Page 33 of Filthy Sinner

Only, she didn’t.

“Come on, MaryCat,” I urged, gentler with her because she was being so strong. “Let’s get some coffee in you.”

Not rushing her, I stayed in place, letting her hands squeeze my waist for support as she made minute movements to clamber off the bike.

I liked her hands there more than I should and even missed them when they were gone.

Another soft sound whispered from her lips, but it was exactly that.

A whisper.

She was trying to stay quiet, to keep her discomfort from me, and while I was proud of her for being a trooper, it twisted me up inside too.

I shifted so I could see her. “You don’t have to hide your pain from me.”

Her throat moved, but she didn’t say a word as, in increments, she managed to climb off the back of the bike.

When she pressed her hands to the seat and took a breather, I let her stand there.

“First time always sucks,” I tried to comfort, but I knew there wasn’t much comfort to be had.

Her face was white and pale, her features wooden.

When she was standing on her own, I got off too before I dipped down to grab the saddlebags.

Hooking them over my shoulder, I stopped beside her and held out my arm.

For a second, she looked at it blankly, but then her hand settled on top of it.

I let her set the pace, peering around the grimy shithole.For all that it looked ugly as fuck, it was a 24-hour mom-and-pop joint, and the smells coming from it were strong enough to diminish the stench of gas from the roads, and they were fucking awesome.

Stomach rumbling, I didn’t say anything as we took at least five minutes for a fifteen-second trip, which let me scope the area.

Rolling my eyes at the Christmas trees in the window and the flashing Santas stuck to the glass, I grunted when, as we entered the establishment, holiday songs bombarded us.

Over the noise, I asked, “Need the bathroom?”

Wearily, she sighed. “I do.”

I glanced around the place, found the women’s restroom, then shuffled her over to it.

“You gonna be all right in there?”

Her lips quirked into a smile that gutted me. “You gonna help me there too?”

Pleased she had enough energy to joke around, I grinned at her. “I mean, I could try.”

She sniggered. “Thanks, but I think I can manage. Come and investigate if I’m not back in two hours.”

“Two hours? Christ. You’ve got twenty minutes before I send in a search and rescue squad.”

“My hero,” she retorted, batting her eyelashes.

The snort that escaped me had her grin widening, and because I liked seeing that over her rickshaw of pain, I teased, “You know it. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Nope, it’s Digger. On his custom hog.”

Though she laughed, she asked, “Custom?”

“Yeah. Down to the tires.”

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