Page 47 of Wild Cub

“Rest. You’re here to rest.” His eyes, like honey, stare into my soul. “Oh, a stóirín. You’ve through so much. I’m so proud of you.” His hands intertwine with mine. “Give yourself to love. Know that I will always be here.” I hear him humCape Bretonas he kisses my forehead, as a bright light breaks it all.

My eyes flutter open, waking from the hazy dream. I’m lying on an unfamiliar couch, my arm bandaged, the blood cleaned up. My head’s pounding and an ache runs through my body with every slight movement. I groan. This is worse than a hangover. I slowly adjust my balance and sit up.

“Alexander?” I call out.

This place looks like it belongs in a magazine: industrial, painted in dark earth tones. It’s masculine but soft at the same time. It’s obviously been converted to serve as both a living space and a garage, and I’m not surprised. A motorcycle sits at the edge of one of the garage doors.

“Alexander?” I call out one more time before I get to my feet. I regret it instantly; my balance sucks, and I’m holding onto anything I can as I make my way into the nearby kitchen.

No one’s here, but I spy one perfect companion: whiskey. I’m not sure if this is Alexander’s place, fuck it. I was just shot: I deserve this. I gather enough strength to sit on the counter and take a big swig, allowing the warmth of the alcohol to wash through me. I have no idea what happened nor how long I have been out. Something tells me that I have been out of the loop on a few areas.

I lay my head back against the cabinets and gently close my eyes. Pain is still radiating through me. I hear the flushing of a toilet and my eyes pop back open. I rest the bottle on my thigh, waiting for the person I’m assuming will be Alexander. I’m not wrong. He emerges in basic jeans and a shirt, molded to every cut and edge of his body. Rubbing the back of his neck.I want and I want now.

He glances over at the couch, realizing the dead have risen like Easter morning. He scans the room, panicking, before finally finding me on the counter.

“Hiya.” I wave at him.

“You’re awake.” He leans against the kitchen island as I take a sip from the bottle.

When he sees what I’m drinking, he walks over to me, nestling between my legs, and moves to grab the bottle from my hands.

“If you touch this again you’ll lose a hand.”I snatch the bottle away from his grasp.

“I just don’t think that this is smart with possible head injuries. DR says you should be okay, he suspects that you passed out due to stress and fear.” He places his hands on my thighs. I swear to Jesus, this man is infuriating and tempting at the same time.

I scoff. “I was promised answers and until I do, I’m going to drink myself into a stupor because that’s how I’m coping with this crap right now. Start talking cowboy.” I drink again.

“I don’t think youareready, darlin’.” Fucking hell, what’s with him? I push him off, or at least attempt to but his strong hands grip me.

“Fucking spare me the rod. I’ve been patient, I’ve played by your rules.Go hifreann leat!” Apparently, when I’m extra angry, my childhood Gaelic lessons come in handy and becomes prominent.

“You speak Gaelic?” He raises an eyebrow. I just raise one back at the poor attempt at deflection.

He sighs, and that’s how I know I’ve won. “You’re right. You deserve answers. Ask away.” He grabs a chair and sits, still settled between my thighs.

“A few nights ago, Jeremiah warned about what was going down in the community, then proceeded to give me a few words of warning about you. What do you do, Alexander? What do you really do? What is the club into? I’m sucked into this world now, so I deserve to hear the truth.” The alcohol is kicking in now.

He looks me square in the eyes, steeling himself for my reaction. “The club handles the transportation of goods and storage of certain exports. Different businesses need a provider to overlook shipments. We don’t ask questions, and we get a cut of the profits. The only thing we don’t handle is drugs; too much shit happens with drug contracts. We own a few businesses to keep out of trouble.”

“Like the Devil’s Whiskey.” I connect the dots.

“And the Angry Dog,” he adds. My mouth drops.

“No fucking way. A biker gang owning a downtown coffee shop?” I laugh lightly, but he squeezes my thighs in warning.

“We dip our hands in a lot of things, keeping things legit, but shipping and transportation is our biggest one.”

I take another swig as he continues. “I’m not a good person, Teresa. I have done things that tarnished the halo and added the horns, if you will. I have taken down people that jeopardized our operations or put our people in danger. Jeremiah has a right to be worried. But there’s something about you, the way you care and see the world in a different light, that draws me in, makes me want to be a better man..” He kisses one of my hands, and the butterflies start to flutter. And the alcohol, but I’m choosing to ignore that for now.

“Will you tell me? About what you’ve done? Give me more insight on those darker parts?” I ask, knowing I’m pressing my luck .

He shakes his head no. “Perhaps one day, but I think you might have more pressing questions.”

I let that one go for something else that’s bothering me. “I want to know about the mail I gave you.” I go to take another swig, but he stops me.

“Joaquin didn’t find anything. No trace of it being laced or tampered with. It’s being kept somewhere safe though, just in case.”

I can feel the warmth of the whiskey circling around in my head. I’m not drunk, but I’m tipsy enough to ask my most loaded question. “Why?”

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