“Pfft. No grown-ass single guy wants to take a trip with a whore and her kid.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Talk down about yourself.
“It’s true.”
“Words and titles only hold the weight you allow them to. You’re not a whore, Daisy. You’re the victim of some really fucked up people.”
She glances away, gripping the edge of the bench. “I chose to stay.”
“Not much of a choice if you’re being threatened.”
“I guess. I don’t want to talk about my problems or my trauma.”
“What do you want to do?”
“How cold is that water?”
“Only one way to find out.” I stalk toward her and kick my boots off as she gets up and lifts her tee over her head, revealing she’s not wearing a bra.
I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t not look.
I see the scars on her body as she strips down to her underwear.
The sight has me wanting to hunt down whoever put them there and make them pay. I try not to gape at her, but I’m a man first, and a patched member of a 1% MC second. Daisy’s back is a map of pale lines and bruises. One patch on her hip is an angry shade of purple. Probably a parting gift from Hector’s goons on the way out. Her skin so stark against her black underwear, I feel a kick of guilt for maybe wanting her. She wades in fast, not evenslowing down when the water gets dark and cold enough to chill the marrow of your bones.
I follow, dropping my shirt and jeans, and the next thing I know I’m up to my chest, fists balling at the shock. Daisy’s head pops up a good thirty feet out, her curls flat against her skull, legs treading. I swim out to her.
She floats on her back, eyes closed, arms out, letting the chilly water do what it’s supposed to—bring her back to life. I don’t say anything. I watch her as she smiles to herself, soaking in the sunshine.
Then I grab her by the foot and shove her under the water.
She pops up, gasping and sputtering. She splashes water toward me. “Asshole,” the insult comes out playfully. I retaliate. She laughs, damn near a real laugh, and I can’t help but chase it. I dunk her, and she surfaces scowling, spitting water and flipping her wet hair in my face. “Stop that.”
“All right. You win.” I surrender and float next to her on my back.
We float here, together but each in our own heads, and it feels like the world could end tomorrow and neither of us would be surprised or even disappointed.
We could get lost right here and die peacefully.
I look over at Daisy as she bobs in the water, stealing glimpses of her chest, feeling tempted to make a move on her but resisting because she doesn’t need that. Not from me. Not now.
Somewhere on the far end of the lake, a pickup backfires, and a flock of birds shoots up from the trees and whirls away. I think about how my father and I always went fishing on this lake when I was a kid. He must have told me a million times it was cursed. That sometimes dead things sank in but never came back up. Lake probably has a hundred secrets rotting in the mud at the bottom.
Daisy swims close, the sunlight cutting across her face, giving her an ethereal glow. She’s so thin I could probably pick her up with one hand, but she treads water like she’s built for it. Born to run or to swim away, forever out of reach.
Untouchable.
“Why do you call yourself Lunatic?” she asks, voice just above a whisper, as she braces her hands on my chest.
I pull her closer. Her legs hook around my waist and she lays back once more.
Fuck. I want to kiss her. Touch her. But I fight back the urge.
“Earned it. Used to act out. Do reckless shit. Loved to fight. Was impulsive.”
