The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (5 page)

I wake with a start the next morning, my mind fogged over from sleep and my eyes blurry. Instantly I sit up, wondering where the fuck I am until my mind settles. I’m in Oregon, in the middle of nowhere, up on a mountain with my stranger.

Kicking the mismatched mess of sheets and blankets off me, I plant my feet on the cold hardwood floor. It’s cooler this morning, thank God.

Dropping to my knees, I lift the blankets that have fallen off, place them back on the bed, and peek under the bed. I sigh in relief when I see my shit there. I feel neurotic, always checking, but it is what it is. I’m too hungry to ponder my medical misgivings.

Opening the bedroom door, I take a tentative step into the hall. Not real sure what I’m nervous about. I guess in the light of day, this all seems a little different.

Walking into the living room, I see it’s empty. The same goes for the kitchen. A deserted blanket and pillow on the couch are the only indication that Buck was here at all. Well what to do now? I’m hungry, but helping myself seems kind of rude, so in search of Buck I must go.

Standing on the old porch, I survey the property in the daylight. Miles of dense green surrounds the small house. It’s beautiful up here, so green and fresh. Nothing but wild, untamed wilderness.

I wonder where the hell Buck could’ve run off to. A minute later, a loud whack comes from a giant shop off in the distance and I know that’s where I’ll find him. It’s a dilapidated metal-sided shop, and I use the word shop loosely.

Padding through the dewy yard and down a dirt path, I wander up to the rusted sliding doors and peek inside. Sure enough, Buck is in there with an axe in his big hands. He brings it up and over his shoulder, each muscle and tendon stretching and straining when he brings it back down into a big round piece of wood at his feet. The metal head meets the wood with a sharp whack, making me flinch. The wood cracks, but doesn’t split. Bringing it back up, Buck swings again, hitting the first spot perfectly. The wood splinters and cracks down the middle, falling to the ground around the big stump.

Swallowing hard, I stare even harder. Jesus, he’s even more of what I consider as everything in the light of day.

He’s wearing a greasy stained pair of coveralls, folded over at the waist and nothing else. He’s a fucking sight. He’s dirty, sweaty, and so fucking sexy, it’s disturbing. I also notice that he’s missing those glasses.

I have got to get a better look.

Taking a few cautious steps into the shop, I stop, just inside the door. I have no clue what I’m doing, and I’m even more clueless about what to say. Hi? Good morning? How’d you sleep? I only make it a few feet before his head snaps up and his eyes hone in on me. He doesn’t look happy to see me, but then again, he doesn’t look mad about it either, just neutral.

His mood is forgotten the moment our eyes connect. I notice it right away. How could I not? We’re only feet apart now, it’d be hard to miss. His eyes. Sucking in a breath, I stare, and I stare hard. Those eyes, his eyes, are like no eyes I’ve ever seen.

One is blue, bright and clear, and the other is black. There is no iris, no pupil. “Whoa,” I sputter. The glasses, I get it now.

He realizes what I’m looking at. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, scrubbing at his beard uncomfortably. He goes to reach for his glasses, but I stop him.

“No ... don’t.” He shouldn’t feel like he has to wear them because I’m here.

“Shit doesn’t freak you out?” He motions to his face with a look of concern. His question catches me off guard. Why would it?

“No, why would it?” They’re different, but they’re not scary.

Shifting on his feet, he fidgets and it clicks. He’s uncomfortable with how his eyes look. That’s why he wears those glasses, even at night.

“I’ve never seen eyes like yours,” I tell him honestly.

He won’t look at me now. He stares down at his boots, at his hands, over at his bike, anything to keep his eyes averted from mine.

“Figured as much. Not a normal thing.” He makes it sound like he has a second pair on the back of his head.

“It’s cool.” I assure him.

“Yeah?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe me.

“Were you born that way?” Shaking his head, he grabs for a beer on the pile of wood next to him.

“Nope.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“What happened?” Is it rude to ask? Possibly, but I have to know.

