Exquisite Redemption (Iron Horse MC Book 3) (13 page)

“Sarah.” Hulks voice came from nearby, but I didn’t even lift my head. “You okay?”

“Yeah, migraine, go away. Need quiet.”

“You need some medicine?”

“Yeah, but my pills are back home in Vegas with Marley, my roommate and assistant.” The pain made me want to snap at him, but I forced my anger back and struggled to breathe evenly. “It’s okay. Just need dark and quiet.”

“Okay.” He sounded doubtful. “You sure?”

“Yes. Just go.”

I think he left soon after, but I wasn’t sure. Pain is a funny thing; when it hits you hard, time doesn’t act like it’s supposed to. A minute can take centuries, an hour goes by in an agonizing blink. When the bed next to me depressed and a rough male hand stroked my hair back from my sweaty face, I struggled to push past the throbbing in my head enough to speak.

“
Mi corazón
,” a deep male voice as smooth as honey whispered, “I need you to take these pills.”

I was so desperate for relief I would have done anything at that point to feel better. Nausea gripped me and I couldn’t help but cry as I lifted my head enough for Beach to place the pills in my mouth. A moment later he lifted a glass to my lips and I took a couple big swallows of cold milk, the pounding in my head so bad I could only moan in pain. Everything throbbed, there was no rise or fall to the pain, it was just constantly bad.

“Gotta rehydrate you. Need you to drink a little more for me.”

I wanted to weep, but I moved my head enough to guzzle down some water before I couldn’t bear the pain anymore.

Beach lowered me back down then began to very, very gently stroke my body, his touch soothing me on some base level, helping me to relax enough that my muscles weren’t constantly tensed up. If I had a really bad migraine I’d be sore the next day, like I’d done a triathlon. As either the pills or his touch began to work, I couldn’t help the low moan that ground out of me as I stretched my arms and legs on the comforter.

The comforter that the stupid bitch had been lying naked on. Yuck.

“Beach?” I whispered. Opening my eyes at this point wasn’t happening. Any change in light seared through me and I wanted to pass out into the peace of unconsciousness.

“It’s me, sweetheart. You okay?”

“Better, thanks.” I moved as slowly as possible, trying to sit up, which made my head pound again.

“Hey, hey, where you goin?”

“I’m not lying on skank.”

“What?”

With a groan, I collapsed back down again, having to take a moment to gather my breath before speaking, my eyes still closed. “Some chick was in here, naked on your bed waiting for you. Her cooties are all over it.”

His hand, which had resumed its slow circling of my back, froze. “Who was in here?”

Realizing no one had told him, I tried to play it off. “I don’t know, some woman.”

“She was naked, here, in my room?”

Oh boy, the temperature of said room just plunged a few degrees.

“Uh—yeah. Hulk got rid of her.” Without even looking at him I could feel the anger coming off him in icy waves. Wanting to distract him, and get him back to doing that wonderful stroking that helped take the pain away, I rolled over to my back with a grunt. “Can you get my boots off, please? And can I get another drink of water?”

He blew out a huff of air, then unzipped my boots and drew them down my legs, making me sigh in relief once they were both off. “Be right back, babe, gonna have these cleaned.”

I kept my eyes closed and tried to relax as he opened the door ten spoke to someone in a low voice. I knew he’d returned when the bed dipped and his warm, jean-clad thigh pressed against my hip. With Beach watching closely, I drank more water and I swore I could feel it slowly hydrating me. He was quiet for a couple dozen heartbeats, but I didn’t say anything. My relief was a precarious thing and I didn’t want to do anything to piss my brain off. It was time to get another round of Botox shots, something I put off because of my touring. Looked like I was paying for it now.

Without asking, Beach removed my socks as well, then ran his hands up and down my legs before rubbing my feet. As his thumb pressed into the sole of my foot, he spoke quietly. “My mom used to get bad headaches. After she’d work all day, sometimes she’d come home with a pounding head. Hated that I couldn’t take her pain away, couldn’t take care of her. Looked up everything I could about how to treat headaches. Tried ’em all but found out that for her at least, a foot rub helped to ease the pain.”

His words resonated with me. Like Beach’s mom, mine would often come home from work with a headache, but that was because she’d be coming down from being either drunk or high as fuck.

