Crazy B!tch (Biker Bitches 5)

“I know.” She moved around him so he couldn’t see her. “I know how much you love me doesn’t compare to how much you want those drugs. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m not leaving—to remind you how much we love each other.”

He ran his hands through his hair, wanting to tear it out at her stubbornness. It was easier not to argue. She didn’t know how hard it was to want it so badly. She would never know, because she had always been strong. He was weak. He would always be weak.

Lying down on the bed, he pretended she wasn’t there. Then, when he heard the door opening, he didn’t know what was worse: that she had gotten fed up with him and left, or that the nurse had come in to give him another dose to ease the cravings that were splitting his every nerve ending with a driving need that wouldn’t be assuaged until it got what it wanted.

He heard someone walk around the front of his bed. Raising his eyelids, he looked up to see Gavin.

He waited for him to say some of the same bullshit he had told him when he arrived at the rehab center.

Gavin didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He just held out his hand.

One Week Later…

“Cut it off. I can’t stand it. Either you do it, or I will.” Calder yanked at his hair, unable to stand the pressure of it on his head.

“You love your hair.”

Calder irritably tried to yank a lock out.

“Fine. You want it cut, I’ll cut it for you.” She left his room, coming back five minutes later and motioning for him to take the chair by his window. “I love short hair on men, so it’s no skin to cut yours.”

As he felt her cut his hair and each lock fell, it felt as if he was losing ten pounds of dead weight.

When she finished, he ran his hand over it, enjoying the feel of the cut.

“Let me see your makeup mirror.” He held out his hand for her to give it to him.

“Why? It looks good.”

“I want to see.”

“Then go look in the one in the bathroom.”

“I will, but I want your mirror so I can see the back.”

Scowling at him, she didn’t reach for her purse. “You think I’m such a bitch that I would shave another rat on the back when you’re down?”

Calder didn’t drop his hand, waiting for the mirror.

Glowering, she got the mirror, slapping it down onto his palm. “There.”

Going in the bathroom, he went to the sink, admiring his haircut until he turned around.

Gritting his teeth, he went back to his room.

The bitch had sneaked out. She had cut off most of his hair, leaving one long strand that looked suspiciously like a long rat tail, and then ran away. Crazy bitch.

“Three Musketeers.”

“What?” Calder asked when he came back from group therapy. “You want a candy bar?”

Crazy Bitch was sitting on his bed, painting her toenails. He wanted to take a nap, yet she had all her shit arranged so he would feel like an ass to make her move.

“Fat Louise and Cade were allowed to visit Charlotte. Fat Louise asked her if Greer had given her a clue to give them. Charlotte didn’t know what she was talking about, just kept asking them to get her something to eat. Their time was almost up when Cade figured it out. Fat Louise had asked him to buy her a candy bar for the trip home. They gave one to Charlotte, and she just thanked them, and they left. Well, they left after Cade bought all the Three Musketeers they had in the machine. I feel sorry for the poor fuckers who go to visit her before the vending machine is restocked.”

She was laughing so hard that Calder didn’t think she was sorry at all.

“When they opened the candy bars, there was a clue inside?” Calder asked, sitting down on the bottom of his bed.

“What do the musketeers guard? They protect the royal family, damsels in distress.” Crazy Bitch laughed. “You like this color?” She wiggled the big toe she had just finished painting. “It’s called Sinful Red.”

He swallowed. “I like it a lot.”

“Thought you would.”

“So, what about the clue?” Calder watched as she accidentally painted the side of the nailbed.

“The clue was Three Musketeers. Fat Louise must have eaten half the candy bars before they were smart enough to figure it out.”

She handed him the nail polish and brush. “I hate painting my toes. I always make a mess of them.”

He swallowed hard at her helpless, wide-eyed, pleading look that enticed him to take over. “I can do them for you.”

“Thanks.” She plumped his pillows behind her back. “Make sure you do them right. I’m picky about my toes.”