Page 46 of StoryTeller's Tale

“Sheri.” He uses my name as a command this time.

My body turns to him as if he’s in control of it. I’ve automatically lowered my face toward the ground, but with one gentle finger, he raises it. His eyes roam my body but not in a lascivious way, and I immediately realise he’s assessing the state I’m in. I give a small smile and nod to indicate that I’m okay, and that’s the only permission he needs.

As if he’s been holding himself back, he lurches forward, putting his arms around me and holding me close. His hands roam up and down my body. The feeling’s so good, I suppress my wince and try to hide that he’s found bruises and burns.

I can’t help wrapping my own arms around him. If he’s in pain, he’s working as hard as I am not to show his suffering.

As well as the leather I’d smelled before, he now smells charred, but then, I do myself. It makes me remember what a state I’m in, how I haven’t washed for days, and that the crotch of my jeans is stiff with the dried remnants of our combined juices. The implications of which I’ve tried to keep at the back of my mind.

But the way he’s holding me shows either he’s not got a sense of smell or just doesn’t give a damn. I lean into him, wishing this could be forever, and not just a brief moment in time. Even if he wants me to stay around, it will only be until the vestiges of the last few hours have worn away.

He couldn’t want me. Not boring Sheri Secord who’d never amount to anything, too stupid to go to college or make something of herself.

And I shouldn’t want him. He’s not just not in my lane, he’s on another road altogether. How would I ever belong in a biker world? I already know it’s not like my fantasies. Well, except for the rescuing part that is. I can’t deny the Wretched Soulz have saved us. I hadn’t missed how they’d been desperately hosing the entrance with water and yanking us out of the way as soon as we’d appeared, getting so close as to put themselves in danger.

I feel him let out a shuddering sigh, then he pulls back, putting me at arm’s length and again scrutinising my face.

He frowns. “We need to get you checked out.”

“I’m okay.”

“Nah, I think you’re,we’re,running on adrenaline, babe. That bump on your forehead looks nasty.”

I can’t even remember hitting my head, but now he mentions it, I do ache. “All I need is a shower.”

He nods, leans in and gently kisses my forehead. “Just wait a moment then we’ll get out of here.”

Looking around, I can only see bikes. I’m not even sure I’d be able to get on one myself, and I’m certain some of the others are in no fit state to ride.

“How are we going to get them out of here?” I wave behind me.

“Them?” He turns his head in the direction I’ve indicated as though since getting out of the house he’s not given the other women another thought. He frowns as he turns back. “Someone will see the flames and come to investigate, which is why we haven’t got much time. We need to get out of here.”

My brow furrows. “Hang on. You’re just… leaving them here?” Again, I gesture behind me. “They need medical attention.”And probably years of therapy.

He gives a little shake of his head as though he’s confused. “Which they’ll probably get.” His eyes narrow. “What do you expect from us, babe?”

“ST? You coming?” a voice yells. “Skunk and Pothead are back, Knuckles and the other man got away.”

“Be there in a sec, VP.” He half turns to shout over his shoulder, then raises an eyebrow at me.

Once again, I gesture toward my rear. “You can’t just leave them here.”

Again, he looks like he can’t understand me. “We’re not in the habit of rescuing damsels in distress, babe. They’ll be okay. I’m sure of it.” His brow creases, then the lines fade away. “Tell you what, I’ll wait until we’re away from here, then give 911 a call, just in case the fire isn’t reported. That do you?”

I don’t know what I expected, but the bikers in my books would have had transport available to either take us all to a hospital or back to their compound. They’d have stood guard over them until the escaped Dominators have been caught and rendered unable to seek vengeance on their kidnappees. They wouldn’t have ridden away and left them.

I start shaking my head and back away.

He ruffles his hair, then tries to approach me as I raise my hands. “What do you want? Babe, we’re not social services. We need to get free of this place before we’re caught up in this mess. Don’t you think the cops will see our cuts…” he pauses, flinches, clearly remembering he’s not wearing his, then continues, “well, those of the others, and won’t wait for explanations until we’re locked up. They’re always looking for an excuse to throw away the key.”

“You could make sure they get somewhere safe.” But as I say it, I know I’m losing this argument.

I feel I’m being pulled in two directions. For some unknown reason, I feel an obligation to make sure these women are okay. Maybe it’s because I hadn’t been kept captive as long as they’d been, nor had been so traumatised. The closest I’d come to being raped was StoryTeller taking my virginity. And though it should be, that could never be placed in my box of regrets.

On the other hand, StoryTeller’s offering me a way out of my boring existence. While I doubt anything he feels for me is anything more than that we’ve come through a shared experience, I’ve no doubt anything between us will only be fleeting. My soul longs to be with him, to step out of my comfort zone and jump into the world I read about.

But he’s just thrown cold water on all my expectations. The Wretched Soulz aren’t the warriors in leather, the tameable bears, like the bikers who populate the minds of the authors I admire. They can’t be, not if they’re prepared to walk away from this mess.

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