Things got worse after I reconnected with my dad. I can remember dreading going back to my mom after staying with him because I knew she went on benders when I wasn’t there to keep her grounded. In many ways I’d been the adult in our relationship, the one relied on to keep it all together despite my mother’s ever-increasing spiral of self-destruction. At one time she’d been the best mother in the world, but those days were long gone. She was weak and her already fragile mind had fragmented beneath the crushing weight of years of heavy drug use.

The calming stroke of his rough hands on me as he slid me beneath the sheets was nice and I sighed when he got into the bed behind me.

At first he didn’t touch me, then he let out a heavy groan and rolled over, his weight on me comforting. He wore what felt like a t-shirt and boxers, and he smelled divine. He was so tall that his feet had to be almost hanging off the edge of the bed, and broad enough to make me feel sheltered by his presence. Even so, I stiffened when he wrapped one arm gently around my lower belly and curled the other beneath my pillow so my head was resting on his hard biceps.

“Easy,” he murmured against my hair. “I just want you to get some sleep while I hold you, okay? Nothin’ more. Don’t like seeing my baby in pain so give this to me.”

“’Kay,” I whispered back, the drugs now working through my system having totally taken away any pain I may have been experiencing and replacing it with drowsy pleasure.

The sensation of the rough hair on his legs felt nice to my addled mind and I rubbed my leg over his. “Scratchy.”

He chuckled and soothed his lips over the sensitive skin behind my ear. “Smooth. Soft. Delicious.”

When his tongue darted out to lick my earlobe, I pushed my butt back into the very, very generous erection pressed up against me. “This is nice.”

He nipped my earlobe then released it. “What is?”

So sleepy that I could barely form words, I stretched out, then settled back into him. “We fit. Click.”

“What?”

“Puzzles pieces, made to fit.”

He sucked in a deep breath, his broad chest pushing against my back. “Yeah, we do.”

Somewhere in the back of my head I knew I should be asking some important questions right now, or calling my dad, but I was helpless to resist the drugging warmth of Beach holding me close and tight, like I’m something extraordinary.

“Sleep, Sarah,” he whispered against the top of my head. “Swear you’re safe with me.”

Anything he said after that was lost to me as darkness sucked me under.

Chapter 7

W
aking up brought a stunning clarity that made me really wish I still did coke. I know it sounds ghetto as hell when I say that, but I’d been a coke head between the ages of fifteen and sixteen, during a really dark time in my life. Judge all you want, but with my mom’s dysfunctional guidance, I’d discovered early on recreational drugs could dampen the pain associated with living. Unfortunately, they also helped blunt the good parts of me that recognized what my mom did was wrong, what I did to help her was wrong, and that we were hurting people. When I was high it didn’t matter that my mom worked at a brothel outside of Reno, that she disappeared for weeks on end, and that I was beginning to realize how many people’s lives she’d ruined with her scams while using me to do it. The only way to escape my guilt over hurting people by participating in her schemes was to get obliterated.

I’d done things that were flat-out wrong, and had the slap down from karma to prove it. It was only after I’d changed my own selfish ways that my luck finally began to turn around. I didn’t always get it right, had fucked up major with my twin sister while trying to help her see the truth about her douchebag boyfriend, but I swear I was coming from a good place.

Behind me, a very large man shifted on the bed, then curved his bare, furry, muscled arm under my waist and settled against me with a sigh and a sleepy rumble.

Beach.

The situation I was currently in was not the safest. I knew it, my soul knew it, yet my body didn’t give a fuck. It was thrumming in delight at the sensation of a big, bad, scary,
powerful
man curled protectively around me. He slid one thigh forward, pressing between mine until I was straddling his leg as he pretty much covered me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. The warmth of his breath against the back of my head felt good, comforting, and tingles raced from my nipples down to my clit. Even though I was sore as hell, his body cradling mine in warmth and comfort was amazingly delicious.

I’ve had my fair share of sex, in some cases more than my fair share, but I’d never experienced the kind of attraction I felt for this man. To make matters worse, I was rocking myself, ever so slightly, against the hard male thigh pressed against my needy sex. Warning bells rang in the back of my mind that I needed to get out of this bed, away from the drugging influence of his body, and think.

As tempting as it was to lay here in his arms, I needed to check in with my parents then hit the road and get back to Las Vegas.

A twinge of unease went through me at the thought of leaving Beach behind, but I forced myself to ignore it. This, whatever it was, between us was never going to happen. My ten-year plan does not include being a biker bitch, no matter how much Beach made my libido purr. And I was sure he didn’t mean all that stuff he said about taking care of me. He probably hit his head too hard in the van.

