My phone vibrates and I pick it up to read his message.
I slipped it there so you’re forced to keep it. I didn’t touch your breasts. I wouldn’t do that. And just so we’re clear, I don’t think you’re a moocher, whatever the hell that is. And I don’t pity you. Pity is for the weak, not the strong. You’re not weak. Trust me. I’ve seen plenty of weak fuckin men and women. You don’t seem the type. I don’t know your story. Not gonna make ya tell me either. But I have to go to work tomorrow for a twenty-four-hour shift, and you might be here alone most of the day. Pip is helpin my sister with her shop. I don’t want you out here alone, without a fuckin phone. If you fell or something happened, I’d feel like bloody hell. So take it. . .Please.
I read the message once. Then I read it again, trying to read between any lines, and realize the please was tacked on at the end for a purpose. Like it was forced, and he’s losing patience.
I return a message.
Your wife thinks I’m here for money, and because I’m lazy. I don’t think it’d be right to take the phone. And what shop? You don’t have to answer if I’m being too nosy. I’m not trying to be. I’m just trying to get better and get out of your hair.
I need him to understand where I’m coming from. We haven’t had any time to actually talk. This is the first time, ever. Since I can’t speak, this texting thing is much easier. I just hope my voice doesn’t take too long to heal or I might have to learn sign language. What good that’ll do me I dunno, since people I know would have to know what I sign. This is just too dang complicated. I hate even thinking about any of it. Sometimes, I wish I could just go back to Johnathan and forget this whole thing ever happened. Then, perfect days like today happen where I get to sit outside, in peace, and let the world fade away. Those are the times I wish I could freeze and make them last forever. Minus the phone in my boobs.
Reading my message, Lachlan shakes his head and grumbles something under his breath as he types.
Ask whatever ya bloody want. I’ll tell ya no if I don’t wanna answer. . .My sis owns Whisky’s Corrupt Confections. It’s a bakery. Since Whisky’s got two sons and no daughters, she taught Pip to bake. She’s worked there every summer since we moved here. That’s why I was at the hospital more than her. If she’d had it her way, she woulda quit Whisky’s and lived at the hospital with you...but we cut a deal. She works, I take time off. I had the vacation time, anyhow. Worked out.
Is it weird that I’m trying to read his message like he’d talk? Spellcheck seems to ruin part of that charm. But I’m trying.
My fingers go to work.
You took time off to stay with me? Why? Wasn’t Thor’s grandma the one who owned the gas station?
I click send.
This time, Lachlan is quiet when he reads my message and types his response.
The dog scratches at the door from the inside. I receive Lachlan’s reply just as he leans back to slide the door open a hair, and close it once Pirate meanders outside. The pup stops on the patio in front of us, looks between Lachlan and me, and does a long stretch before trotting out into the grass, wagging his accidentally cropped tail.
That poor dog has been through the wringer. He’s missing an eye, a tail, and has a spot on his back that’s devoid of fur. Though, you wouldn’t suspect he’d ever went through any trauma by the way he acts. He’s the happiest and sweetest dog I’ve met. And I’ve met plenty of dogs. Most of the men I dated had one or two. It must be a guy thing.
I finish watching Pirate trot around the yard like he owns the place before glancing at my phone.
Thor lives with his grandma in that trailer outside of her station. He needed to be there to look after her, and you needed someone to look after you. Since I was the one who found ya, I figured it was the right thing to do. Your blood bein on my hands and all. . .can’t get much more personal than that. In church, Sniper brought the shit up. I put in my two cents. Thor added his. I got the votes, and that’s why you’re here.
Another comes straight after.
I’ve got almost a month of vacation time saved. I rarely use it. Seems like as good a time as any to take a couple days off. Don’t ya think?
I’m not sure if I’m more shocked by the amount he’s texting or what he’s trying to explain. But, I’m confused about one giant thing.
Church? Sniper? Votes?
An amused grunt is rumbled beside me and I try to ignore it.
My phone vibrates with another incoming message.
Church is biker code for meeting. Sniper, my club Prez, brother-in-law, and best friend. Votes. . .know that democratic thing where everyone chooses what they want and the most votes win. Sound familiar?
