His eyebrows shot up at my declaration, which I might add, hadn’t included a ‘good night’ in the whole of it as I stormed down the hallway.
“What about dinner?” he called after me.
“Not hungry,” I yelled back without stopping and managed not to slam my bedroom door but only at the last second. I did, however, sling my jeans and bra into the room only to realize that their soft thud as they hit the wall wasn’t as satisfying as a door slam would’ve been.
*.*.*.*.*
Silo watched and then listened as Shelly went back into her room, his heart crumbling with every thud of her steps as she stormed away from him. Away from all the beauty they’d recreated.
At the click of her hastily closed door, his hands went to his eyes to press as if to remove the memory of the look her face had held. One of disbelief, then an unfocused look before something, some fucking thing like embarrassment had stolen over her.
What would she have to be fucking embarrassed about, for god’s sake?
If anything, he was the one that should feel ashamed for even bringing it up!
But, he’d thought she’d been referring to the ache she must’ve had in her pussy after being raped that was causing her discomfort. Now that he thought about it though, she’d said the same thing during their night; that one unbelievable night they’d shared.
Before she’d come back into his life.
But one that had never left his memory.
A memory he’d sworn he’d added to, had made even more exciting than it actually had been. Elevating it to a place of honor that no one else would ever be able to achieve with him again. But he’d quickly learned it had been the motherfucking truth. That Shelly Palmer, without artifice or porn-like calculated moves, had turned him fucking inside out by just being herself. Was one of the sexiest, most responsive women he’d ever had the goddamn luck to have riding his dick.
And one that he tended to compare each and every other woman to with only a glance.
Only he’d managed to blow it, to take away the fucking good and make her walk away from him.
Pulling his hands off his eyes and scrubbing his face with his palms he turned towards the kitchen very aware of the smell of the spaghetti sauce in the air.
Of the dinner he’d made for the two of them.
That he knew he’d be eating alone.
What the fuck had he been thinking by bringing up the hospital shit anyway?
Even though she demanded to know what he was talking about, why had he fucking answered?
Lifting the lid, he stuck the spoon into the deep red of the sauce, feeling the bits of onion, pepper and hamburger meat as it moved against the utensil he held.
Somehow, when it came to women, he always managed to put his foot in it the wrong way or to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. And he could never figure out exactly why. Other dudes didn’t seem to have that problem. No, Bishop and Dare were charming and could even have the most uptight bitches practically dropping their panties with the smooth, suave shit that came out of their mouths.
Not him, though.
He was just, exactly as he’d been labeled at an early age, weird. Too big, too fucking awkward and without a filter on his thoughts or his mouth, doing or saying stuff that drove the girls away as fast as their feet could carry them. Oh, he knew once the physical stuff happened, he was more than skilled in providing a woman pleasure.
It was the before and the after that found him shooting himself in the foot.
Turning off the burner, he carefully placed the lid over the sauce as he tried to think of a way to make things right between the girl he so wanted but who seemed to want nothing to do with him.
Silo found himself walking down the hall and listening, hands to doorframe, at her room. At first there was no noise−that was until he caught a deeply hitching sob sound that was quickly extinguished.
Crying? He’d fucking made her cry?
Fuck!
He dropped his head against the back of one of his hands, his heart hurting at the pain he’d caused her.
Things had been good. Shit! Better than good yet he’d gone and fucking blown it a-fucking-again, as Trey would say.
Why couldn’t he get things right? Just for once in his life, why couldn’t he do the right thing, the perfect thing to keep someone on the side of the fence marked ‘happy’?
He turned and went back into the kitchen, putting a piece of foil between the lid of the sauce and its pan. Opening the refrigerator door, he shoved the whole pot onto a shelf and stared into its contents which was filled with all the shit they’d purchased, had picked out together.
Then he remembered the Gelato.
The most fucking expensive ice cream he’d ever seen.
Could he use that to get her back to her version of good as he’d envisioned in the store?
*.*.*.*.*
Like I’d told him before, my emotions were all over the place and I couldn’t seem to contain them as they bubbled up willy-nilly inside me. So when I’d first entered my room, I’d been so mad I could have easily kick-started a 747.
But within seconds, I’d been face down in a pillow, sobbing as if all my tears could’ve ended every drought in every country the world was experiencing.
Over what exactly?
Him knowing about Brad’s rough ways in the sack? About how I’d taken up with someone of my own class, the only one who would have me, and who wasn’t even close to the treasure that was Silo?
Was that so wrong?
And the worst part was, I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop my tears which I knew came from a place of self-pity, a spot I’d never gone to in my entire life. And hoped to never visit again.
Because it hurt so flipping much.
You’re damaged, my mind explained.
So tell me something I don’t freaking know, I responded, trying and only feeling a reduction in my tears as I argued back.
It was a while later, how long exactly I didn’t know since the room I was in didn’t have a clock of any kind, I heard a soft knock at the door.
“Shell?” came the deep-as-motorcycle-pipes voice through the wood. “Can I come in, pretty girl?”
