He rolls his eyes back in his head and makes a kissing sound. I think my mouth falls open a little. I’m surprised, yeah, but not at this biker’s enthusiasm for fries. I’m honestly shocked that he’s so relaxed. He isn’t angry about anything—not that I can tell. He just spent a shit-ton of money on food, and yet, an undercurrent of peace spreads in the room.
He lifts his chin toward the bag. “Dig in.” He unwraps a round black plastic container, peels back the clear lid, and flicks a look at me. “Do I have to watch my language around the baby when she’s asleep?”
I shake my head. “She can’t talk yet. I don’t think she knows the difference between fuck and frog. You have a few months, I think, before she starts copying what she hears.” What I don’t say is there is no waywe’ll still be here in a few months. By the time his language could be a problem, we’ll be long gone. God, at least I hope we will, even if I have no idea how that’s going to happen.
When he opens the container, the most delicious fragrance fills the room. It’s like home-cooked heaven.
He unwraps some plastic cutlery and spears a piece of meat, a bunch of carrots, and a few potatoes soaked in gravy with a fork, and he puts it all on the lid of the carryout container like it’s a spare plate. Then he extends the entire thing my way.
“You’ve got to try this,” he says. “I’ll trade you for some of those fries.”
I take a long sip of the soda, and the carbonation makes my eyes water in the best way. I blot a tear from the corner of my good eye—the one that isn’t swollen and bruised—and sigh. “Oh my God, Savage. That tastes good.”
He quirks a brow at me. “That’s sugar water, Claire. You think that’s good, you have to try the food.”
I take the fork and pick up a small bite of beef and a piece of carrot. I sniff it, close my eyes, and pop the entire thing into my mouth. “Holy crap,” I mumble. “What is that?”
“Beef stew,” he says. “Definitely not hot weather food, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s my favorite. It’s fucking delicious.” He looks at the coffee table as if he’s just noticed something’s missing. “I need a beer,” he says, getting up.
I let myself look down his long legs in very darkdenim jeans as he stands. He’s muscular, like never been an ounce overweight in his life muscular. He’s shed his leather vest and put on a plain white T-shirt that looks immaculately clean and which reveals heavily tattooed arms.
He points at me as he pulls open the door. “You want anything? Cold beer? Fresh soda?”
I shake my head, and he turns to go, but then he cocks his head and looks back at me. “I told you this is your room,” he says, a sly grin on his face, “but if you lock me out just so you can eat my stew…”
I laugh for real then, and a smile covers my face. “I’ll slide a sweet potato fry under the door for you.”
He gives me an exaggerated scowl and fake growls, then grins at me. “I can’t say I’d blame you if you did.”
He leaves me alone then, the door closing quietly behind him. I honestly can’t understand this man. He just spent money to buy my freedom. He bought baby food and diapers. There was even a little T-shirt and a pair of pajamas in the bag for Aurora. Why?
He seems sweet and gentle, caring, even. All wrapped up in a bad-ass package.
I take another bite of the stew and even try some of my burger and fries while he’s gone. It’s all so delicious. And no one is angry, yelling, complaining. This is too easy. Too good. Whether I deserve it or not, for as long as it lasts, I’m going to hold on to it. Get strong and plan my escape. Because no matter how sweet and easy everyone is right now, I know it’s only a matter of time, and nothing good lasts for very long.
I don’t knowif it’s the soft bed or the cool room, the peace and quiet, or the lack of swearing and pounding outside my door, but I get the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years.
It’s not until Aurora starts cooing loudly that I open my eyes. I immediately remember where I am and how we got here.
Last night after we ate, Savage cleaned up all the mess we made, took my leftovers to the kitchen, and made me promise that I’d drink water and take the meds to help with the swelling.
The room is comfortable and silent.
No one is bothering us.
I can hardly believe this is real.
I mix up formula for Aurora after changing her diaper and putting her in the little T-shirt with the same pajama pants from last night. After she finishes her bottle, I take a fast shower, luxuriating in the hot water and sweet-smelling toiletries.
We’re safe.
At least for now, and that’s everything.
When I get out of the shower, the phone that Savage bought me is lit up with a message. I tighten the towel around myself and read it.
Savage: Poppy’s at work, so Stella’s gonna take you shopping for clothes. She’s got the money. Get what you need. I’ll see you tonight.
I have two other messages.
