Chapter 8 - Rachel
The knocking pulls me from sleep. Three sharp raps that make me jolt upright, heart racing before I remember where I am.
Safe. I'm safe. This is the Savage Riders clubhouse, not the Eagles' prison.
But old instincts die hard, and I'm already pulling the sheet up to cover myself before my brain fully catches up. I tried to sleep with clothes, but the room was too hot and I was already drenched in sweat from the nightmare. I'd stripped down to my underwear sometime around dawn, desperate for relief.
Now I'm sitting here in nothing but a ratty sports bra and the same panties that I've been wearing for three days, and someone's at my door.
"Come in," I call out, one hand gripping the sheet, the other curled into a fist. Ready. Always ready.
The door opens and it's him.
Shadow.
Fucking handsome Shadow in nothing but a tight black shirt that clings to every muscle, black jeans that hang low on his hips, and his hair still wet and slicked back from his forehead. Water droplets trickle down his face and neck, disappearing beneath his collar.
He looks good. Too good. Like he stepped out of some biker fantasy I didn't know I had.
"What do you want?" I ask, trying to sound defensive instead of flustered.
"Promised I'd check on you when you woke up." His voice is rough, like he hasn't been awake long either. "Wanted to make sure you were okay."
I stare at him. He actually came. He actually kept his promise.
I'm so used to promises being forgotten, to people saying they'll be there and then disappearing when it's convenient. Marcus promised he'd love me forever. My parents promised they'd always have time for me. The world has taught me that promises are just pretty lies.
But Shadow is standing in my doorway at—I glance at the clock—seven in the fucking morning, because he said he would be.
"I'm fine," I manage. "Just hot. Couldn't sleep wearing clothes."
It takes him a moment to process what I said. His eyes were on my face, avoiding looking anywhere else, but now I see the exact second he realizes I'm clutching a sheet to my chest because I'm in my underwear.
His whole body goes rigid. His jaw clenches. And when he speaks, he actually stumbles over his words.
"I'll—I should—give you time to get dressed. I can wait outside."
"It's fine," I say, surprised by my own boldness. "You can stay anyway. After all, if the Iron Eagles saw me like this, what's one more man seeing me? Won't make any difference."
He shakes his head slowly, his gray eyes intense.
"You shouldn't think like that," he says, his voice low and fierce. "Only a man worthy of it should see you like this. And those Eagles weren't worthy of shit."
Worthy. The word makes anger flare in my chest.
"Worthy?" I laugh bitterly. "Fuck worthiness. I'm nothing special, Shadow. No need to pretend otherwise."
Before I can second-guess myself, I stand up, letting the sheet drop. I'm standing there in my shitty underwear, my breasts jiggling as I move, my legs unshaven, my body curved in all the ways magazines say it shouldn't be.
I grab two rolls of my belly, holding them out like evidence in a trial.
"Is this worth something?" I demand, my voice sharp with pain and defiance. "I'm aware I'm chubby. I know I'm not what men like. So why would my body be worth anything? There's a reason my ex-boyfriend cheated, even though I did everything for him."
Shadow moves so fast I don't have time to react. He crosses the room in three strides and grabs both my wrists, pulling my hands away from my stomach.
His grip is firm but not painful. His face is inches from mine. My breasts are right there, barely contained by the sports bra, but his eyes never leave my face. Never look down.
"You're a bigger idiot than I thought," he says, and there's heat in his voice. "If you think your weight is a good reason to be kidnapped or cheated on, you know nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing."
