The Cut by Carol Lynne: Kings of Bedlam MC Series, Book One Page 6

  “Well, sit your sweet ass down, and eat all you want.” He opened the refrigerator and withdrew a carton of orange juice.

  She eased herself into a chair and stared up at him. “Do you really think I have a sweet ass?”

  He dropped into a seat across from her. He didn’t say anything while he poured two glasses of orange juice. Setting the carton on the table, he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Oh.” She took a sip of her juice. She was bruised and swollen. Of course, he hadn’t meant it. Lowering her gaze, she stared at the waffle on her plate.

  “Fuck,” he grumbled and got to his feet. He grabbed his vest off a peg beside the door. “You’re tying me into knots.” He shrugged into his colors. “I made up the guest room for ya.”

  “Wait!” She stood, ready to go after him if she needed to. “Where’re you going?”

  He leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling. “Your place, I guess. I need to check in with the investigators. I’ll pack up your clothes if you want.”

  She finger-brushed her hair down to cover the bruised side of her face as she resumed her seat. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Putting you on the spot. I didn’t mean to…”

  “No,” he said, cutting her off. “You were attacked last night. I’m the one who fucked up. I shouldn’t have said something like that to you.”

  She glanced up from her plate to meet his gaze. “I liked it.”

  He groaned and pushed away from the wall. “When you’re done eating, get some sleep.”

  The front door slammed shut, and once again, she was alone. Without him sitting across from her, the waffles no longer had the same appeal. Still, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so she squeezed syrup out of the bottle and dug in.

  Each bite reminded her of how much her life had changed in a day. The counselor she’d spoken to at the hospital tried to warn her that her thoughts and emotions would be all over the place, but she doubted they were supposed to be centered around a sexy biker.

  Although the legal term for what Sheriff Gordon did was attempted rape and battery, the only thing that worried her were the physical injuries she’d sustained. The emotional damage that everyone seemed concerned with weren’t an issue for her. At first, she’d thought she was in some kind of shock or denial, but the longer she listened to the counselor, the more confident she was in her own feelings. Gordon was a piece of shit who believed she was nothing but a body to be beaten and used, and while she knew she didn’t deserve what he did to her, it hadn’t come as a surprise.

  It was nothing she could explain to an outside observer, but what Gordon did to her with his fists and words didn’t emotionally feel any different than the way her own parents and the townspeople had treated her most of her life. Sure, physically, Gordon had hurt her, but that was the extent of the situation. It was hard to feel degraded by Gordon’s actions when she’d rarely felt little else in her daily life.

  Finished with her waffle, she carried her plate to the sink. She wasn’t about to follow Stake’s instructions and leave the dishes, especially because the man had a dishwasher. How lazy did he think she was? It only took ten minutes to completely clean the kitchen and wrap the uneaten waffles in foil.

  At the end of a short hallway off the living room were two doors, one open, welcoming her inside, and one closed. With a simple twist of her wrist, she stepped into Stake’s bedroom. Sure, she knew it was the wrong thing to do, but she couldn’t help herself. The rest of the house was simple, yet clean and comfortable, but the bedroom seemed to tell its own story.

  Decorated simply in shades of brown with a few splashes of soft blue to brighten the space, his bedroom was a treasure-trove of memorabilia. She stood in front of a wall of framed photographs. Her hand rose to cover her mouth as she stared at the old pictures. Quite a few of them had Smash in them, and she even found a few of herself when she was a kid. One thing they all had in common were motorcycles. There wasn’t a single photo on the wall that didn’t prominently display a bike in it. She pulled her attention away from the wall. Models and die-cast motorcycles sat on various shelves throughout the room, while a large ceramic motorcycle was proudly displayed on top of the dresser.

  She wandered to a stack of magazines neatly piled in the corner of the room and was unsurprised to find pictures of motorcycles and naked women. She studied several of the women. Boobs. Evidently, biker chicks loved to show off their tits and it didn’t seem to matter how big, small or perky they were. What was equally obvious was how much he seemed to enjoy the magazines. She glanced down at her covered breasts. Though bruised and sore from Gordon’s rough treatment, she’d always felt her tits were her best feature. Still, she doubted she’d ever have the confidence to proudly display them for a group of men.

  Stake hadn’t seemed affected by the sight of her breasts the previous night, so maybe she was wrong about them. Oddly depressed by the thought, she strode out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

  After closing the blinds, she pulled back the white comforter and sheet and slid into bed. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop thinking about whether or not he liked her boobs.

  After twenty minutes of worrying, she finally drifted to sleep.

  * * * *

  Stake tensed as he pulled the Harley to a stop behind a long line of police cars. The local and county cars at the scene didn’t sit right with him, and he hoped the Rangers were keeping the yokels from contaminating the evidence. He crossed the yard intent on talking to the Texas Ranger in charge but was brought up short by the sound of two of the local cops laughing. Fucking hell. Robby Langers and Colton Fellows stood to the right of the porch with their arms crossed over their chests and amused expressions on their faces. “What the hell’s so funny?”

