AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She smiles, but it fades. “Ares, are you coming back to see me one day?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t think so. You’ve got that look about you.”
“Look?”
“Like you’ve gone and fallen in love.”
Ilsa’s words haunt me when I walk away.
But during the ride back to Flintlock, it’s not Ilsa I’m thinking about. It’s Rory.
Rory with hair the color of snow.
Rory with lips that taste like wine.
Rory who I can’t get the fuck out of my head.
The ride home is a long one, and as the sun begins to sink below the horizon, she’s all I can think about—the way she smells, the feel of her skin brushing against mine, and the sound of her soft breath as she falls asleep beside me.
I think about how tender her touch felt against my aching muscles last night, about the tender way she tended to my wounds, and how she soothingly wrapped her soft body around mine as she slept.
My body aches and my shoulders feel tense, and my bed back at the clubhouse suddenly doesn’t seem inviting.
“Fuck,” I growl.
I wave off Shooter and Jack. They probably knew where I was going before I did, and giving in, I turn the Harley around and head in the direction of Rory’s apartment.
RORY
It’s just gone dark when I leave the Spicy Crawdad. The parking lot is full of vehicles but empty of people. Coming from inside the strip club, I hear Kid Rock’s “Cowboy” which signals the beginning of Brigette’s routine.
Humming along, I walk to my car, but when I lean down to unlock it, I’m violently shoved from behind and pinned against the door.
“Don’t fucking move, you slut bitch,” growls a voice in my ear.
I smell the stench of whisky on his hot breath and feel the greasiness on his fingertips as they grip my arms.
Panic zips through me.
Donnie?
No, it can’t be.
“Get off me,” I demand through gritted teeth.
“What! You don’t like this, slut? Isn’t that why you shake that sweet ass of yours onstage? You want to get a man all worked up the way you do. Now give me your cash, you harlot, or I’m going to gut you like a deer. Then you and me are going to have some fun.”
The man with the rank breath doesn’t have a weapon in his hands because one of them is pressed into the small of my back while the other roams my thigh.
But he could have one in his pocket.
So I need to act before he can get his hands on it.
When you get raped repeatedly by a man who is supposed to protect and love you, you get good at defending yourself. You take self-defense classes so one day you can turn the tables on the asshole.
I catch him by surprise and slam my elbow into his ribs. Then I stomp on his foot and backhand my fist into his face. It’s basic self-defense, and it works. With his head ringing and his nose gushing, my would-be mugger keels over.
