His brows rise as his head nods in the direction of the bed behind me. I all but fall into it and scramble under the covers. My heart is beating a little heavier than it should. There’s something about this guy—something foreign, but yet distinctly familiar. I can’t quite put my finger on it…
My breath is shaky when his massive body climbs beneath the covers of my king-sized bed. With no warning, his arm circles my waist and he pulls me to him. I’m engulfed by the scent of my soap that smells a hell of a lot more delicious on him than it ever has on me. His minty breath is cool across my face. I wonder if he uses Crest or Colgate?
“Goodnight, Delilah.”
“Goodnight…” I start to ask his name, but his breathing is heavy and even—telling me he’s already near sleep. And something about the way I’m cradled to his chest has me edging closer to sleep too.
Fuck it.
Chances are, by tomorrow, I’ll forget not only his name, but like everyone else, he’ll just be another face, another John, another Renegade—another reminder of who and what I am.
CHAPTER 6
My internal alarm clock sounds with an ear-splitting squeal—jolting me awake just as the sun starts its ascent. The first thing I notice is the big arm that has a death grip on my waist. A heavy leg is thrown over both mine, and there’s a warm, soft chest pressed into my back.
…What’s his name…
Somehow, I manage to untangle myself from the throng of limbs. I hold my breath as I ease out of the bed, praying like hell I don’t wake him. Once I’m safely in the bathroom, I become a little panicked at the loss of time. I should have been on the road hours ago. Instead, I allowed myself to fall asleep in a set of arms that made me feel safe enough to abandon the monster that is now pulling against his restraints.
I quickly brush my teeth, pull my hair back and scrub the makeup from my face. I don’t have time for a shower, so I attempt to mask the scent of the man in my bed using lotion and a fruity-smelling body spray. When I look less like a clubwhore and more like a homely stepchild, I ease open the door and watch his large frame rise and fall in measured breaths.
Tiptoeing across the room, I keep my eyes on him until I’m at my dresser. I pull on some cotton panties, a sports bra, a hoodie and some sweats. My tennis shoes are on, my duffel over my shoulder and I’m at the window when a deep, very amused male voice jolts me.
“What are you doing?”
I swallow hard as I turn to look at him. He’s devilishly sexy, with somber green eyes and a lazy smile. “I have somewhere to be. Make yourself at home.” I can tell by his expression he’s not satisfied with my evasive response. I feel my anger simmer even before he presses me for more information.
“Where the hell you gotta be at seven in the morning?” Seven? Shit!
“None of your business,” I bite out before I can catch myself. I take a calming breath and add, “That came out wrong. I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’m already very late.”
Without waiting for a response, I lift the window and clamber through. The crunch of ice sounds under my feet and I nearly lose my balance, but recover. Slamming the window, I don’t bother to look back as I break into a run toward my car.
My monster is mad. My demons are dancing. The darkness is near. I allowed myself to get distracted. I deserve to be punished. I’m three hours away from relief. I just hope it’s delivered to me in the same brutal fashion my body craves. And I pray like hell I’m shown no mercy.
*****
I look down at the swirling pattern of the cheap linoleum that’s stained in my blood. It seeps from my mouth and nose—the puddle growing with each passing minute. My mother isn’t home today, so instead of hearing the constant babble of Dr. Phil, I’m forced to endure the sounds of VH1’s tribute to eighties rock bands.
I wasn’t even fully through the door when my feet were taken out from under me. I’m still not entirely sure what my brother was so pissed about, but there was something about Mama having to borrow money to go see her sister in Slidell, because I wasn’t here on time. I remember telling him she could’ve waited a little longer, but a swift kick to my stomach rendered me speechless.
The good news is that my monster is sleeping. The bad news? I hate myself more than I have in a long time. I can’t figure out if it’s guilt for not being here when my mother needed me, or for being a sick fuck who needs her brother to torture the hell out of her just to feel at all. I’m leaning more toward the latter.
Pulling myself to my knees, I wipe my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie. I still have all my teeth and my nose isn’t broken, so that’s a plus. But my stomach aches with every breath I pull. I must have put my wrist out to break my fall, because it’s stiff and swollen. I’m sure it’s just badly sprained.
