Page 13 of Bad Luck, Hard Love
“Great,” he says, grinning at me. “You get some rest. I’ll swing by later to get you.”
THOR
Leaving Charlotte’s room,I head to mine a few floors up. Once inside, I put my phone on the charger. It had died sometime in the night after I’d gotten them back to their room. I collapse onto my bed, replaying last night’s events.
I can’t shake off the images of those two girls, so vulnerable and unsuspecting, completely at the mercy of those assholes. How could anyone be so heartless as to do that to another human being? Charlotte and her friend were just out having a good time. I’m just glad I was there to stop it from going anyfurther. Who knows what they would have woken up to this morning had I not.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling as my charger breathes life back into my phone. The battery icon flashes, and notifications start flooding in—three missed calls from Raze and a string of texts demanding updates. I should call him back, but I need a minute to clear my head.
Charlotte's face keeps flashing through my mind. Something about her got under my skin. Maybe it was the way she held herself together even when she was clearly terrified, or how her blue eyes lit up when she finally smiled.
“Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face. I've got no business thinking about her like this. I'm here on club business, not to play white knight to some tourist. But I can't deny the pull I feel toward her, something that goes beyond just wanting to keep her safe. Charlotte seems like a decent person. Though her taste in friends might be a little questionable, I couldn’t hold that against her, considering my current profession. Most of the guys in the club would fall into the same category.
The scene from last night plays over in my head. I analyze it, looking for something to clue me in about them, but nothing sticks out. Four non-descript assholes preying on women.
I decide to get up and take a shower, hoping the steam will clear my head. Usually, I’m not one to get so emotionally invested in something like this. I’ve been around the block enough times to know that these things happen, but something about it just doesn’t sit right with me.
Under the hot spray, I let the water wash away the tension in my shoulders. The Vegas chapter situation weighs heavy on my mind, but every time I try to focus on Ace and his cryptic bullshit, Charlotte's face intrudes. The way she looked at me when I told her what happened, like I was some kind of hero instead of just a guy who happened to be paying attention.
I've never been the type to get wrapped up in rescuing damsels in distress. Hell, most of the women I know can handle themselves just fine. But there is something different about her. Something that makes my protective instincts kick into overdrive. Maybe it's because she reminds me of my sister before she became entangled with her ex. Same vulnerable strength, same quiet dignity, even when her world's spinning out of control.
The shower does little to wash away my thoughts of Charlotte. I turn off the water with a frustrated grunt and grab a towel, roughly drying myself as I step out onto the cold tile floor. Steam clouds the bathroom mirror, obscuring my reflection—probably for the best. I don't need to see the confusion written all over my face.
My phone buzzes again on the nightstand. Raze. I can't ignore him any longer.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“About fucking time,” he growls. “I've been trying to reach you for hours.”
“Phone died. I was handling something.”
There's a pause on the other end of the line. “Something or someone?”
“Not like that. Just some assholes at a club trying to drug a couple of women. I stepped in.”
“Playing hero now?” There's a hint of amusement in his voice, but it quickly fades. “Tell me you've made progress with Ace.”
“I'm working on it.” I sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my damp hair. “He's not exactly rolling out the welcome mat. I need more time.”
“Time is something we don't have. Every day those fuckers operate independently is another day they're undermining everything we've built.”
“I know that.” I pace the length of my hotel room, droplets of water trailing down my back from my wet hair. “But pushing too hard will just make Ace dig his heels in deeper. You know how he is.”
“Yeah, I know exactly how that paranoid bastard operates.” Raze sighs, and I can picture him rubbing his temple the way he does when he's strategizing. “Fine. You've got three more days. Then I'm coming out there myself.”
“That's the last thing we need,” I argue. “Ace already thinks you're trying to control him. If you show up, he'll see it as confirmation.”
“Then get me something concrete before then.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, “I'll see what I can dig up.”
“Find out who they're dealing with.”
“Roger that.”
The call ends, and I toss my phone onto the bed. The club has been my family since I was eighteen. The only real family I've had since my sister.
I finish drying off and pull on a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. The tattoos decorating my arms—remnants of my Norse heritage and club loyalty—stand out stark against my skin. I check the time. Still a several more hours before I'm supposed to meet Charlotte for dinner.
