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Her mind was far away; I could see it in her eyes.
I knew it was a bad idea, especially with Detroit’s watchful eyes now in the passenger seat instead of the driver’s, but my hand reached out, resting on her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze, trying to ground her in the present, pull her away from the past.
Her head snapped down, looking at my hand, then following my arm up to my shoulder, then, finally, my face.
I didn’t want to say anything, to draw the other two into this private exchange, so I gave her a little nod, watching as she seemed to pull in her first deep breath for the whole ride, then rest her head against the rest, looking tortured and tired. And under that… terrified.
I would give her the words later. When I could catch her alone. Tell her it was all going to be okay. That I wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. That she was safe with a bunch of bikers around her.
There, in that car, all I could do was give her knee another squeeze.
It seemed to be enough, though, because she started to doze on and off over the last hour of the drive, pulling her legs up on the seat, hugging her arms around them, and nodding off.
“Welcome to Shady Valley, babe,” I said when her eyes opened fully as we rolled down Main Street.
“You weren’t kidding about it being small,” she said, the first words she’d spoken the entire ride, save for talking to the dogs when we stopped to walk them.
“And now,” I said after we turned around the back of Main Street, passing the rich neighborhood the locals called Millionaire’s Row, then past the gas station and motel, taking the left toward the clubhouse instead of the right that went to the prison, “you’ve pretty much seen all of it.”
“Wait… that’s your clubhouse?” she asked, eyes widening as she looked at the former warehouse that we all called home.
“Yep,” I agreed.
“It’s enormous,” she concluded.
It had to be.
It used to be the only thing keeping Shady Valley going, employing more than half of the residents, giving them the money they needed to have their spouses open mom-and-pop stores on Main Street.
But then the warehouse shut down. Not long after, so did almost all of the small businesses.
Houses sat vacant when most people moved out to try to find work.
The prison had revived the area, offering employment. Eventually, the suburbs started to fill up again. They built the apartment buildings. And a few businesses had opened up again.
It had come a long way, but it had a long way to go still.
The bikes were lined up on to the side of the building. All save for mine, still stuck in Lookabout for who the hell knew how long.
As we parked, I saw a woman out in the back. Likely Morgaine, tending to her chickens or the gardens.
The guys met us in the common area after we walked the dogs then made our way inside.
“Cat,” I said to our cat who was sunning in the front window, eyeing the German Shepherds with contempt. But, in his defense, he eyed everyone with contempt.
“They’re good with cats,” Murphy assured me. “They won’t bother him. Hey, bud,” she said, seeming to forget that he didn’t like women, and taking a step toward him. She was rewarded with a pretty epic hiss and a paw clawing at the air. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” she agreed. “Do you want me to keep them on their leashes?” she asked, looking down at the dogs.
My gaze slid to Slash, knowing I was no longer the one who could answer her questions.
“If you say they’re good, it’s fine,” Slash said, shrugging.
“Murphy, this is Slash, our president. Slash, Murphy.”
“We thought you were a guy,” Slash said.
“I know. Everyone does. It works in my favor. Thanks for, ah, letting me come here,” she said, clearly uncomfortable not being the one in control.
“Don’t mention it. You want to settle her in?” Slash asked, looking at me, sensing that I was best for the task, given our connection so far. “Then we can talk.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, reaching to place a hand at the small of her back before remembering myself, remembering all the eyes watching me now. “You’re gonna take my room,” I told her as I led her through the common area and back toward the freight elevator. “I’ll crash somewhere else,” I added, making sure my voice carried, so no one thought I was trying to slip it in.
Even if, yeah, I wanted to.
Fuck, how I wanted to.
I mean, I got around a lot.
I was no stranger to desire.
It just felt like there was something different about this, whatever it was, between us. It was stronger, needier, like it was getting harder to function without touching her, without feeling her writhing and moaning beneath me, without feeling my cock sliding inside of her.