Geez. I guess I owed him yet another apology but when it came to what he’d disclosed at the end of…what we had done, I didn’t know or wasn’t sure how to do it.
“Yeah, Si,” I called back, my voice holding only small traces of the tears that had saturated my pillow.
As the door opened, I saw he hadn’t turned on the hall light but the light from the living room was enough to illuminate his bulk from behind. He seemed to be carrying two coffee cups, one in each hand as he made his way to his grandfather’s old hospital bed.
“Know you didn’t want dinner, baby. But thought you could do with something sweet,” he rumbled, ducking his head as he handed me a cup. The spoon within it rattled as I sat up and captured it in both hands.
“What…” I mumbled, feeling the drying tracks of the former wetness from my eyes as they pulled on my cheeks. “What is this?”
“Taste it and see.”
I scooped up a spoonful and brought it to my mouth. Whipped cream, sliced almonds…and salted caramel Gelato exploded on my tongue.
He’d told me ‘no’ and had bought my absolute, number one, can-cure-everything-that’s-wrong-with-you dessert anyway.
My eyes filled again even as I rolled the icy goodness around my mouth.
He’d somehow gotten it even after telling me ‘no’, his negative response making it crystal clear to me how little say I had in my life even after being rescued and that had almost found me crying in the grocery store.
How had he known? How had he deduced that a little pint of an Italian blended ice was the last shred of hope I’d had in getting back to normal? Back to the Shelly Palmer I knew and recognized?
I spooned up another bite, ignoring the streaming wetness that was again spilling down my cheeks. He eased himself down at the end of the mattres
s, his own spoon clinking as he moved. I snuck a peek at him, not able to see much of his face−just the side of his cheek−as he took his own bite.
But I heard his groan. “Goddamn, this is good.”
“I know, right?” I moaned right back, licking the spoon in order to capture every morsel. “Frozen heaven.”
There was only the clink of our silverware against the cups as each of us dipped and then savored the iced goodness for more than a few minutes.
“Shell?” he offered but his voice held the hum of the pleasure the sweet treat provided. “I’m sorry…”
But I couldn’t let him complete the thought. “You have nothing, absolutely nothing to apologize for, big guy. This upset is totally on me.”
I felt more than heard his surprise and quickly continued. “While I’m still not ready to get into it, suffice it to say, what happened after the beauty you gave me on the couch is totally my fault. And I’m the one who should be giving my excuses for my almost inexcusable behavior.”
His head went down and there was the sound of his spoon scraping the bottom of the cup. “But you left.”
“I did,” I admitted, feeling the heat of my cheeks at my behavior of before. “I shouldn’t have but I did.” I took another lick of my spoon. “That was wrong, Si’. Because you didn’t do anything wrong. It was just…it was…” God. I didn’t know how to put words to what I’d been feeling at that moment.
There were another few seconds of silence and I saw the hand that had been holding his cup drop to his knee. “Beauty?” he finally asked but there was a myriad of questions behind the one word, said in such a tone I knew he was looking for reassurance.
“Total beauty, Silo,” I whispered, almost struck dumb at the vulnerability the big biker was allowing me to see. “The best kind of beauty, honey.”
He moved, shifting to set his cup on the one lone nightstand in the room and in doing so brought himself closer to where I sat against the headboard. “We didn’t get to cuddle though and you told me last time that cuddling afterward was important to you.”
I felt my eyebrows raise at the memory he evoked.
I had told him that.
About the cuddling, something most guys didn’t seem interested in but that I needed after the wildness, the uncontrolled release an orgasm could bring. The cuddling was, at least in my mind, the way to bring me back to earth, connecting me to my partner in some fashion.
“No, we didn’t,” I admitted, swirling my utensil into the dregs at the bottom of the cup before reaching to set it next to his.
“Is it too late? I mean, does cuddling afterward have a fucking time limit?” I didn’t know why, but the deep rumble of his voice made me feel safe and wanted. That and maybe because he remembered what I liked and what I needed.
“Never, Si’,” I said, sliding my partially clothed form down onto the bed until my still wet pillow was underneath my head. I turned on my side, my back towards him. “Come snuggle with me, big guy,” I offered and without delay I felt him stretch out behind me, using a thick arm to snag my waist.
It was a tight fit, the two of us on a twin-sized hospital bed. But after he tucked his knees behind mine and buried his nose in my hair, it seemed more than comfortable.
And found me falling into a deep, healing sleep.
Chapter Ten
“Okay, so now that we know the fucking why behind the delays and the fucking over-spending on certain jobs,” Trey started. “Let’s get onto the rest of it.”
“Club bidness? All right, then!” Dare yelled, slapping his hands and rubbing his palms together, bringing a smile to every man’s face around the table.
“So far, we have three council members, four managers and more than twenty brothers that want to help build Billings¸” Trey recounted only glancing at his notes once. “I’m saying it’s a fucking go. What ‘bout the rest of you?”
Silo glanced at Brand and saw the other man nod. They’d spent hours poring over the different requests from different men, deciding who would be a good fit and who should stay in Missoula. Although they still had a shitload of applicants to review and choose. Outside of Trey, Brand was a man Silo knew commanded respect in his own quiet way and many of the brothers were looking forward to having him lead them.
