Page 38 of His Father

He said he would but I had assumed we’d go to a local bargain store and I’d dig through their messy racks until I found something wearable. The clothing in these bags cost more than I could earn in a year.

I’m equal parts annoyed and happy. I try to push the annoyance down but I don’t want to feel indebted to him more than I am already. It’s bad enough his father just bought me all of those expensive paints and pencils and books and canvases…

Now this?

I feel like such a charity case.

Tempest: Thank you for the clothes but they’re too much. We have to take them back and we’ll go to Target or something…

Maddox: My dad insisted. The washing machine turned half of your shit pink. Take it while he’s in a good mood and then hock them for spending money when we go to England.

I laugh at that and shake my head as I dare to peek into bag number one. I can’t help but squeal as a flutter of excitement crashed through my veins as I pull out a gorgeous, gray, lace summer dress. I try it on and when I know it fits, I hang it up in my closet and move on.

The next bag has more summer outfits, denim shorts, waist high and hip huggers, T-Shirts, vests, all things I already wear, just fancier versions. He hasn’t tried to change my look. He’s only given me a variety and I love that.

Except the last few boxes and bags which are full of at least five different sets of underwear.

I dive into the shower and scrub my body before daring to don a black, lace, satin thong-bra-stockings set with matching suspenders that sits on the waist.

I stare at myself in the mirror, biting my lip as I take in my appearance.

I feel incredible. It fits so well and looks amazing. I’ve never had a bra that fits better than this. I don’t ever want to take it off.

When I turn off the light so I can take a selfie in the mirror, with only the moonlight highlighting my figure, I see an odd shape at the edge of my humongous window.

When I narrow my eyes to get a better look, a flash of teeth smile at me and dark eyes drag over my image. He lifts something that glints in the moonlight and taps it against the glass.

Still staring at the knife-wielding shadow, I scream and move to the door but it flies open and I collide with a strong chest.

Sargent holds me against him as somebody else enters my bedroom with a gun drawn.

“There’s a man!” I panic, pointing at the window where the shadow was. “He had a knife, he was standing right there, just looking at me.”

“Dev,” Sargent yells, “get my gun, search the area.”

“On it,” I hear him call from the distance.

As my panic subsides I remember my state of undress and feel eyes on me belonging to the man who entered my bedroom with his gun drawn. He’s tall and I wonder what’s in the water around here to make men this big. He’s muscly, humongous, even. He has tattoos from his jaw down and I can see the shape of one under his eye but I can’t make it out in the dark.

Sargent wraps me in the blanket from my bed, covering my body.

“Avert your eyes, Stone,” Sargent snarls at him. “Everybody get the fuck out.”

The man in question nods his handsome head but touches my shoulder with a finger as he passes, dragging it over the bare skin.

“Stone,” Sargent warns and I watch the man tuck his gun into the back of his jeans and tug down on the bottom of his leather cut. It has an emblem on it, a twisted skull of some kind of animal and the words, “Soulless Jackal” printed around it.

He’s a biker. I’ve never met a biker before but I’ve seen enough on TV to know to be wary.

“Are you alright?” Sargent asks, gripping my shoulders and looking me up and down.

I nod. “I am so sorry for bothering you. I just freaked. I was trying on the clothes and the light was on so I don’t even know how long he was there for. What if he got pictures?”

“It’s okay,” he assures me, setting me on the bed and kicking an empty bag out of the way. “Did you see what he looked like?”

I shake my head. “Not exactly. I mean…” I rack my brain, seeing him standing there… “I was too busy focusing on the knife. It was huge. He kept tapping it against the window like he wanted me to see him.”

I wrap my arms around his waist, standing again, and press my face into his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, kissing my hairline. “You’re safe.”

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