Page 128 of Dirty Salvation

“If you like it, it’s yours, Zara. We don’t need to go head shrink about a place to flop at. I don’t want you to leave the clubhouse, but I see you’re determined to, and really, baby, I’m pleased you’re gettin’ strong again, that’s my girl. So, use the house. I’ll be back later to take you to the club to pack.”

As that, the roar of an engine’s pipes were heard outside. “That’ll be Pretty-Boy.” Zara missed his touch when his hands dropped, a blue-eyed wink later he left her still rooted to the same spot, her heart a little frantic after that kiss and still a little pissed that he’d walked all over her without a proper-fucking-talk.

“He is infuriating and bossy.” she huffed finally coming unglued. What could she say really, other than she needed a place and here was a place. It just felt wrong to lean on Rider as much as she was.

It was only as she recognized she was alone in a strange dark house that her insides roiled, anxiety rearing its ugly head.

Zara wasn't proud of her dark phobia, it pissed her off even as she sought to ignore it gnawing at the back of her head, that monster demanding her attention.Little shithead. Having spent more time than her gut wanted to relive in the dark, in small cramped stinking places because the Raging Rebels thought it was hilarious to hear her beg to be let out of whatever cubbyhole they could find, the phobia lived and breathed within her.

In. Out. In. Out. She took in air like a starving person hating every single second of fear.

Surprisingly it was a tall lamp parked in the far-right corner that dragged Zara's mind from the past into the now, she belatedly looked at the set-up. Rooted to the floor in the middle of Rider’s living room, the two twin lamps throwing shadows, she couldn’t see out of the windows, the dark was swallowing up any light left in the sky and the same panic crawled up her legs reaching deep inside where she was most fearful, where those memories lingered in a place inside her logic couldn't reach.

She wanted Rider.

Mentally shaking herself, she forced her feet to move, switching on the main light, moving into the hallway she flipped that switch up, on into the kitchen, the dining nook with its own breakfast bar and stools.

It was deep determined psychosis that as all lights turned on the fear lessened a little, until she was on the top floor, the house blazing with every bulb.

Only then did Zara exhale, feeling the heavy thump of her heart recede to a normal beat.She could do this. Sitting on the edge of a bed, her modus operandi were usually to find the negative aspect of something first because usually, it was shit creek with no paddle in sight, it made sense to her, so she was surprised to find once the mild panic attack at being alone had subsided she felt an itching of curiosity to look around where she’d live, she wanted to poke her nose into cabinets and closets, to check how big the bathroom was and please god let it have a large tub. She’d once been a Lush addict; she could very well see it becoming a thing again if only Rider’s house had a tub so sink chin deep into. Time to get acquainted with her new home. More than curious to see where Rider lived.

With the white walls and plain comforter and not a scatter cushion in sight.What kind of heathen was I sleeping with?she discerned she must be in Rider’s bedroom. It wasn’t much for a designer to get their underwear excited over, like his room at the club it was understated, bikers weren’t about frills and cute decor, it was all functionality.

But it was clean. The wrought iron bed was covered in white sheets and a thick comforter that reached down to the floor, it had six plump pillows, but otherwise it was a plain bed sat on top of a terracotta colored rug and a bedside table sans lamps on each side. Then there was a five-drawer old antique dresser, next to a smaller set of drawers. Next to that was a door. Curious, her nose twitched, she rose to check it out, finding a small closet with a few shirts and T-shirts hung inside on a silver rail, along with a row of the same color denim jeans. Rider wasn’t into fashion going by that pitiful display. The man needed a major much-needed shopping trip in the men’s department of Saks.

Touching his stuff, rubbing one of his shirts between her fingers, she moved on.

The double bay window with a padded blue bench seat underneath it was gorgeous. She tested it out and decided it would be nice to curl up there to sink into some sloppy romance book. She hadn’t read anything in a long time. She was so far behind her reading she wondered how many J.R. Ward books had been released in the last three years.Sigh. She put it on her mental to-do list.

Back in the living room a few minutes later. Warm butter cast the loveliest light around, it was a nice house, no feminine touches anywhere. She’d soon fix that.

The large functional chocolate brown sectional couch was too without cushions of any kind, with some TLC, she decided silently, her eyes roving over all the potential, and maybe with a roaring fire in the fireplace, it would be even cozier, her mind wound around ideas of just that envisioning a few trips to Pier One and Pottery Barn. The tv was large, she didn’t think men could buy small tv’s, it just wasn’t in their DNA, larger the better.Like dicks. She snickered. It hung midway up the center wall above a long black media center with three rows of drawers in front. She had a peek inside and saw a collection of action DVDs and three remote controls. Very neat. Very Rider. All his stuff was hidden out of sight. How Martha Stewart of the big bad biker man, she grinned.

Speaking of he who must be obeyed. Now Zara wasn't feeling so pissy towards him she wanted to speak to him. She had no way of contacting him she registered and felt the swell of panic. What if he stayed to his word and didn’t come back?No, he wouldn’t do that.Taking brisk steps into the hallway, Zara pulled open the door and almost tripped over Pretty Boy in her haste.

The taller guy no older than she was glanced over startled propped against the porch, arms crossed and a toothpick in his mouth, the light from inside flung a shadow around his blonde hair and height. She saw his brow roll up his forehead.

“Hi. I need your cell phone, Pretty---I can’t keep calling you Pretty boy, I feel silly, what’s your real name?”

“Uhm. It’s Mace, ma’am.”

“Mace. Good. Gimme your phone real quick, please. Actually, you’d find it faster, pull up Rider’s number for me. Quickly, Mace.” She rushed him when he only stared at her before shoving his hand into his leather jacket with theSoulsemblem on the back to retrieve the phone, a few swipes and a button press he passed her his Samsung.

Yes! it was ringing. And ringing. And ringing. And then.

“There better not be a problem, PB, I told you to fuckin’ watch Zara as close as you do your own dick."

"It's me. Andew. Thanks for that imagine, Rider." She couldn't help laughing.

He chuckled on the other end. "What's up, baby? my house not to your likin' after all, not enough chandeliers and butlers?" caution laced his tone.

"I love it, actually. We'll talk about rent, though." A snicker from Pretty-boy had her angled to ask with her eyes what was so funny.

"Zara." He warned. "I'm about to have a meet with the fuckin' Russians, now isn't the time to press me about money, not takin' rent from you now or ever, got it."

Zara wanted to ask what Russians and was he going to be safe andwhatRussians? She bit her tongue. The MC president would know what he was doing and from what she knew of the outlaws who skirted a fine line to the law it was not going to be a peace treaty.

"Rider."

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