Wolf (The Henchmen MC #3) (4 page)

And, well, that was downright chivalrous of him. Who was he to be a good guy? He was kidnapping me! Sort of. But maybe not really. I didn't even know anymore.

"That's stupid," I said instead of admitting I wanted to know why he was being nice to me and why he was making me stay with him instead of bringing me to my car. "You're a Hulk; you can't sleep on a recliner. You'll be all in knots and stuff by morning. I mean... not that I care if you're all in knots or anything seeing as you're holding me here against my wishes but I mean it's only logical that I should..."

"Woman. Bed. Now," he demanded, his tone all serious and deep and I found my feet moving toward the bed before my brain could tell them not to. Unwilling to look indecisive, I huffed as I pulled back the comforter and sheet and climbed inside, glad for a way to hide my naked legs. God, when was the last time I had even shaved? On that thought, I rubbed my legs together under the blankets, feeling the bristles that implied it had been at least three days but that I wasn't sporting cavewoman hair yet. Not that the caveman across the room from me seemed adverse to hair given his face, but still. It stupidly mattered to me.

"Sleep," he demanded, dropping down into his recliner and popping up the leg rest that cut off somewhere just under his knees.

"It's like... ten o'clock," I reasoned, cocking a brow. What were we, middle schoolers? What full grown adult went to bed at ten at night? I mean... I never slept anyway but still. It was the principle of the thing. "Are you, as well as being a mountain man and near-mute, also some kind of old man who has to go to sl..." I trailed off mainly because he had flicked on the TV and cranked the volume up so high that there was no way he could hear me over it anyway.

Well fine then.

I threw myself backward onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling, doing my best to not think about the events of the night and how I had royally, epically fucked my life up. Yeah, I tried that. I obviously failed.

Then, despite me never being able to do so, I drifted off to sleep.

FOUR

Janie

The nightmares woke me up, as they always did when I finally did manage to pass out. They weren't nightmares though, not in the traditional sense. They were memories I tried to keep buried. It was why many times, tired beyond comprehension, I still fought sleep. I didn't want the memories. I didn't want the sick feeling in my stomach when I woke up. I didn't want the pain. Because they were sharp, jagged things and there were many mornings I arrived in bloody pieces. Then I had to spend half the day trying to patch myself back up.

It was easier to not sleep.

So most of the time, I didn't.

After eight years of practice, I had gotten good at it. My body didn't crave it like it used to. I didn't feel disconnected and spacey like most people did when they lost a night or two. I could go three or four with no adverse reactions at all before I finally needed to crash for a few hours.

I was on night four when I got to Wolf's. That was why I passed out. That mixed with the solitude of the woods and the huge, comfy bed with the warm sheets that smelled like him- like autumn. That was what he smelled like. Like rain and fallen leaves and crisp air. It was all around me, cuddling me in its foreign yet completely familiar comfort.

But it was of no comfort when I bolted up in bed, mouth open on a silent scream. It was silent only after years and years of waking up on a blood-curdling scream that woke everyone else in the barracks. I learned to make them soundless so I didn't have to deal with everyone worrying about me and my chronic nightmares. I reached up to brush the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail out of my face, finding it sticking to my cheek for some reason. Touching my skin, I felt the tacky, gloppy sensation of triple antibiotic cream.

He'd slathered cream onto my cuts when I was sleeping!

Who the hell did things like that?

"You okay?" his sleep-rough voice reached out to me from across the room, sending an unexpected shiver across my skin. My head snapped in his direction of its own mind and he had already kicked in the leg rest. His feet were on the ground, spread wide. His leather cut was gone, leaving him just in jeans and the tight black tee. His elbows were on his knees, his back curled forward, his sleep-puffy eyes on me.

"Fine," I strangled out, fighting the urge to put my hand over where my heart was slamming in my chest.

"Don't lie," he chastened quietly, shaking his head at me. "Don't wanna talk, don't." He paused. "But don't lie."

Well then.

