Misled. Part 4

"At the clubhouse. In my room."

In his bed. Her heart rate increased at the thought and she placed her hand over his.

"Do you gotta touch me all the f.u.c.kin' time?"

Her head was already pounding something awful and his growl only worsened the pain. "Unless you wish to stop touching me," she countered, hoping he didn't take her challenge and move away.

He grunted and narrowed his eyes, trying to intimidate her, she supposed through two sneezes and a cough. She refused to look away. A curse accompanied his scowl. Fatigue still pulled at Meggie, but, more than that, she felt like a lost little girl. The way her body responded to his, though, wasn't in the least childlike. Besides, she'd grown up the moment she'd stepped out of her mother's house to find her father on her own. Hortensia, Was.h.i.+ngton was relatively safe, tucked between Camas and Victoria, along the Columbia River. She'd found a spot near a creek to sleep and bathe. Although Rack had found her hideout, she'd gone unharmed for a month.

Now, she was hurt, alone and afraid. Outlaw reminded her of her father-a frightening, overwhelming figure. But, like her father, he had a softer side. With them, what she saw was what she got. With Thomas, well...

Meggie burrowed against Outlaw's chest, her cheek rubbing against the soft leather of his vest. He stiffened for a moment, as if he considered pus.h.i.+ng her away. A cough racked her and he sighed his favorite curse word. He pulled her into his arms. It hit her she didn't have her jeans or her panties on. Or her s.h.i.+rt. Whatever she wore, dirt and perspiration didn't stiffen it. "Where are my clothes?"

"Should be in a s.h.i.+t pile, but they gettin' washed. Now, I got a question for you."

She tried to breathe in his scent, but couldn't through the stuffiness in her nose. "I have another one for you."

"Megan-"

"What's your name?" she interrupted, repositioning herself to get a better focus of him. As if she really needed to see him to know the raw and perfect angles of his face, his inky hair, and his green eyes.

"Outlaw."

"Your real name," she huffed.

He adjusted their positions until they were eye-to-eye, his nose nearly touching hers. He ran his fingers through her hair and Meggie wanted to die of mortification. Her hair probably resembled a rat's nest. Not to mention how her face must look. With the way her lips and eyes throbbed, she had to be a swollen mess. She also needed to brush her teeth. The thought made her back away. He caught her before she went very far and pulled her closer again.

He sighed, ending on a very vivid curse word. "Name's Christopher." He swallowed. "Christopher Caldwell."

She caressed the side of his jaw, the dark stubble bristly beneath her fingertips. "Was that so hard?"

He didn't answer and asked instead, "Why you have all them scars?"

Frowning, Meggie pulled away and this time he didn't try to stop her. She scooted closer to the wall, her sneeze giving her time to make sense of his words. Once she did, she avoided his scrutiny and pretended she didn't know what he meant. "Scars?"

"f.u.c.kin' cuts. You know what the f.u.c.k I'm talkin' about, Megan. I can see it in your f.u.c.kin' face."

She didn't have the energy to argue nor did she have the vigor to think of a good excuse. "Go away," she ordered.

"Not happenin'," he shot back.

She'd never felt so awful in her life and she didn't need his interrogation while she felt so feeble and cold. She might weaken and confess what she did to herself in order to cope with Thomas and her h.e.l.lish home life. Since she'd been away from that house, she'd felt twinges of need to float away from reality. But it was different.

"Well?"

She sagged into the comfortable pillows. If he wouldn't go away and she couldn't ignore him, she'd turn the tables on him. Whether she understood her attraction to him or not, she studied every little detail about him, listened to every change in cadence in his s.e.xy voice. Just like she had family secrets, he had his, too. "Is Caldwell really your last name?" she asked around a sneeze.

"What the f.u.c.k you asked me?"

"You heard me. You're right next to me."

"You don't get to ask me about me. It ain't your f.u.c.kin' business."

She wheezed in a breath and bit her lip, wanting to make everything about him her business. But fair was fair. "Then you don't get to ask me about me. It's not your business."

His eyes widened at her announcement but he snapped his mouth shut. Meggie hoped he'd open up, even a little, but silence stretched between them, broken only by her sneezes and s.h.i.+vers.

"f.u.c.k me, but I should kick you the f.u.c.k outta here." He dragged her closer and pulled her into his arms, wrapping his body around hers, his heat enveloping her, curling around Meggie and bringing warmth and a sense of safety to her. "If I answer you, I wanna f.u.c.kin' know where them cuts on your beautiful skin came from."

That wasn't the way this was supposed to work.

"Understand, Megan?"

No one had ever said her name with such raw s.e.xuality and rough command. Although barely an inch separated them, she drew herself closer to him. The moment she did, he pushed her on her back and said, "Face the wall."

