“Yep,” he says, staring at the tiny furball.
“I didn’t know you were a fan of ... literature ... or dogs.”
“Yeah, well, she seduced me, so it fit. I went to the pound lookin’ for a Dobermann and came back with an invalid Chihuahua. She can’t see or hear worth a damn, but she understands me all the same.”
“She’s really cute.”
We eat in silence, because what is there to say? Every time I close my eyes, I feel that man’s hands on my body, hear the pop of the bullet from Grim’s gun, and see my attacker’s head exploding. I’m shaking so hard I nearly drop my bowl, and I can only manage a few spoonfuls before my stomach threatens to revolt.
“It’s not your fault, Raine. None of this is your fault. Fuck, I never wanted club business to interfere with you.”
I take several shaky breaths and look around the room. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to keep reliving that scene over and over again. So I just nod, and will my hands to stop trembling.
“You don’t have a TV,” I blurt out. I’d do anything to stop him talking about what happened on my street.
“Nope. Don’t need one.”
“I like to fall asleep to mine; it makes the nights less lonely. Hearing other voices in the apartment makes me feel less alone.”
“Why are you alone?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how is a woman like you alone? You got no man, no friends, no family?”
“Nope, it’s just me.”
“Not even a fuckin’ cat?”
“Not even a fucking cat,” I confirm.
“Why? No one lives like that unless they’re running from something.”
“I can’t afford a cat, Grim. Why do you think I took the job at the clubhouse?”
“Because we saved you from that Korean arsehole down the street and you felt obligated?”
“No. I did it because the pay was better, and I figured if I was going to be surrounded by men who took, then at least it would be nice to have the kind of protection the club can offer a single woman like me.”
“Men who took? What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Raine? Has Jett touched you?”
“No. Jett has been sweet to me.”
“And Kick? No one else at the club has fucked with you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Tung Lin. He ... he did more than just get physical with my face.”
“The fuck!” The roar from his throat wakes Lolita. Her head pops up and, despite being completely blind, she stares directly at us.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fucking fine.” He slams his bowl on the table. Soup spills out of it and he gets to his feet and storms to the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“To kill that motherfucker.”
“Grim, no. You can’t.”
“Stay here.”
He grabs his cut from off the coat stand and I get to my feet. “Please, don’t leave me here. Please, Grim? Please?”
He turns, and though the fury is still burning bright behind his eyes, it melts into something deeper—longing, maybe? I’m not sure, but he removes his cut and stalks instead toward the kitchen where he grabs a bottle of whiskey and sips it straight from the lip. After two long pulls, he slams it on the counter and grunts, rubbing a huge palm against his chest. “The only reason I'm not leaving right now is because of the threat with the Russians, but when lockdown is done, I’m gonna tear that motherfucker limb from limb.”
“I just. I want to put it behind me, you know?”
“He rape you?”
“No, he ... he forced me to ...” I swallow hard and lower my gaze. I can’t look at him when I say this. “He said if I didn’t suck him, I’d lose my job.”
“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” He prowls across the room and sits heavily on the couch beside me.
“I can’t be without work, Grim. I have ... things I need to pay for, to take care of.”
“He touch you in any other way?”
I shrug and pull at a loose thread on the hem of my shirt. “He grabbed my breasts, tried to slip his hands in my panties, but I gagged and threw up right there in the kitchen. That’s when he hit me across the face and fired me.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell Jett all this?”
“Because I was ashamed, embarrassed. Because I was afraid he’d look at me differently.”
“But not me?”
“I think the shock is making me say things I normally wouldn’t.”
“No one would look at you as any less. That’s what makes men like Tung Lin scumbags—not you. No, you’re perfect.”
I give a humourless laugh. “I’m far from perfect.”
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, rubbing the length between his fingers. For a beat, I stare up at him and wonder what my life would be like if I’d married a biker. I close my eyes and his arms wrap around me. He pulls me in tight, but it’s not sexual. He holds me, and I fall apart.
RAINE
I WAKE AND SIT UPRIGHT. Grim is snoring beside me, fully dressed in his jeans and T-shirt and on top of the covers, Lolita curled up in the crook of his arm.
I don’t remember coming into the room last night, which means he must have carried me after I fell asleep to him reading from Moby Dick. I feel terrible that I didn’t insist on taking the couch, but at least I didn’t leave him without a place to sleep entirely. I gaze at the scars on his bicep, my eyes trailing upward. There’s a childlike quality to his face when he’s relaxed—even with the angry, ruined skin. Before the scars, he would have been devilishly handsome, untouchable. Now he’s flawed, but I can’t imagine Grim being any other way. I like the imperfections—they add character, and it means he’s different from everyone else. But I know he doesn’t see them as a blessing.
He opens his eyes and the softness there forces my breath to catch in the back of my throat, and then the gentleness is gone. His gaze turns sharp and his brow furrows. “What the fuck are you staring at?”
“Grim—”
“Didn’t your folks ever teach you not to fuckin’ stare?” He unseats Lola, causing her to yelp as he throws his legs off the side of the bed and stands.
“Grim, I wasn’t—”
“Get the fuck up. I need you dressed and out of my goddamn hair.”
Ouch. That hurts, but this is just bravado. Grim might be a big tough biker who can kill a man without batting an eye, but inside, underneath that hard exterior, is a heart of glass. Fragile, vulnerable, and one hundred per cent transparent.
“Someday someone will love you, and they won’t see your scars.”
“Someone like you?” His gaze is heavy with challenge. My face falls. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“It’s not because of your scars, you dummy. It’s because my heart is already split between two men—I don’t think I could handle another.”
His brow creases, and he studies my face as if he might find the answer there. “Two men?”