“I’m thinking you fuckers need to get with a realtor in order to get your housing in order AS-fucking-AP. Would like to have you moved and settled by this time next week,” the big man growled. Even though it was offered as a suggestion, everyone in the room knew it was more like of the ‘have-to’ kind. “The roof of the warehouse goes on during that time and I’d like to start fucking moving some of Missoula’s inventory over.”
“Think you guys can handle that shit?” Huff asked, his eyes moving between Silo and Brand.
“Ain’t that what recruits are for?” Silo asked with a chuckle, gaining grins and chortles from the other men at his smart-assed answer.
“Here’s the real fucking question…” Dare added, the twinkle of a challenge in his eye just before Bishop was up and out of his chair so fast, the damn thing landed on its back, the wheels spinning uselessly in the air.
Huff sighed as the other men watched the tail end of Bishop’s braid disappear around the doorway. “This is getting fucking ridiculous,” the big, blonde biker stated flatly, no trace of emotion evident. His dark brown gaze turned towards his president as he continued. “There ain’t no way that’s fucking food poisoning. The man needs to get help.”
“Unless he’s, like, you know, pregnant or some such shit,” Dare declared, but for once the youngest Council member’s voice didn’t hold a trace of laughter. “What the fuck’s wrong with him?”
Silo found himself shrugging along with the rest of the men around the table but he saw the concern in Trey’s eyes. An apprehension in them that stuttered in Silo’s own heart.
“While we are waiting, how is Shelly doing? Reese said she’d spent time with her and counted her as a lovely young woman,” Brand asked, his yellow-green eyes on Silo.
“We’re…working it,” Silo admitted truthfully. “It’s a fuck of a lot different living with a woman than just like…”
“Fucking her?” Dare threw in.
“Yeah,” Silo said on a heavy sigh.
“Yeah,” Dare concurred with a bright smile. “A whole different ball of fucking sweet pink problems. Am I right?”
“Too right,” Silo agreed. “Things I don’t think I can help with, if you want to know the truth.”
“Who is she seeing to help her work her shit out,” Brand asked.
“Nobody, yet. I looked into a couple of the fucking head-docs but she ain’t going for it,” Silo replied before Trey jumped in.
“Who’s paying her fucking medical, anyway?”
“Uhm, me. Well, that is, I have been. I cleared the shit in New Mex and at St. Pat’s.” Silo’s voice had dropped in volume but was made up for in the lowest registers of bass.
“No insurance?” Huff asked, his white-blonde eyebrows lifting.
“She didn’t have her purse or any proof of it when I got to her. No credit cards, bank shit or driver’s license,” Silo said on a rumble. “She’s been pushing to get it all replaced.”
“But then whoever caused her to call would know where she was,” Brand added, his voice stilted as if in deep thought.
“Exactly,” Silo agreed. “She’s also asking for a cell phone.”
“Get her a burner, dude. One of those pay-as-you-go things,” Dare suggested. “They can’t be traced.”
“But what about the people she wants to call? What if she dials, like, Lulu’s number and the ass-hats already have a fucking trace on Lu’s phone, yeah?” Trey’s voice was quiet but his words brought a tenseness to the men around the table.
“They can fucking do that?” Dare’s shocked tone only echoed what Silo thought each of them were thinking.
“Sure as shit, dude,” Bishop answered as he entered and closed the door. “Don’t care i
f it’s the fucking government or some kind of savvy civilian, there are ways to snatch the intel you need on just about anyone.”
Silo’s eyes drifted to Huff to see if the man would spout the rules again about cutting and running during a council meeting but the other biker held his shit, only eyeing his brother as if to ascertain how badly the Bishop was feeling.
“So they’ll have their eyes on you, if they know you paid her hospital bills,” Bishop continued, patting Silo’s wide shoulder as he righted then re-seated himself into the chair. “Whoever the fuckers might be, dig?”
“Already had an unannounced visit from the Eff-Bee-Eye,” Silo groused.
“The man was already at Shelly’s bedside in Silo’s house when he and I went to check on her,” Brand announced. Why Silo hadn’t shared that particular bit of knowledge with the rest of the crew, he couldn’t have said. “He was, I might add, a complete piece of sanctimonious shit.”
“Though you called him on it, brother,” Silo explained further. “Our former ATF agent pointed out the dude was a hell of a long way from New Mexico and that his jurisdiction didn’t extend to Montana.”
“How’d that go down?” Trey asked on a tight voice.
“Not well. But he left as soon as Shelly said she would rather have the Hellions as protection versus going into FBI custody,” Brand stated flatly. “Not that I blame her after having seen the conditions most of the people the Bureau need to protect are living in.” His eyes swept the other men. “Even the most destitute former Hellion lives in luxury compared to what those people are subjected to.”
“Is he still around?” Bishop asked.
“Yes,” Brand answered with a head nod. “He is staying downtown and the desk clerk said his date of departure was indefinite.”
A Civilian for Silo Page 10