Besides, he just thought he wanted me, wanted the carefully crafted illusion of Sarah Star. In truth I was horrible at relationships, just terrible. Watching my mother manipulate, use, then destroy men over and over again had screwed up my ability to form a lasting romantic attachment to anyone. My therapist said I chose the wrong men to start relationships with because I knew they were doomed from the start and sooner or later the guy would give me some excuse to break it off with him and never look back. Dumping and forgetting men was easy for me. After all, I’d watched my mom devour any man foolish enough to ever care for her over and over again. Memories of all the men, good and bad, that she’d wronged raced through me, killing any lingering desire I felt for the massive biker holding me so close. If he knew how damaged I was inside he’d leave me, so it was better if I left first.

With a soft exhalation I shoved myself off the bed, fighting his hold when he tried to drag me back into the warmth and safety of his arms. He made a surprised grumble when I easily twisted out of his arms and evaded him, but I had to get some alone time, now, to process this and figure a way out. As much as I’d like to just vanish, as much as my animal mind was urging me to flee, I didn’t want him to worry about me. He seemed like a good guy, in his own way, and I didn’t want to hurt him.

“Bathroom,” I muttered.

I noticed for the first time that Beach had shaved his beard off, revealing a super-sexy man who made my who body tingle. I hit the hot guy jackpot, sexy both with and without a beard. Rugged, experienced, totally drool worthy. Another shiver raced through me between my thighs, making my sex clench as I allowed myself to indulge in staring at him. Damn, it would have been a lot easier to resist the urge to jump him if he’d been butt ugly beneath his whiskers. Other than having a good-sized bruise on his temple, a couple scrapes and a healing split lip, he looked fine. No, more than fine, he looked amazing, and I wanted to sink my fingers into his thick, clean golden hair.

And I really wanted to rub up against his golden chest hair.

Nice.

Leaning up on one arm, his tribal tattoos flexing enticingly against his big biceps, he gave me a very slow once over that made me aware I’d stripped down at some point in my drug-and-exhaustion-induced sleep. Not unusual; wearing clothes to bed made me feel claustrophobic. A quick look down confirmed I still had my sparkly red tank top on, and my “spank me” panties were in place, but that was it.

Then I raised my hand to my hair and winced. Fuck, it was all windblown, blood-matted and a huge rat’s nest.

“Where’s the bathroom,” I repeated, my skin itching with the need to wash.

“To the right,” Beach said as his dark blue eyes blazed with need, making my skin feel tight and in need of his soothing touch.

Feeling like a coward for running away, I growled when he evidently read the rear end of my panties and laughed out loud. “Baby, I’ll spank your bad little ass anytime you need it, but why don’t we wait until you heal up first.”

After shutting and locking the bathroom door behind me, I looked in the mirror over the old green sink and winced. My makeup had melted down the side of my face I slept on, and I had dark circles beneath my eyes. A quick sniff of my shirt confirmed I smelled like a nasty combination of sweat, my faded Burberry perfume, and blood. Not a nice smell at all. With a shudder of revulsion, I stripped off my clothes and tossed them into the corner. No way I was wearing those things until they’d been washed like a dozen times. My belly churned as I turned on the water, not even waiting until it was warm to jump in and grab the little bottle of liquid soap the hotel provided.

I had to get clean, now.

The water heated up as I used a washcloth and proceeded to scrub my skin with shaking hands until it was pink. I have a thing about being dirty and smelly. At one point in my young life, my mother had been forced to leave me home, alone, for over a week when I was six. No doubt she’d screwed someone over and was on the run, burying her tracks, or she’d been on a drug binge. She’d also “forgotten” to pay the water bill and it got shut off three days into her absence. There was plenty of bottled water to drink, we had one of those big water bottles in the kitchen, but I couldn’t flush the toilet or bathe, and soon the apartment and me had started to smell really bad before my mom finally came home.

As a result, I’d developed an aversion to being unclean, to things being dirty and smelling bad. It reminded me of the fear I’d felt at being alone, being too scared to ask the nice neighbor lady who always gave me cookies for help. If I did my mom said they’d take me away from her and put me in “the system”, a terrible place where pretty girls like myself were hurt in bad ways.

