"That's fair." Trix stands, wiping her palms on her jeans. "Fear keeps you alive in this world, but facing your fear can also open up new possibilities. When you're ready, come on out.Jigsaw's got news about your car, and some of the others are curious about Wrath's mystery guest. They want to meet you."
After she leaves, I finish every bite of food and drain the coffee mug, feeling more human than I have in weeks. But the prospect of facing a room full of bikers in broad daylight makes my nerves stand on end. Last night I was desperate enough to brave anything. Today, the reality of where I am jangles my nerves.
I find a brush on the dresser and work it through my tangled hair, studying myself in the mirror. The girl looking back at me is too thin, with dark smudges under eyes too large for her face. But the long, deep sleep in a real bed has soothed some of the broken pieces of me.
The main room is less crowded than last night—maybe eight or nine men scattered around tables and the long bar. Conversations pause when I appear, heads turning with varying degrees of curiosity, but the hostile edge I experienced last night is absent.
"Well, look who's finally awake." The voice belongs to the lean man with permanently grease-stained hands who checked my car last might. Jigsaw. He approaches with an easy smile that helps settle my jumping nerves. "Feeling better?"
"Much, thank you." I wrap my arms around myself. "Trix said you had news about my car?"
His expression shifts to apologetic and I brace myself for bad news. "Yeah, about that. I'm real sorry, but she's done for. Engine's completely blown, transmission's shot, and there's a hell of a lot of rust damage to the frame I didn't see last night. Would cost three times what the car's worth to get her running again."
Even though I expected this news, hearing it confirmed hurts. That rusted piece of junk represented freedom, mobility, independence. Without it, I'm stranded.
"I see." I hate that my voice comes out small and weak.
"Hey." Jigsaw's tone is genuinely kind. "We'll figure something out, okay? This ain't the end of the world."
Before I can respond—though I'm not sure what I would say—the front door opens and every nerve ending in my body suddenly fires at once, like touching a live wire, as Wrath walks in.
He's even more imposing in daylight.
When his eyes find me, the connection between us is electric. I feel it sizzle down my spine. He moves toward me with fluid confidence.
"You eat?" he asks without preamble, stopping close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His presence seems to surround me completely.
"Yes.”
"Good." His gaze travels over my face cataloging details. "Get enough sleep?"
The simple questions make my throat tighten.
This feels dangerous, having someone checking on me, caring if I've eaten. It’s like feeding a craving. I could get used to it and become addicted to something that can be snatched away. But God, I'm so tired. Tired of being strong. Tired of being alone.
"Yes," I manage. "Thank you. For letting me use your room. I hope you weren't too uncomfortable?—"
"Don't worry about it." He dismisses my concern with a slight shake of his head. "Jigsaw tell you about the car?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
I swear there’s concern in his expression. Or maybe I’m seeing what I want to see.
"That a problem?" he asks.
Is it a problem that my only means of transportation just died? That I'm here in a clubhouse with dangerous people Ibarely know? That I'm attracted to a man who looks like he could snap me like a twig?
"I'll figure something out.” I lift my chin with more confidence than I feel.
"You will." There's something almost possessive in the way he says it. "But not today. Today you rest here, get your bearings."
"I don't want to be a burden." The words tumble out, driven by a lifetime of learning that nothing comes free.
His eyes flash with something that might be anger, though not directed at me. "You're not a burden."
His voice is firm, but I've been taking care of myself for too long to start depending on handouts now, no matter how attractive the man offering them might be.
“I can't just sit around doing nothing.”