“You got any more cash?” My brother’s voice sends chills down my spine. Creepy fucker…
“I got some in my bag.”
“Done took that. You got any more?”
Using the kitchen table to brace myself, I slowly stand. Turning to look at him, I can see spatters of blood on his gray shirt—my blood. “You went through my shit?”
“My house, my shit.” He glares at me—daring me to say something. Like an idiot, I do.
“Mama’s house,” I correct. Fury blazes in his eyes and his muscles tighten.
“Want me to break your jaw? Huh? Cause I fuckin’ can.” He sounds just as stupid as he looks—greasy hair falling in his face and a week’s worth of dirt under his nails. “I don’t know why Mama even lets you come over here. You need to be in a mental hospital or some shit.”
I grab my empty duffel from the floor and sling it over my shoulder. I refuse to wince at the movement, even though my muscles scream in agony. My feet shuffle slowly to the door. I’m halfway out when he speaks.
“You better bring more next week to make up for what she had to borrow.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah… I get it. I frown at the thought of not getting to see my mother. It’s not that she’s pleasant, or the least bit interested in seeing me, but I get some odd satisfaction out of not only making a valiant effort to visit her, but helping her financially too. Chances are, my brother will keep what money I had on me to himself and convince her I didn’t bring anything.
I survey the damage to my face in my rearview mirror. Busted lip, nose and a knot already bruising around the edges seems to be the brunt of it. It’ll be easy to hide too. A little makeup and some dark lighting will keep the questions at the clubhouse to a minimum. Just like it always has.
I’m drowsy the entire ride back to Hattiesburg. Somehow I manage to keep it between the ditches, arrive safely and crawl back through my window without having to face a single soul. My room is empty—definitely a welcome relief, and an unexpected surprise.
Maybe God decided to shed a little mercy on me after all.
****
It’s been weeks since I last saw the mysterious Renegade who I left alone in my bed. I thought I would’ve forgotten him by now, but every time I’m with someone, I think of him. I think of how savagely he claimed me…how rough his hands were, yet soft.
I hadn’t asked about him. I’m not sure why, maybe fear of gossip that I might be interested in someone. I didn’t need that attention. I didn’t need anyone thinking that I, like many others before me, had become infatuated with a brother they couldn’t have.
Several of the women who worked at the clubhouse longed to be more. They wanted patches, titles and to be claimed. I didn’t want any of that. But that wouldn’t keep people from assuming I was just like everyone else. So I’d kept my questions to myself, and choose to forget it ever happened. Problem is, I simply can’t forget.
It’s New Year’s. The party at the clubhouse is one of the biggest of the year. Naked women, leather-clad men and endless amounts of alcohol fill the room. After the bar the club owns downtown closes, the crowd grows larger.
I’m working the crowd. My smile is plastered on my face—a genuine one that comes easily at the happy men that surround me. I’m wearing a T-shirt that’s cut so short the bottom of my breasts are visible beneath it. The tiny black skirt is short, tight and inviting. My body is on display—offered and available to anyone who desires it.
The looks I receive are of pure lust and want. It heightens my mood. I want the men to look at me. I want them to touch me, fuck me and use me. There’s something about the humiliation of knowing who I am and what my purpose is that has my body pulsing with sexual need. But these men are not greedy. They won’t request me privately—not while there are so many wanting men and not enough women to go around.
Lyrics to Awolnation’s “Sail” fills the room. The booming, heavy bass vibrates the walls, and although the music isn’t so loud it drowns out the sound of chatter, it does diminish conversations to nothing more than background noise. But I still hear the sound of the heavy wooden door as it swings open. Naturally all eyes turn to who’s walking in. Mine included.
From across the room, I can feel the effects the man’s presence has on me. My whole body comes to life. My sex tightens. My breasts become heavier. The sexual need I was feeling intensifies, and becomes almost desperate. It’s him—the Devil’s Renegade whose name I still don’t know. In a way, it makes him more mysterious and that much more desirable.