With a harsh breath I forced my thoughts back to the present and tried to only think about the decadent pleasure of a warm shower. Right here, right now, I was safe, and I had to enjoy these moments of quiet while I could, knowing all too well how quickly the illusion of peace could be torn to shreds. I ran my hands over my smooth legs, loving how they stayed bare thanks to laser treatments that removed all of my body hair except for a thick landing strip. What can I say, I like my partner to have something to pet.

Once I was finished with my cleaning ritual, including spending what felt like twenty minutes working the tangles out of my hair with conditioner, I relaxed and let the warm water loosen my muscles, gathering my thoughts. I killed three, maybe four people last night. The only worry I had was getting caught, but I knew if worse came to wort my dad would cover my tracks. As far as having a mental breakdown over ending their lives? That wasn’t going to happen. I was an instrument of Lady Karma last night and as I can personally tell you, she can be a bitch.

Grabbing the bottle of citrus-scented lotion from the small basket on the faded vanity, I slathered myself up before opening a toothbrush that had been left on the counter. While brushing my teeth vigorously, I took another look at my bruises, testing the ones along my ribs and wincing a bit. They looked terrible, and I had other black, yellow, and purple splotches blossoming on various parts of my body. Including a nice one shadowing the right side of my jaw.

I pondered for a moment if I should put my old clothes back on, but they were so nasty they should be burned. So I wrapped a towel securely about myself then I stepped out into the hotel room, bracing myself for seeing Beach—then puzzled and strangely sad when I noticed I was alone.

There were a pair of jean shorts left at the foot of the bed that was pretty tiny and a skimpy black tank that would expose half my stomach and half my breasts. As I held them up, my lip curled in disgust at the sheer trashiness of the outfit. Wear this to a club in Las Vegas? Sure. Out in daylight at a hotel in Bumfuck, Colorado? Um—no. Look, despite the fact I enjoyed dressing sexy, I understand there is a time and a place for everything, and that your kids don’t need to see my bottom biscuits and major cleavage. Besides, wearing an outfit like this among a bunch of strangers, testosterone-fueled biker strangers at that, wasn’t a good idea. I could handle any guy who got too frisky, but I really wasn’t in the mood to fight, and especially not in a shirt where my tits could pop out.

While it was nice Beach had left clothes behind for me, no way in hell was I putting them on.

For all I knew, one of their…what the fuck had Scarlet called them…the women who were like free-range pussy to the bike club they belonged to? Oh yeah, the sweet butts had contributed it. These skintight clothes could have been worn by one of them and I was not putting it on. Not happening. I was all nice and clean at the moment, and I planned on staying that way. With this in mind, I went over to the battered brown leather duffel bag sitting on the dresser then opened it up. I was momentarily surprised to see a loaded Ruger SR40 pistol lying atop a pile of what looked like clean t-shirts, but I was more interested in covering my ass with the clothes beneath the weapon.

Moving the loaded weapon aside, and marveling at Beach’s stupidity for leaving the gun where it could be easily found, I pulled out the first black t-shirt of his I saw, gratified to find it smelled of fabric softener. With no bra I had to be careful of wearing thin t-shirts, but he was such a big man that it wasn’t skintight and fell to the tops of my thighs. There was no way I was going out there in just a t-shirt and my thigh-high combat boots, so I dug through his bag again.

I found a pair of Armani black boxer briefs lying atop a couple pairs of jeans. For a moment I studied them, wondering at the kind of biker who would wear such expensive underwear. Men’s voices came from outside so I quickly pulled them on, smiling when I saw they actually almost looked like yoga shorts on me, other than the fly.

Trying to act nonchalant, I finger combed my wet hair, grateful once again that it would dry bone straight. My stomach growled as I studied myself in the mirror over the chipped dresser and wished I had my makeup bag to help combat the “survivor of the zombie apocalypse” look I had going on.

As if in answer to my empty belly’s prayers, the door opened and a warm breeze blew into the room, bringing with it the scent of delicious, greasy fried food.

Automatically, I did a quick mental calculation of the calories I could afford to spend on the meal, something second nature to me, then let out a little huff of relief as I realized I wouldn’t have to do that anymore. For the first time in my life I could have a belly pooch if I wanted it. I would never give up working out, it helped staved off depression, but I could indulge in foods I’d forbidden myself for far too long. Calorie-laden meals that were so delicious, but after first the world of beauty pageants, then competitive skating, and onto stripping then pole dancing, I’d never had the opportunity to be in anything other than top physical shape.