Page 23 of Tyrant

“No onions, got it. Anything else?”

My mouth salivates as I admit, “I haven’t had a piece of pizza in years.”

“Sugar, that’s fuckin’ tragic. We’ll have pizza this week, I promise you.” As soon as the words leave him, I’m nearly charging him, needing to feel him against me once more. He opens his arms and I fit myself to his massive frame, wrapping my arms around his waist. I hug him tightly, breathing in his manly scent of detergent, deodorant, and leather from his cut.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“No thanks needed, Blair. I got you,” he promises easily. Tyrant may be a big, bossy biker, but he’s one of the kindest men I’ve ever met. I don’t think he’s the same way to everyone, as they all seem fearful when we’re together, but to me, he’s different.

He swats me on my butt as I turn away and head for the bathroom. The ache in my shoulders I’ve been carrying with me since leaving Las Vegas finally eases to the point my bag nearly falls off my shoulder. I set it on the bathroom floor and close the door behind me, then lock it and lean on the counter, staring into the mirror. I look exhausted, and Lord knows my body feels like I’ve been run over. No wonder Tyrant told me to shower and take it easy. It’s not as if I had a choice of a luxury shower or anything while traveling on the bus. Plus, I don’t have extramoney to stay in hotels to shower, rest, and eat a decent meal. I took as little money as possible, feeling incredibly guilty I’d helped myself to any of Tyrant’s cash at all.

At some point, I need to find a job. I wonder if the bikers here know anyone who would pay me under the table? I need to fly under Josef’s radar as much as possible. I know he’ll be incredibly embarrassed with me leaving and having to make up an excuse for my absence that he’ll continue to look for me. Even after months, he has my face splashed all over the television. If he catches wind of me working anywhere, he’ll show up in a heartbeat and force me to leave with him. Don’t ask me how, I just know it’ll happen.

The shower is hot, the water pressure strong enough to bring more tears. I’ve opened the floodgates and I can’t seem to stop the tears now that they’ve been allowed to escape. As I use Tyrant’s body wash to scrub my skin, my sobs wrack my body. My hands shake with every swipe of the soap, every squeeze of my hair, my teeth chattering even though the water’s hot, the room full of steam.

I turn the water all the way to cold and rinse. I need it to shock me enough to get me to pull it together. Josef wouldn’t stand for a display of emotion like this, he’d call it a tantrum and speak on how it was ungraceful. One thing the Profit’s wife is, is graceful. Pure, untainted, holy…

I shudder with what he’d do to me if given the chance.

The shower runs for far too long, as I stand there, zoned out and soaking in every chilly drop. Being homeless has taught me to never take water for granted ever again. Having nothing will humble you and show you what is truly necessary in a heartbeat. Water. Food. Air conditioning in the dead of summer. Heat on the coldest night. Clothing. Some sort of shelter. It’s about all you need in this life aside from your loved ones.

Once I’ve dried off, I peek out of the bathroom door finding a stack of clothes beside it. There’s a woman’s T-shirt, stretchy cotton shorts, and a hoodie that’s much too big. It’s Tyrant’s size, so I know it’ll swallow me up to my knees most likely. I tug the clean, soft clothing on, exhaling a sigh of relief. My clothes aren’t in tatters or anything, but they aren’t this soft or clean and it’s like being hugged by fabric softener. I haven’t had the luxury of such soft clothes since before I went to the community. There we’d wash the clothing with homemade soap, which I did love, but we always hung everything out. It was never the fresh heat from the dryer with the glorious toxic smell of fragrance. I missed it. I toss on Tyrant’s hoodie last. It’s like wearing a solid black fleece blanket. I can’t help myself from tugging it up over my nose and deeply inhaling. Gah. It smells just like he does and makes my eyes roll heavenward.

I want that man something fierce.

I find a pair of his tube socks in the top drawer of his dresser and cover my cold feet. They come up to my knees and I know I must look absolutely ridiculous, but I can’t find it in me to care in the least bit. I’m blissfully warm, in clean, comfortable clothes, and he’s promised me pizza this week. I need my daughter, and then my life will be happier than it’s been in far too long.

Finishing off my bottled sweet tea, I leave the sanctuary of his room. I’ve never been very outgoing, but I’m also not a recluse. This isn’t Josef’s cult, I don’t have to worry about being punished for not dressing a certain way, or being tossed in the hole for reflection if I speak to the Profit in any way that doesn’t agree with him completely. Tyrant won’t strip me and allow his commune to taunt me and throw things at me.

No, if anything, the one impression I’ve gotten from Tyrant is he will protect me and care for me. His love language must be acts of service because he’s determined to make sure I havewhat I need and help. No wonder he’s the vice president of their motorcycle club, if he’s this way with me, I can only imagine what he’d be willing to do for the members of their club.

Leaving the safety of the room and the dark hallway, I find myself in an open, shared space. It’s large with pool tables, televisions, couches, a bar, dart boards, and more. It reminds me of some of the places my friends would hang out at when I was in college. Only here the men are covered in leather vests and tattoos. They’re also big, and a few seemingly broody. One notices me with a mohawk, and releases a sharp whistle. My cheeks heat instantly.

“Damn,” another calls, making me jump. My gaze scans the men and a few scantily dressed women, my eyes wide and alarmed. I wasn’t expecting to be under everyone’s scrutiny all at once and it has me wanting to tuck tail, turn around, and run back to the room.

“Sugar,” Tyrant’s warm voice puts me at ease. He’s stepping around one of the guys, heading for me. “You got pants on under there?”

Glancing down, I realize why they are all staring and whistling. His hoodie is so long it looks like I have on his shirt and socks and nothing else. “Oh, God,” I whisper.

His mouth hikes up into a sexy smirk as he runs his heated stare over me from top to bottom. “Mm, trying to make me punch my brothers?” he asks, as his finger tips my chin up so I’ll meet his gaze again. “Cause it’s working, baby. You looking like this has me all tied up in knots over the brothers picturing you naked, intheirhoodie.”

“I thought it was yours.”

“Oh it is, or I’d have ripped it off you already. Doesn’t mean they aren’t picturing otherwise.”

I can’t help myself; I smile.

“You ready to eat?”

“Here, with everyone staring?”

He barks out a laugh and then his big paw is finding my hand, his long fingers wrapping around mine to lead me towards the back of the group. There are a few guys sitting around a low table, talking and ribbing each other. Their vests are covered in patches, making me believe they must be like Tyrant and higher up in the club hierarchy. “Nobody will be staring with you at my side. Havoc may glare a little, but it’s only ‘cause he’s trying to figure out why I like you when I hate everyone else.”

My mouth drops at his admission.

“Hey babe,” a man to the left greets.

Another sits stoically across from us, eyeing me. He must be Havoc, the man Tyrant was talking about.

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