Well, well, well, isn’t someone being a snooty jerk today.
I know what votes are, I reply.
Then why ya asking me what they are?
I was asking what they were for.
I can’t read your bloody mind, lassie.
He’s got me there. He can’t.
Fine. What kind of votes? What’s the purpose? Explain, please. If you’re allowed to.
I remember Bridget’s brief, but somewhat thorough rundown of MC basics, and few of their rules. One of which was, ‘club business, stays club business’. Ergo, he might not be able to discuss it with me since it was part of this church meeting. Which seems like sacrilege if you want my opinion.
Sniper and Cas wanted to know what we were gonna do with the lassie that saved one of our own. Don’t take that shit lightly. Thor put in he wanted ya under his roof. I made a bid that ya stay here. Brothers decided to take it to a vote. I took the cake. The end.
Beside me, Lachlan dusts his palms together making a ‘swish’ ‘swish’ sound. I get it. The end. He’s washing his hands of it.
Remind me tae thank Pip later for the dress she picked out for Mags. So much exposed, freckle-kissed skin, and the sun keeps bringin’ more of ‘em out. Dinnae want her tae burn, though. The SPF 50 I massaged in should keep that from happenin’.
I finish dustin’ my hands as a gesture tae my message, and out the corner of my eye, watch Mags finish readin’ it. A tiny grin quirks at the corner of her pretty pink lips.
Wish that day had gone down as simple as I’m explain’ it tae her. Ain’t gonna tell her otherwise. Na. She dinnae wanna know aboot Thor and I aboot rippin’ each other’s heads off. Arsehole thought he could take the lassie home tae that piece of shit trailer he’s livin’ in. I ain’t got nothin’ against people livin’ in trailers unless those people think they’re gonna take what’s mine and force it tae live there. Then I’ve got a problem.
At church, Sniper threw the gavel, shuttin’ our arses up. I was just aboot tae jump across that table and kick the livin’ shit outta Thor for thinkin’ he was gonna take her home. If it weren't for Sniper, I would have.
“You two, shut the fuck up, sit your asses down, and stop acting like two horny teenagers fighting over some pussy,” Sniper commanded, and I growled at him for referrin’ tae Mags as pussy. Lookin’ at the lass, ye’d know she’s a bloody lot more than that. Thor wouldn’t know that, now would he? He just wants tae dip his wee cock in her. Dirty bastard. “Let’s just throw a quick vote so you two assholes stop. We’ve got more important shit to deal with. Thor, tell us why you think Magdalene should stay with you?” Sniper was bein’ diplomatic, and I bloody well hated it. I knew I shouldn’t have let Pip text him when Mags woke up. Good thing we were ridin’ together at the time, not far from the hospital, or Thor woulda been there without me.
Thor puffed out his chest, and slapped his hand on the clubhouse table, tryin’ tae look like a badass. I thought he looked more like a bleach blond pansy arse. “I want her at my house ‘cause she saved my grandma. It’s the best way to pay her back. I take care of her, she gets better, then we’re even,” he said.
Not even fuckin’ close. I saw how he was lookin’ at her in the hospital, like a walkin’ boner. Thinkin’ with his cock. That’s all the bastard does. Na way was I gonna
allow him tae take her home.
Once Thor finished his bullshit explanation, I was shakin’ full of adrenaline. My body was wound so fuckin’ tight and ready tae fight that I barely heard Sniper callin’ my name. My jaw ached from grindin’ me teeth, leerin’ at the lyin’ bastard.
“Smoke,” Prez snapped, punchin’ me in the arm.
My leer swung tae Sniper. “What?!” I bit off in a growl.
Sniper grinned at me before lookin’ back tae Thor. “Ya sure you wanna go down this road with Smoke?” he tested. “Hear she’s a babe. But I gotta tell ya, brother, Smoke’s gonna make your life a livin’ fuckin’ hell if you push this. The man carried her outta that store with his finger pluggin’ a hole in her neck. Ya best think long and hard before you try takin’ a dog from his bone.”
