Boomer

by K. L. Savage

  I place the stopper at the bottom and pour some lavender soothing oil I found at the store in the tub. It smells good. I thought women liked bath shit, so why not stock up on it. Then I scoop some oatmeal jasmine mix in there and stir it up. “I want you to place your hand in there to make sure it doesn’t sting, okay? Come here.” I hold out my arm for her, and she squats next to me. I roll the sleeve up on her shirt and grin. My clothes are so big on her, and she looks so sexy; even my cock has taken notice, but I’ve hidden it.

  It’s been so long since I’ve reacted to a woman that I forgot what it’s like. All the women got old; I’ve just been looking for the one I want at my side. I place her hand in the water, covering it with mine, and she sighs in content. “That feels good,” she says. “It’s soothing.”

  I’m relieved. “Good. I’m glad. I’ll leave you alone—”

  “No!” her hand flies out of the water, gripping my arm and soaking my shirt. She sees where she’s holding me and lets go. “Please, don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “It’s okay, sugar. I’ll be here. You want me to close the curtain?”

  “No,” she hurries out. “I don’t want to feel trapped. I … I might need your help washing my hair too.”

  Of course, she’ll need help.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Worthless. Just end it already. Stop being a burden to the world. Nothing you do is right. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.

  “You’re doing it again,” she whispers. “You’re in your head.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, not wanting to get into my demons. “Let’s get you in this bath, sugar. Lift your arms.” She does as I ask, and the tips of my fingers skim over her ribs. Scarlett inhales, and her cheeks turn that pretty shade of red. I swallow, not wanting to show that her body is affecting me. She’s a beautiful woman, half-naked right now; of course, I’m going to react, but I’m not going to do anything about it. Now isn’t the time or place for that, especially when she doesn’t need someone like me.

  When I see the state of her body, my lust dies down and the urge to kill, the need, it takes over. The words ‘kill them, kill them, kill them’ repeat in my head. Her ribs show from the lack of food, she has skin sores everywhere, and harsh scratches from the cement. Her bra used to be white, but now it’s this ugly brown color mixed with speckles of red, which I’m assuming is blood. I take a deep, shaky breath to calm myself before the rage takes over, and I go blowing things up that don’t need to be.

  I toss the shirt over my shoulder and she turns around, giving me the long canvas of her back. Fuck, she’s pretty. A bit thin from being captive, but I’ll make everything better; I’ll make her better, and she’ll never suffer again.

  Not being able to control myself, I run my finger from the back of her nape down the middle of her spine until I come to the strap of her bra. I flick it off effortlessly, like I’ve done a dozen other times. The material falls to either side of her, and she uncrosses her arms, the straps on her shoulders loosening. I slip my finger under it and slide it down her arm, careful not to rub the material against the open wound beside the strap.

  I do the same to the other side, and then the bra falls to her feet. I close my eyes as I slide her underwear down her legs, wanting to look at her ass but not wanting to look while she’s so vulnerable and not feeling like herself. If she wants my eyes on her, I want her to tell me.

  Her underwear is off and on the floor, and I turn around immediately, staring at the ugly floral wallpaper that makes up the room next to us.

  “Just let me know when you need me,” I say, placing my hands over my growing erection. Out of all the damn times, why do I get one now? “Go away,” I hiss at it.

  “Did you say something?” she asks, and the splash of water tells me she’s gotten in the bathtub.

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “No, sorry. Nothing. Do your thing,” I say, thinking about the time I got my finger cut off, the agony, the blood, the gunshot, and that makes the erection wilt in record time.

  I’m glad I’m not broken. So many times I tried to fuck a cut-slut, but I couldn’t get it up. I was done with them, done sharing, done with the mindless drunk fucks, and I wasn’t attracted to them anymore.

  A woman like Scarlett, though? I’d have to be a dead man not to react to such beauty.

  Scarlett whimpers behind me, and I push my hands on the floor and slide until my back hits the tub. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  “It hurts. I can’t reach some spots because my skin stretches. I’m fine.”

