Repo (The Henchmen MC Book 4) (8 page)

I wondered if that was because she was trying to avoid fucking up or because she also had an issue with the lines between us. I wasn't stupid. I knew she was attracted. If I didn't know from the jump, I definitely knew when I caught her checking me out while I was working on my car that day.

Or maybe she was quiet because she was keeping secrets.

Fuck if I knew.

All I knew was that being around her, even when she was out of her mind sick, was a problem.

I put her back down on the bed, tucking her in even though she wasn't chattering anymore, grabbed the tray and headed out of the room.

Maybe I just needed to get laid. That could be the problem. Fact of the matter was, the clubwhores didn't, and never did, do it for me. It wasn't that I necessarily got off on the chase, but I didn't exactly want pussy thrown in my face either. And I certainly wasn't thrilled at the idea of being the third cock in someone's hole on any given night. No thanks.

So if I didn't get out and hit the town, I didn't get any. And, quite frankly, I'd been pretty fucking busy lately with working on the cars, club business, and keeping an eye on the probates. It had probably been the better part of a month. Which, by normal standards, wasn't bad. But for me, it was probably a record. I wasn't a slut, but I enjoyed my fair share. I was young and single. No one could blame me for enjoying the company of women.

I closed my bedroom door, leaning against it in the hall, deciding that as soon as she was out of my bed, I was bringing someone else into it.

That would definitely help the attraction to Maze thing.

I hoped.

Six

Maze

I woke up the next morning fever-free and mortified.

Mortified.

Because there was no blissful blanket over my brain shielding me from the reality of what had happened over the twenty-four hours that I was burning up. Oh, no. It was all bright, vivid, sharp. Obnoxiously so. First, he'd carried me to his bed. That wasn't so bad. He'd removed my boots and tucked me in then went in search of medicine. When he came back and tried to get it in me, however, I screamed and flailed. I was pretty sure I whacked him across the face during the second dose of medicine. By the third dose, I was mostly conscious. He'd undressed me and bathed me. Then I,
good lord,
snuggled him.

He left after getting me back into bed and I slept. He came back sometime later, kicking out of his shoes and getting into the empty side of the bed. I woke up from a bad dream, of which I generally had very few if any, rolling to face him to find him watching me aptly with his tired-looking blue eyes. "Don't let them get me," I begged in a quiet voice, knowing my eyes were pleading.

His head had tilted, his brows drew together slightly. His mouth opened, then closed, like he thought better of what he was going to say. He slumped down further into the bed and rolled on his side to face me, draping a strong arm over my hips and hauling me against him.

"I won't," he said, the words almost sounding like a promise, like a vow.

"Good," I said, moving closer and resting my forehead against his chest and falling back to sleep.

So, yeah.

I'd snuggled him.

Twice.

I sat off the side of the bed in what I assumed was one of his tees, and nothing else, cradling my head in my hands and trying to figure out how the fuck to get out of such a messed up situation. True, I could blame the fever. People did weird stuff when they were delirious. I was no exception. In fact, my grandmother used to say she dreaded when I got sick because I always tended to run way too hot and then hallucinate and act weird until it broke. It wasn't unusual for me to be not like myself when I was sick. I could easily blame the sickness.

But, fact of the matter was, I knew better.

Usually, I hallucinated about being chased or trapped in small rooms.

I didn't randomly snuggle my grandmother or the doctors who would treat me.

Oh, no.

That was all me. Well, me and my libido.

There was really no denying it anymore, it wasn't just that Repo was hot and had that bad boy thing going for him. It wasn't even as simple as having the hots for your unattainable boss or authority figure.

Because when his hands touched me as he took off my clothes, it wasn't surprise that made me gasp. It was desire. The chaste, two-second contact sent off a shock through my system, culminating in a strong clenching between my thighs. Then when I was nightmare-scared and only half awake and he vowed to not let them get me, well, I felt a strange fluttering feeling in my belly.

K was going to have my head.

"Shit," I said, straightening.

K.

If I lost an entire day, that meant I missed check-in.

You did not,
ever,
miss check-in.

You missed check-in and K started to worry.

If K worried enough, he'd drag his ass down to Jersey and come looking for me.

And that, well, it would not be good.

I jumped out of Repo's bed, finding my boots and slipping into them, then running, literally running back toward the basement. The longer I let pass, the more shit I would be in for. It was early morning and Duke's bunk was empty so I figured he was on patrol. I rummaged through my bag and found the burner, turning it on. I threw on jeans then made my way back upstairs, taking in the quiet compound with a sense of relief as I went into the kitchen and typed in his number. This time, to his cell. It was too early to call the boxing emporium like I was supposed to.

"K," his voice grumbled into the phone, sounding half-asleep.

Half-asleep was good. Half-asleep meant he wasn't in his car flying down the highway to try to figure out what happened to me.

