I bolt upright with a start. The room is different. When we got in from visiting the Stella my leg wound was bothering me, itching and warm. I wrapped it up in old bandages and passed out on the couch.
Now, I'm in a bed in the spare bedroom of the safehouse, tangled up in a homemade quilt I now recognize as Pearl's handiwork. Light streams in from the windows and a quick glance at the vintage alarm clock on the side table informs me I slept until noon. Enraged, I crawl out from the sheets and storm into the kitchen, where Cash has the nerve to be casually reading the newspaper and sipping coffee. If I wasn't furious, I'd be tempted to poke fun of the scary biker leader for his domestic tendencies.
"You moved me."
He doesn't look up. "Seemed like a shame to waste a perfectly good bed."
I fidget with the hem of my t-shirt. "I sleep better on the couch."
At that, his head swivels my way. He drops the paper and gets to his feet, folding his arms across his chest. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up far enough to reveal the collection of tattoos and it momentarily distracts me. He takes a step towards me and my heart responds by stammering.
"Is that because you're used to it?"
Shit.
"Struck a nerve, did I? I went to help my guys collect your things from the trailer this morning." He gestures to the garbage bags sitting by the front door. I wince, noting that all my worldly possessions appear to be easily contained within two trash bags. I'd be a remarkably easy person to make disappear. "We went to look for your stuff in the bedroom and only found your sister's."
"She gets the bedroom. What's the big deal?"
"That couch is pathetic. X-Ray sat on it and a spring jumped up and bit him in the ass. Bed's not big enough for two?"
"She's twelve, I don't want to crowd her."
"And she gets the good food and the nicer clothes and the new books, right? And you get to maintain your distance."
I scoff, trying to keep my tone even.
"What are you saying?"
He points in the direction of the bedroom. "I'm saying the bed's for you, sleep in it. The food's for you, eat it. I'll come down here and lay you out on that mattress myself every night if I have to, Sweetheart."
My stomach twists, mind flooding with less-than-modest thoughts at his choice of words. All the heat of my anger drops from my skull to a fast-warming place between my thighs.
"Don't call me Sweetheart." It's all I can think to say.
At some point during our exchange he has leaned in close enough that I am finally able to determine his eye color; a smoky green, not blue. I count the seconds his face hovers over mine, our eyes daring. He smells like coffee. Then without another word, he heads for the door, leaving me to exhale a shaky breath as the door bangs shut behind him.
I turn to see Tex watching me from the couch, smirking.
"What?" I snap.
"Nothin'. I'm just grateful to have you around, Miss Jane. You're an unexpected blessing."
"And why is that?" Dare I ask?
"It's rare to see the boss so ruffled by someone. Humanizes him a bit."
I roll my eyes and sink into the couch next to him. "You're delusional, Cowboy."
"I've never seen that man run from anything." Tex giggles. "But he hightailed it out of here."
"I have that effect on the opposite sex."
He howls at this, nearly spilling his coffee.
Not entirely untrue, but I seem to have that effect on one man in particular. I glance out the door the way he left, the intensity of his words playing in a delicious and shameful loop in my brain.
Lay you out on the mattress every night if I have to.
I shiver, goosebumps prickling across my skin. What's wrong with me? I can't seriously be having indecent thoughts about a man who avoids me like the plague.
The last time I felt even a whisper of attraction was years ago. A young man came to the diner, smooth and sweet and flirty. He was passing through town on a road trip across the country. His hair was blonde and shoulder-length and looked impossibly soft. He was kind. He told me I was beautiful. He waited patiently for my shift to be over and took me to watch the sunset in his van.
I stayed longer than I should have, relishing in his touch. Naked and satiated, I confessed secrets to the handsome stranger that I hadn't told anyone; my dreams of living in New York, my plans before my life had changed. It wasn't everything, but I told him a lot.
"You should come with me." He'd said. "Get out of Throckmorton for a bit."
"My sister's here. I can't leave her."
