"Jacob… Will you check on me? Later?" she asks, her voice betraying a vulnerability her posture doesn't show. "I don't... I don't want to be alone tonight."
Fuck. Is she asking what I think she's asking? No, she can't be. She's traumatized, exhausted, probably in shock. She doesn't want me; she just doesn't want to be alone after nearly dying.
"I'll check on you," I promise, gripping the doorframe to keep from moving toward her. "Try to get some sleep."
I close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment to collect myself. My cock throbs insistently, demanding attention I'm not going to give it. Not here, not now.
The sound of the lock sliding into place from the other side of the door brings both relief and disappointment. Relief because it removes the temptation to go back in there. Disappointment because part of me—the selfish, reckless part—wanted her to leave it unlocked as an invitation.
I make my way to the bar in the main room, pouring myself two fingers of whiskey and downing it in one burning gulp. The liquor does nothing to dull the ache in my groin or the image of Holly burned into my retinas: her body pressed against mine on that fire escape, her breath hot against my neck…
"You look like shit," Beast remarks, dropping onto the couch across from me. "How's the girl?"
"She's fine," I reply, pouring another drink. "Where's her brother?"
"Passed out in room three." Beast stretches his massive arms along the back of the couch. "Fucker wouldn't shut up about how this is all our fault, so I gave him a sleeping pill in his water. He'll wake up with a headache, but at least he's quiet now."
I snort, not particularly bothered by Beast's methods. James Mercer is the reason his sister is in danger, yet he's the one acting like the victim. My sympathy for him is limited.
"What's the story with the Eagles?" I ask, changing the subject. "How did they know I'd be at Mercer's tonight?"
Beast's expression darkens. "King thinks we've got a leak. Someone feeding information to the Eagles about our movements."
The thought that one of our brothers might be selling us out again feels like a knife to the gut.
"Who?" I demand.
"Don't know yet. Could be a hang-around, could be a prospect." He shrugs, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. "King's got Rage looking into it."
If anyone can find a rat, it's Rage. The man's ability to ferret out information is legendary.
"So, what's the deal with you and the waitress?" Beast asks, his tone deceptively casual.
"There is no deal," I reply, perhaps too quickly. "She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Beast gives me a knowing look. "Right. That's why you couldn't keep your eyes off her the entire ride back. And why you've got a hard-on that could drill through concrete."
I glare at him, adjusting my position on the barstool. "Fuck off."
He laughs, the sound rumbling through the room. "Hey, I get it. She's hot in that girl-next-door kind of way. And that scared, vulnerable look? Makes a man want to protect her... among other things."
"She's not like the club girls," I say, repeating King's warning to myself as much as to Beast.
"No shit." Beast leans forward, suddenly serious. "That's why you need to be careful. Girls like her get attached. They think they can change us, save us from ourselves. Then they get hurt when they realize what we really are."
"I'm not going there with her," I insist, though my cock strongly disagrees with this statement. "She's under our protection. That's it."
"If you say so." Beast stands, stretching. "I'm hitting the sack. Long day tomorrow with the Eagles on the warpath."
After he leaves, I finish my drink and head to the monitors in the security room. I check all the cameras, making sure the perimeter is secure and everything is quiet. Once I'm satisfied, I make my way to my own room at the back of the clubhouse.
Unlike the spare guest rooms, mine bears the marks of permanent residence. Tools scattered on the desk where I've been working on a small engine design, books piled on the nightstand, clothes tossed over the chair in the corner. It's not much, but it's mine.
I strip down to my boxers and head to the bathroom, turning the shower as cold as it will go. I step under the icy spray, letting it shock my system and finally ease the persistent ache in my groin. As the water cascades over me, I can't help but think of Holly, just two doors down from mine.
Is she in the shower too? Is she thinking about me? About that moment on the fire escape when our bodies were pressed so close I could feel her heart pounding against mine?
Despite the cold water, my cock stirs again at the thought. I groan in frustration, switching the water to hot and wrapping my hand around my length. If a cold shower won't do the trick, maybe release will.
