Indigo
The following night, I found myself feeling restless. Usually, I’d watch TV in the common room or root around the kitchen for a midnight snack, but nothing seemed to help me settle tonight. My skin felt pulled too tightly across my bones, like it had shrunk in the dryer. Pacing my room like a tiger, I tried my best to distract myself, but no matter what I tried, the buzzing beneath my skin remained, and sleep seemed like an impossibility. On a whim, I decided to sneak into the garage to pinch one of Tank’s Yoo-hoos. Since the night of his attempted assault on my hair, I’d taken to hiding my empty Yoo-hoo bottles in Pyro’s room when he was out. Eventually, Tank would receive ananonymoustip that Pyro was the Yoo-hoo thief, and I’d sit back and watch Tank pound him into the ground.
Visions of Pyro in a neck brace danced before my eyes as I snuck out of the quiet clubhouse. The guys were getting ready for the Alvarez job tomorrow, so the Crows had had a quiet evening and gone to sleep to beready to ride in the morning. Halfway to the garage, I was startled when someone flicked on the interior lights. I jogged to the side of the building just in time to hide before one of the garage bay doors opened. Peeking around the corner, I saw who had interrupted my midnight Yoo-hoo larceny: Priest. Of course, Priest was putting a wrench in my plans (garage pun intended). I wasn’t surprised he was there. When he was feeling sad or nostalgic, he went to Ellis’s spot. When he was angry, he went to the gym with one of his brothers to spar or beat the shit out of the heavy bag. When he was feeling anything else, the garage was his haven.
Remaining hidden, I took the opportunity to watch Priest when he thought no one was looking. He stood on the opposite side of the bay door, seeming deep in thought as he took in the rain-soaked breeze. We had gotten a rare storm earlier that evening, and the breeze was cooler now that night had fallen. The sweet scent of creosote mixed with the earthy scent of rain on dry, parched land created a heady mix. I found myself greedily inhaling, knowing the scent would soon be gone. Priest turned his back on my position by the door and strode over to his bike, where I assumed he was making some last-minute tune-ups for his trip.
I inched my way through the shadows, watching Priest as he came and went between a tool bench and his bike. My back was pressed into the garage wall as I silently watched, though I hadn’t needed to be as concerned with making noise as I’d originally thought. Priest was muttering to himself and stomping around, so I doubted he’d hear me even if I had made a noise. I hated seeing him look so unsettled, but I wasn’t sure if an offer of comfort or a friendly ear to listen to his troubles would be appreciated from me. Even my most innocent acts could get on his nerves, so I was never sure where I stood with Priest. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I loved poking the bear for my own amusement, but nothing about Priest at this moment was amusing.
Lost in thought, I was startled when Priest suddenly whirled around and reached up to close the open garage bay door, baring a strip of his toned stomach as his shirt rode up. I eyed his forearms as he pulled the door closed, unable to look away. If we were in a cartoon right now, steam would be coming out of my ears. Seriously, I could probably wash laundry on those abs. Unaware that I was drooling over him like anabsolute creeper, Priest continued to prowl restlessly in the garage. He reminded me of how I felt in my room just a few minutes earlier—unsettled, stirred up, brimming with energy, and edgy with it. I wondered what had gotten him feeling this way and why his energy called to mine, causing tension to settle low in my stomach.
Priest straddled his bike; balancing it with his thighs, boots planted firmly on the oil-stained garage floor. Slipping a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket, Priest lit it up and took a deep drag. He held the smoke in his lungs for several seconds before he leaned forward and exhaled as he rested his head on a pillow made of his crossed arms over the bike’s handlebars. I decided then and there that I’d make a truly horrible stalker. I’d been watching Priest for only a handful of stolen moments, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from crossing the room and trying to comfort him. I hated seeing him so upset, even if a tiny part of me thought he deserved it sometimes. He could be a jerk, no doubt. Underneath all the anger and grief, though, Priest was a good-ish guy.
Maybe it was because I was raised in an environment completely lacking love, comfort, and belonging, but I couldn’t see someone struggling without trying to help them in some way. I might not be very good at it or have much to offer other than a shoulder to cry on and a willingness to commit felonies for the people I cared about, but it was more than anyone had offered me before I met the Crows. Priest could take it or leave it. Channeling my inner cat ninja, I glided across the garage floor in my bare feet, no doubt leaving desert rain-scented footprints in my wake. As I approached Priest, I snagged the cigarette dangling between his fingers and brought it to my lips. “What’s a guy like you doin’ in a place like this, sweetheart?” I asked in my best Transatlantic accent. Inhaling a lungful of smoke, I tried to imitate Kathrine Hepburn but messed it up when I started coughing. Loudly.
