Page 80 of Skid
I glanced over my shoulder as Skid stood in the doorway, and when he began to turn toward me, I stood from the couch and checked I was covered before facing the door. A tall man with a blond mohawk and beard walked inside, and something about him caused warning bells to go off in my head. He had gauged ears and was covered in tattoos. His fingers, hands, arms, neck, some of his face, and the sides of his head were covered in bright ornamentation and black and white pieces of art.
The man lifted his green eyes to me, and terror filled me from the inside out. I took a step back as he walked over, and Dalton turned to speak to me, only I couldn’t hear anything he was saying. The man looked at me with curiosity as my feet pushed me away from him. Dalton appeared in my line of sight, blocking the stranger from me, and he took ahold of my face, saying something to me until I finally focused on him.
“Grace, baby. What’s wrong? Needles, call Doc,” Dalton rattled quickly and stroked my cheeks, whispering that I was okay and safe.
I didn’t know what it was about the man, Needles, that scared me so deeply, and I looked from him to Dalton before muttering, “I’m sorry.”
Running into the bedroom, I slammed the door and sank down to my ass, fear and panic overwhelming me. I’ve never met him, but I knew him. I just couldn’t remember how. A knock sounded against the door as Dalton’s worried voice filtered into the room.
“Grace, I sent him away. Please open the door. It’s okay, baby. Please open up.”
I slid to the side and opened the door. Dalton rushed in and fell on his knees next to me as he checked me for injury. “Grace, what’s wrong. You have to talk to me. What did he do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met him, but . . .” Confusion was winning, and I felt terrible for the way I acted.
Dalton must be embarrassed over how I treated his brother. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t apologize. I need you to talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
I brought my eyes to him and whispered, “I know him, I just don’t remember how.”
“Needles? You know him?” I nodded, and he continued, “But you’ve never met him?” I shook my head, feeling like I was missing something.
“Did he hurt you?” Dalton asked, his nostrils flaring and his eyes turning to slits.
“No. I feel like I’m going crazy, but I swear, I know him . . . somehow.”
He helped me from the floor and asked, “Do you feel up to eating?”
“Yeah,” I replied, and he tugged me into the kitchen while I ran through where I might have crossed paths with a heavily tattooed biker.
Someone as distinctive as him isn’t the type of person you forget where you met them, so it was bothering me not to remember. Dalton and I sat at the table in the kitchen, and he watched me like a hawk as I kept pushing the memories, hoping to figure it out.
The sun was setting when we finished with dinner. Dalton walked me to the back porch and pulled me onto his lap as we sat on the oversized chair and watched the stars push into the sky. The warmth of his body and the exhaustion of the last two days won over my need to remember, or my desire for Dalton, and I fell asleep against his chest, happy that I was finally home.
Chapter 27
