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Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC #5)(23)

By:Alexis Noelle


It's while I continue my perusal of Cutter's living space that I realize I have no idea what to do. A groan from my stomach reminds me that I haven't eaten since lunchtime yesterday. I stand up unsteadily and make my way into the kitchen, the cold tile sending shivers up my body.

The refrigerator is stocked with food. I stand there and look at it, not knowing what I'm allowed to have. He said to make myself at home, but home had rules, guidelines. I reach for a piece of fruit but withdraw my hand. What if I'm not supposed to be eating that? What if I eat all the food he wants and he gets mad when he gets home? I close the door, deciding against eating right now.

Cutter's shirt sticks to my skin. I could really use a shower to help wash away everything that happened last night. I go to the bathroom, the shooting pain in my side making me take small careful steps. I am about to get undressed when I again realize I have no idea what I am allowed to use or do. Are there certain towels that are off limits? Would he mind if I wore more of his clothes after the shower?

In this house, everything is a guessing game. Over the years I've been conditioned to believe that the unknown is always something dangerous. I haven't made a single decision in years. I always knew what was expected; what was not allowed. Being here? Not having that structure? I'm completely lost.

I go back into the living room and curl up on the couch.

I'm fine here.

I'm allowed to be here.

He won't find me here.

I repeat that phrase over and over, until I fall asleep.





Chapter Ten


Cutter





Whip's call came at just the right and wrong time. I don't know what to do. How to help Jasmine, or give her what she needs. Tucked away in the corner of the room while I watched her sleep, I was torn between wanting to lie next to her and wondering if I should leave her alone. This guessing game of am I too close or too far is exhausting. Once thing I do know from everything I saw my mom go through, that she isn't just going to be okay. You can't remove someone from an environment like that and expect them to just be fine.

I've been single for years and yet, in the span of a few hours, I have a woman living with me. And not just any woman. A woman who is hurting and beyond damaged.

I'm way out of my fucking comfort zone.

Torch, Whip, and I went back to Jasmine's house, but the asshole was gone. I wanted to go back and make sure that he knew he was never to contact Jasmine again. To tell him to grant her a divorce and disappear from her life. As tempting as it is to think that this will be the last we see of him, I know this won't be the case so I have Wrench trying to find him. The man is a super sleuth: whenever we need anything on the computer done, he is our go-to brother.

Which brings me to now. The present moment. Where I sit in my car, outside my house, waiting to go in. I'm not really sure why. I should have gone back to the clubhouse and found myself a distraction. After dealing with all of this shit, I need a goddamn drink.

But losing myself in the ways I used to won't work, because through all this chaos and upheaval, all I want is to be inside with her. I want to help pull her out of the hell she's been living in.

I want to save her.

Dylan will come after Jasmine. I know this in the same way that I know mixing beer and tequila will give you a fucker of a hangover. Men like him never let a woman walk away from them. That's the main reason why we went back there tonight. Until I find him and make sure he can never lay another hand on her again, I won't rest. I will protect her with everything I have.

I will keep her safe.

I don't know what to expect when I walk into my house, but Jasmine sitting on the couch, her arms wrapped around her legs, clutching her knees to her chest, still wearing the clothes I dressed her in last night, staring straight ahead, isn't it. Waiting a moment, I watch her.



       
         
       
        

Her eyes. They're all wrong-apart from the fact that the bruising has started to come out properly, and is now darkening from purple into a black ink, leaching across her face. Though still the same color as the day I met her, her eyes look dull, soulless. They are blank, there is no emotion. I have never truly understood the term "The lights are on, but no one's home" until now. Taking a slow, measured step toward her, I clear my throat to let her know I'm there.

"Jasmine?"

Again, no movement.

"Jasmine," I repeat gently.

Nothing.

I crouch down in front of her and stare intently into her eyes.

"Jasmine, eyes on me." As much as it pains me to do so, I word it like a command, hoping that the familiar tone of my voice will bring her back.