“Ugh, I know it looks sexy, but how do youdothat?” I sputtered a little bit longer, handing what was left of the cigarette back to Priest, who pressed it between his lips for a final drag before he crushed it beneath his leather boot.
Shocking the absolute shit out of me, Priest replied, “Well see here, doll, smoking is a filthy habit. The trick is to never pick it up to beginwith.” He sounded just like one of those guys from a 1950s musical on the TCM channel.A ghost of a smile flitted across Priest’s mouth, and a wide one stretched across my lips in response.
“Did we just share our first inside joke? We did! That’s our thing now. I hope you watched TCM as much as I did!”
The tiny smile playing on Priest’s lips died a swift death. “We don’t have a thing.”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes, slowly sauntering over to the tool bench and making a show of checking out the array of wrenches available. “Aw, come on, Growly Gus! Don’t do that. We’ve been doing so much better lately.” Choosing a combination wrench at random from the tools on the bench, I held the round end over my eye like it was a magnifying glass. “I can’t find a single reason we can’t be friends. Admit it, Growly.”
Priest snatched the wrench from my hand and tossed it back onto the tool bench, where it clattered against the other tools. “I don’t want to be your damn friend!” My eyes widened; I knew Priest was in his feelings when I crept into the garage, but I didn’t think he was angry with me. It wouldn’t be the first time I misread a situation or social cues though, so I took a step back. Priest’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His touch was firm but not painful.
My eyes narrowed at our connection, and I opened my mouth to ask him what in Bob’s name he was doing when he gently tugged me into him. With him seated on his bike, we were almost the same height, so his bright blue eyes were level with mine. He still held my wrist in his grasp, so I placed my free hand on his chest to steady myself and prevent him from pulling me any closer. Priest’s eyes darted to my mouth and back up to my eyes. “I meant,” he gritted out, his voice raspier than it had been a moment ago, “I don’tonlywant to be your friend.”
I sucked in a startled gasp, unintentionally breathing in a lungful of Priest’s scent. Smoke, leather, and something musky swirled around my nose, mixing with the intoxicating smell of the rain, leaving me feeling slightly dizzy.
When I didn’t pull away from him, Priest continued. “Communication isn’t my strong suit.” He shrugged helplessly and continued, “I see you, day after day, prancing around the clubhouse in those tiny little shorts.You’re fuckin’ killin’ me here, angel.” His words rumbled out with a desperate kind of longing, sending shivers down my spine and goose bumps over my skin. I was simultaneously excited and a little frightened.
“I don’t prance,” I whispered, captivated by the way I didn’t hate his hands on me, or the way his words made me feel.
Priest leaned into me, his nose skimming the shell of my ear. His breath was hot on my neck as he spoke. “It’s all I can do to keep myself from bending you over my bike and finally finding out exactly what you taste like.” My eyes widened in shock as my chest started to heave with my shallow breaths. I may or may not have made an undignified “eep” sound as the image created by his wicked words flashed in my mind. I couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before; like I craved someone’s touch, desperate and needy and terrified of what would happen if I closed the distance between our bodies and pressed my lips to his.
My conversation with Cricket and Lennon from earlier flashed into my mind. I braced myself, ready for my ghosts and demons to emerge from the crawlspace they haunted in my mind and ruin whatever this moment with Priest could be. I tensed, bracing for impact…but it didn’t come. Priest, on the other hand, reacted to my flinch by dropping my wrist as if I’d scalded him.
“Indi, Jesus…I’m sorry, I’d never—”
“No!” I gasped, lunging forward and clutching at his hand. “It wasn’t that, it wasn’t you! I…” I clutched his hand in mine and tentatively raised my other hand to Priest’s stubbled jaw, my eyes on his, checking to ensure my touch was welcomed. The panic had faded from his eyes, but concern for my feelings was still etched upon his brow. The expression was unfathomably sweet for someone who’d never gotten such basic consideration from any other man.
