Page 33 of Bloom: Part 2

BLOOM

My new bed was way too comfortable. When I squinted my eyes open, yawning, the clock on the bedside table revealed it was close to noon. Not one to usually sleep soundly, I could only attribute my sleeping in to staying up until late last night. More people had kept showing up, and my homecoming had turned into a party.

I’d mostly sat in a corner with Logan and the twins, playing card games, even though I was shit at it. Logan helped me to cheat, but the twins didn’t call us out. Most likely because they cheated as well. They had a way of looking at each other as if reading each other’s minds. When they’d scampered off somewhere and I’d told Logan their secret, he hadn’t believed me. I didn’t blame him. If I hadn’t seen the two of them fucking with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it either.

The other boys, as usual, were the life of the party. The skinny one, Cass, had almost started a fight between his husband and another man when he was drunk and started a stripper routine on top of the bar. I’d found it hilarious watching Grimm, the huge burly biker, play peacemaker. Mort had eventually left withCass under his arm, but the boy had been smiling all the way out the door.

It’d been late when Logan finally convinced me to go to bed. Curling up next to him with his arm around me was the highlight of the day. Waking up alone was a bit of a disappointment. The sheets next to me were cold, so he must have gotten up a while ago. I reached for his pillow, and a piece of paper crinkled. Puzzled, I picked it up and smiled.

Logan had doodled an image of a stick figure holding a heart. His attempt looked way better than the one of a broken heart I’d slipped under his door that one time. Did he still remember that? It seemed so long ago that he’d chased me out of his office and reprimanded me for being rude to his boss.

I spent way too much time staring at the doodle, but I couldn’t help it. That Logan remembered something so insignificant made my insides warm. I traced the lines with my fingertips, my heart beating a fast rhythm.

He’s the right man for me, and no one can make me believe otherwise.

I placed the paper on the bedside table, then carefully got out of bed, moving gingerly. My ass hurt from yesterday’s fucking with nothing but spit as lube, but I didn’t mind the reminder of spreading my legs for Logan. The annoying pain in my chest bothered me more. I’d missed the scheduled time to take my painkillers by almost four hours. I grabbed them from the drawer along with my antibiotics and brought them to the bathroom, where I swallowed the recommended dosage.

My appearance in the mirror made me grimace. Weeks spent in the hospital had not been kind to me. Sweet Satan, how did Logan stand looking at me?

For the next hour and a half, I occupied myself with my usual grooming routine, trimming and dyeing my hair to its usual inky black. I plucked my eyebrows, then shaved my legs and pubichair. Satisfied, I hopped into the shower. The hot water eased some of the soreness from my body, but I didn’t dare to linger for too long. I needed food, or the pills would fuck up my stomach for the entire day.

At the vanity, I applied my makeup. Black eyeliner extended into a dramatic wing contrasting against my pale skin. I added black mascara and light powder to set my foundation. A small smear of black lipstick completed the look.

Next I styled my hair, pulling the sides back into braids laced with tiny silver skull-shaped beads that clinked together with every movement of my head. The rest I left to flow freely down my back.

Damn, no wonder Logan wants to do me. I’d do myself too.

I snickered, feeling a lot better with the familiar reflection. My wardrobe looked sadly lacking, something I’d never noticed before. Although I dressed well, I never hesitated over my outfit, but I wanted to look good for Logan. I wanted that man to take one look at me and jump my bones.

I riffled through my closet, discarding option after option. Jeans? Leather pants? Cargo pants? A pair of sweats I’d never worn? Nothing seemed right until my fingers landed on the perfect pair of ripped-to-shreds jeans with studded chains and patches of sequins that shimmered in the dim light. One leg was almost entirely shredded, showing off just enough skin to make Logan’s gaze linger. The other leg was decked out with shiny, rebellious details that would catch his eye. Yeah, these jeans were trouble and exactly the kind of statement I wanted to make.

The rough fabric and cool metal against my skin. There. Now I felt like myself again, with a little extra edge just for him.

In my T-shirt drawer, tucked all the way at the back, I found a top I’d been sent by mistake in one of my orders. It wasn’t like anything I would’ve chosen—dark, ripped, and nearly sheer with fishnet panels that left little to the imagination. The snugfabric left slashes of bare skin beneath the torn layers with crisscrossing laces down the sides, eyelets glinting in the light. Paired with the fingerless fishnet sleeves, it had an unapologetic edge that was equal parts daring and dangerous.

With the jeans and this top, I looked like trouble, the kind of trouble I hoped Logan wouldn’t be able to resist.

The way I craved that man’s attention was like nothing I had ever experienced. Just the thought of him looking at me, desiring me, made my pulse quicken.

I stepped into a pair of black combat boots, the laces long and winding, the leather worn and comfortable. They were gifts from Crowe. Not that I’d ever bring that up.

Digging through my jewelry box, I found the perfect adornments—black stacking rings. I slipped them on, one by one. A thick black band rested on my third finger while a sleek, coiled snake, its head poised as if ready to strike, wrapped around the index one. The subtle weight of the rings felt grounding. To finish, I fastened a choker around my neck, a thin black band with a small metallic spike that settled coolly against my skin.

The finished look was a bit dramatic for the clubhouse, but I shrugged off the thought. For the past weeks, I’d been forced to wear a hospital gown. If anyone made any remark about how I dressed, I would just have to slice their tongue out.

Oops. Almost forgot my knife. I placed it into my boot and had my hand on the doorknob when my phone rang. I debated letting it ring off, but worried it might be Logan, I turned back to pick it up.

Winter.

I almost broke my finger, swiping the screen.

“Hey, Win.”

Like the Winter I remembered, he wore an easygoing grin while his eyes carried shadows. He had dark circles under them,and his face looked leaner. My throat thickened, and I inhaled sharply as the image of him lying unconscious, convulsing from a drug overdose, flashed through my mind.

I wasn’t the only one lucky to be alive.

“Hey, Bloom. Heard you got out of the hospital.” His deep, husky voice washed over me. Until my eyes burned, I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him. I fought with him more than any other biker, but he was and would always be my brother.

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