Page 23 of Crow

“Does this place have a kitchen?”

“No.” I pour rubbing alcohol straight over my hand, ignoring the sting. “Well… yes. But I don’t want you going out there.”

“Why not?” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. She casts her chin down like she’s worried that I’m ashamed of her or that she’s a bother.

I want to assure her that in no world would she ever be a burden. It’s irrational, but I nearly blurt out that I’m glad she’s here, and that’s coming from a man like me barely comprehends the meaning of words like joy, relaxation, or kindness.

“There was a party here last night. Most of the occupants are passed out in the lounge, which is directly on the way to the kitchen. Men and women alike. I don’t want you seeing that.”

Her entire face goes a shade of bright red.

Great. Keep her stifled and smothered. Make all her decisions for her. Be a controlling, overbearing piece of human waste, all while pretending it’s for her own good, just like her father.

“Soon as I’m done, I’m taking you some place else.” Apparently, I can’t stop.

Tarynn doesn’t look like she minds. She could tell me where to go and I would most definitely head straight in that direction. If she wanted to argue about the kitchen, I’d cave.

How sweet, sunshine.

“Are we going to go there on your bike?” Tarynn asks.

She still doesn’t understand what that means. I was going to explain it to her, but haven’t had a chance. I don’t have anything else, though, so the bike it will be, and damn the usual rules of what that implies. I have no right to even think about laying claim to any part of Tarynn’s life. She’ll never be mine. Raven is pretty much my worst enemy. It sucks I can’t wish our curse on him.

“Where?” she prods gently, watching my every move.

I unwind the bandage and start wrapping it over my palm and weaving it through my fingers. “I have a few rental houses here and happen to have two empty right now. You can have your pick. There’s not much furniture, but I could order something while we’re gone and have it ready for when we get back. I could always rent it furnished after, if you find somewhere else you like better.”

She digs the toe of her red cowboy boot into the old hardwood floor. It’s original to the warehouse, thin plank, in that honey tone that apparently isn’t trendy anymore. I happen to like it just fine, right along with the open brick walls, ducting, and beams that this place has running through it. It’s raw and unfinished, like the men who call it home.

I tie off the bandage and start putting the shit all back into the toolbox.

“So… do you live here, or do you live in one of your houses?”

“A little of both. Mostly here. I have a place above my tattoo parlor downtown.”

I don’t know if she’s more surprised about what I do for a living or that I have a job. I think most people assume that a biker’s life revolves around drugs, sex, and violence. In some cases, they might be right, but not here.

A lot of the guys work at the club’s garage, some oversee the operations of the legit businesses—the nightclubs, tattoo shops, restaurants, even the damn laundromat. Tyrant helps out at the garage, but since he’s our president, he spends most of his time here, running the place. There are a few of us who do focus solely on product—in our case—moving weapons and contraband across the border, as well as liaising with our weedfarms up north. I’m an officer, but like owning my own business. I have staff and a manager, and can set my own hours around my club obligations.

“Most of us have jobs,” I tell her, even though I wasn’t going to. “Families too. Just because we don’t fit with society doesn’t mean we’re not human.”

She makes a low noise in her throat. “I’ve never thought that.”

She takes a step into the bathroom. I freeze. I’m not good with being hemmed in. Caged. Claustrophobia is a real thing. It was real long before anyone ever attempted to strap me to a bed and do fuck knows what to my messed up head.

Probably diagnose you. Us. Fuck them and fuck that. Fuck anyone who wants to tell us that there’s something wrong with the way we are.

I’m not ready for it. I don’t even have time to get my hands up to ward her off before she launchers herself at me and grasps my arms. She tries to slide her hands to the back of me, which is about as far as she gets before her arm span ends.

She’s… hugging me.

This shit inside of me that doesn’t like being touched goes haywire. The shit inside of me that always longed for it when I was a little kid also short circuits. I can’t move. I’m winded again, sucked straight back into the past. All the terrible moments, all the moments of longing and fear and confusion. My muscles go rock hard, tensing for battle, for a fight, for flight and pain. It never comes.

This isn’t supposed to hurt.

It’s supposed to do the opposite.

Even Raven is too stunned to snark me off.

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