I'd never known sexual frustration until now. Before Ricky, I'd gotten practically any boy I'd wanted, my pick, anytime. With the pimp, I hadn't had a choice who he forced on me.
Thank God for the icy raindrops spattering down on the roof over us. They gave me something outside this shoebox room to focus on, a chance to cool the fire in my body, and I let their soothing tempo carry me to sleep.
I woke up in the blackness shaking and crying. Skin's huge body was already pressed against mine, his chin on my bare shoulder, whispering in my ear.
“What? What the fuck is it? You'd better start talking to me, babe.”
He sounded so soft, so concerned. It took me a minute to realize he'd kept his word, and my body wasn't responding to the surprise of him crawling into bed.
The nightmare came rushing back. I'd been dreaming about Ricky, all the times the pimp stepped into my room, unbuckling his belt, cornering me with that hideous gleam in his eye.
I twisted in Skin's arms, loving his masculine heat, his scent, the strength he enveloped me in. His rough hands reached up and brushed away several tears staining the pillow underneath my head before I could speak.
“What is it? Don't say a stomach ache. If those motherfuckers gave you food poisoning, I swear to Christ I'll ride back there right now and knock their fucking teeth out.” I wanted to laugh at the rough, determined edge in his voice.
Jesus, no. If only it were that simple, I thought, letting my mind see it all again in crystal clarity.
“It's just a nightmare,” I said softly. “Who the hell knows. I'm probably processing the trauma of all this. I can't forget about Ricky. It's not the way he slapped me around or the men he forced me to take...it's the times he used me.”
For a second, Skin's eyes lit up in the darkness. First horror, then nothing but stone cold rage.
“Bullshit. I thought he was saving you for a buyer?” The biker's hold around me tightened.
“Oh, he saved the most important part of me, sure. But he still took privileges.” I swallowed the painful lump in my throat, wondering if I could really tell him the rest without crying. “He'd come to me every week or two, usually at night. Whenever he wanted to, really. He'd hit me awake – sometimes with his hand, other times his belt. He'd force me to get on my knees, pull down his pants, and do everything I did to those truckers for money.”
I suppressed another sob, licked my lips, trying to see him in the darkness. His eyes said it all, even though his face remained the same killer, unchanging mask. I opened my mouth to tell him the rest, wondering if I was really helping myself or just worsening the pain, but his finger pushed down the center of my lips.
He held it there, hard and silent, squeezing me as I trembled in the darkness.
“Don't say anymore, Meg. I'm not a damned fool. You're brave to tell me, but I also know talk is cheap. It won't do shit to help you feel better.”
I blinked in surprise, feeling another tear streak down my cheek. That wasn't the response I expected – especially when he was so right it hurt.
“He's a dead man, babe. Leave it to me. I'll wipe that brutal little pissant off the face of this fucking earth. I promise.”
“Skin, no!” I pushed my head away so I could talk, shaking my head, spilling more tears. “You've already risked so much. Whatever else you've done to keep me safe, I recognize that. Don't put yourself in danger for me again. Please.”
I looked into his mad eyes while I begged him. It hurt to do it, but his gaze pulled me in the same way it always did.
Commanding. Unbreakable. Safe.
“I have to do this, and you're not stopping me. Neither will the club. I'll do it by myself. I'll catch him alone, babe, I've done this sorta shit more times than I want to tell you. He's not like the Deads. He's a weak, cowardly little shit. He'll fold the second he sees me coming.” He paused, baring his teeth in the shadows, more fearsome and perfect than any biker's feral grin should be. “And if he doesn't, well fuck, that's even more fun for me. I'll make him pay for every last thing he's done to you. You can't heal 'til you know he's been evicted from this goddamned planet.”
“Skin...” I wanted to plead with him, beg him not to dig our hole even deeper, but I knew it would be futile.
He proved it a second later when he jerked my head into his chest. I cried and shook and breathed his wonderful scent for what felt like hours. He held me close, rocking me like a scared child against his chest.
Why did I find such comfort when I had my face right up against the barbaric tattoos on his skin?
If the question had an answer, I wasn't going to find out tonight. By the time I knew what happened, I slipped into a deep, dark sleep.