Charm had been right—I did look like an animal that needed to be put down.
There was a light knock at the door and I rewrapped the towel tightly around my body before opening the door about an inch.
“Found you some clothes.” Rooster’s face peered at me through the crack. I pulled the door open just enough for him to pass me the clothes before shutting and locking it again. The clothes were extra small, but still hung off of my frame. I cinched the cotton pants as tight as they would go before pulling my damp hair up into a ponytail.
The bag he’d given me contained lip balm, deodorant, lotion, a tube of toothpaste, and a toothbrush. After using them, I felt almost human again.
Almost.
Fir tree
I pulled on the oven mitts and carefully removed the casserole dishes from the oven. It looked even better than the picture in the cookbook.
“Damn, Neve. Why didn’t you get lost in the woods sooner?” Rooster grinned over my shoulder before stabbing a bite of steaming chicken pot pie with his fork.
The silent biker nodded earnestly, as if he was seconding Rooster’s comments.
“It must be somethin’ if it’s got Joker piping up.” The man I recognized as the voice of Grumpy said, rolling his eyes on his way out of the kitchen.
I tried to determine if he was teasing or not—I hadn’t heard ‘Joker’ say a single word since I met him a few hours ago. He’d shaken my hand and bobbed his head before sitting down to watch me cook. That had been the extent of it.
“Gunner, it’s the shit!” Rooster talked through a mouthful of food, exhaling in an attempt to cool his mouth and I hid a small smile, staring down at the saucepan of broth in front of me.
Take that, Grumpy Gunner.
I didn’t think I’d seen the man do anything but scowl since I’d arrived; which was a real shame, because he had a beautiful face. He was a little taller than Doc and though no one had said it, it was apparent that he’d served in the military.
You know how some men just carry themselves a certain way? Well, that was Gunner. And his way screamed, “Back the eff off.” He wore his dark hair slicked back and his facial hair was trimmed so perfectly, that I’d bet my next meal he didn’t leave the bathroom until every hair on his head obeyed him.
I mostly just tried to stay out of his way.
Rooster abandoned his post at the oven when I told him he couldn’t have another bite. I’d been hidden away in the basement, but I didn’t remember the guys making so much noise. They must’ve just been looking forward to a home-cooked meal.
I tested the side of the casserole dish with the back of my hand and decided that it probably wasn’t too hot to carry before making my way into the dining area.
My mouth dropped open at the sight of cardboard boxes and the men shoveling slices of pizza into their mouths like savages.
My face burned with embarrassment as I stood frozen next to the table. “What is this?”
Charm looked over his shoulder at me as he grabbed himself a slice. “I gave you an opportunity to cook dinner. You took too long, so I improvised. You’re out.” He stalked down the hallway and I hurriedly set the dish down on the edge of the table before jogging after him, managing to corner him at the end of the hall.
“You didn't even give me a fair chance! You set me up to fail!”
He shrugged and tried to push the door closed, but I stuck my foot out and caught it before it slammed in my face. To say I was taken aback by the contents of the room would’ve been the understatement of the millennium. I wasn’t sure what I expected—perhaps a dungeon of some sort. “You have a desk!” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation. Bikers didn’t have offices. They had rape rooms and torture chambers, sure, but nothing that would lump them in with regular folks.
He sat down in a large brown leather chair and kicked his feet up onto it. “And?”
Why did he hate me?
It wasn’t as if I’d planned on getting stabbed and choked before being left for dead in the woods.
My chest tightened when I realized that it wasn’t hatred reflected on his face. It was indifference, which was so much worse. I took a deep breath, hoping the pain would subside. “I made a meal. That was the agreement.”
He took a bite of pizza, taking forever to chew. “What do you want—a trophy for making one lousing fucking meal? Sorry, Sweetheart, this ain’t youth soccer. We had a deal, it didn’t work out, and now I want you gone. Is that clear enough for ya?”
I rubbed at the base of my throat. “I—I’d like another chance. Please.” I was pleading, but I couldn’t let him kick me out. Thoughts of being alone in the wilderness again had me rubbing my throat furiously as the pain intensified.
Charm crossed one foot over the other and pointed behind me. “Door’s that way.”