Obeying without question, Meggie pressed her back against his front, rewarded when he pulled her closer, allowing her to feel every solid plane of his big body.

"Unfortunately, yes, Caldwell is my real f.u.c.kin' name. Your turn."

"Why, unfortunately?" she pressed.

His body tensed against hers. "Megan-"

"I want to know. Please?"

"Look, I don't know you and I don't share my personal business with my close friends, let alone a b.i.t.c.h who's gonna be here only long enough to get well."

He was right. They didn't know each other and, once her father returned, they'd probably never see one another again. Just because she felt an attraction to him didn't mean he felt one to her. She caressed his knuckles and remembered she had to keep her end of the bargain. Though she should give the same reason to him he had given her, he had, at least, given her a small tidbit. Her fingers roamed his forearm and he sucked in a breath.

"I..." Her voice trailed off. What should she say? She'd gone through great lengths to hide what she did to herself. She couldn't dismiss her own pain and shame, so the thought of the revulsion others would turn upon her chilled her soul. Especially someone like him-older, in control, and unafraid of anything. G.o.d, she just wanted...

What? What did she want?

She sniffled. Safety. She wanted safety most of all. She wanted to know her father still loved her. No matter what happened, he had no excuse for just forgetting about her these last two years then promising Dinah he'd get Meggie but disappearing on club business instead. If she hadn't heard her mother's words to Thomas, she wouldn't have left until after she graduated high school. She thought her father wanted her with him.

"The cuts, Megan," Christopher cut in with impatience. He untangled himself from her and Meggie missed his nearness immediately.

"It doesn't matter," she whispered, tired and wis.h.i.+ng for a bath. She wanted to talk to her mother and her friends. Maybe, Big Joe had arrived in Seattle and Meggie had already left. Maybe, he was returning to the club at this very moment. "They're just cuts. Nothing for someone whom I won't ever see again, after I'm well, should bother with."

"You know what, babe-" He cut himself off with a curse and bolted from the bed.

Meggie rested on her back again in time to see him thrust his fingers through his hair. He pulled out his cigarettes, maneuvered one partially out of the pack, then grabbed it between his lips, not once taking his green gaze from her. He flicked the lighter he also got from his vest. Once he'd taken a few puffs, he tried again.

"You gonna drive some poor motherf.u.c.ker, huh?"

"Drive?"

"Up a f.u.c.kin' wall. To the edge of f.u.c.kin' violence. Just plain f.u.c.kin' crazy."

His observation stung her because, in essence, he thought her difficult, and she wasn't by any means. He puffed in nicotine, then huffed out a breath.

"I can't f.u.c.kin' stand the name Caldwell because the f.u.c.ker who made me should've been castrated for what he did to my mother. I'm here because of a f.u.c.kin' rape, Megan. Conceived in violence, live in violence, and I'm sure I'll f.u.c.kin' die in violence. Ain't a day went by when my grandfather didn't remind me of how I ruined my mother's life." He sucked on his cigarette again, his eyes glittering with anger and other emotions. Hurt. Humiliation. Shame.

He might very well deny he felt either, but Meggie herself had lived with everything she saw in his expression.

"No child asks to be born," she pointed out. "No matter how it's conceived. You didn't ruin your mother's life."

"What the f.u.c.k ever," he snapped. "I didn't tell you that s.h.i.+t to get f.u.c.kin' pity. I stopped givin' a f.u.c.k years ago." He pointed a finger at her. "Don't ever f.u.c.kin' tell that s.h.i.+t to nof.u.c.kinbody. So, now, you little pain in the a.s.s motherf.u.c.ker, f.u.c.kin' spill. Tell me the f.u.c.kin' truth about those f.u.c.kin' cuts and not f.u.c.kin' bulls.h.i.+t. Because you know what I think, Megan?"

"No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me."

He threw his cigarette to the floor and, Megan a.s.sumed, stepped on it to put it out, as he stalked to the bed, climbed in, straddled her, and pinned her arms above her head. She tried to draw in air, to smell the leather of his vest, to smell him, but mucus still stuffed her nose, continuing to block his scent from her.

"You f.u.c.kin' right I am." He paused and pulled back to allow her a cough. "I think," he continued, "you f.u.c.k yourself up. Ain't no f.u.c.kin' cuts another motherf.u.c.ker gives you is so f.u.c.kin' straight and neat. Them some precision f.u.c.kin' cuts on you. I've cut motherf.u.c.kers in methodical ways but they move and s.h.i.+t. Squirm. Try to get the f.u.c.k away. That s.h.i.+t don't allow for straight f.u.c.kin' lines. And another thing. When other motherf.u.c.kers cut you? Wounds are a little f.u.c.kin' deeper. Unless you dealin' with a f.u.c.kin' p.u.s.s.y, your wounds ain't deep enough for someone else to have done that s.h.i.+t."

