The sobering reality has me putting my guard back up.
“Let’s get to work,” Sledge sighs.
“Hey,” I say, suddenly thinking of something. “What about that appointment with Cecil?”
I can’t believe no one woke me up for that.
“He’s out of town through the end of the month or possibly longer. Left this morning. Family stuff. You want me to set her up with someone else?”
Shit. “Nah. It’s not a pressing matter. I don’t want anyone else inking her.”
Maybe the feds will quit checking her out the second she’s marked by the Dealers.
Chapter 16
EVE
For a solid week, I’ve slept on the uncomfortable couch. I hate it. I’m grateful, but Drex’s bed is so soft and inviting. I should be thankful that he doesn’t expect me to sleep in there with him, but I’m not.
This place… It’s pretty damn scary. More men have been here this week. Lots and lots of tattooed, scruffy, terrifying, wild-eyed, and gravelly-spoken men.
I haven’t slept better than shit since the first night when I was kept safe in Drex’s arms. Every little sound wakes me up now, and shadows of the night look like figures coming to do things that will scar me for life.
I’m paranoid and freaked out every night, because he doesn’t lock his door. Apparently that’s him saying he doesn’t trust his guys if he locks his door on them. I don’t trust his guys.
Drex has told everyone I’m off limits, but that doesn’t stop them from leering or saying things that make my stomach roil. It’s only the guys who don’t stay here much. They’ve been bringing in more and more of them, and now this place is packed.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I know a lawyer showed up and talked to the feds. They haven’t banged on the door or harassed Drex anymore.
He still hasn’t kissed me, but he has sure as hell used my body. The madness hasn’t caught up with me. Yet. My mind is still finding ways to cope, and for at least a week, I’ve managed to avoid the impending nervous breakdown.
Soft lips press to the back of my neck, and I remain still on the bed with a book under me—courtesy of Sarah. “What’re you reading?” Drex asks, running his hand up under the short denim skirt I have on.
“Smut,” I lie, refusing to tell him I’m reading about Motorcycle clubs and the orthodox rules they usually follow. Oh, and as it turns out, human trafficking is a real thing, but it doesn’t look like the Death Dealers partake in it. My situation also don’t fall under the guidelines of human trafficking. “Thought I’d get some ideas on how to impress you.”
He releases a sincere laugh that makes me smile against all odds. He’s nothing like I thought he’d be, and as twisted as it sounds, I actually enjoy being around him. He was… unexpected—is unexpected—in the best possible way. I don’t hate myself for what I’ve had to do because it makes it… okay? I’m not sure what word I’m looking for, but I’m glad I’m not miserable.
“Well, I’m glad you want to impress me, but I prefer to be the one in control. So no reading necessary. Get ready. We’re going to the club. It’s Mack’s birthday, and he’s going to want a good time.”
The way he says that gives me pause, and my whole body gets rigid. “Not with me?” I ask hopefully, feeling sick all of the sudden.
“Fuck no,” he says quickly. “You’re mine. I’ve told you this. No one else is allowed to touch you. But there will be alcohol, drugs, and lots of other men from other clubs. You’ll have to stay close. Which means you might end up with a few lap dances from the girls coming to see me. Now go get ready.”
Girls coming to see him… I really wish that didn’t piss me off. This is not a real relationship. I’m supposed to be dwelling in an endless vat of self-loathing misery instead of playing house. There’s no sane reason for me to feel jealous right now. But I can’t help it.
Maybe I have Stockholm’s Syndrome.
I don’t say anything as I go to grab a bra and a different shirt. Maybe I’ll make myself look good enough to keep him distracted. Or at least look good enough to force other guys to look at me—which will make Drex focus more attention on me. He’s pretty damn possessive when it comes to other guys around me.
Yep. Crazy. I’m a certifiable lunatic.
“We’ll be taking my bike, so no skirts or dresses.”
“I’ve already got a dress planned out,” I lie, listening to him go quiet for a long minute.
“A dress will blow up on the back of my bike, and I don’t want anyone seeing your ass. So no dress.”