"What makes you think I've been sleeping in my car?" she challenged.
"You've got the steering wheel imprint on your cheek, your jacket smells like fast food and car air freshener, and you're carrying everything you own in that backpack." He kept her hand in his, steadying her. "So I'll ask again—when's the last time you actually slept in a real bed?"
"Four days," she admitted quietly. "Maybe five."
"Jesus Christ." He started leading her toward the stairs. "No wonder you're ready to fall over."
"I'm fine?—"
"You're not fine. You're running on fumes and stubbornness." They reached the second floor, where the crash rooms were. He opened the door to one of the cleaner ones, but they were all the same with a bed, dresser, and attached bathroom. Nothing fancy, but better than her car. "You're safe here. Door locks from the inside, and nobody comes up here without my permission."
She walked in slowly, looking around like she was checking for exits and threats. Cyclops guessed that it was an old habit, probably, or a recent necessity. "Venom will be outside in the hall," he added. "Not to keep you in, but to keep everyone else out. You can actually sleep without keeping one eye open."
She turned to face him, and he noticed something raw and vulnerable flickering across her face before she locked it down. "Why are you doing this?" He could have given her the same line about club code and protecting women. Or he could have madea joke about her owing him. Hell, he could have even told her it was just the right thing to do. But something about the way she was looking at him—tired, wary, and desperately trying not to hope for anything—made him want to tell her the truth.
"Because I know what it's like to have nowhere safe to land," he said simply. "And because you remind me that not everyone who's running is guilty of something, and in my world, that’s usually not the case." She was quiet for a moment, then stepped closer to him. She was standing close enough that he could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes, and the scar on her chin that makeup couldn't quite hide.
"This doesn't change anything," she said. "Tomorrow, I'm gone."
"Like I said, we'll see." He backed toward the door, knowing if he stayed any longer, he'd do something stupid. Like brushing that strand of hair off her face. Or like, find out if she tasted as good as she smelled. "Get some sleep, Trixie—real sleep. Tomorrow's problems will still be there when you wake up." He knew that truth from experience. He hated that he couldn’t be more of a comfort to her, but he had a feeling that Trixie wouldn’t allow that from him anyway. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who liked to be coddled and lied to, and telling her that everything would be all right was a complete lie. Whatever or whoever was coming for her wasn’t about to quit trying to get to her. And if her father was as bad as she said he was, then her troubles were far from over. In fact, they were probably just beginning.
He was almost out the door when she called his name. “Cyclops.” He paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Thank you," she said simply. "For the ride, and for giving me a place to stay for the night. Thanks for not being what I expected."
"What did you expect?" he asked, not sure if he should be amused or offended.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I expected you to be an asshole biker who'd try to take advantage of me and my situation."
"Oh, I'm definitely an asshole," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "And I've thought about taking advantage of you at least a dozen times since we met. But you need to sleep more than you need another problem, and honey, I’m a problem. But when I make my move, sweetheart, I want you awake enough to enjoy it." He closed the door on her shocked expression, chuckling as he heard her quickly lock the door behind him, followed by the deadbolt. After that, he heard what sounded like a chair being dragged in front of the door. He thought about knocking on her door just to make her undo every safety measure that she had put into place, but he wasn’t kidding when he told her that he wanted her to get some sleep.
Cyclops turned the corner and found Venom already positioned in the hallway, looking like a mountain that had decided to grow a beard and wear leather. Honestly, the guy was huge, and Cyclops was always glad that he was on the Road Reapers side when it came to a fight.
"No one goes near that door," Cyclops said.
"Got it,” Venom said, cracking his knuckles. "She really got the kind of trouble on her tail that she says?"
Cyclops nodded. "Probably worse," he admitted, heading back downstairs. "But that's tomorrow's problem,” he mumbled more to himself than to Venom.
"And if tomorrow's problem shows up tonight?" Venom yelled down the stairs at him.
Cyclops grinned, all teeth and danger. "Then tonight's going to get really interesting,” he shouted back over his shoulder. He headed back to the bar, needing another beer and some time to think. Trixie was trouble—the kind that could get them all killed if he wasn't careful. But she was also something else. Somethingthat made him want to be more than just a one-eyed enforcer with a bad attitude and even worse habits.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket to find a text from Mace: Everything good there?
Cyclops stared at the message, debating whether he should tell his Prez about their surprise visitor and her trouble. He could tell Mace about Trixie, and about the potential shitstorm heading their way, but that would just ruin his vacation. And if he didn’t tell him, and Mace found out from another member that Cyclops was keeping things from him, he’d have his balls once he got back to town.
He decided that he was more afraid of the Prez’s Ol’lady coming after him if he fucked up their vacation, so he typed back:All quiet. Enjoy your vacation.
It was the right call because some battles were worth picking, even if you couldn't see how they'd end. And something told him Trixie Lee was going to be one hell of a battle.
TRIXIE
Trixie stood with her back against the locked door for a full five minutes after Cyclops left, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway. Then she heard the heavier tread of the giant he had sent to watch her. Venom seemed like a decent enough guy, but having a babysitter wasn’t something that she liked. She listened as he settled into position outside her room. Trixie wondered if he was meant to be a guardian or a jailer. Hell, maybe he was both, but none of that really mattered because Cyclops was right when he said that she looked dog tired. It felt as though it had been years, not just days, since she slept in a real bed and got a good night’s sleep.
The room was cleaner than she'd expected from a biker clubhouse. Sure, it was basic, with just a queen bed with mismatched sheets, a scarred dresser with one drawer that wouldn't quite close, and a bathroom that had seen better decades. But there was no blood on the walls, no needles on the floor, and no lingering smell of vomit or worse. The room just smelled like stale smoke, leather, and something distinctly masculine that made her think of Cyclops—and he was the last person she should be thinking about.
Stop it,she told herself, dropping her backpack on the bed.You don't have time for this, and you certainly don’t have time for him. She tried to get her thoughts off of the biker, but her traitorous mind kept circling back to the way he'd looked at her—like he saw right through her carefully constructed walls to the frightened woman underneath. It was almost as though he understood what it cost her to accept his help. And even though she knew that it wasn’t the case, he actually seemed to give a damn about her. She needed to stop being silly because romanticizing the big biker wasn’t going to make leaving in the morning any easier.
Trixie moved to the window, checking the view. The room was on the second floor, overlooking the back parking lot. It was a straight drop to the asphalt below, but there was a drainage pipe within reach if she needed it. She had become accustomed to checking her escape routes when in a new place, and sometimes, old habits were hard to break. Her father had taught her to always know her exits for a quick escape before he'd become one of the things she needed to escape from.