I kind of liked that.

Everyone else wanted to pry. Everyone thought they had the right to demand I spill all my dark secrets. It was really refreshing to come across someone who acknowledged my right to keep my private feelings private.

Also, that was probably the most I had ever heard him speak before.

I nodded tightly at him, pushing the blankets off and climbing out of the bed. "I don't want to talk about it," I explained unnecessarily, but the silence in the room was deafening since he turned the television off. I walked over toward the kitchen. "Go back to sleep. Take the bed even. I'm not going to get back to sleep again now," I confided with a shrug as I pulled the pot out of his coffee maker and took it to the sink to wash it. "Don't worry," I added at his expected silence, "I'm not going to run away. It's dark as hell out. Who knows what is out in these woods."

I figured he had followed my instructions until I got the coffee pot all ready and found the coffee grounds up in a cabinet so high that mere mortals could never reach. I had done a mildly embarrassing jump before I made a grumble, ready to go grab a dining room chair, when I felt his presence behind me. As in... right behind me. His entire front was against my back. I wondered if he was always so blase about the concept of 'personal space'. My head tilted upward, making the top of my skull rest on the lowest part of his chest, my brows drawn together in question as I looked up mostly at his beard.

"Coffee," he explained and my gaze caught the movement of his hand going into the cabinet and pulling down the grounds.

Oh, right. Coffee.

I nodded, letting my head drop away from his chest and forcing my hands to open the coffee and put grounds in the machine.

"Go back to sleep," I said again as the silence dragged on and he still hadn't moved from behind me. There was a weird, completely insane, nonsensical, uncharacteristic urge in me to turn and bury my face in his chest, to wrap my arms around him. To say it was an unsettling desire would be an understatement. I didn't hug people. I certainly never embraced men. That wasn't how I operated. I didn't have that drive like normal women did. Men were never a safe place for me to land. But the tug was there, just under my ribcage, begging me to do it, to surround myself in his strength, to let it settle into my bones. But that was ridiculous. So on an exhale, I forced myself to move to the side and away from him. "What time is it?" I asked, finding myself without a cell, having left it in my bag in the car that I, apparently, wasn't being allowed to go to.

"Four," he said easily, not even having looked for a clock anywhere or anything.

"Jesus." What the hell was I going to do with myself for another couple hours of darkness? "Well thanks for getting the coffee. I'm, ah, going to need it. So... yeah... go on back to bed."

"I'm good," he said, moving away to lean against the kitchen counter, hands grabbing the edge, focus still on me in a way that made me want to squirm.

"There's still a couple hours until the sun is up. I didn't mean to..."

"Woman," he cut me off.

"What?" I asked when he didn't elaborate. Was 'woman' supposed to mean more than a word in man-language?

"Said I'm good."

And I guessed that was
that
because he pushed away from the counter and went into the bathroom. A minute later, I heard the shower running. At a loss for what to do while I waited for the coffee to drip, I made the bed and rummaged around for mugs. The door swung open a moment later and my head snapped over. And holy hell.

Yeah so... Wolf didn't take clothes in with him when he went in the bathroom. I guess being so used to be alone and able to walk around naked after a shower made it completely slip his mind. Because there he was in the bathroom doorway with one of his white bath towels slung low on his hips. The material was stretched tight around his massive frame and I got the distinct impression that any kind of movement could send it pooling to his feet. I kind of wanted him to move.

Again, weird.

I didn't even
have
a sex drive. Literally. None. That wasn't even a part of my life in the least. Not after all the shit that I... Yeah I wasn't going to think about that. Let's just say, sex wasn't a part of my life. So wanting to see his naughty bits was so not like me. Besides, what was not covered by the towel was plenty to take in. From the fully exposed frame revealing the breadth of his strong shoulders and chest, to the indentations of his abdominal muscles, to the bulging power of his arms, and the unmistakable strength in his legs. Then, of course, there was the window dressing. Meaning, the ink. He had it and he had it in abundance. As someone who obviously appreciated being a human canvas herself, I really enjoyed looking at other peoples' work. Wolf was no exception. From across the room, I couldn't make it all out as it snaked up his arms and across his chest, but I could see an eight-ball, a web, flowers, and some kind of bird. Across the center of his chest was a bold lettering saying "Henchmen".

