I wanted to stay on Dog’s bike but I didn’t want the drama. No, I couldn’t handle the drama. I’d had enough drama for one day, thank you so very much. In fact, I’d had enough drama in the last week to last me a freaking lifetime.
So I swung off, moved between bikes, hitched my purse more firmly on my shoulder and swung on Tack’s.
The minute my arms closed around his middle and my cheek hit his shoulder blade, we shot off.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Not Worth the Risk
I felt weight hit the bed, my eyes opened and slid up.
Tack was sitting there, wearing a skintight tee and faded jeans. His hair was wet from a shower. His blue eyes were on me.
I was lying in his bed, not at the Chaos Compound, in a rather nice house in the foothills outside Denver. It was built just up the mountain. It was one story, long and had a deck that ran the front of the house. I knew it would have great views in the daylight but I didn’t take much in when we got there mainly because I was numb, exhausted and desperately fighting back hysterical tears, a tantrum and the desire to commit murder.
Tack led me to his bedroom, dumped my purse on his nightstand and ordered, “Sleep, darlin’.”
Then he left.
I took off my boots, socks, jeans and since I conveniently was wearing my nightshirt, I climbed into his unmade bed and did exactly as I was told.
Now it was now and I was curled into a protective ball, my hands in prayer position under my cheek.
Tack spoke. “Mornin’, peaches, you want breakfast?”
“Do you cook or do you have a biker babe that makes breakfast to order?” I replied and there it was. Automatic. The smartass.
Would I ever learn?
Tack grinned. “I cook. Best pancakes you’ll ever have, you get your ass outta bed,” he answered.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t hungry.
No, that wasn’t true. After I found my husband in bed with my sister and kicked his ass out, I didn’t eat for three days. I didn’t realize it, Troy did and he made me eat. But that was the last time I lost my appetite.
“Sounds good,” I lied but didn’t move.
When I didn’t Tack reached out, curled his fingers around my forearm and gently pulled my hand from under my face. Then he lifted my arm and his eyes dropped to my wrist. His hand slid up carefully so he could wrap his fingers around my palm and I watched as he lifted my arm further up… up… until he bent his neck and his lips touched the bruised and torn skin at my wrist.
My breath seized.
Hawk should have done that but Hawk was so busy brooding about Brett, or more likely trying to figure out how to end things with me since he conquered the challenge and was ready to move on, that last night he completely forgot I was kidnapped, bound, gagged and targeted as bait.
Tack’s head lifted, his body leaned in and he pressed my hand to his chest.
“My girl had a bad day yesterday,” he said quietly.
Hawk should have said that too.
“There’s bad and there’s bad and I’m discovering the many nuances but, yes… yesterday introduced me to a new level of bad.”
“Then you need pancakes.”
Finally, a man who understood the healing properties of food.
“Pancakes would be good,” I replied.
His hand squeezed mine. “Ass outta bed, babe, I’ll be in the kitchen.”