Page 9 of A Brother At My Back

3

Tiffany…

I was sore in that delicious way a good fuck left behind when I stirred. It took me a second to remember where I was, and it took two more to realize I wasn’t alone in here. That someone was sitting in the old armchair by the bed. It took me only a half a second to realize that someone wasn’t the biker president who was my client.

I sucked in a sharp breath and turned away, letting my hair cascade over the scarred side of my face with an equally sharp turn of my head. I had been sleeping on my stomach, so I slid both hands across the crisp sheets beneath me and pushed myself into a sitting position. I was careful turning, giving the man my back, which crawled with nerves set aflame by the action. I don’t know why I bothered, but it allowed me to pull the sheet to my chest and cover myself, like the thin gray material would actually do anything to protect me from anything but his gaze. It didn’t even register as I did it that I had someone else’s, likely Dragon’s, tee shirt on.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked sharply, before thinking about it. My voice held far more bravado than I felt and I figured at least that was something. He dropped his booted feet off the ottoman to the wood floor in here and I jumped. He leaned forward, and I cringed back. He froze for half a second and moved slowly, leaning, bracing his forearms on his knees as his gaze swept over me and met mine.

“Name is Nikau, most of my friends call me Nik, the fellas around here call me Zeb,” he said and his voice was affable, his accent rich and melodic. It wasn’t quite British but it wasn’t quite Australian either, although between the two it was closer to the latter. I couldn’t place where he was from but I definitely wasn’t going to ask.

“What are you doing in here… I’m sorry, I feel like I’m going to butcher your name if I try to say it.” I frowned slightly and he smiled, his teeth very white, set in his deeply tan and ethnic skin. I had no idea what he was, but it was some sort of tribal from somewhere if I had to guess. My eyes were fixed on the deep blue-black ink etched into the skin of one side of his face in these intricate lines and whorls.

“Call me Nik or Zeb. Whichever you’d like,” he gave a shrug, the leather of his jacket and the vest over it creaking.

“Okay, Nik.” I swallowed hard. “What are you doing in here?”

“Dragon asked me to look after yah. Showed me the letter and the like. I reckon you have something to be afraid of with this guy.” He raised a hand and halfheartedly gestured to the curtain of my hair. I quailed, but there was something refreshingly forthright and honest about the way he approached the situation.

“So Dragon tells you to babysit a stripper from her completely psycho ex-boyfriend and you just do it?” I asked, mystified.

“Nah, he didn’t tell me to do nothin’. He askedme.”

I blinked slowly, and rolled my lips together. I had to think about this. I didn’t know what I had expected Dragon to do, but I sincerely hadn’t expected a bodyguard. I let out a breath slowly and I asked, “So, how is this supposed to work, then?”

He gave another shrug that could mean everything and nothing and said, “I reckon we should start with you getting dressed, yeah? Give you a lift back to your flat and see what you’ve got.”

“What I’ve got?”

“Yeah, locks, chains, you near a busy street? Off in the back? These things can make a difference.”

“I didn’t really know that and I can’t afford to move…”

“No worries, we can work with what you have.” He stood up in one fluid motion and I shrank back at the sudden movement. He paused, but only for like a half-second, and gave a nod and said, “Be out here waiting,” before sliding out the door and closing it behind him.

I had some mixed feelings about this turn of events. I didn’t know this guy. Of course, I didn’t really know Dragon all that well either, so I supposed in my case beggars couldn’t really be choosers. I got out of bed and slipped out of the tee-shirt I hadn’t remembered putting on. That tequila was the shit, but I was certainly paying the price for it now that I was moving around. Queasy, mouth and head full of cotton, muscles tight. I wanted a bottle of water and a couple of Advil something fierce.

As I was lowering my shirt over my torso and back into the waistband of my jeans, the door opened. I jumped and whirled, and as if conjured by magic, Dragon stood there with a bottle of water in one hand, his other curled around what I could only assume was a couple of tablets or something.

“Figured you might could use these,” he said, holding out his mitts. I took the water and held out my hand. He dropped a couple of brown round tablets into my upturned palm and I smiled a little one-sided.

“Powered up your extra sensory perception this morning?”

He chuckled darkly and said, “Livin’ this life, I’ve had a hangover or three. How you feel?”

“Like I’ve been plowed into by a truck.”

He nodded, “I’ve put my man Zeb onto your protective detail until we know if this guy is going to be a problem.” He raised an eyebrow and I could hear the question loud and clear, are you going to be a problem?

“No; yeah, uh, we’ve met. He seems… nice,” I finished lamely. I mean, he did seem nice, problem was that Silas had seemed nice in the beginning, too and trust wasn’t something that came naturally or easily, at least not anymore. I did trust Dragon, though. I mean, wasn’t that why I was here?

“Give him a chance, kid’s got a warrior’s spirit. The way I know it, he’s descended from a long line of ‘em. He’s good people and, I think, the right kind of fit for this particular situation.”

“You don’t need to convince me,” I said softly, downing the pills and draining half the water in three long swallows. “I came to you for help.” He eyed me critically and nodded once or twice, deciding I was telling the truth about the whole ‘convincing me’ part.

“I’m grateful,” I said, a bit breathless from my hydration binge. “I can’t tell you how many times the cops either didn’t believe me or didn’t care.” I dropped my gaze to the plastic bottle in my hands and sighed, the clack of the plastic sharp and loud in the little silence between us as my fingers massaged the bottle nervously. Opening up in any way was hard to do but I felt I sort of owed it to him at this point.

“Yeah, well, we aren’t law enforcement, Sugar. We know better.” I nodded faintly and finished the water in three or four slightly less greedy gulps. He held out his hands and I gave him the empty bottle and cap. He crushed it down into a round coin with his massive fists and screwed the lid on to keep it from bouncing back. He turned to go and stopped, reached into his back pocket and held out a sheaf of bills. I met his solemn dark eyes and plucked the cash from his fingers.

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