Chaos Bound (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #4)(18)

“Where are you going?”

“Food.” She looked back over her shoulder at the badly beaten man wearing only a towel and a scowl. How long had he been standing there? What had he heard? “Maybe get you some clothes.”

“My job.”

“Get over it. You’re injured. That means you rest, and I look after you. Grumble all you want, but there’s not much you can do about it, and if you try to stop me I’ll box your ears.”

His lips quirked, amused. “Box my ears?”

“Yes.” Her cheeks heated. “My grandmother used to say it. I didn’t want to threaten real violence because you’ve been through enough.” Her gaze took in the dark red wheals on his chest, the long thin marks of a whip, and the countless bruises, cuts, and burns. Softening her voice, she said, “You really need a doctor, Holt. I think some of those cuts are infected.”

“I’ll be fine. But you won’t be if you go out there.”

She supposed he was right. The Black Jacks had chapters and support clubs all over the state and a quick email or text with her picture was all it would take to alert them to be on the lookout. “I won’t go into town. I’ll just go to the restaurant attached to the motel and see if they’ve got anything left over from the day.”

“I’ll keep watch from the door.” He walked toward her, taking slow, measured steps, and she struggled not to look down.

“In your towel?”

“Gotta gun. If I wave it around, no one’s gonna be looking down.” He leaned against the doorjamb. Maybe he wasn’t concerned about her safety as much as he was worried about her leaving. After all, he’d been in that dungeon alone for a long time. And although he seemed okay, he had to be suffering the effects of the torture and isolation, maybe even fear. Just like her.

“I’m coming back, Holt.”

His shoulders sagged just the tiniest bit, and he grunted his assent as he made his way across the room. “Still gonna watch from the door.”

“If it makes you happy.”

Curiously, it made her happy that he was concerned about her safety. This last year, Maurice had stopped walking her to her car at night or asking her to call him to let him know she’d gotten home safely. When she asked, he said he knew she was always cautious, and he didn’t want to demean her by assuming she couldn’t look after herself. Which had made sense at the time, but now she realized she’d missed that little show of caring.

He stood in the doorway as she walked through the parking lot to the reception desk, and he was still there ten minutes later when she returned with some Styrofoam containers, a bag of snacks and some Bolton, Montana, souvenirs: Tshirts, sweats, and hats.

“You get to advertise for the town.” She handed him a bundle of clothes after he closed the door behind her. “Unfortunately, they didn’t have any underwear.”

Holt held up the navy blue sweatshirt with a yellow beaver embroidered on the front beneath a Bolton Beaver logo.

“Beaver Country?” He pointed to the slogan. “Christ. We’re in the f*cking sticks.”

“I got you sweatpants and a couple of Tshirts, too.” She pointed to the rest of the clothes. “And I got a T-shirt to put over my clothes in case there’s a draft on the floor.”

“You’re sleeping in the bed.”

“Floor.”

“Bed.” Holt sat on the bed and patted the mattress. “Beside me.”

“You’re injured. You need your rest. And they have a computer in the lobby with free Wi-Fi. While you’re sleeping, I can do some research about bus schedules, and get back to job hunting. Anything you want me to look up?”

He stretched out on the bed, the towel loosening around his hips. “You’re staying here. In bed. Won’t be able to rest if you’re lying on the floor, and I can’t watch you if you’re in the lobby. You don’t gotta worry. I barely got the energy to stand much less try it on with you in your beaver shirt.”

“You don’t understand.” Her voice sharpened. “I need to check my messages and do some research. I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t have a plan. There’s no time to waste.”

“Sleep isn’t a waste of time.” He folded his arms over his head, and she got a full, soul-destroying look at the abuse he’d suffered in Viper’s dungeon. Cuts, bruises, whip marks, knife wounds, scars … Even with all her forensic-science training, she couldn’t identify some of the implements that had been used on him. How did someone go through all that and come out emotionally unscathed?

“You had a shit day, same as me,” he continued. “Gotta recharge the batteries.”

Naiya twisted her lips to the side, considering. Although she was loathe to admit it, the prospect of sleep held some appeal. And she hadn’t been keen on sleeping on the floor, which was no doubt as filthy as the bed spread.

But did she trust him? After the night with Viper, trust had been her biggest issue with men. Even more than her inability to enjoy sex. Although she’d come a long way with her therapist, she only dated men she knew first as friends, or who were known by her friends. Holt was the first man she’d been alone with whom she didn’t know in some respect.

“You can trust me, darlin’,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “The last thing I would ever do is hurt you.”