Page 60 of Dirty Salvation

Zara left kitchen-bitch to her territory.

One day at a time, she told herself. Today she would take a walk around the MC. And she had, until her lips were gloriously cold and blue, her fingers number stuffed into her pockets.

Tomorrow who knows what steps she’d take towards building her future again. But she knew one thing, she was done being anyone’s victim. It was just an ugly look, and Zara hated it.

Bad shit happened, and it was down to you how you let it affect you.

She’d even smiled at one of the bikers earlier. She didn’t know his name, he looked young, a mop of blonde hair, not a beard in sight, but he had the start of some scruff around his chin, he seemed to be around her age, he’d smiled and asked how she was. Progress, she mused, happened small and often, day by day. She was dressed, not naked shaking in the shower, she was walking outside in the fresh air.

All in all, it was a good day.

The outside world was as calm and serene as she'd left it, funny how the world kept on keeping on while her life had been at a standstill, all her plans were gone, everything else had become her prison and in a way, she'd become accustomed to it, all animals acclimatize to their cages after a while.

Readjusting was key and proving harder than she thought. The determination was significant. And if it fucking killed her Zara was not letting this beat her down anymore.You got this, girl. I sorta have it. I will get it.

Was it wrong she was using Rider?Maybe a little bit.Even if he didn’t seem to mind. Leaning heavily on his gentleness.

Feelings shouldn't come into it while she was still this fearful former shadow of herself. And still she couldn't stop the awkward wedge of her heart as it rolled into her throat with that first sight of him tinkering half bent over a car, his overalls were dirty from use, tight around his ass as he leaned into the engine, long legs braced, she watched the play of his back muscles with each movement.

She visibly inhaled, holding it in her lungs until she felt steady enough to exhale again.

Her protector was far too handsome. Why couldn't he have grown ugly, a pot belly, bald? She would have even accepted a wife, the Queen biker bitch at his side, it would have lessened the pull towards him.

But he's single and you want him. That tiny voice spoke.

Christ. Shut up. Far too much dreamy thinking. Zara over-analyzed everything. And it was driving her insane. She could admire a handsome man without wanting to jump his bones, or think about jumping his bones, was more realistic.

The actual doing made her belly twist.

To stop her mind going wild she went for another walk, this time in the opposite direction for different scenery. Not too far, it wasn't as though she left the compound at all, but she headed behind the buildings where grass still grew, trees swayed in the breeze, and she could see clear across to the base of the mountain range, on her second sweep around, hands buried deep into her hoodie pockets she stopped, looked across to the garage again, her eyes pulled in only one direction until she noticed all three men looking her way. Zara peered behind her, expecting someone to be stood there.

Nope. Just her. What the hell were they staring at? All of them gaping like silverback gorillas on the prowl looking for a ripe banana.

"They want you to bring them coffees, missy" Grinned Jim from a few feet away, as he tampered, crouching on the ground, wrench in one hand and a stain of oil brushed against his old craggy cheek.

She had no idea what he was actually doing, the way he tugged and grappled with the piece of metal looked strenuous, she thought about offering her help for a second, but he was also covered in grease and oil and her hoodie and jeans were brand new, the first real nice clothes she'd had for ages, there was no way she getting them dirty.

The thought was enough her charity-driven mother used to say.

"W-what? How do you know that?" her head cocked. If she was honest they all intimidated the hell out of her. Larger than life bikers, covered in ink and sarcasm. Not her favorite kind of men to have chats with.

And she recognized first hand they didn’t have many rules, she’d heard the groans and moans every night from the inside the compound when the club sluts ... groupies … fans ... whatever they called themselves came around.

When she’d heard many of their orgasms teamed with “oh god, fuck me harder, babydoll, right there, harder, take me deep.” it was difficult to engage any conversation with them after that.

"Because the prospect left to go pick a part up for me, and those boys are lazy as slugs, they're looking for the next servant to bring the drinks. Capone takes a pound of sugar in his. Hawk likes it straight black and Preacher takes it anyway it comes as long as it’s hot and wet. I expect you know how Rider has his coffee, missy."

She did. A touch of cream.

She worried her lip. Did they really want her to bring coffees, or was it Jim manufacturing a chore for her? She shrugged making up her mind. In any case, it was just coffee, she supposed, they could toss it out if they didn't want it.

It had nothing to do with her missing Rider.

Wanting to see Rider.

Nope. Not that at all.

She walked a little faster back inside. Ignoring the kitchen bitch who was now fawning over the same blond guy she'd seen earlier, boobs rammed in his face, how was he meant to eat his sandwich with giant saucer nipples up his nose? If you asked Zara she would have preferred a bag of barbecue chips.

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