  “Cover up, and I’ll help you if you want. I know it will take trust, but I swear on my life, I won’t touch you that way.” At least, not right now; not until she’s healed physically and mentally.

  There’s no hope for me to be healed. I’ll forever be fucked in the head.

  “I trust you, Boomer.” The water ripples again, telling me she’s getting into place. “I’m ready.”

  I turn around and give her a wide smile. “Hi,” I say lamely.

  “Hi.” She lays her cheek on her knee, hiding half her lips, but I can tell she’s smiling. Scarlett hands me the washcloth, and our fingers brush when I grab it, and my world tilts, just like every other time we touch.

  Her breasts are hidden by her thighs, the fatty flesh plumping from the pressure. The position should look erotic, but the way she holds her knees to her chest makes her look small and vulnerable. I rub the cloth over her neck, careful not to irritate the skin more than it already is. I fucking hate those bikers. Her neck is bruised from that damn collar. The wound itself is three inches wide and wraps all the way around.

  “I’m sorry if it hurts,” I say, squeezing water from the cloth so it falls down her shoulders.

  “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  “You shouldn’t be.” I move to her back and just dip the rag into the water and clench it in my fist, so the water is kind to what hurts. I don’t want to rub anything. It will hurt too much.

  I bathe her like that, and I find that I want to do this every night. I want to take care of her, wash her clean of the day, of her pain, and make her feel safe. I dip the cloth in the water again and bring it to her face. The skin isn’t as bad as other places, but I’m still gentle, wiping away the dirt to reveal white, flawless skin. “Wow,” I say in awe. I don’t mean for the compliment to leave my lips, but I can’t stop it. Her wet lashes fan, a few sections of the long hair clump together, and it makes her eyes look brighter, bigger, and I’m lost.

  I’m a fucking goner.

  “What?” she asks innocently. “I know. I look terrible.” Scarlett looks away from me while grabbing her hair.

  I move the cloth under her chin and turn her head, making her look at me. Doesn’t she know that even on her worst day, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on? “I was just thinking how pretty your eyes are.”

  She bites her bottom lip but doesn’t say anything. It’s fine. I don’t need her to. I can tell she likes the compliment, but she doesn’t know what to say. “I have shampoo and conditioner if you want to wash your hair.”

  “I do. If you can save it,” she mumbles. “It’s a tangled wreck.”

  “I’ll turn around so you can dip your head under the water, okay? Or maybe you want to try to shower instead? The bath water is looking a bit murky.”

  She glances down, and the look on her face is pure horror. Fuck, I’ve embarrassed her. That voice that says I’m stupid tries to take over, but somehow, I push it back and take care of the woman in front of me, not worrying about myself. “This is nothing. When I’m out of the shop every day, back home, I have to take two showers just to get the grease off my body. Really.”

  “You must think I’m disgusting,” she says.

  “I think you’re a person who went through something traumatic. You could never be disgusting.” My voice comes out a bit harsher, and she flinches. “I’m sorry. That’s just how strong I feel about the subjec
t.”

  She gives me a small smile, and victory courses through me. I’m a fucking champion for putting a smile on her face, or that’s what it feels like. “I’ll shower,” she answers, and pride swells in my chest for her. She wants to try it on her own, and it won’t be easy.

  “I’ll be right here if you need me.” I feel like I’ve said it a million times, but I want her to always know that loneliness is something she will never have to feel again. She can always count on me.

  Scarlett’s fingers grip the shower curtain, and she shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath. I don’t say anything. I let her decide. She’s obviously fighting the urge to close the curtain, but she does. Scarlett doesn’t inch it shut; she jerks it all the way to the wall, covering herself.

  “Good job, sugar.” It might seem small to some, but her closing that curtain is a big deal. While she isn’t alone in the room, she’s alone in an enclosed space. She’s fighting a fear, and she isn’t letting it control her.

  I need to take note.

  I let my own vices control me, every day.

  “Boomer?”

