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After I’ve showered, I start a load of laundry, then slip into the kitchen for a coffee. The kitchen is empty, and I let out a sigh of relief that I’m alone. I don’t mind people; I’m not necessarily an introvert, or I wasn’t before my brother gave me to Cyrus. However, there’s something about being trained for the purpose of sexual slavery that changes you as a person.
After Itch’s men brought me here, I knew I wasn’t free to do as I wished, so I’ve stayed hidden away, tucked inside of this place of debauchery, and I discovered I don’t mind being alone too much.
It's nice not being noticed. I enjoy being a shadow against the wall, and I’m not sure I ever want to be anything else. Except now I’m going to be a wife. An old lady. I’m being thrust into a whole new world again, and as much as I want to be okay with it, I’m just not quite sure how I feel about the whole thing.
Once my coffee and laundry are finished, I slip on my cheap flip-flops and head down to the bar to wait for Itch. The bar is empty. There is nobody around at all. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as an eerie feeling washes over me.
I don’t think it’s ever been empty in here before, and I can’t help the feeling of unease at the thought. There’s always someone around, always someone drinking at the bar, cleaning something, or hanging around.
Sinking down at one of the tables, I look around and just watch, waiting for Itch to make an appearance… or anyone, really. I’m not sure how long I sit at the pub table waiting for someone, but when I hear a noise, I lift my head to see Thunder stumble out of her room.
The sweet butts stay in a room that is off the bar. It’s one large room, probably meant to be a den or something, and it has several beds lining the walls. It’s really just a place to crash for them. They don’t sleep in there often. Usually, they’re passed out in one of the guys’ rooms, so I’m surprised to see her walking out of the space.
She stops in the middle of the room, turns her head to the side, and looks at me. She’s never talked to me before, never so much as glanced in my direction. I don’t know if that’s because she was told not to or what, but I’ve been glad for it.
Today is no different. She doesn’t speak to me. After she watches me for a moment, she turns around and stumbles into the kitchen. I’m kind of glad that I don’t have to interact with her. I’m not really sure what I would even say to her.
What feels like just a few seconds later, the door to the bar swings open, and it’s Itch who waltzes through. He’s beautiful. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt with his cut, and I can see all the tattoos on his arms peeking out. Plus, he’s got a pair of sunglasses on. He just looks like a badass. I can’t stop my cheeks from heating at the sight of him, and I’m sure they turn bright red. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You ready?” he calls out without stepping more than two steps into the house.
With a single nod, I stand and start to make my way toward him. I don’t get far, just a few steps, when I hear Thunder call out from somewhere behind me. I don’t turn around to look at her, but my spine straightens at her words.
“Will I be seeing more of you later tonight, baby?” she calls out, and I know that the question is directed at Itch.
My eyes focus on Itch’s. I can’t look away from him. I can’t break eye contact. I need to know exactly what he’s thinking. Even if I can’t tell, he might slip up and give me something. He doesn’t break eye contact with me either, but he also doesn’t say a single word in response to Thunder, and there is something about that that causes my heart to squeeze.
Instead, he jerks his chin, turns around, and walks out of the bar. I follow behind him. I’m glad he doesn’t stay, doesn’t ask her any questions, because I don’t want to know what else Thunder is going to say. I’m not interested in hearing her words.
Once I’m outside, I squint as the Arizona sun beats down on me. It’s summer, it’s hot, and I am ready for winter. Not fall, because fall is about the same as summer…hot. I expect Itch to walk to his bike and climb on—I see it parked just a few feet away—but he doesn’t.
He walks right past his shiny black machine and instead makes his way to a late-seventies muscle car. I don’t know what kind it is, but I can tell it’s old and likely fast. It’s black, sleek, and has two doors instead of four.
He walks over to the passenger door, his jeans hugging his legs and ass to perfection. I shouldn’t look at those things, it shouldn’t matter, but I am not blind. He’s hot. He’s always been hot, even when his face was beaten to a pulp. I wanted to save him because he was too beautiful to die.
That’s the truth of it. I’ve been watching him for months, admiring his body, his face, and being jealous of any woman who gets to touch him. All things I should not be focusing on or worried about, and yet I am.
I sink into the front seat of the car, and he shuts the door before he jogs around the front and slips into the driver’s seat. He starts the engine and cranks the air conditioning up. It blows hot air on me, but I don’t mind, because this car is gorgeous. It’s sexy just like he is.
The engine rumbles as he shifts it into reverse and starts to back out of the gravel parking lot. When he turns the car around to face the long driveway, I am thrust backward as he slams his foot on the gas and the car lurches forward.
The speed doesn’t last for long, just a moment before he lets off the gas and cruises through the gate, then turns toward the same direction I went with the girls yesterday, which is toward town. I sit still in my seat, afraid to say a word, afraid to even breathe.
When he reaches out and his hand grasps mine, I suck in a breath. I turn my head to look at his profile. His lips are curved up, but he doesn’t glance at me. Instead, he reaches out with his other hand and turns up the volume on the radio.
An old rock song fills the car, and I close my eyes as I lie back and just let the music flow through me. I’ve never heard it before; my music catalog isn’t very diverse, but I like this. I’ve discovered that after being at the clubhouse, I like rock music.
My brothers only really listened to rap, if they listened to any music, so that’s all I’ve ever really known, but I like rock. And right now, I let that music just flow.
ITCH
I pull into the parking lot and look up at the restaurant. I don’t know if she likes any of this shit, and I should probably ask her, but I’m fucking starving. Killing the engine, I open the car door, then walk over to her side and open the passenger door for her.
Once she’s out of the car and standing next to me, I take her hand and tug her behind me as I guide us toward the front door. “Itch?” she calls out.
I don’t stop. Instead, I grunt before I speak. “Lunch.”
“Lunch,” she whispers.
