Nothing like getting shot at to put a person on edge. I lead her to the third floor. My room sits somewhere in the middle and has a balcony that faces the beach. If someone tries to attack from this side, they’d have a hard time surprising us. We’ve got men on every floor as well as video surveillance. If someone comes at us, we’ll see them coming.
I unlock my door with my passcode and flip on the light. The good thing about the clubhouse being in a former motel is we all have our own bathrooms. Keeping it all up is costly, but anyone with a room here pays a due.
I kick off my boots and hang my cut in the closet. Lacey sits on the edge of the bed and rubs her arms as though she’s cold.
“I’m sorry I brought trouble to your door. You’ve all been so kind to me. I understand if Blood wants me gone.”
“Quite the opposite. He wants you under lock and key. Here where you’ll be protected. I shouldn’t have taken you out in public like that. At least not so soon.”
“So, you think they were after me?”
“Can’t say for certain.” I drop down on the bed next to her, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Her baby blues meet my gaze, and I want nothing more than to take away that sadness that’s radiating there.
I stare at the floor, searching for anything to say that would ease her mind, but my words are like gravel in my throat. “We’re not sure about anything right now,” I continue, gently. “But until we are, you’re safest here. That’s all that matters.”
She shakes her head, dark wavy hair falling like a curtain across her face. “Why? I might be bringing whoever this is after me straight to your door. What if I get you or your friends killed? I couldn’t live with myself if—”
I cut her off by taking her hand in mine. “Don’t. Stop it. That’s not how this works. You didn’t choose this.” I squeeze her knuckles, firm but not enough to hurt. “I did. I choose you. I made the call to get involved. No matter what it means. Whatever you’re up against, I’ve got your back.”
Her face scrunches up, lips trembling before she manages to blink away the tears. “You don’t even know me. Hell, I don’t even know me.”
“I’m trying to get to know you. And you don’t have to know your name to know who you are in here.” I press our joined hands to her chest, over her heart.
Those tears manage to break free, rolling down her face.
I draw her to my side, and she tucks her body against mine. At first there’s this stiffness, this tension in her frame, but as I run my palm in slow, even circles over her back, she unwinds. It’s a subtle thing. She melts just a fraction, but I feel her trust settling into my bones like an anchor. It’s wild how good it feels.
How damn good she feels next to me.
I move back an inch or two. Enough to massage her shoulders to ease the rest of the tension out of her.
We sit in silence for a while. The questions I want to ask are stacking up and burning to be spoken on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them down. I have to let her come to me. Anything less and I’m just another asshole demanding shit from her she can’t give.
From the looks of things, she’s had enough bad.
And I want to be the man that gives her something good.
Chapter Eight
Lacey
“I don’t care if you need to cry,” Kevlar says, voice low. “Hell, you want to scream, punch a wall, throw something? Go for it. Hell hit me if that’s what you need.”
“I’m not going to hit you,” I murmur, and he pats his stomach.
“Abs of steel. I can handle it.”
“Ha. Ha.”
The adrenaline crash has hit me hard, but I know I won’t be able to sleep. Not while knowing there’s someone, possibly others, who want me dead. Not while knowing that I’m putting everyone around me in danger.
“I need a beer and a fucking joint,” he says, rising from the bed.
I kick off my shoes. “I’m going to freshen up.” I excuse myself to the bathroom. I can tell he doesn’t clean this room as much as he does his apartment. There’s a stale pile of dirty laundry crumpled up behind the door that kind of smells mildewy. I pilfer under the sink and through his drawers looking for something to wash my face with and praying for an extra toothbrush. Everything he got me yesterday is back athis apartment. I find an old stick of deodorant and a half-used box of condoms. The thought of crawling into a bed he’s shared with other women makes my skin crawl. I have zero reason to be jealous, but the emotion is bubbling and boiling through my veins like lava.
He doesn’t owe me anything, and yet the idea of him having someone or multiple someones cuts through my heart like a knife.
He doesn’t owe me any explanations, but I find myself wanting to ask him if he’s involved with anyone.