“Got in a fight. Fight led to me getting my face hit in with a brick. The brick busted the bone in my eye, and the bone fucked up my eye.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Can’t see well out of it, but it still works. I wear the glasses because the light makes it worse.”

“Oh.” What do you say to that ... I’m sorry? How terrible? Did you kill the person who did that to you?

“Doesn’t scare you, bother you, looking at it?” His eye bothers people? It’s an eye for fuck’s sake. What the hell is there to be scared about?

“No.”

Nodding his head slowly, he processes my words for a moment. “Good. Glad, darlin’.”

2 - Crazy Eyes

Buck

Fuck, she’s staring hard, gaping at my screwy eye like she hasn’t ever seen anything like it. If she weren’t smiling at me, it might be more painful than it already is. The goddamn glasses slipped my mind. I’ve been in the habit of wearing them out and about because the bitches used to tell me my eyes were scary, but at home I didn’t bother.

Out here working, alone, I forgot about my little houseguest. I’m not used to having to hide that shit around here anymore. Now she’s staring right at my eyes, all interested and shit. “Does it hurt?” She asks.

“No, it doesn’t. You sleep good?” I change the subject, anything to get her to stop staring at my eyes.

“Oh yeah, I did.” She murmurs, kicking around a bare foot in the dirt. Does she always dress like this, I wonder. I look from her foot and up at her legs while she stands there, fucking gawking at me.

“No pants, huh?” I nod to her legs. I’m not complaining, just observing. Naked works best for me, but her choice is fine too.

Rolling her eyes, she grins, “I was sleeping.”

“If you say so, babe.”

“I was,” she grumbles, crossing her arms under her tits, perking ‘em up even more.

A weird quiet falls between us and I can’t stand this shit. This is why I hate dealing with people, bitches in particular. My form of conversing with the female population usually goes something like, “Take off your clothes.” You know, that real suave shit.

Everyone else gets the basics. Don’t know what the hell to say to people, so I just don’t say anything, which usually makes them uncomfortable as fuck when I just stare at ‘em.

Taking a couple of steps back, away from me, Lennon asks in an unsure voice, “You mind if I make breakfast?”

“Nah, I don’t mind.” I’m not about to deny her food. I’m not that goddamn mean, but I might make her work for it later.

“Anything off limits?” she asks quietly. What kind of question is that? Food is food. I’m not gonna label it mine or hers.

“Darlin’, help yourself to whatever.”

“Okay, thanks.” She turns around and walks back out the door. “See you in a bit, then.”  She says, smiling brightly at me before disappearing through the door, and that smiles hits me straight in the chest.

I crashed on the couch last night. Not my ideal form of luxury living, but I couldn’t force myself to be a complete dick and make her sleep in the living room. So, I tossed and turned on the couch all night, and I’m paying for it now. My back hurts and my neck is stiff, but nothing a little alcohol can’t fix.

I woke up this morning and I didn’t exactly know what to do. I didn’t want to wake the sleeping woman in my bed, so I’ve been chopping wood all morning; killing time and waiting for Lennon to wake up.

Now she’s up and I still don’t have a fuck of a clue what to do with her. This shit is gonna be harder than I thought. Do I have to entertain her? Spend time with her? Fuck, I hope she can take care of her damn self.

“Buck?” Lennon’s hollering like a banshee startles me and I damn near chop a toe off. Been a few years since I’ve had someone shouting for me from that porch. Sticking my head out of the shop, I holler back, “Yeah?”

The bright sun instantly irritates my eyes. Shit, it’s bright as hell out here. Slipping my glasses back on, I walk into the yard, waiting for a response.

I watch as she stands there on the porch, braiding her hair, fingers twisting around in that mess of dark hair as she stares off into the woods. She’s wearing a thin, long black dress that dips low between her huge ass tits. I try not to stare, but she put ‘em out there.

“Yo, Lennon,” I address her as I walk up the stairs towards her.

“What?” she asks, turning her attention to me. What? She’s the one shrieking from the porch.