  Robby stared at Stake’s cut and automatically dismissed him. “This so-called crime scene’s off limits.”

  “So-called?” Stake questioned, curling his hands into fists. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” He charged toward Robby, but strong arms wrapped around him from behind. “Get the fuck off me!”

  “Not until you calm down. Or would you rather I put you in the back of my SUV?” a deep voiced asked.

  Stake looked over his shoulder to see a man in a white western-style shirt and a tan Resistol cowboy hat. The man was obviously a Texas Ranger, but he wasn’t the same man Stake had spoken to at the hospital. With a simple nod, he relaxed and waited for the Ranger to release him. “I came by to pick up Santana’s clothes and to make sure the funeral home had been here.”

  “You’re Jakob Wills?”

  “Yeah, and you are?” Stake wasn’t about to shake the man’s hand, at least not until he was sure he was on the right side of the crime that had occurred.

  “Bob Thatcher. Jack told me you’d be by.”

  “Where is Jack?” Stake liked the Ranger he’d met at the hospital better than the douche who’d kept him from rearranging Robby’s smug face.

  “Out back where the alleged attack was initiated,” Thatcher replied.

  With his hands still fisted, Stake put space between himself and the Ranger before he ended up in jail. He started to argue with Thatcher, but decided it would be better to find Jack and see what the hell was going on. Turning away from the trio, he stalked around the house. He spotted Jack Boone holding a stack of papers. “Hey.”

  Jack spun around. “This is a crime scene. You’re not allowed to be here.”

  At least one of the cops on hand acknowledged a crime had taken place. “I came to get some clothes for Santana, and to make sure the funeral home picked up Ellie.”

  Jack nodded. “They were here first thing.” He held up the papers. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  Stake stared at the portrait of himself. He held out his hand. “Can I see those?”

  Jack glanced at the crime scene photographer who was busy snapping pictures of Santana’s torn and
discarded clothes. “I’d better not. I don’t want to compromise the case, but in case you’re wondering, they’re all of you.”

  “Where’d you find them?” Stake asked, his gaze going from the picture of himself and the torn Harley T-shirt on the ground. He recognized the shirt immediately as his old favorite, the one he’d loaned Santana and had never gotten back. The small tear in the sleeve where he’d gotten caught up on a barbed wire fence confirmed it was his. Of all the clothes she had, why had she been wearing that particular shirt?

  Jack gestured to the blackened barrel. “According to her statement, Santana was out here burning trash.”

  The stack of drawings was a thick one, so Santana must’ve been working on them for a long time. Why had she drawn them, and more important, what made her decide to burn them? Stake rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I have those once you’re done with them?”

  Jack shrugged. “Could be awhile, but trash is usually public property, so I guess so.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you have any idea why she seems obsessed with you? I thought the two of you were friends.”

  They weren’t friends, but they weren’t anything more than that, either. How could Stake tell the Ranger he’d turned his back on Santana years earlier and not come off like the biggest asshole in the state of Texas. “I’ve known her for years. I was her dad’s best friend.”

  Jack’s eyebrows rose. “Then I’d say she’s had the crush for a long time.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He glanced at the T-shirt again. The realization seared through Stake. He needed to talk to her. “Can I get some of her clothes?” If he had to see her walk around his house in nothing but his T-shirts, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself.

  “You still have my business card?” Jack asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Call me tomorrow, and I’ll let you know if we’ve finished up here. Until then, I can’t let you into the house.”

  Fuck. Stake wasn’t sure how he’d control himself, but he’d put a padlock on his zipper if he had to.

  * * * *

  Santana woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. The room was dark, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. She glanced at the bedside clock and couldn’t believe it was almost nine pm. How had she slept for over twelve hours? It didn’t seem possible. Stranger yet, why hadn’t Stake been in to wake her?

  She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, pleased that some of the soreness in her muscles had melted away while she’d slept. Pulling the hem of the borrowed T-shirt down, she made her way from the room. His door was still closed, but she wasn’t sure if that meant he was sleeping or hadn’t returned home. Wandering into the living room, she immediately noticed him stretched out on the deep leather sofa.

  “I thought you might sleep through ’til morning,” he said without opening his eyes. Her pussy clenched at the scratchy sound of his deep voice.

  “Did you talk to the funeral home?” she asked, sitting on the coffee table beside him.

  He stretched his muscular arms over his head and opened his eyes to stare over at her. “Yeah. They’re going to go ahead and cremate her on Friday. They asked about a memorial service, but I told them I’d have to discuss it with you.” He sat up and did his best to tame his wild, shoulder-length hair.

  “No, no service.” She felt tears sting her eyes. “If you’ll drive me, I’d like to have something on my own at Dad’s grave.”

  “Of course I will.”

  When his gaze traveled to her bare legs, her nipples hardened. Christ. Without thinking, she squeezed her thighs together to ease the ache in her pussy.

  He grunted. “Answer a question.”

  “Okay.”

  He scooted to the edge of the couch, bracketing her legs with his. “Why’d you throw pictures of me away?”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She stood, intending to get away from him before he saw the truth in her eyes.

