Page 20 of Through The Woods

I finished chopping up the chicken and placed it into a large bowl before reading over the recipe again. When I chuckled, Bashful held his hands out while shrugging his shoulders, as if asking what I found funny.

I pointed at the recipe. “My dad loved it when my mom made this, but every time he’d apologize to her for all the time and effort that went into making it. She’d brush it off, but tell him he could make it up to her by rubbing her feet once he was done with the dishes.”

The memory caused my throat to tighten up, and I was forced to pause as I regained control over my emotions. “It was Bisquick—she cheated and made the crust from a baking mix. We never caught on.”

I didn’t talk after that.

Cooking was no different than chemistry—I was simply taking a set list of ingredients in specific doses and recreating the experiment in a different lab. At least, that was what I told myself.

Once the chicken was cooked, I added everything to two large casserole dishes and popped them into the large oven before setting the timer.

“Well, well, well—you must be feeling better.” Rooster poked his head around the corner.

I shrugged. “I guess as good as I’m going to get.”

Not like your boss cares…

He looked me over, and I realized that Bashful had disappeared on me at some point. “You get a room yet?”

I shook my head and continued wiping down the countertops, trying not to give anything away. A room meant permanence, right?

Rooster excused himself and came back a few minutes later with a bag under his arm. “Come with me. One of the guys can take the shit out when the timer goes off.”

“It’s not shit—it’s good food,” I protested.

“My apologies. One of the other dickheads around here can take the deliciousness out for you,” he joked as he led me upstairs and towards one of the apartments. His earlier comments about me being a club whore came back full force and I stopped walking, my body stiffening in response. It had been one thing to offer my body when I was still high, but now that I was sober, I didn’t want to be anyone’s plaything.

He put a key in the door and then looked back over his shoulder. “You comin’?”

I shook my head and took a step back. “I’m not—I can’t do that—”

He laughed. “Darlin’, I don’t want a thing from you—but the truth is, you need a shower. Badly.” He held the bag up. “I found some girly shit you might like too. You’re safe with me, Scout’s Honor.”

I took a tentative step forward. “You were a Boy Scout?”

He pushed the door open and walked in. “Me? Oh, fuck no.” Seeing my eyes widen, he amended. “I won’t lay a hand on you, Biker’s honor.”

I took the bag from his hand. “Didn’t think bikers had any honor.”

He laughed again, as if my words were of no consequence. “You got a point there, Darlin’. How about this? I like my partners willing and able-bodied. And you’re neither. No offense.”

“None taken.” I studied the words on the back of his leather vest as he moved through the small apartment, gathering up armfuls of clothes.

Scarred Savages MC.

A skull with flames exploding from the eye sockets grinned back at me and I winced before looking away. Biker gangs were meant to be feared, so it’s not like there would’ve been a kitten riding a Harley on the back—although that would’ve been adorable.

The one percent emblem was proudly displayed to the right of the skull, opposite the MC logo. As if there was any mistaking what these men were.

At the bottom of his vest was the word Kasselhessen. I was even further from Boulder than I’d previously thought if I’d ended up in the mountain town of Kasselhessen. I didn’t know much about the town, other than it was founded by German immigrants in the late 1800s—well, that, and it was obviously home to these outlaw bikers.

“Bathroom’s that way. Clean towels are in the cabinet. I’m going to try and scrounge up some more clothes for you.” Rooster gestured toward a closed door, dismissing me.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that the bathroom was relatively clean. He had an extensive array of shampoos and soaps and I took my time sampling a little from each one. I doubted that he’d even notice and, judging by the river of red coming off of me, I needed it. I managed to avoid my bandages, washing around them as best I could.

I let the hot water run over my body until I began to worry that Rooster was going to break the door down to ensure that I was still breathing.

As I used my towel to wipe the steam from the mirror, I tried to avoid looking at the bones protruding from my chest as I carefully dried myself off. I failed and actually jumped back in fright, certain that a ghost was in the room with me. I looked like a dead girl—my eyes were sunken in, a necklace of bruising visible around my neck. I had bruises almost everywhere I looked.

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