“You know I’ve been hurt,” I stated in a gentle tone, rubbing the pads of my fingers over the rough stubble on Priest’s jaw. He clenched his teeth, causing a muscle in his jaw to tick, and gave me a single nod. Such a small gesture to acknowledge a lifetime of abuse, but something in its simplicity soothed me. “I don’t want to go into details, but I’ve been…hurt…by men, specifically.” I stared into the bright, arctic depths of Priest’s eyes, willing him to understand what I couldn’t talk about at the moment. The pain, the terror, the disgust, the absolute hopelessness that grew when you were violated on such a level that you didn’t feel like a human being anymore. Priest’s breathing matched mine now, and I could see the pulse pounding in his neck. I was sure he could feel the beating of my heart where I had his hand clutched to my chest like it was my last tether to the earth.
He saw it all. Every flash of emotion in my eyes, the way I desperately clung to the single point of human contact, anchoring me in a turbulent sea of feeling. The theft I struggled with. Uncle Roark and his men stole so much from me, more than I could possibly articulate, and I was simultaneously devastated and infuriated by my inability to right those wrongs. I could never go back and undo what they did. I could kill every person who hurt me, burn their houses to the ground and salt the earth, allowing their names and deeds to fade into nothingness…but it would never give me back the pieces of myself I’d lost learning to survive in this fucked-up world. It wouldn’t erase my scars. I couldn’t go back and return my stolen bits, but maybe, with enough time and trust, I could reclaim what was left of me and grow into who I could be. The potential of me.
“I don’t want to think of what came before every time a man touches me. I want to tell my demons to go fuck themselves so I can be free to enjoy sex like normal people do.” I fidgeted nervously, unsure how honest I wanted to be. I decided, fuck it, what was the worst thing that could happen? Priest went back to hating me? It would suck, but I’d lived through so much worse than hurt feelings before. Priest seemed to understand I was wrestling with myself, and he waited patiently for me to come out with it. “I…fuck, okay. I want you. In my head, at least. But…I don’t know how to want you…out loud.” I winced, knowing I probably made no sense. “If I tried, and I couldn’t…or you hated me because I’m damaged goods…I don’t know how to survive that. Stab me, beat me, make me wish I was dead…I’ve done that. Survived it. I’m familiar with that kind of pain. I don’t know how to survive thiswant.”
Priest’s eyes, hooded and dark with anger or desire, I couldn’t tell which, were staring directly into mine. Sometime during my awkward confession, he had drawn me closer to his side. My upper half was pressed into his, and our noses were inches apart. “You are far frombroken, angel. And I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever did. I wish I could. It would make my life easier if I did.” He chuckled darkly, and my feelings were almost hurt, but Priest continued before I could pull away. “Easier, yes. Nothing about you is easy. But my life would also be less colorful, less exciting, without you in it.”
Slowly, tentatively, my eyes locked onto his, and I slanted my lips over Priest’s. He let me control our first kiss, and that kernel of control allowed the feeling blooming at the center of me to grow into a riot of desire. He tasted like fire, and I decided then and there it was my new favorite flavor. I moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily. My lips parted, and Priest gently took control as his tongue slid over mine. Before this very moment, kisses were slobbery and unwanted things, nasty tasting and wholly repugnant. Now, I could spend every single moment of my life kissing this man and consider it a job well done. His tongue danced with mine, drawing a low moan from my throat. Warmth pulsed in my core, and I broke away from Priest for air with a gasp. “Holy shit.” Priest recaptured my lips and kissed me like he was going off to war and needed something to hold close and keep him warm in the trenches…or something like that. He kissed me like it was his damn job, and ohmyBOB was I here for it.
Minutes, days, years later—time meant nothing anymore—Priest pulled away from my lips with a snarl, breathing heavily. I watched as he wrestled himself for control, and it was incredibly sexy to know that he did that for my sake. It was easy to get a man whipped into a frenzy of desire (I think) but getting them to control themselves when they wanted an outlet for that desire…that seemed to be the tricky part. In my limited experience, that was. The fact that Priest controlled himself and didn’t push me for more than I was capable of giving right now was incredibly hot. I was busy marveling at the success of my very first voluntary kiss, but apparently, Priest was one step ahead of me. He swallowed audibly, and his voice rumbled out in a way that made me clench my thighs together instinctively.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to show you something.”
“It better not be your dick.” My deadpan response caught us both by surprise and cut some of the tension filling the garage.