So instead he kissed my fondly and took me home, pressing his phone number into my palm and begging me to call. I stuck it on the fridge with an orange cat magnet Blister made when she was little. I stared and stared at his phone number for days before eventually burning it in the sink, afraid I'd lose my nerve and fish it out of the garbage if I merely threw it away.
I didn't need or want a distraction. I had a kid sister to look out for, and this worldly and well-travelled guy had briefly awoken a dormant and dangerous desire for adventure; for escape.
How old was I then? Twenty-one? If I'd known Hoyt was about to burst into my life with all the noise and chaos of shattered glass, maybe I'd have begged that boy to take both of us with him.
Twenty-one. No wonder I'm so flustered by Cash. It's been years. I need to get laid before I start having full-blown fantasies about the leader of a biker gang. Or worse, before I start thinking of acting on them. What would that mean for the deal we've struck? What would that look like?
I'll bet he's good with his hands.
I shake my head, trying to physically rattle thoughts of Cash out of my head.
After all, we don't know each other; we don't get along. Cash seems pretty dedicated to avoiding me. He arrives in the morning to give me whatever information or orders he thinks I need, and then he vanishes for the day. As Tex pointed out, he bolts after nearly every interaction, usually in a foul mood.
I'm just suffering the symptoms of a years-long dry spell, that's all. I resolve to keep my head down and avoid him. I won't even look at him. Whatever I'm feeling will pass.
~~~
In the last few days, Hoyt's mood has worsened. Tonight there's still no sign or news of Cori and the air in the Stella is thick with tension. It's bad enough that all the girls keep their heads down. We're all used to avoiding Hoyt generally, but we practically scurry out of his path. Cherry and I snuck out to smoke in the back alley while he stomps around by the bar, cursing and swearing at patrons and staff alike.
"You don't look too good." She muses.
"Wow, thanks." I swipe a hand across my forehead, finding it slick with sweat. I haven't felt great for a few days, to be fair. I had no appetite for the food Cash left on the counter this morning. "You flatter me."
"I'm serious Janey. Maybe you should head home early?"
"And incur the wrath of Hoyt? No way. I've already enjoyed one of his beatdowns, thank you." I gesture clumsily to my black eye, already fading and yellow.
"I'll cover for you if he asks. Honestly he's too pissed about Cori to notice you've gone home early."
Cori.
My pulse quickens. An idea floats across my brain, temporarily overpowering the pain radiating through my skull. "Where does she live?"
"What?"
"Cori. Where does Cori live?"
"How should I know? She never said a word to me."
"Hoyt would know." It would be in his employee records.
Cherry grabs me by the wrist. "What? You're not making any sense."
"I need to know where Cori lives." I twist my arm out of her hand and stumble for the doorway back inside. The world tilts and my stomach responds by turning sharply.
"Probably in the trailer park, Janey. What's going on?"
"I might throw up." I warn her, tasting bile on my tongue.
"I told you! You look like shit. We should to get you home"-
"I need you to do something for me."
"Anything."
"I need the address of wherever Cori's staying from Hoyt's office."
She lets out a long string of profanity in one sharp exhale. "Jesus. What the fuck do you need that for?"
"I need to see if she ran, Cherry."
"What for? You two weren't exactly the best of friends."
"I need to know. I have a bad feeling about it."
I watch her hesitate. She sucks in a long breath, surveying me carefully as I cling to the doorframe for dear life.
"You will text me the minute you are home and safe. Are we clear?"
"No, I'll come right back."
"You should go home." I shake my head and instantly regret it from the way the alley spins. Cherry cracks, knowing she owes me one. "Wait here. I'll get you her address."
~~
Distantly, I'm aware I shouldn't be driving. My whole body is stiff in the driver's seat from the effort of concentrating on the road. I pull up to the motel and have to wait a few steadying heartbeats before I'm able to crawl out of the front seat.
Throckmorton's motel - like most other places downtown - is old and neglected. The building was once painted red but it's so encased in dust and grime that it may as well be grey. It's mostly frequented by truckers passing through or people who can't afford or be bothered to live in the trailer park or one of the houses in the area. I only come here to steal bed linens when we've desperately needed them.