Meggie's eyes burned and her entire chest ached, not from the flu or a cold or whatever. Christopher's harsh words compounded her gut-wrenching shame. The raw, no-nonsense account from a man who hadn't hesitated to point a gun at her head held an inescapable truth. Her father always insisted his innocuous club involved just a bunch of guys who loved motorcycles and gave money to children's charities. The Death Dwellers were no such thing. They were real. They were violent. They were scary.

So what did that make Big Joe? Christopher?

"f.u.c.kin' talk to me," he demanded.

She shook her head, feeling wretched to her soul.

He released her arms and studied her. She wanted to crawl somewhere and never come out again.

"Your mother know you injure yourself?"

"No," she admitted, her voice barely audible. A question was easier to answer than stringing together words about her impetus.

"How long?"

"T-two years." After the last time they'd run away and Thomas found her and beat her and her mother so terribly. "I called Daddy and he never came. He always came. Always," she said, wanting to lean into this big, strong man and know she'd be safe.

He backed away from her. "Jesus."

One word. So much meaning in it. Regret. Annoyance. Anger.

He rubbed his eyes and stretched out next to her again, as if he were unsure if he wanted her close to him. "Who worked you over?"

His sudden change of subject left her reeling, though she acknowledged her relief he'd stopped questioning her about what she did to herself. But he went from one uncomfortable topic to one equally as provocative. Her brain searched for an answer to satisfy all parties concerned. If she told the truth, she didn't know what the consequences would be. He mightn't believe Rack's capability of such violence. "Who's here?" She had to know. Because if he did believe her and confronted Rack...Meggie s.h.i.+vered at the thought. "H-has my father returned, by any chance?"

"No."

Her father seemed to be a sore spot with Christopher. "Christopher," she blurted to test how his name sounded on her lips. A strong name for a strong man.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing," she whispered, feeling like an idiot for just wanting to say his Christian name. "Um, who's here?"

Christopher contemplated her and Meggie squirmed against the hard length of his body. Awareness of how little she wore seeped into her and her entire body flushed. She wriggled and he tightened his grip on her.

"Would you keep f.u.c.kin' still?" he growled.

"I-I've never had the choice to be so close to a man like you in bed before." She felt as breathless as she sounded. His erection pressed into her belly and she rubbed against him. Her nipples ached.

"One more time, Megan," he snapped through gritted teeth. "You have one more time to wiggle against my d.i.c.k. One more," he repeated, like she was some type of moron. "You move again and I'm f.u.c.kin' you."

"Umkay." Meggie's feminine core burned with heat and she felt her body slickening. If she moved again, she was a moron but the idea of making love to him sent her hormones into overdrive. He seemed so s.e.xual and so sure of himself. "Will you fit inside me?"

"Motherf.u.c.ker." He shoved her away and jumped out of the bed. He thrust a hand through his hair and glared at her. "You lookin' to get f.u.c.ked, little girl?"

"No. Yes. I-I don't know."

He paced for a minute before lighting a cigarette. "You ain't been f.u.c.ked before."

He almost made it sound like an accusation. She wished she hadn't been worked over so she could return his glare. She stared at the ceiling, preferring to be f.u.c.ked on her terms rather than her stepfather's. "And?"

"Who the f.u.c.k hit you?"

"You're not going to answer me?"

"My answer would be relievin' you of your virginity."

At least, her virginity would be relieved with someone she wanted.

"And that ain't a f.u.c.kin' answer at all," he went on.

"Are you sure you're a biker? You can be really sweet and considerate."

Somehow, her observation insulted him. He stiffened. "I ain't no p.u.s.s.y, Megan."

"I didn't mean-"

"I just got sisters, nieces, and, most of all, a mother."

"Christopher-"

He kicked the chair against the wall and she jumped, unable to stop her cry of fear. She s.h.i.+elded her head.

"Stop callin' me that!" He lit another cigarette and Meggie decided it helped to calm him. "I ain't takin' your p.u.s.s.y. Case f.u.c.kin' closed." He drew in deep breaths and changed the subject. "Tell me in your words why Rack worked you over like this? What did he say?"

"You know?"

"Contrary to what girly bulls.h.i.+t you have in your head about me, I live a hard, fast life. If I don't know motherf.u.c.kers, I end up with a real f.u.c.kin' knife in my back."

Her stomach sank along with her mood. "You think that's what happened to my daddy?" she managed, envisioning her father in a situation where someone close to him had put a real knife in his back. She trembled and tears rushed to her eyes. She was just a wreck.

"Stick to one motherf.u.c.kin' subject at a time. You jumpin' from one conversation to the next and we ain't finished a-f.u.c.kin-one. Why did Rack-"