Thor shook his head at our Prez, then turned his attention tae me, glarin’ through wee eye slits. “Ain’t your bone, brother. She’s family now. Saved my grandma, the woman who’s like my fuckin’ mother. I’m not backin’ down. We vote this shit. Winner gets the girl.”
It. Was. On!
“Aye.” I nodded sharply, my lip curlin’ in pure aggression, nostrils flarin’.
“Smoke, tell us why Magdalene should stay at your house?” Sniper asked on an eye roll. He’d already said from day one that he’d give me as much time as I needed tae take care of the lass. He’d help me if I asked, and keep Whisky off my arse aboot it. I knew I had his vote in the bag. Only ten more tae go.
Shovin’ my chair back, I stood and planted both my fists on the tabletop; flexin’ my arms as I leaned on ‘em. I hated speakin’ in front of the brothers, since part of ‘em couldn’t make out a bloody thing I said. I’d have tae use Sniper tae translate the rest.
“Magdalene’s gonna stay with me.” I swung my fist tae pound my chest, before addin’, “Pip’s been at the hospital bondin’ with her.” My eyes circled, sweepin’ the table, briefly lockin’ eyes with each brother I passed. I was gonna get my fuckin’ point across one way or another.
I kept at it. “I got a house. I work two days a week. Pip wants tae help. And I dinnae care if ye vote I get tae keep her or not, she’s stayin’ with me. She’s got her own room, and I’ve got the money tae take care of the bloody rest. The lassie almost died in my arms. I’m not aboot tae let her outta my sight.”
Finished, I sat down and waited for Sniper tae translate. Then the votes came in. I won unanimously, aside from Thor, that is.
My phone vibrates, and I lift my sunglasses tae read her message.
Thank you.
Bloody hell.
Finishing my last text, Lachlan groans lowly. The sound does something funny to my belly. Abruptly, he slides off the lounger and walks barefoot across the sharp gravel drive to the yard, where he paces with his back to me. Pirate takes this opportunity to rub against Lachlan’s bare calves for attention; even though Lachlan ignores him.
Step-step-step, pivot, turn, step-step-step, pivot, turn.
Watching Lachlan’s long powerful strides over and over, he completes the same pattern, head down, hands fisted at his sides. I can’t help but wonder if I said something wrong? My gut tells me I haven’t crossed any lines, so I stick with my gut and stare out into the green, wide-open yard, and the man who seems to swallow the whole world so the only thing I can focus on is him. The way his calves flex with each purposeful step. The way his forearms tense and loosen with the clenching and unclenching of his fists. Briefly, he stops midstride to crack his neck then continues pacing.
Soon, Pirate joins his owner, heeling without being told to do so. Together they stride, man and dog.
Maybe this is his way to sort things out in his head? To clear it? I know my brain always clears itself best when riding in Viola. Music playing on the radio, the open road, high speeds, the wind whipping though my hair with the windows down, the smell of fresh air, and my favorite part: the feel of the shifter sliding into gear with each punch of the clutch. There’s nothing like it. It centers your mind; shoving away all the crap life throws at you, whips it out that window, scattering it along the empty road. A distant memory on the wind. Bliss.
Leaving Lachlan to his devices to workout whatever demons he has, I gracelessly roll across his lounger and lift the lemonade pitcher from the other side. Shuffling back into my seat, I place the pitcher between my bare legs. It’s cold to the touch and I shiver, silently giggling at the condensation dripping down my inner thighs. It feels great in this heat.
Grabbing my cup off the concrete beside my seat, I pour myself a full glass. Taking Lachlan’s visual advice, I chug it down. A little bit escapes the sides of my mouth; with another giggle, I wipe it off using my bicep and continue until I’m finished with the entire glass. Then, I pour myself another before I set the pitcher and cup back down.
Glancing back up, I catch Lachlan’s eyes trained on me from across the yard. I can’t actually see them since they’re shielded behind a pair of black shades; making him appear scarier, tougher, and somehow manlier than he already is. If that’s even possible. However, I can feel them. Those teal eyes are like lasers. I’ve never, in all my life, been able to feel a person’s eyes on me—only his. It’s bizarre, yet, intriguing, like a phantom flame branding your flesh from afar.
Unconsciously, I wet my lips, fiddling with my hands in my lap. My fingers accidently bump my cellphone and peer at it. I’ve got a text from him.
