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“Rinse your finger out,” he says. “And do you have a first aid kit or something?”
“More like or something,” I reply with a laugh. “It’s in the bathroom.”
“All right, keep your finger under the water until I get back.”
He nods and walks out of the kitchen as I continue rinsing the blood off my finger. It’s not a super deep cut or anything, but it stings and is bleeding a lot. Hawk comes back into the kitchen and turns off the water. He pulls a bottle of iodine out of the kit then pours a little bit of it on my finger. I wince and suck in a sharp breath as the iodine hits the cut, feeling pretty much the same as if I’d poured straight lemon juice on it.
“Come on, you’re tougher than that,” he teases.
I grit my teeth. “How about I cut your finger and pour some salt into it?”
He grins at me. “Feisty girl.”
“I can be when I need to be.”
Hawk takes a paper towel and gently pats my finger dry. Then he squeezes it, applying a fair amount of pressure to the wound for a minute or so. Once he lets go, he cleans the blood from the cut and quickly wraps a band-aid around it, making it fit snugly. He’s so tender and gentle with me that it makes it hard to remember he’s a big, burly biker. He’s the rough and tumble type, so to see this softer side of him is jarring.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. I can’t deny that my heart is stuttering drunkenly. I can’t deny that I feel a warmth, a comfort, a feeling of safety, flooding me to my bones.
That’s what he makes me feel.
Strong.
Brave.
Most of all,safe.
I’ve never felt safe with a man. My whole adult life has been being kicked around by one man, then another. But Hawk is different. Being so close to him has my body humming with an electricity that’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I almost feel like I might just burst into flames. The feeling is so strange but I want to soak in it.
I love the way he makes me feel.
“There you go,” he smiles. “That should do it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
For a crazy moment, as we stand there with our gazes locked upon one another’s, I have the powerful urge to kiss him. And judging by the way he’s looking at me, I’d say he’s feeling the same thing. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking, I’m not sure. The air between us crackles with an energy that makes everything in me even warmer. The desire is so intense it has my head spinning.
But Hawk breaks the moment and steps back. I swear to God, it feels like a balloon just deflated, letting out all the heat and desire that had built up inside of me. It’s a good thing he did, or I might have just let my desire sweep me away. He was right to cut off that moment. If Hammerhead would slap me around for Hawk helping me clean up broken dishes, I shudder to think what he would do if found out we’d shared a kiss.
He looks at me with a smile on his face as if the same thoughts have just been running through his mind. I need to remind myself once more that he’s not here to save me. He’s not here to help me escape. This isn’t some romance novel where he’s going to carry me away to a better life.
My experience has taught me, this clubhouse and Hammerhead are about the best things I can expect out of my life. It’s a depressing thought but I usually prefer reality. If I catered to the fantasies my heart likes to conjure from time to time, I’d have drowned by now.
He clears his throat. “I should…”
“Yeah. You probably should,” I say and hold up my finger. “Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime,” he says.
As he walks out, I replay his parting word to me. Anytime. Such a simple word, but the tone he used when he said it struck a chord in me. Was it a simple throwaway line? Or did he mean something deeper by it? Was he trying to give me a signal that he’d be willing to help me get out of here? Was that what he meant by saying he’d help me anytime? Or am I being a psycho and reading too much meaning into something where there wasn’t any?
I shake my head. I’m so desperate to get out of here, I know I’m glomming onto anything, anybody, who might offer me a way out. If even the slightest chance exists, I know I’ll jump on it. So much so that I am very likely making things up in my own mind and imagining meaning when he might have just been trying to be polite. It’s the uncertainty and the not knowing if he was trying to give me a signal that’s driving me crazy right now.
I pick up my broom and finish the cleanup, doing my best to banish those thoughts and quash that hope. It’s not doing me any good and is only serving to frustrate and hurt me.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Standing behind the bar, Hogwild opens up a fresh round of beers for all of us and slides them down. The clubhouse has been cleaned up, as I’d asked. I have a feeling Molly spent most of last night and all of today getting it ready. And since I know Hammerhead hasn’t been around the clubhouse all day, I know he didn’t lend a hand. Neither did anybody else, I’d wager. It looks nice though. Well… nicer. Most of the stench is gone, but traces of it still linger. Still, the difference is night and day. I just feel bad that Molly is essentially slave labor here. I wish I could have said something to Hammerhead to make her situation better, but I know I can’t do anything without making it worse.
