Page 164 of Patching Over

“K-k-kracken, I-I-I think that’s my mother,” she whispers, her body trembling as she curls into me. I’m sure she doesn’t realize she’s using me as her protective shield, which causes my chest to rumble as my instincts to keep her safe roars to life.

Fury engulfs me seeing the abject terror displayed on my woman’s face. She’s pale, clammy, and of course, shaking likea leaf. Turning her so we’re facing one another, I lean in and murmur, “Where, babe?”

“F-f-five o’clock,” she stammers, tears shining in her eyes, shuddering so badly now that I’m worried she’s going to pass out on me. The last thing we need is to draw any unwanted attention to ourselves.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” I reply, moving us in the opposite direction of the woman Moira believes to be her mother. “We’re going to go to the self-checkout line, get everything paid for, then leave, Moira. She hasn’t noticed us, so we’re going to try and keep it that way, babe.”

My concern, of course, is I’m alone with her, in a strange town, and I don’t have any of my brothers at my back. If Moira’s correct, it’s possible that she could be recognized by others and there’s no way I want her in the path of danger. It’s one of the main reasons she and I are heading to Georgia instead of making our way home. The only thing anyone who might come after us, or more specifically,her, doesn’t realize is that I’ll protect her with my life and go down smiling while taking as many of them to Hell as I possibly can.

“She might not even recognize me,” Moira finally states once we’re close to the checkout line. Her voice is coming out a little clearer and less stunted. “It’s been a long time, and I don’t look the same now. My hair’s a lot shorter, but still a mess, and I never wore clothes like these when I lived at home.”

I’m glad to hear she’s not stammering any longer—a sense of pride enraptures me that I’m the one she’s comfortable with, and has chosen to open up to, but her voice is still raspy, so I grab a bottle of water, break open the seal, and hand it to her as I order, “Drink this.”

“You can’t just do that, Kracken!” she admonishes, attempting to push the bottle back at me, looking around tomake sure no employees noticed I’ve opened it without paying for it first.

“Babe, gonna pay for it, but you haven’t spoken for a long time, and it sounds like it hurts. This will help ease the scratchiness.”

She takes the water and drinks some before putting the cap back on and setting it in the cart. “It doesn’t, not really,” she murmurs, as we make our way to the checkout section.

Regardless, until she starts sounding less like she gargled with gravel and more like I presume she normally does, I’ll be giving her plenty of fluids to drink until her voice box has healed from its unuse. Hell, I put a couple of those packages of Ricola lozenges in the cart as well, just in case her throat does start getting irritated.

“Good thing we swung by the sporting goods section before we went over to the health and beauty aisles and grabbed these, huh?” I ask as I finish attaching the duffel bag with bungee cords onto the back of the bike.

“I wasn’t sure why we did, but now I understand,” she replies, one of the throat lozenges in her mouth.

I hide my smirk when I see it because she tried to make a fuss when she saw them on the conveyor belt. Yet, here she is, sucking on one while drinking more of the water. I think my woman’s throat is bothering her more than she let on, but that’s okay. It’s my privilege to be able to anticipate her needs and take care of her as long as I draw breath.

Once I’m sure everything is tied down and secure, I straddle my bike, then hide my grin when she manages to get on behind me with little effort. Seems my woman has caught on quickly,which makes me happy because I enjoy riding. I do need to get her some leathers and her own helmet, of course, since I live by the adage to dress for the slide, not the ride. I definitely don’t ever plan to lay my bike down, especially not with her on it, but shit happens. Assholes in cages tend not to see us, despite the fact our bikes are loud, we have a lit headlamp, and most of the time as a club, there are several brothers alongside us for the ride.

It doesn’t take long for us to get back to the hotel we’re staying at, and after helping her off, I grab all of our bags in one trip, making her giggle. The sound is so unexpected, I find myself chuckling as I open up the door to our room and set them down. I’m glad that Hawg set us up in a room and sent me the digital key card, so we don’t have to mess with the clerk at the front desk. This is a higher-end hotel, so I’m hoping that the story Butcher told us about his and Selah’s escapades at one of the smaller, no-tell motels won’t be happening here. I can’t believe someone has the balls to put cameras up and watch unsuspecting clientele while they undress and do whatever they came for. Without letting Moira know what I’m doing, I search the entire grid of the room before flickering on the lights. No signs of any laser beams, so I’m content to let her in behind me.

“I think that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” she says as she starts opening the bags and sorting everything out, then repacking it into the duffel bag.

“What?” I ask, checking my phone to see that Banshee sent an update on their ETA.

They’re making excellent timing, but since it’s radio silence with respect to what’s happening at home right now, I can only presume that he’s gotten information from either Brick or Hawg about the situation.

“The fact you carried all of the bags in one trip,” she replies. “Do you think they have a guest laundromat here?”

“Why?” I question.

“Because I always wash my clothes before wearing them. The dyes and stuff are harsh on one's skin, you know? Plus, you never know if someone has tried them on, except the underwear, of course.”

The face she makes has me chuckling as I go over to the desk that’s in the room and pick up the binder. Opening it, I see that they have a guest laundry room on each floor, and the desk at the lobby sells laundry detergent for those who need it.

“Babe, gonna run down and get some soap and change so you can get your new things washed.”

“Thank you,” she whispers as she starts to rip open the bags and remove the tags that contain her under things.

“Not a problem, roisin,” I reply, still enthused about hearing her voice.

By the time I return, she has everything separated and ready to go, so we walk down to the guest laundromat and after she loads the machines and adds the soap, I put the coins in and get them started.

“Okay, babe, how about we go back to our room, and we’ll order room service. We need an early night so we can get on the road as early as possible in the morning. Got about an eight or so hour trip tomorrow and there’s no way in hell I want to be driving through the mountains while it’s dark out to find the cabin we’re going to,” I say, taking her hand in mine.

It’s so much smaller than mine, almost delicate, that I’m amazed that she survived the beatings she endured the first time, much less the second. Thankfully, even though she initially startles from the contact, she doesn’t pull away from me.

“I’ll be back shortly, Moira, going to transfer the clothes,” I tell her as I pocket the loose change to pay for the dryers.

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