***
HEADING INTO THE BATHROOM I clean my dick and wet a rag, my stiches are bleeding; the skin irritated and burning like a bitch. They didn’t rip, so they’ll be fine. Maybe.
Climbing on the bed I use the wet rag to wipe Jillian, cleaning her up.
“I can do that,” she mutters.
“I know, but let me.”
“Why?” Her eyes meet mine.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess it just feels more personal that I take care of you after.”
The realization that I actually want to take care of her doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s surreal that I feel this strongly about another person. It’s scary knowing there is someone in this universe more important than yourself.
Biting her bottom lip I can tell she wants to ask me a question. I don’t like questions, they lead to shit, shit that causes awkwardness, or me having to explain. I can feel her staring into the side of my head.
“What?” I give in, I can’t take the silent stare any longer.
“Do you always clean girls up after you…you know?” Her cheeks are red but I can’t tell if it’s because I just fucked the breath out of her or because she’s embarrassed by her question.
My heart thuds against my chest, my stomach tightening with her question.
“No, I have never felt the need to take care of another female. Just you.” Finishing wiping her down, I risk looking at her. She’s caught her breath, and her eyes are looking at me with a stare like, like the way she looked at me before I fucked everything up.
“I’m going to fix everything, you know that, right?” I brush a hair from her face. Rolling her lips over one another, she looks away and nods.
“I’m going to go find a phone and call Felix before we go. Give him a heads up,” I inform, climbing off the bed.
Getting dressed I head out of the room. A hand presses against my chest stopping me.
“Whoa, where you think you’re going?” Kane asks, who apparently can appear from thin air. He’s wearing the same shit as last night.
“You got about two seconds to get your goddamn hands off me.” I glare, my eyes flicking between his palm on my chest and his face.
“It’s okay, let him through,” Bull informs.
Nodding, Kane steps aside.
Holding my side I head down the dark hall toward the common area.
A frantic Bobby suddenly crashes into the club, causing all eyes on him.
“We got about ten minutes before we’re raided.” Everyone is thrown into panic, scurrying around the club to hide contraband, and shit they don’t want anyone who isn’t a known criminal to come across. I’ve been there a time or two. Having the police and sheriff’s department in our pockets though, it has its perks.
“Where is this coming from?” Bull asks, his tone casual. Which is surprising. He must be used to this. How often does this happen here?
“Word down the grapevine, man.” Bobby shrugs. “Said Skeeter and his crew got intel on something and are heading here.”
“You know the drill,” Bull shakes his head, looking around the club.
“Jillian needs to hide,” I state. “We’re wanted, and if they get ahold of us, we’re dead.”
Bull focuses on me. I can tell he wants to ask more but he just nods as he rubs his jaw, looking around the clubhouse for a quick solution.
“If they find them here, we’ll have them pigs digging through everything of ours,” Bull informs Bobby.
“My room has a trap door leading into the attic. All we can do is hope they don’t do a thorough check and go up there.”
“Go.” Bull juts his chin toward the hall. The word sounding like a gun firing at the starting line of a race.
Like a bullet being fired, I run down the hall. The pain in my body be damned. I have to hide Jillian.
Opening the door, Jillian grabs her chest in panic as the door slams against the wall.
“What the hell!?” Her face is scrunched in anger.
“We gotta hide.”
She stalls, her eyes wide. “What? Why?”
“NOW!” I demand, my heart stammering at the thought that cops could bust in the door any second. Grabbing her hand I yank her out of the room, and follow Bobby down the hall.
“Tell me what’s going on, Zeek!” Jillian tries to pull from my hand, causing me to clutch down on her tiny fingers.
“In here.” Bobby opens a door further down the hall and we follow him in. It’s fucking filthy as hell, and smells like a teenage boy has been camping out for weeks. There are clothes everywhere, beer cans knocked over, and the mattress nearly hanging off the bed. I’d be surprised if this Skeeter dude even attempts to step in here.
Bobby slides his closet door to the side, and points to the ceiling. Sure enough there is a three foot by four foot entry into the attic space, a small particle board covering it. Bobby slides a ripped up chair to the closet, and I step on it putting me closer to the trap door. Pushing the board to the side, dust and dirt falls in my eyes.