Next time ya want some lemonade, make sure you’re coverin yourself.
Holy. Hot. Damn.
A rush of crimson bursts from my cheeks, spreading downward, as my stomach takes a dive. I keep my eyes averted, staring at my lap and those words; tracing each letter repeatedly. Make sure you’re c.o.v.e.r.i.n. yourself.
Cheese and rice, how much did he see? All of it? A little? Did he watch the entire show? Or did he look away? How much did I expose?
Without sparing a glance, I peck out a short message with trembling fingers.
What’d you see?
I gulp nervously and press send. My teeth move to saw my lip, gnawing at the inner corner.
An instant response. You don’t wanna know.
Yes. I. Do,
Ya sure?
Yes!
All of your bottom.
What the heck does that mean?
All of what? My bottom, as in my butt? Or as in other parts, too.
Your butt and. . .other.
Oh. My. God. Take me out back and shoot me now!
First, I’m worried he might see me exposed when he moves to me to the lounger. The second time, when he’s massaging the sunscreen in. Then, here I go stupidly exposing myself. This no panties thing is a bust. I’ve got to start wearing them again, even if it does feel good without them, and they are a pain to change with this cast on. There’s too much to worry about. And, I haven’t shaved down there in almost a month; I know what it looks like—a jungle. I’m just thankful he was that far away and that my curtains match the drapes, if you know what I’m sayin’.
Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I search for my wheelchair. It’s too far for me to reach, so I fire Lachlan another message. I have to get away from him, and the only way to do that right now is to bite the bullet and have him bring me my chair.
Can you bring me my wheelchair?
Why?
Frowning severely, I shake my head in frustration.
Because I want it.
Why?
To go inside.
Why do you wanna go inside?
Why does it matter if I want to go inside or not? Aren’t I allowed? Is this school and I have to ask for a hall pass to get outta class? Gah!
You know why. Now, please. . .
Because I got a wee glance at your parts?
No.
Because I saw your arse?
Oh, for the love of god. He’s such a pain. Of course it’s because of that! I’m lying through my teeth—or my fingers, as it seems.
No. I just want to go inside.
&nb
sp; Why?
Because I have to use the restroom.
No, you don’t.
Yes! I. Do!
No, you don’t, or woulda bloody said that from the get-go, lassie.
You know what? I’ll pee right here and I’ll make you clean it up.
Ha-ha, now what’s he gonna say? Not that I’m going to urinate on the lounger. My threat is weak at best. But he doesn’t know that.
No, ya won’t. You were embarrassed about pissin’ in the bedpan at the hospital. You’re not gonna do it there.
Lifting my head, I glare at the stubborn know-it-all with my lips pursed. He’s standing directly across from me, staring right back, shades still cloaking his eyes.
Briefly, I peek down to text, but return my glare once I hit send.
Mr. Know-it-all, huh? Am I a baby now? Need to be put on a schedule to know when I’m allowed to eat, drink, sleep, and use the potty? Why don’t ya type one up so I know what I’m allowed to do and when?
One second, Lachlan is lifting his shades to read my reply, the next he’s sauntering across the gravel barefoot, with Pirate following in his wake. Without a word, he grabs my wheelchair and rolls it to my seat. Bending at the waist, he doesn’t seek permission before scooping me up, and gently setting me in it. I don’t fight him, because I’m too preoccupied with trying to keep my dress from riding up again, and clutching my new cell phone to my chest. Once he’s righted me in my chair, he wheels me to the door, slides it open, pushes us through, and pulls it shut again. Still, without making a sound.
Now inside the small basement apartment, Lachlan briskly pushes me across the tile to the bathroom, where he reaches over me to shove the door open before rolling me inside. And he doesn’t stop there. Setting my brakes before I get a chance to, he steps in front of me, and lifts me once more. I let out a startled squeak, and my body jerks when I realize he’s going to set me on the open toilet to pee.
As soon as my bottom rests on the cold seat, Lachlan releases his hold and exits the bathroom, quietly shutting the door as he leaves.
“Pee,” he instructs gruffly behind the door.
Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC) Page 8
