Bush arrived right after the first cart left, and I went inside to get Kalani. Restrained or not, I didn’t trust the feisty bitch. She was quick, clever, and a little unhinged. It would’ve been hot as fuck if she hadn’t stabbed me.
Meh. I’d still fuck her.
“Time to go,” I told her. I was going to help her sit up, but she made herself bounce on the bed and did it on her own. Slipping the poncho over her head, I pulled it down to cover her bound hands. “You gonna be a problem?”
She shook her head no.
I looked down at the rope tied around her ankles. “I’m gonna cut that,” I said and flicked open my knife. “Before you think about kicking me, I stab too.”
She nodded once in acknowledgment.
I bent down to cut the rope fully expecting her to kick the shit out of me and found myself a little disappointed when she didn’t.
“Let’s go.” With my hand underneath the poncho, I held onto her upper arm and led her to the door.
“Keep her with you until I say otherwise,” Whisker said.
I looked to my left, then my right, but there was no one else he could’ve been talking to except for me.
Motherfucker.
“Yes, Prez.” I knew why he chose me to babysit her. Because she stabbed me once and got away from me twice. He knew good and damn well I wouldn’t let it happen a third time. But fuck, it was already close to midnight, which meant she was going to be with me all night.
The clubhouse wasa replica of Charli’s Place. When Cooter found the property, he offered to build a new hotel for Charli so he could use the original building for the clubhouse, but Charli thought it was ridiculous to rebuild the hotel and renovate the existing one when he could build a new clubhouse exactly like the hotel if he wanted. So, he hired a crew to recreate Charli’s Place with the necessary changes and additions to make it suitable for a clubhouse—like the basement with cells. Situated on opposite ends of thirty acres along the coast with dense foliage between, the hotel and clubhouse looked like mirror images overlooking the ocean.
I considered my options of where I could take her and decided on my room. I wanted to be comfortable, and I really didn’t think she would try anything and risk Birdie’s life, even though she didn’t seem to care much about risking her own.
When Bush came to a stop in front of the clubhouse, I walked her up the stairs to my room. Our rooms were connected to the main house by a covered breezeway. The two-story building had four rooms on each floor that were setup like studio apartments, similar to the luxury suites at Charli’s Place. I was on the second floor in the room closest to the clubhouse.
Once inside, I led her to a chair and removed her poncho. “Sit.” To make things easier, I used the duct tape Cookie left behind to tape her upper body to the chair. Then I secured each ankle to a leg of the chair. The entire time, she didn’t utter a word.
Since I couldn’t do anything else to help prepare for the storm, I made myself comfortable on the couch and turned on one of the weather channels. Though there wasn’t much to do aside from setting up the flood barriers. We stayed prepared for natural disasters because we lived on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with temperamental weather and the world’s largest active volcano.
As I listened to the weather reports, I waited for her to say or do something. I wasn’t expecting unwavering silence and compliance. She hadn’t made a sound and had barely moved since I taped her to the chair. It was unnerving, and fuck her for making me uncomfortable in my own damn home. After an hour, I’d had enough and got up to demand some answers from her.
Her head was lolled to the side and her eyes were closed. As I got closer, I realized she was asleep. After killing a man and getting captured by a motorcycle club, the bitch was asleep.
I slapped my hand down on the table beside her and leaned close as I yelled, “Why the fuck did?—”
Her head shot up, and she slammed her forehead into mine, sending pain radiating through my skull. I reached for my head as I stumbled back a few steps. “What the fuck?”
She stared at me, seemingly unfazed.
I wanted to strangle her. For a few seconds. Maybe longer.
Inhaling deeply, I tried to get a handle on the rage building inside me. “Why aren’t you talking?” I gritted out.
She slightly tipped her head forward and arched an eyebrow.
I wanted to scream. Then I remembered the conversation I had with Bean about the same thing.“You told her you’d break her jaw if she made any noise.”
Fucking hell.
“You can talk,” I said. “Don’t fucking scream or yell or try to get anyone’s attention, but you can talk. Until I say you can’t.”
“Is your name Sugar?”
“Yes.”
