I wanted to go home.
But that wasn't safe.
Not yet.
Not until Daddy got more men in to try to...
“Yo, babe,” Reign's voice broke through my thoughts, making me jump.
“Yeah?” I asked, turning to see him walking down the hall, dry except for his hair, dressed in a pair of thick dark gray sweatpants hung low at his hips. And... no shirt. It was in my personal opinion that men with bodies like Reign's should never wear shirts. Because, damn. He was built. Not bulky, but strong. Muscled. Tattooed. Hot. Oh, my god he was hot.
“You gonna' keep starin' or you want to get changed?” he asked, a smirk playing at his lips. Because he was hot shit and he knew it.
I shook my head, walking toward him, still toweling my hair. Reign turned, walking back down the hall, leaving me to follow behind him. He walked up to a door, opened it, and stood there.
“Christ. You're shiverin',” he said, watching me.
I'd been shivering for hours. “I'm fine.”
“Take a hot shower,” he said, shoving clothes at me.
Oh my god. Yes. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. “Okay,” I said, giving him a weak smile and going into the bathroom.
I shut the door, dropping the dry clothes on the sink in front of the huge dome shaped mirror. I found a spare toothbrush still in it's packaging and added a massive amount of paste, brushing my teeth mercilessly until they felt smooth and clean. Turning to the shower bay, I reached in and turned the water on hot, stripping as fast as my hands would allow, then throwing myself under the hot water.
I shampooed four times. I scrubbed every inch of myself five times. I wished for a razor and half stepped out of the shower to rummage in the linen cabinet until I found a spare disposable one, thanking my lucky stars.
I must have been in there for an hour. But it still didn't feel like enough. I was worried I was never going to feel clean ever again. The kind of clean that never knew the touch of filth. The kind of clean I had been before.
But that was just another cross I had to bear.
I grabbed a fresh towel, drying off, making my way over to the clothes. The black wifebeater would definitely fit so I slipped it on. It hung loose around my breasts and belly but it was warm and clean. I was definitely not complaining. I wasn't taking anything for granted anymore.
I was pulling up the pants which looked hopelessly too large when the door flew open and my heart slammed up into my throat. PTSD type memories flying through my head until I forced myself to focus and saw Reign standing there. Not V. Not his men. Reign.
But it wasn't a sigh of relief.
Because he wasn't looking at my face.
His gaze was stuck on the outer side of my left ass cheek. Something more like upper hip meets thigh, but far enough back for it to technically be ass.
That's where his eyes were.
And they were angry.
“Looks like we have a fucking problem.”FourReignShe flinched. Flinched. Like I was gonna' fucking hit her. Shit. Not brain damaged. Abused.
I had some abused chick in my house. I never brought any chicks to my house. I fucked them in my room at the compound. I never took tail home. And now the first piece of ass I brought back was damaged.
That was just my luck.
I walked away from the bathroom door, going to the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on. Then I cleared the money and guns away, taking them to the safe, locking um up. Didn't need some damaged chick thinking I was some fucking psychopath.
She was lying to me too. About the shoes. She was lying. There had been no flip flops. She had been barefoot when she flew out of that car. Which left another question unanswered. Why the fuck would she be out in a hurricane, driving barefoot, in a ritzy fucking car, in pajamas?
She said she wasn't going back. That I was going to have to kill her because she wasn't going back. Back to what? Back to some piece of shit who liked to knock her around? Some domestic abuse shit? Stole his car and got the hell outta dodge?
Had to respect that.
I made a cup of coffee. And drank it. And she still hadn't come out of the bathroom. I made another cup. Drank it. Still nothing.
I sighed, slamming my mug down, walking down the hall. The shower had been off for a while. I was half-worried she had some kind of injury after all and passed out in there.
Worried.
Me.
What the fuck?
I pushed open the door. And there she was. In my wifebeater, pulling my pants up her thin legs. She was so tiny. Like a bird. Fragile looking. My eyes dropped to her upper thigh/ ass area. And any story I had come up with about her past flew away.
Because there on her ass was a brand.
A fucking burning flesh brand.
And it was V's.
A letter V inside of an upright triangle.
A brand meant she was one of V's girls.
And she was in my house.
Fuck.
What the fuck did I get myself into?
I didn't fuck with V.
It was club rules that none of us went near V or his girls. I didn't mind my guys getting their dicks wet with any willing pussy they could find. But they did not, under any circumstances, take someone unwilling. And V's girls were all unwilling. Because V's girls were forced into the mother fucking skin trade.
And V was also one sick fuck.
Another reason to not go anywhere near his operation or his girls.
Fuck.
Mother fucking shit.
“I swear I will be out of your hair tomorrow,” she said, yanking the pants up and having to hold them fisted in the front or they'd fall down. Her gray eyes were wide and pleading.
“You want to get outta that shit situation, fine. Good. Good fucking for you. You saw an opportunity and you took it. Smart. But I ain't fucking with V's business.”