So yeah. Wolf was definitely a sight to behold. Even for an asexual freak like me.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Coffee is done," I said, spinning away from him so fast that I felt light-headed and had to slam my hand down on the counter. Behind me, I heard him shuffling around. When I thought it was safe, I turned again. "How do you want..." Yeah it wasn't safe yet. While he had a pair of black jeans on and big, clunky combat boots, he was still shirtless and his zip to his pants was still undone, revealing a dark happy trail that led down into his pants. As if sensing my thoughts, or more likely, seeing my gaze linger there, his big hands went down and pulled the zipper and pressed the button into place.

"Come here," he said suddenly, making me jump.

"What? Why?"

"Woman..." he said, sounding mildly frustrated. And given how even-tempered he usually seemed, I found myself responding and walking toward where he was sitting off the edge of the bed. I might add he was still freaking shirtless. Deciding space was necessary, I sat down at the very edge of the other end of the bed. I did this, but I didn't stay there. I didn't stay there because suddenly I felt the mattress jump as Wolf lunged downward and tagged my ankles, grabbing them and pulling me sideways, squealing like a kid on a carnival ride. My ankles were released but only because I suddenly found my thighs draped across Wolf's. My/his tee had ridden up during the movement and was gathered up high enough that you could see the black outline of my panties. When I looked up, his gaze was focused there. It took me a good couple of seconds to force my hands to move the material of the tee back into place.

When I did, his gaze rose to mine. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice sounding a little breathless.

"Arm," he said, grabbing it and holding it up. He released it and moved to unwrap it carefully. I sat there numbly and let him, my eyes focused on his face that was focused on his task. I felt the last of the gauze release and his eyes suddenly cut to mine, making me inhale on what could only be described as a gasp. Yeah. I was pretty sure I had somehow inhaled too much of the ingredients to the bombs and caused some kind of brain damage. Something was definitely wrong with me. "Hurt?" he asked, interpreting my gasp for one of pain.

My eyes moved to my arm, looking weird with the remains of the burn cream still smeared on the skin that was still really unusually red. It stung. It wasn't like I had expected though. "It's alright," I said, shrugging. "I feel like it should hurt more than it does."

"Mind over matter," he said with a shrug of his own.

"That was a huge tub of that burn cream stuff. You burn yourself often?"

"It happens."

Augh. He was killing me with his lack of conversational skills.

"Where?" I found myself asking.

"Back," he said simply and I felt myself nodding. It was the only part of him I hadn't gotten a good look at. A weird part of me wondered if he had scars there. I thought about that until I felt one of his hands slap down on my thigh, a couple inches above my knee. It was such a strange feeling that my eyes moved to look, seeing his giant hand pretty much encompassing my entire thigh. But it was just resting there, not doing anything, looking like he just had nowhere else to put it. But then his thumb moved outward, stroking up my thigh slightly and a shiver coursed its way through my whole body. Our eyes sought each others, both mirroring confusion. I felt myself swallow hard, looking for something flippant to say to ease the tension, but coming up blank. Shockingly, Wolf ended the silence. "Go shower," he said, his palm squeezing my thigh before pushing them off of his lap and moving to stand.

I had barely made it to my feet when he had already snagged a shirt and had it over his head. Stiffly, I made my way to the bathroom and quickly undressed and threw myself under the spray. I stood under the water until it started to turn cold, grumbling at having to leave my little private sanctuary and having to go back out and face him. It wasn't like me to have an issue facing someone. I stood toe-to-toe with some of the most dangerous men on the East coast on a daily basis. I sparred with them. I taught them how to navigate the dark web. I learned how to shoot from them. I didn't run and hide from any man.