  The way she says my name, soft and quiet, like a breeze carrying a distant howl, makes me relax. I sit on the toilet lid and lean back. “Sugar?”

  “Is that your real name?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “My … stepdad called me Boomer because I have a thing with fire, if you haven’t noticed. My name is Jenkins.”

  “Jenkins,” she giggles. “I like Boomer more, actually. It suits you.”

  I lean forward and tap my boots on the floor. “So I’ve heard,” I say, chuckling when I remember how I got the name in the first place.

  “Where are you from?”

  Shit. She’s going to start asking questions I sure as hell do not want to answer. If she ever finds out I’m from another Ruthless King chapter, she’ll leave. I’ll have no chance with her, and I can’t risk that. “Um, Vegas, actually. Had some family drama and needed to get away,” I tell her, bypassing the truth a bit, but not exactly telling her a lie either.

  “I understand.” Scarlett is so much more talkative when she hides herself. I’m going to have to make sure she feels comfortable enough without a barrier between us, like this shower curtain. “My parents and I got into a fight before I got taken. They’re controlling, but they love me; they mean well.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to call them, sugar? I know they would be happy to hear from you.” I fucking wish I could call my dad. I miss him like crazy. Every damn day.

  “I don’t want them to see me like this.”

  I hate it when she sounds sad. I know they miss her because the thought of her being gone has me missing her.

  She hisses, “Ow. Oh, damn it.”

  “What? What is it? Are you okay?” I’m up and off the toilet in a flash, and I’m about to yank the shower curtain open when she answers.

  “I have soap in my eye.”

  I hang my head and take my hand off the curtain. I’m glad she isn’t in pain in some way. The shower shuts off, and I take a step back, ramming my head against the edge of the door, and I groan as the curtain opens.

  “Are you okay?” She yelps, slipping in the slick tub. She grabs onto the shower curtain, but I dive for her, so she doesn’t hurt herself. The curtain rips from the rod, and she falls onto me. The weight of her is unexpected, and it makes me tip over.

  Oh, this is not going to be good.

  I wrap my arms around her as tight as I can and maneuver us to make sure I take the force of the fall. My back slams against the floor, the air knocking from my lungs. Water from her body soaks my clothes, and when I look at her to make sure she is okay, her small tits are pressed against my chest, and a droplet of water slides between the valley.

  Fuck.

  She’s naked.

  And every inch of her body is molding against me perfectly. Hip to hips, chest to chest, nearly lips to lips.

  Scarlett is made for me.

  End of fucking story.

  10

  Scarlett

  I have no words for what just happened.

  There was a dollop of conditioner on the tub floor, and my foot slipped against it. It was like slow motion falling toward Boomer. I couldn’t stop it, and then he caught me, holding me to his chest so I wouldn’t get hurt.

  There is no way there’s another man as good as him.

  And now, my hands are against his chest, soaking the white t-shirt to his skin. His nipples peek through, and my mouth waters when I see they’re pierced. Simple bars, not hoops, and I want nothing more than to pull them into my mouth and play.

  He feels so defined and hard. His abs clench under me, and that’s when I realize I’m on top of him, nude, and the shower curtain is covering us like a blanket. My wet hair falls around us like a veil, our faces inches apart, and his breath tickles my lips causing them to tingle.

  “Sugar, I want nothing more than to kiss you right now,” he tells me while staring at my lips before sliding his eyes up to mine. His hand parts my hair, lightly caressing my jaw. My nerves flutter, a million butterflies flapping their wings in my stomach. I lick my lips, hoping he does kiss me. “But you aren’t ready for that, and as much as I want to, fuck, I really want to kiss you, Scarlett. More than anything in this world, but not before you’re ready.”

  “I— Boomer,” I stutter. I can’t say the words. I can’t form them.

  He’s right. I’m not ready, and no matter how much I want to be, it doesn’t change the fact I’m not ready to feel his lips when only a few days ago I was meant to do so much more than that to other men. I have to get over that first.

