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“Yeah.”
“Thanks,” I said.
She didn’t say anything for a moment and then she replied, “If I’d come to you in the same position, what would you have done?”
I reached for the bar of soap. “Helped you, of course. No questions asked.”
“Then you don’t need to thank me. Clean towel is on the sink for you.”
The door clicked shut and I was alone. I scrubbed my skin as her words penetrated my heart.
Somehow in this fucked-up world, Carla and I had met. We were cut from the same cloth—we were survivors. And no matter what life threw at us, we never let it chop us off at the knees.
I washed my brown hair, scraping my nails along my scalp, checking for things that didn’t belong to me. Eventually, the water ran clear instead of pink, and I was clean.
After I’d turned off the shower, I gathered my hair into a rope and squeezed the excess water from it. I grabbed the towel off the sink and hastily wrapped it around me.
I refused to think about what I’d done. Not yet. Not when I was standing naked, vulnerable, relying on my friend’s kindness—and the aid of some biker—who was helping me for some unknown reason.
I opened the bathroom door and peered out into the hallway. “Carla?”
“I’m here,” she called before suddenly appearing from the direction of the kitchen.
“Clothes?” I asked.
“Savage brought you a bag. It’s in my bedroom.”
I trailed after her. My duffel bag was on her bed. I quickly unzipped it. Bras, panties, jeans…
“Oh my God,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks flame with heat.
“What?” Carla asked.
“He packed my vibrator.” I covered my face with my hand and groaned in embarrassment.
Carla let out a raspy laugh. “He must’ve thought it was a necessity.”
“I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again,” I quipped. “I’m oddly impressed, though. He grabbed all the stuff I actually need to live. Including my favorite boots.”
I quickly pulled on a thong and a pair of jeans.
“Your pistol is in my cookie jar and your cell phone and purse are on the counter,” she said.
“Thanks.”
There was the sound of a door closing, followed by a male voice speaking in low tones.
“Is that Savage?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Who’s he talking to?”
“Don’t know. Let’s find out.”
I followed her from the bedroom. Savage was standing in the kitchen, and he was speaking to the biggest man I’d ever seen. He was a giant. Savage was tall, but this man was even taller. His leather cut sat on his expansive shoulders, and he wore a black T-shirt that revealed heavily muscled and inked arms.
His dark hair fell across his brow and his brown eyes swept over me, cataloguing me from head to toe.
