Page 38 of Rogue

Her arms wrapped around my waist, her front pressed to my back, every bit of this feels like a gift. This is something I never shared with Ayla. I didn’t have a bike back then. In fact, this is the first time I can say I’ve had a woman I genuinely have feelings for on my bike. It’s a unique feeling knowing that for some motorcycles scare them. For me, to ride reminds me I’m alive. The sounds, the wind, everything feels so much more when on a Harley-Davidson. Sharing this with her, the fearless way she embraces it, gives me this pull deep inside.

We ride with Henley at our back until we pull up to her townhouse. She climbs off quietly. I follow suit and secure her helmet in my saddlebag before we enter her house.

Henley is behind us, I point to the couch, “crash there, brother.”

“You got it, Rogue.”

“I have a guest-room,” she tells me.

“Get that, but he needs to be downstairs.”

“Oh,” she studies me, “okay.”

In a daze, she makes her way to her bedroom. Taking her by the hand I pull her to me. Wrapping my arms around her, I hold her close. “Gotta let it out, buttercup.”

She snuggles into me, but doesn’t speak. Her hair is matted with a mixture of Diaz and Benincio’s blood. I know she needs to get this off her to begin processing what she’s experienced today.

“Let me draw you a bath.”

Again she doesn’t answer. I move to the bathroom and I’m surprised to find her following me rather than staying in her room alone. In her bathroom, there isn’t much space. I get the bathtub filling with warm water and look around for Epsom salt or a bath bomb, something to relax her. Under the cabinet I find a pink bath bomb and toss it in. Once the water gets to a decent level, I move to Michele.

Gently, I lift my sweatshirt from her body. My t-shirt clings to her as the blood from Cartagena seeped through to her skin. I remove it tossing it in the trash can for me to dispose of later. She stands in front of me in my rolled boxers that have another man’s blood on them.

A growl escapes me.

“Jennings,” she softly says my name, “are you okay with all of this?”

I drop to my knees in front of her, slowly sliding my boxers down off her body. Her concern for me is sweet in a way I’ve never experienced before. “I’m okay with you and that’s all that matters.” I won’t lie, another man’s blood covers her body right now. No, that is not okay. Even if I understand how it happened, why it happened, it doesn’t feel good.

Everything inside of me screams that anyone who will lose blood for her is me. Benny saved her life, I don’t know what I think of that.

Hopping up, I guide her to the tub and hold her hand as she climbs in. Once she slides down into the water, I begin massaging her neck and shoulders.

“Close your eyes, Michele,” I whisper.

“I don’t think I can.” At least she’s being honest with herself.

“Know you think that’s all you’re gonna see, but need you to trust me.”

As her eyes close, I feel my chest tighten in a way I haven’t felt in a really long time.

“You gotta work through this. I know it’s hard. Saw a lot of shit today. Learned things that I’m sure shook you up. Gotta work through it.”

She blinks, but closes her eyes once again. I begin to wash her with the wash cloth and some shower gel. Moving around the tub, I do the best I can in the small space.

“Face the scars now so they don’t cut deeper long term, baby. Not gonna be easy, but avoiding it will make it claw at you.”

She trembles under me but keeps her eyes closed.

“What did Benny say?” I speak softly.

The tear falls from her right eye first before the rest come down in streams from both eyes equally. “He told me,” her voice cracks, “to be free.”

I massage her neck once more as I lean in close to her ear and whisper, “then find that freedom he wants for you, buttercup.”

“Jennings,” she whispers. “Do you think Benny really is okay with letting me go?”

“What do you mean?”

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