Cori had been occupying room 207, according to Cherry. I grip the rusted iron railing and haul myself up the stairs beneath the flickering glow of the red neon sign. The door is cracked open. The staff here aren't particularly dedicated or observant - which is how I managed to poach their sheets - so it's not surprising they haven't noticed one of their occupants has vanished.
I hold my breath as I push open her door. "Don't be dead, Cori."
In response, I'm only greeted by silence and darkness. I flick on the light switch and the chaos is illuminated in front of me. The pillows are pulled open, feathers everywhere. The nightstand knocked over. Hoyt was here, certainly, and in a rage by the look of things, but there's no sign of Cori. I track the destruction into the closet and the bathroom, carefully examining each shred of torn fabric and disrupted piece of furniture like it's a murder investigation. I guess it may very well be, although there's no blood anywhere that I can see.
Having been on the receiving end of one of Hoyt's beatings, I can tell when one hasn't occurred. I straighten and begin pacing about the room like I'm Sherlock Holmes. He looked and he didn't find her and then for some reason - perhaps as a threat in case she returned - he tore the place apart.
"She ran." I announce to the room. And then, because it seems appropriate, I laugh victoriously. I remember to turn the light back off as I go, and I drive back towards the Stella. It'll be like I was never gone. I think I'll grab a quick change of clothes at the safehouse first, mine are all sweaty.
I feel like I've gotten away with something naughty. I've snuck out from under the eyes of both Hoyt and Cash. I'm floating on air when I pull down the dirt road practically singing as I park the Corolla and roll into the safehouse.
I get myself a drink of water - extremely thirsty all of a sudden. I don't even realize I have an audience until I go to check my reflection in the bathroom.
"Dallas." I jump, catching sight of Cash in the mirror. He's frowning, watching me carefully. "When's the last time you checked that leg?"
"It's fine." My leg has been sore, the wound aching. It was so ugly looking I bandaged it before the Stella.
"You weren't limping a few days ago."
"I'm not limping, don't be dramatic. It's just a little tender." He steps closer and I hobble back. "What are you doing?"
"Let me look at it."
"No!" I sound like a petulant child. "It's fine."
"Dallas," he warns, using a low and growly tone of voice that makes my stomach twist sharply, "don't be a pain in the ass."
"I'm not." My back hits the bathroom countertop and in one swift movement he's seized me by the waist and set me atop it.
"What the fuck"-
"Shut up." He hisses, reaching for the bandage. I try to push him away and he presses his palm to my sternum, holding me in place against the mirror. "You're feverish."
His eyes lock fiercely with mine. I bite back a retort, giving up. I feel fucking miserable, and he's isolated exactly why. Cash pulls the bandage off slowly, cursing at what he finds. I wince, looking down at the angry pink skin surrounding the weeping wound. I can tell just by looking at it that the injury is likely hot to the touch.
"Jesus Christ, Dallas." He puts a foot of distance between us, fixing me with an incredulous look. "I can't figure out if you're careless or just plain stupid."
I take advantage of the space and hop off the counter. Instantly, I'm trapped between his arms.
"Let me leave!"
"Not until I've called Doc here and I've watched you take antibiotics."
"I've got to get back to the Stella."
"You're not going back."
At that, I panic and swing. My first connects with his chest. He groans and then grips my hips, shoving me hard against the sink.
"What the fuck are you doing?" He growls.
"I'm going back to the Stella. I'm not going to let my sister be thrown back to the wolves because I'm not useful!"
He drops his hands from me like I've burned him. "Nobody's getting thrown to the wolves, Dallas. Go to bed."
"But"-
"Go to bed. Doc will drop by in a little while with some antibiotics."
I've offended him, I can tell. "I shouldn't have hit you."
"Bed." He hisses. "Now."
I sulk to my bedroom and climb beneath the sheets. My skin sears in all the places his hands landed, as though he left huge burning palm prints on me.
///