol’ lady, and they caught that too.
“Add some orange juice and cream and sugar for her tea.”
“You got it.” Once everything was ready, she covered the tray and picked it up. “Want me to take it?”