  He reached out and grabbed her wrist, keeping her between his thighs. “Answer me, goddammit.”

  Held in place, she stared at the wall over his head. “Because I realized how unhealthy it was to keep them around.”

  “Unhealthy for who?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t do this. “Please let me go. I’ve been humiliated enough, don’t you think?”

  Still holding her wrist, he stood, putting his body in direct contact with hers. “I won’t push it for now, but you’ll eventually tell me.” He released her wrist and wrapped his arms around her waist. “We have a lot of things to talk about once you’re feeling better. Like why you were wearing my Harley shirt when Gordon attacked you.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She rested her cheek against his chest for just a moment before pulling away. “I think you mean once I’m looking better, because other than a slight throb in my eye, I’m fine.”

  Stake cupped her face between his big hands and tilted her head back until their eyes met. “Even bruised you’re more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Yeah, right. I remember the women who used to hang all over you.” She didn’t mention how jealous she’d always been of the big-titted sluts.

  “Do you? Because I don’t. I’ve had bitches in my bed since I was fourteen, and I don’t remember a fuckin’ thing about any of them.” He ran his thumb over Santana’s lower lip, avoiding the healing split. “I want you so bad I can’t stand it.”

  She touched the tip of her tongue to his thumb. She had no idea why he’d want her, but she’d thought of nothing else for years. “Then take me,” she whispered.

  He leaned down and brushed his lips over her mouth. “Someday, but not yet.”

  Chapter Four

  Stake heard the backdoor open behind him just as he ended the call with Jack. “They’re finally done with your house, so I’ll run over and pack up your clothes,” he told Santana.

  “Can I go?” she asked.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He shoved his phone into his back pocket before turning around to face her. “I don’t mind doing it.”

  She tucked her long dark hair behind her ears. “I think Momma had a black dress in her closet. I want to see if it fits, so I can wear it when we go to the cemetery.”

  “I’ll buy ya a black dress.” He’d called Cecil to see if either Mad Dog or Hog could meet him at Santana’s, but Cecil had given him a bullshit excuse about how it would be best for the club if they kept their distance from the crime scene. It was fucked up because Stake didn’t trust himself not to kill Gordon if he saw him.

  She crossed her arms, drawing his attention to her large tits. “Maybe I don’t want you going through my things.”

  “Tough shit.” He decided to tell her the truth. “Gordon’s being released today, and I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

  The color drained from her gorgeous face. “It’s been less than three days. How’s he getting out?”

  “Evidently, his injuries were more superficial then they led us to believe.” He moved to wrap his arms around her. “I won’t let him hurt you again. If the cops don’t do their job, believe me, I’ll take care of Gordon myself.” It’s the way he’d wanted it in the first place. The only reason he’d gone along with Cecil’s demand to take Santana to the hospital was to keep her from getting into trouble with the law.

  “No.” She rested her cheek on his chest. It was something she’d done on several occasions and each time, it filled him with a sense of warmth he’d never felt before. “I lost my dad that way; I won’t lose you, too.”

  He held her tighter. “What kind of man would I be if I let Gordon get away with what he did to you? If it means going to prison, I’ll pay the price.”

  “And leave me alone, just like Smash did, to fend for myself?” She pushed against his chest until he released her. “No. I can’t go through that again. I’ll kill him myself before I let you do something like that for me.”

  No way in hell would
he let his woman do his job. Stake stilled, realizing he’d already begun to think of her as his. He watched her pace around the back porch, the T-shirt barely covering her bare ass and knew in his gut, she was his woman. He dug his phone out and looked at the time. If they hurried, they could be in and out of her house before nine. Surely, the hospital wouldn’t release Gordon that early. “Let’s go.”

  She smiled and jumped off the side of the porch to the dirt below. “Are we taking the bike?”

  He would love nothing more than to feel her wrapped around his back, but it wasn’t possible. “I’d like to get everything out of the house that you’re going to need for the next few months. Can’t do that with the bike.” He opened the passenger door of the old truck and waited for her to get in before going around to climb behind the steering wheel.

  “Can we take the bike to the cemetery once we get Momma’s ashes? I think Dad would appreciate that.”

  “Sure.” He kept his eyes on the road and off the bared legs beside him. For three days, those fucking legs had teased him. Although he’d seen her naked on the night of the attack, he hadn’t been in the position to truly worship her body the way it deserved. He wanted to touch and lick every inch of her sun-bronzed skin while she moaned underneath him. Fuck. He released the steering wheel and dropped his right hand to his lap in an attempt to hide his erection. Not to brag, but he was a big man, and when his body decided to respond sexually, there was no way in hell to successfully hide it.

  “Stake?”

  “Yeah?” He waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he glanced her way.

  “How long before I heal enough?” she asked.

  Since he hadn’t seen her wounds since the first night, he wasn’t sure how to answer. He returned his attention to the gravel road. “I don’t know. Bruises can take a while to disappear completely, but the swelling is pretty much gone already. Why? Are you hurting?”