“What the fuck do you care what it takes to get me hard?” Cain barked.
Missy felt uncomfortable warmth spreading through her face again. He was right—that had been a strange thing to say to him. So why had she?
“And no,” Cain continued before she could think of a reply, “since you asked, I don't have a damn pain fetish. Which is a shame, because if I did, the feeling I've got in my ribs and arm right now would probably have me creaming my jeans. As it is, though, it just makes me want to sleep for forty-eight hours and then murder the whole fucking world.”
Cain started toward the hall. “Where are you going?” Missy asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. She wasn't entirely convinced that Cain would go along with Hunter's orders, and if he decided that he still wanted to ride off into the night, Missy didn't enjoy the idea of trying to physically restrain him.
“I still want a fucking shower,” Cain answered tersely. “Is that okay with you, or do you want to call Hunter first and make sure I have permission?”
“Is there anything you need me to do while you're...?”
“Yeah,” Cain growled, limping to the bathroom door. “If you're so curious about what will get me hard, suck my cock and find out. Otherwise, mind your own goddamn business.”
Cain slammed the door behind him, and Missy heard the water in the shower running a moment later.
She let out an exasperated grunt and grabbed the coffee mugs from the table, tossing them into the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. The awful smell hit her again and she crouched down, banging around the odds and ends under the sink as she looked for dish soap. She hated the thought of washing dishes for someone who was acting so piggish and ungrateful to her, but if she had to spend the next week or so in this house, she wasn't going to suffer through that sickening odor.
Finally, she found a small, crusty bottle with a peeling label. There was still a thin scum of pink dish soap at the bottom. She plugged the drain, ran the hot water, and shook and pounded the bottle until the last of the soap drizzled over the mountain of dishes.
As Missy waited for the dishes to soak, she rolled her eyes at herself for questioning Hunter's decision to assign this task to her. She hated it, but she also recognized that she'd spent her entire life with Hunter auditioning for this rotten job. Hunter had seen how patient she was able to remain with him even when he was being a complete jerk and a slob, and it was why he had decided she was the only one who could watch over Cain.
And besides, she was a woman. No matter how pissed off Cain got, she knew that her gender would keep Cain from actually hauling off and taking a swing at her. If she were just one of the Eagles, she'd have no such assurance.
Well, fine, Missy thought, chiseling at a cluster of dried beans stuck to a plate. But that doesn't mean I have to fucking like it.
Missy heard a loud thump in the tub, followed by Cain's voice hollering through the bathroom door. “Oh, you goddamn motherfucking numb cunt, come on...!” There was a pause, then another thump and a fresh string of curses.
She chuckled, drying off her hands. Here was Mister Big Bad Biker, Mister Ride-Out-To-Seek-Vengeance, unable to even shower by himself without dropping things and throwing a tantrum.
Missy walked over to the bathroom door and tapped on it. “You okay in there?” she asked, trying to keep the humor out of her voice.
“Get fucked,” he called out sharply.
“Just making sure a hardass like you didn't slip in the shower and crack your skull,” she joked.
Again, louder: “Get. Fucked.”
“You know, if you want, I can get some of those big rubber daisies to stick to the floor of the tub...”
“I didn't fucking fall, all right?” Cain yelled. “I just...fuck it, never mind.”
“Fine, if you're going to act like a big baby about it,” Missy said, turning to head back to the kitchen.
There was a brief pause, and Cain blurted out, “I can't wash my fucking hair, okay? Jesus! Are you happy now? My hair stinks 'cause I haven't done it in a couple of days, and now that my ribs are all fucked up, I can't reach up to do it, even with my good hand. So I'm pissed. Okay? End of story.”
Half of Missy wanted to laugh, but the other half actually felt sorry for him. “Do you want me to help?” she asked.
There was no answer for a long time, and Missy thought he'd chosen to ignore her. But just as she was about to step away from the door, she heard him sigh deeply. “Fine,” he said. “Come in and get it over with, then, since I'm supposed to be some kind of fucking invalid.”