Page 44 of Live Love Steal
“I… bruised a little. I think I…” She gagged a little and hung her head out the window to get fresh air.
It wasn’t easy to ignore the stench. My eyes were watering. “The club has a shower.”
Two, technically, but one was in Wolf’s office. And no one but him or Tits used that one. Although, there was a problem with the larger one. It didn’t have a door. Clothes were another issue. I doubted she brought extra. I got on the phone once we were far enough away from the scene. “Smoke, I need clothes. Girl clothes. Not Poppy-sized. More Lily-sized. Maybe… an eight?” I glanced at Isobel to confirm.
She glared at me.
“Six?” I corrected.
“Which is it?” He growled.
Isobel rolled her eyes. “A size six. I’m guessing.”
She stared forward and nodded once.
“Bra size?”
No fucking clue, except perfect. “Perfection.”
He snorted. “Is this for the chick you had earlier?”
“Like there’d be another?” Jesus.
“Ha, just checking, man. Hey, Iz, what’s your boob size?”
“36C,” she replied.
“Got it. Sketch?”
“Yeah, man?”
There was a pause before he answered. “As Jackson would say…Fucking-A.” He laid extra innuendo into his words.
“Go to hell.” I ended the call because Iz didn’t need to hear his locker room bullshit. She needed a shower, clean, comfortable clothes, her laptop, her car, rest, and her life back. Only some of that I could provide.
11
Raincheck - Isobel
A biker hangout situated in the middle of a junkyard in the late afternoon was entertaining. One in the middle of the night? Scary as fuck. Despite being a weeknight, the place was crowded. Men in leather, women in much less, and all sorts of ages, sizes, and varying degrees of weathered couldn’t begin to describe the scene.
Sketch parked the car, and I didn’t wait for him to open my door. I scrambled out to try to get fresh air. But we were in the middle of a junkyard. That meant the air smelled like rust and oil and dirt.
But that was a far cry better than the sourness that clung to me. I tried to face into the light breeze so it would blow the disgusting odors farther from my nose.
One of the several men outside yelled, “Holy shit, Sketch, what did you do to her?”
“Shut the fuck up. Is Smoke here?”
“He just got back.”
“Iz?” He braved my PigPen cloud of yuck and held his hand out like he was going to guide me inside.
“A real shower, right? Hot water?” He promised.
“Yes.”
There was something crawly stuck to my back. I dreaded finding out what it was. Maybe it was innocuous like the spaghetti noodles I’d accidentally pushed my hand into. Or maybe it was something worse?