  “It’s okay,” he reassures. “I’ll be here when you are. I’m not going anywhere.” He brings my head down and places a kiss on my forehead. His unwavering support sinks into me, mending a piece of my broken soul together. It’s a small piece, but something is better than nothing, and it tells me I’m on my way to where I need to be.

  And that place is with Boomer, my lips against his.

  “Come on; let’s get you up.” He rolls us, and in one strong move, I’m in his arms again.

  He never looks down at my exposed breasts. Boomer stares ahead, but I can tell he wants nothing more than to look. He fights the urge as he sits me down and grabs a towel, closing his eyes as he wraps the soft cotton around me. His shoulders sag when my body is covered.

  I want his arms around me, anchoring me to this reality, the here, the now. It’s so easy to think about the past, what was, what could have been. Boomer changed my path. Wherever life leads me, I hope it’s kind enough to lead me right next to Boomer. Living without him, without my life vest, I’ll drown. He keeps me afloat. I don’t know him well, not at all actually, but I think I’m meant to know him. I’m meant to be here.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. His ass sways as he walks to the dresser and gets out a few pieces of clothing for me. His ass is plump, round, bigger than I thought it would be since he’s in shape. He has a bubble butt. “That was a hard fall, and I know your skin is sensitive right now.”

  The question yanks me from my thoughts of his rear end, and blood rushes to my cheeks, no doubt turning them crimson.

  He has a sideways smirk, one that’s cocky and full of himself, and I love it because I know he isn’t actually full of himself. Not with the constant tug of war I’ve seen from him. I want to know Boomer, the real him. I want to dive deeper into his mind and soul and see all the bits of good and bad that make him, him.

  I bet some parts are ugly, but then the beautiful parts, the ones that outshine the bad, are going to blind me they are so bright.

  “I’m fine. That bath really helped. Maybe I just needed to get the grime off.”

  “Well, just in case, I think we should put this salve on your wounds. Then you’re going to eat soup, and then go to bed.”

  “Bed? I just slept for days. I want out of the house. I want to feel the sun against my skin.” Although when I look out the window, it
’s dark, so there goes that plan. My stomach does growl, and Boomer let’s out a humorous laugh.

  He lifts a brow and grabs his wallet. “I guess that tells me you want some food, huh?”

  I nod and cross my arms over my stomach when a loud grumble happens again. “I’m sorry. I feel like I haven’t eaten anything in days.”

  His eyes soften, but there’s a flick of anger, a flame of crazy that tells me he wants to do something that goes against everything I see him as. Just what makes him tick? “Sugar, you probably haven’t eaten in days, at least, nothing good. I’m not really comfortable leaving you alone, so we can order in. What do you say?”

  “That sounds great. After, can we maybe walk on the beach?” I whisper. “I’ve never been to the beach before.” I’m from a small town in West Virginia. My parents worked all the time, and while they provided me with a good life, we weren’t able to go on vacations. I’ve actually never been anywhere before.

  I only remember being on campus at night when a roar of bikes pierced the night and then a pin prick in my neck. Everything after that is dark.

  “You’ve never seen the beach?” he asks with wide, shocked eyes.

  I shake my head and sit on the bed, keeping the towel wrapped around me. “No, never had the chance.”

  “Well, sugar, I’ll make sure you get to do whatever you want in life; that I can promise.” He slams the dresser drawers a little hard, and his hand comes up and grabs the sides of his head. He’s muttering something, I can’t figure out what, but whatever it is, it’s tormenting him.

  I want to help, but I don’t know how.

  “Boomer?”

  “Yeah, sugar?”

  “Are you okay?” I ask, watching him pop his neck from side to side.

  “Yeah, I’m alright.” He flicks his lighter on in his hand, then off, on, and off, and he stares at it for a little while before his shoulders relax. He flicks his gaze to me, and the flicker of the small flame makes the gold rings around his pupils glow.

  He’s beautiful. A dark, threatening beast that invokes fear, but I’m not afraid, not of Boomer. His beast, whatever the vice is, is my protector. I’ll calm him when it roars its head inside him, pulling at Boomer to bring him into the shadows.