Me: Nope.
I feel a hand rattling on the bathroom door.
“I’m busy!”
The hand rattles even more.
“I said, I’mbusy!”
Then I can’t explainhowit happens, but the lock turns the other way slowly and from the outside, the bathroom door opens. The biker responsible for it grins and wipes the blood away from his face.It’s him.
“How did I know where to find you,” he says in a drawl that sounds maybe Southern. He pushes a step inside and it’s not like I can stop him from coming in. He enters the bathroom and then shuts the door behind him. I shudder and take a step back, leaning against the furthest wall. It doesn’t put enough distance between us.
He shrugs the leather cut off his shoulders. It saysRebel Barbarians Motorcycle Clubon the back along with the nameZeb. I shudder again just thinking about what a man would have to do to get a nickname like that. He turns the sink on and sticks his bloody hands under the water. I wince, imagining the pain of gushing water directly against the cuts. “Zeb” laughs.
“Fuck,” he says. “That guy was a fucking dick.”
He wipes the blood off his face with his bare hand before sticking it back under the water. I glance at the soap in a panic and eventually once he gets the first layer of blood off, he turns to me and gives me a strange look. It’s oddly empty, like he’s not sure what to think of me. Then he looks away and goes back to washing his hands.
“My name is Zeb.”
“Zed?”
“No. Zeb. Short forZebulon.It’s from the Bible.”
I’ve been to church enough for a woman my age, and I don’t remember anybody named Zebulon in the Bible. I stay quiet andlisten because this man is obviously out of his mind and I need to get out of here.
He chuckles. “What’s your name, angel?”
Angel?That’s a crazy thing to say.
“Janelle.”
“Janelle,” he repeats. “Not from the Bible.”
No, it’s not. Zeb holds up his hands and examines them in the dark blue bathroom light. His eyes look neon in the lighting and the rest of him is so pale that he looks like some mixture of grey and translucent – like a six-foot-five vampire. I notice one of the eyes doesn’t move. It’s subtle, in the dark, but after staring for nearly a minute, I can tell that one is fake, which means he lost it somehow. So now, he looks like a scary, one-eyed, extremely tall vampire.With muscles.
“Went a little far defending your honor,” he says, giving me a quick glance over his shoulder. “Won’t lie, it felt good beating the shit out of him.”
Done with his hands, Zeb moves on to cleaning his face. He must have taken a hit somewhere on his face, based on the amount of blood. It’s the one furthest from me because I only notice the damage when he shifts that side of his body closer to the mirror for examination.
Chapter Five
Zeb
She’s watching me like a scared cat with her back pressed against the furthest wall of the bathroom stall. The thing about scared cats is they can still scratch you. It’s hard keeping the smile off my face from the fight outside. I watched those men surrounding pretty Janelle with a plan to take control if shit got out of hand, and holy fuck did things get out of hand. And I liked it. There’s still a fight raging outside, but once the dust settles, the Irish guys we’re working with out here will make sure it all irons out without the cops getting called.
Her eyes stay on me as I splash water on my face and blood runs down my cheek and into the sink. My body trembles with rage and excitement. If she weren’t in here with me, I would slip back out there and throw another few punches.
“Did that guy hurt you?”
I already know he didn’t, but it doesn’t hurt to double check.
“No,” she stammers out. She’s brave not to look away from me but at this point, Janelle’s staring makes me nervous. I look over at her.
“Did I get all the blood off?”
I shouldn’t ask the question with a gaping smile on my face. Women don’t like it when you’re too bloodthirsty. When you thrive off the taste of war.
