The seam was jagged, uneven, would heal ugly. But I figured Seeley would wear it as a badge of honor, would show it off to the chicks who dug scars.
"Okay," she said, taking her first deep breath since she'd started stitching. "That's it. I think. Is he alright?" she asked, moving away from him.
"He'll be fine, babe," I assured her.
"Okay. Well. I, ah, I need to go," she declared, voice more high-pitched than usual. Which, I figured, was the adrenaline wearing off, the reality of the night coming to her all at once.
"Wait," I said, getting to the door before she did. "I will walk you back."
"It's okay. It's not far."
"I'm walking you back, babe. Just in case," I added.
I didn't actually think a threat was lingering around, and I was a bit of a dick to make her think there might be, but I wanted to walk her back.
I didn't stop to think why, just reached for the door and opened it for her.
"Oh, right," she said, body going tense.
"It should be fine," I told her, falling into step with her as the muggy air hit us smack in the face. "I just want to make sure," I added as her gaze went to the street.
"You don't think they hit my house, do you? I don't know how I could explain that to my landlord."
"No, babe, no. This shit, it's personal. They don't want to shoot up a neighbor's house. That just brings more heat on them."
"Because I would call the police, when you wouldn't."
"Exactly," I agreed.
"How do you live like that? Not knowing if your building is going to get shot up one night while you're sleeping?"
"Well, this is a first," I admitted, giving her a smile that she shook her head at as we climbed up her back porch.
"You know what I mean."
"It won't be like this forever," I told her. "These are growing pains. They're fade as we get bigger. We will grow as a club. Have more security..."
"Like the kid with a hole in his shoulder?" she shot back, chin lifting, disapproving. I didn't exactly expect her to be another club bunny, but something about the clear distaste on her face bothered me more than it should have. She was a practical stranger, after all.
"We all get our scars. It's part of the lifestyle."
"Right," she said, tone dismissive. "Well, you walked me home. What are you doing?" she asked when I went toward the door.
"Just let me take a look inside. I'll sleep easier knowing you're all good over here. "Oh, ah, right," she agreed, following me inside, gaze wary again.
"Go wash your hands, babe," I reminded her, watching as her head jerked back, a part of her still struggling to make all the parts of the night fit together. Her hands lifted, her gaze going to them, eyes widening.
She moved toward the kitchen sink while I took a turn around her house, finding nothing, before making my way back to the kitchen where she was still frantically scrubbing at her clean hands.
"Hey," I said, reaching forward to turn the water off. "They're clean," I told her, watching as her shoulders slumped. "It's alright, babe," I added, watching as her head turned, as her gaze slid to me, searching, seeking.
I don't know what she found.
But I knew what I did when I looked at her.
Something in her eyes I didn't expect to see there.
Something I liked more than I should have, given the circumstances.
Interest.
Chapter Five
Harmon
I couldn't get the blood off.
It was stuck in the grooves of my fingers, the cracks of my hands, drawing attention to the places where I needed to make sure I lotioned better in the future.
I grabbed a scrub brush I used to wash fruit and vegetables, getting in the spaces, watching the light pink color swirl then wash down the drain.
Even when it was gone, though, I couldn't stop reaching for the soap, soaping up my hands.
Had I really just done battlefield surgery on a prospective biker after surviving a drive-by by hiding in a tub?
How was this real life?
Because you're associating with arms-dealing bikers, the little voice in the back of my mind reminded me.
I had started, just for a couple of moments before the drugs chased the headache and my consciousness away, to think maybe they weren't so bad, so crazy, that they were just normal people with slightly dangerous jobs. You know, like firefighters or bond recovery agents.
Perhaps I had been trying to convince myself that it was just as normal as those sorts of professions because I had less than tame thoughts about Huck when he'd been on his knees, face to face with my nether region.
Okay, fine. In the interest of full disclosure, I'd had a long moment where I had imagined him leaning forward, running his tongue across my clit. It was a strong enough sensation that I still felt the clawing need while I waited for the drugs to kick in.
I had been trying not to be too hard on myself about the desire since it had been far too long since I'd been up close and personal with an attractive man. And Huck, well, he might have been the hottest man I'd ever been in such close contact with.
It was just a little fantasy, after all.
No big deal.
But then, you know, bullets and yelling and bathtub hiding. Then the whole stitching someone up because hospitals meant cops and questioning.
And all of this after a freaking seizure.
I mean, the seizures were nothing new. I'd had them since I was twelve. I was, in a sad sort of way, used to waking up on the ground, head bashed into things, parts of me twisted in the wrong way, a migraine ripping through my skull.
I mean, sure, they came with risks. I could even die, hit my head off the corner of something, aspirate vomit into my lungs, drown in the tub—or in this case, the swimming pool—but I usually got to take my pills and sleep off the migraine, or head to the hospital for bandaging up and some rest as well.
I never had to be woken up and forced into motion.
It was a night for the books, that was sure.
I just needed a shower, some tea, another pain pill, or some of my CBD oil to chase away the after-effects of the seizure, then maybe a couple hours playing my game to escape, so I could get some calm in my brain, then rest.
But then there he was, looming over me, eyes concerned, and that was not a look I figured was common for him. And something about that, about a strong, stalwart sort of man having a small soft spot for someone else's well-being, it made all the fear and uncertainty fall away. All that was left was the budding attraction I'd felt back in his room at his place, his arms around me, offering me whatever I needed to help make me feel better, then just moments later, his hands on me, his gaze moving over me.
Oh, yeah, there was an attraction factor. I wasn't going to try to lie to myself about that.
And wasn't it just perfectly on-brand for me that I was getting all hot-and-bothered for the wrong sort of guy?
That was my pattern, after all.
Starting with Xavier in my junior year who I'd let take my V-card up against the wall of the venue where he'd just done a show with his metal band. I'd been so starstruck that he was actually on a stage under the lights, holding a mic, doing his thing, that I didn't stop to realize he was a druggie with a mean streak.