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I can see Marilyn’s already worked her magic here. The window is propped open, allowing the fresh air to swirl around the room, and the bed is made with crisp linen sheets. I finish off the room by running the vacuum around it. The second room is quite different. There’s a strange musty smell in the air. It reminds me of Screwy’s cigarettes and something else that I can’t quite put my finger on. The sheets on the bed are ruffled and creased, there’s an empty liquor bottle on the bedside table, and various items of clothing are thrown around the floor.
I open the window to help the smell escape, and just as I'm heading back out to ask Marilyn for some fresh bedding, I hear a flush of water, and a click comes from the door on my right.
A woman steps out of the bathroom wearing just her underwear, although there’s not much point to it. Her red lace panties barely cover her lady bits, and her bra barely contains her breasts.
“Morning,” she smirks, passing me and swiping a pack of cigarettes from the table.
“I-I didn't realize. I thought Marilyn had already been in here,” I ramble, feeling embarrassed for her.
“Don’t sweat it. You want a smoke, sweetie?” She tips the open packet toward me, and I shake my head to decline.
“You’re the girl Screwy’s keeping in his cabin, right?” She casually lays back on the bed, and I don’t like the way she says that as if I’m some kind of pet.
“My name's Lydia.” I force a smile for her, sensing from the way she’s looking at me that I’m being baited. This girl doesn’t have the same friendly tone as the other girls do.
“Lydia, that's a pretty name. You’ll do real well around here if you can keep that whole innocent thing going on, especially with Thorne.” Lighting the end of her cigarette, she sucks it through her lips and then hitches up her legs like she’s trying to be seductive.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I back up toward the door, feeling uncomfortable.
“What I mean is, now that Screwy’s laid his cards on the table, you’re gonna get to know these rooms pretty well, darlin’.” She sniggers at me cruelly, and I’m about to ask her what she’s talking about, but she doesn't give me the chance.
“We were all a little shocked when he took you up there. It wasn't usual Screwy behavior.” She releases the smoke from her mouth as her red-painted nails tap on the bedside table.
“And what is usual Screwy behavior?” I yield to curiosity, knowing that I’m playing into her little game but desperate for answers.
“Screwy, well Screwy is…” She looks up like she’s recalling something. “Detached, and not just from people, from emotion too.” She takes a breath, but I can tell she’s nowhere near finished. “He fucks like a freight train, and there's never anything behind his eyes. Does he look at you while he fucks you, sweet little Lydia?” She laughs, clearly getting off on the reactions she’s getting from me.
She doesn’t even wait for me to give her an answer.
“He's got issues, real fucked up issues. I’m not one who listens to gossip, but I’ve heard he’s kinda obsessed with his sister.” The casual tip of her shoulder suggests she knows what she’s doing. And I recall him having his nightmare and calling out his sister’s name.
“When he took you up to his cabin and started getting all alpha on you, we all thought he was the latest lost cause. The boys have all been settling down around here pretty rapidly. Turns out we had nothing to worry about. You're no different to any of us whores.” She laughs darkly, and it makes me want to run as fast as I can out of this building and cry.
“Why would you say that?” I bite some more from her bait. Right now, this woman is the only person offering me any answers. And I need them, even if they hurt.
“Where is he now?” She answers my question with a question, and as frustrating as it is, I answer her.
“He’s gone on a run to Nevada.”
“Oh, you mean the run that only the brothers who ain’t got women they care about went on.” Her sentence feels like a douse of cold water.
“That’s not true. Screwy does care about me,” I say the words out loud, and I don’t know who I want to convince more, her or me.
“I was with Skinner all night. When he’s drunk, he likes his pillow talk. He told me that the club all voted for the men with old ladies to stay behind so they could take care of them while there was a threat. The ones without ties were the ones that left with the Utah boys to take care of business. That's why Tac, Skid, and Screwy left with Tawk this morning. I’m sorry you had to hear it like this. But at least it’ll give you a chance to get over him before he comes back.” She attempts a warm smile but fails. I can see that she isn’t sorry at all.
The stuffy room seems to be closing in on me, the cigarette smoke making it hard for me to breathe as I take in all the information and try to come up with excuses to counteract her lies.
I step backward again, almost tripping over the vacuum on my way out.
“See you down at Sluts Sanctuary, Lydia,” she calls after me as I rush down the corridor, colliding with a stunned-looking Grace.
“You okay?” She stops me by placing her hands on my shoulders. “I know the rutting rooms can be gross, but—”
“Tell me it’s not true.” I look her dead in the eyes, knowing that it will make it harder for her to lie to me.
“What?” she stares back at me, confused.
“Brax stayed behind because of you, didn't he?”
