“So how did you end up becoming involved with the Rusted Scythes?” I ask, bringing him back on track, the last thing I want is for him to fall into self-pity.
“Growing up, our dad loved his bikes, and we both loved working on them with him or going for rides on them. As soon as we were old enough he started teaching us to ride. I knew he’d been a member of an MC in the past, but he never spoke much about it. With my parents gone I wanted the kind of bond I heard belonging to a club could offer. I guess I felt like I was missing something.”
I nod in understanding, thinking that perhaps if things had been different, Eli might have joined our club instead, had he known the truth. Possibly his life would have followed a different path then.
“The Rusted Scythes accepted me, and for a while, it was good. But then they started getting me to do more and more illegal shit for them, hacking into bank accounts and stuff. I told them I wanted out, but not long after that, I got into a nasty bike accident. I needed money to pay for my medical debt, and I grew dependent on the painkillers the hospital prescribed me. The Rusted Scythes were there for me; they welcomed me back and gave me a loan.”
I’ll bet they did, I think, it’s how those bastards operate. Poor kid never stood a chance.
Eli continues, the words flowing freely like a dam that’s burst. “Only now I was in deep with them, the debts kept racking up, and they wanted more and more from me. I was in overmy head, and I didn’t know how to get out. I made a stupid decision.”
I think I know what he did before he confirms it.
“I stole from them. I figured that they wouldn’t notice if I skimmed a bit here or there, and, after all, I was paying it back to them anyway, so it didn’t even feel like I was stealing, just wiping my debt. But they found out. They beat me and they tricked me into handing over my own sister. I tried calling Naomi to warn her, but they caught me before I could tell her everything. She came looking for me.” A tear escapes from his good eye, running down his cheek. “Is she okay?”
I nod. “She’s safe. Shaken and afraid but unharmed.” I want to add, no thanks to you, but I hold my tongue.
“Will you protect her? Please, I’ll do anything,” he begs.
“I will,” I agree. “But only if you do something for me.” I lie, I was going to help regardless, but a man like Eli could prove helpful in the upcoming war.
“Anything, just keep Naomi safe.”
With that, the agreement is made, and Naomi Moore officially becomes mine to protect. It’s a pledge I don’t take lightly.
Chapter 5
Naomi
I’ve been lying wide awake, straining to hear if the guys have decided on my fate. From the sounds of it, Ace stormed out about an hour ago and hasn’t returned yet. My stomach rumbles, and I try to remember when I last ate. I realize it was hours ago, before I went out on my bike—before my life fell apart. I contemplate calling out to the guys, but pride holds me back. With a sigh, I sit up and turn on the bedside light. Sleep is evading me, and I need a distraction from the gnawing hunger.
The room offers little in the way of entertainment. The closet is empty save for a few empty hangers and spare bedding. It’s clear that this room is for guests. I wonder what the men’s rooms are like and whether they’re equally utilitarian. Who are these men? What do they want from me? I find it hard to believe that they would spend such a huge amount of money just to rescue me, simply because it was the right thing to do. They must surely want something in return. And yet I find myself believing Gage, trusting him, even though we’ve only just met.
I also can’t deny that I find all three of the men attractive. If I’m being honest, it’s thrown me off balance, as I rarely meet any guys I find appealing in real life. It’s one of the reasons why I’m still a virgin.
A quiet knock at the door pulls me from my reverie. “Who is it?” I ask, hoping it’s not Ace, come to drag me back to the Rusted Scythes.
To my relief, it isn’t. “It’s Gage, I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some food. Can I come in?”
I appreciate his thoughtfulness, both in bringing me food and in pretending I have a say in his coming in here or not. “Yes, you can.” I smooth out the creased pajamas I’m wearing, tucking my hair behind my ears, wishing I looked less childish, less vulnerable.
Gage walks in, his steps measured and slow as if he’s worried about frightening me. “Sorry, it’s nothing fancy,” he says, offering me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“No. It’s great, thanks,” I reply, taking the plate and perching on the edge of the bed, devouring the sandwich. It’s one of my favorites. “My brother used to make these for me all the time when I was a kid. It was one of the few things he could make without fucking it up.” I smile at the memories of his culinary mishaps as he tried to feed us. “I soon took over mealtimes.”
“So, you enjoy cooking then?” Gage asks, hesitating before sitting next to me on the bed after a wordless exchange, seeming genuinely interested in learning more about me.
I shrug, finishing my mouthful before replying. “I wouldn’t say I enjoy it so much as it’s a chore I’m competent at. Truth be told, I often forget to eat if I’m in the middle of something.”
He processes this, tucking the information away. “What do you enjoy?”
It almost feels like we’re just two people getting to know each other, like we’re on a first date—if I wasn’t technically his prisoner, that is. “Riding my bike, painting, history, and astrology, lots of stuff.”
I expect him to ask about my bike, seeing as it’s one thing we have in common, but instead he asks, “You paint?”
I nod, feeling more relaxed. “Yes, mostly murals. I’d like to be a tattoo artist someday,” I find myself admitting.
Gage’s eyes light up with interest. “That’s awesome, I’d be happy to be your guinea pig to test on.”