“What do ya mean ‘what’? You just yelled for me.”

“Oh, right ... sorry. Foods done if you’re hungry.”

Lennon doesn’t make a move towards the house. She continues to stand on the porch, looking out into the trees.

“You okay?”

Shaking her head, she chews on her lip for a second before asking, “Are these woods safe?”

“Yeah, babe, they’re safe.”

“Okay.”

Turning on her heels, she walks back into the house. “Well, come on, breakfast is getting cold.”

In the house, she seems comfortable enough. There’s a mess in the kitchen to attest to it, but it’s a good mess. It’s the kind that says someone lives here, not the kind of mess I leave that says I’m a fucking pig.

“Buck.”

“What?” Lennon’s back to watching me again. Something about her stare fucking throws me for a loop. Not used to so much interest.

“Why’d you put your sunglasses back on?”

“Habit.”

“Take them off. I like you better without them,” she says absentmindedly, so I take the glasses off.

“So you cooked?”

“Yep,” she responds proudly.

The house smells like syrup and fried meat, like breakfast.

Washing my hands, I look over at the table and see a bottle filled with wild flowers sitting in the middle, looking completely out of place.

“Where’d those come from?”

“The yard. Picked them on the way back in earlier.” It’s strange as shit to see flowers in my house, but nice at the same time.

“Nice vase.” It’s a Corona bottle, one I drank from a few nights ago. Very fucking creative. 

“It was all I could find,” she says, wrinkling up her nose at it. “Here, I made waffles, eggs, and bacon. I’ve already made you a plate.” Lennon shoves a plate full of food at me before I can say anything else.

“Thanks.” Lifting a shoulder, her lips tip with a barely noticeable smile. Turning away, she busies herself with her food.

“Sure.”

Taking my plate to the table, I bring it up to my face and sniff it. The broad could’ve slipped something in this shit for all I know. It looks good, but that doesn’t mean it won’t kill me. Antifreeze doesn’t have a smell to it.

“I didn’t poison it,” Lennon laughs, looking over her shoulder. There’s nothing funny about it. I wonder how likely it is that she’s trying to kill me. She expects me to take her word for it, huh? I don’t even know the broad.

“You sure?”

“No, I’m not. You’re just going to have to eat it and find out, aren’t you?”

I’m still not sure if I trust her. I wake up every day assuming someone I meet might try and kill me, and today, Lennon is that someone.

Rolling her eyes, she marches up to me and snatches the waffle off my plate. Syrup drips off the waffle and runs down her wrist. Swallowing roughly, I watch the drips slide down her smooth arm. Christ, I need something to drink.

Bringing the waffle to her mouth, she licks her lips and smirks, then she takes a hardy, violent bite. Chewing it slowly, she swallows, runs a finger under her lip and smiles.

“Now, try your eggs,” she encourages me sweetly. Flopping the waffle back on my plate, she walks back to the stove. That doesn’t make me feel any fucking better because now I’m hard as fuck and still suspicious as hell.

Taking my plate with me, I sit at the tiny ass kitchen table while watching Lennon putter around. She stirs something in a pan and puts something on a plate. Here I’ve got this broad living with me, and I don’t know a goddamn thing about her. Figure I might want to start asking some questions.

“Lennon, sit your ass down ‘n eat.” She’s making me nervous. Looking over her shoulder, she purses her lips, clearly not feeling my command. “Please,” I add, just to get her to sit the hell down.

She does. She sits down across from me and pulls her legs up, folding them under her ass. Once she’s finally comfortable, she digs in. Jesus, she’s hungry.

“So.”

“So,” she fires back, taking a bite of scrambled eggs.

“Is Lennon your real name?” I ask. It sounds made up. Her fork stops an inch from her lips with egg hanging from the fork. Cocking her head, she starts that staring shit again as she sets her fork down.

“You don’t believe me?” I’m not sure if she sounds hurt or amused. It’s not that I don’t believe her ... okay, so that’s a fucking lie. I don’t believe her.