"Vermont," I said quietly into the receiver.

"What the
fuck
Maisy?" he exploded, suddenly fully awake.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I was sick. Literally delirious with fever for a full day. I was barely conscious. I'm sorry."

There was a short pause. "Okay," he said, calm again. "So your cover is still good?" he asked and I felt myself smiling. No asking if I was alright or how I got sick. Still no softness. Just some more sandpaper. I almost forgot how much I needed it.

"Yeah. Solid. Nothing to report really. All is par for the course."

"All the probates still in?"

"Unfortunately."

"Distinguishing yourself?"

"Haven't had much opportunity to prove myself. It's all grunt work."

"Alright. Check-ins on Tuesdays by midnight. If you can't sneak away to call me, send me a text with an eighty-six. I'll know all is fine and that you'll contact the next Tuesday."

"Sounds good."

"Stay safe."

"And kick ass," I finished for him, smiling as his line went dead.

I was still smiling at the wall as I put the burner down on the counter. Talking to K always helped. It always made me focus. Fact of the matter was, it was easy to forget why I was doing what I was doing. It got easy to fall into the lifestyle and let it eat at me, to lose sight of how necessary it was for me to make it work. K reminded me of that. He reminded me of the countless hours of him telling me just that. All the hours that he sat with me and told me that if they...

"Whose ass are you planning on kicking?" a voice said from the doorway, making me jump and turn, arm already cocked back before I placed the voice. It was almost the same instant that my eyes found Repo leaning against the doorway in black jeans and a white v-neck tee, arms crossed over his broad chest.

I felt my eyes go wide for a second, feeling caught, before I forced my features into a mask of indifference, reminding myself that I hadn't really said anything incriminating. In the future, I needed to be a helluva lot more careful.

"Anyone who gets in my way," I said casually with a small smirk.

Repo answered my smirk with one of his own. "Somehow I don't doubt that at all," he said, pushing off the doorway and moving into the small room.

He walked past me toward the coffee machine and started the process of making a fresh pot. His attention elsewhere, I watched him, taking in the paleness of his skin, the heaviness of his eyelids, the bruises under his eyes from tiredness. It struck me that while he had gotten into bed beside me the night before, I was pretty sure he hadn't slept. In fact, he seemed almost perpetually awake. It didn't matter what time I pulled a shift, he was always mulling around. And he always looked exhausted.

"Do you ever sleep?" I heard myself blurting out without thinking.

"Not often," he surprised me by answering honestly, hitting the button on the machine and turning to me. "How are you feeling? You probably shouldn't be up and moving around already."

"I'm fine," I said with a shrug. It was half-true. I still felt pretty crummy. My sinuses were clogged and I had a headache. But with the fever, chills, sweats, and body aches gone, I felt a heck of a lot better than I did. At his raised brow, I smiled a conceded, "I'm starving and dehydrated," I admitted.

"That's more like it. Sit," he said, waving a hand toward the small table. He turned away and went to the fridge as I sat, grabbing a bottle of water and a carton of orange juice. He walked over to the table and put them on the surface. "Drink," he instructed and turned away again.

"Bossy much?" I asked, unscrewing the water and taking a long swig that I swear I could feel sliding along all my dried-out organs.

Repo turned over his shoulder at me, giving me a small smile. "Hey, it's not my fault you're dehydrated. I think it would be easier to get fluids in a crocodile than you," he said, turning back to grab items out of the fridge.

I pressed my lips together, trying to figure out the protocol. He took care of me when I was sick. For that, I felt like I needed to thank him. But did badass bikers thank other bikers for being nice to them?

In the end, I figured, to hell with it. I was raised with manners. Regardless of the weird lifestyle I was in, I was going to use them.

"Thanks for looking after me," I said, my voice a strange, strangled sound. "I know I'm not a good patient. My fevers get out of control." I paused, biting into my lower lip as I prepared to do a little lying. "I get completely delirious and do things that I never would normally do."

To that, Repo didn't look over his shoulder at me. No, he put down everything in his hands which had to be half the contents of the refrigerator, and turned to me fully. One of his dark brows were raised, his lips teased up at one corner. "Honey, if that is what you need to tell yourself, knock yourself out. But don't fucking lie to me."

I looked down at the bottle of water cradled between my hands. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mumbled.

I didn't see or hear him moved but the next thing I knew, his fisted hands caged in mine on the table and I looked up to see him leaning over the table at me. "Can we cut the shit, Maze? I'm good with us ignoring this. In fact, I'm gonna have to insist on it. But don't pretend it doesn't exist."

I swear there was an alarm going off in my brain screaming "danger, danger, danger!" but I wasn't sure exactly what was more dangerous: acknowledging it or keeping up the charade. In the end, I chose to stick with the latter. "Repo, seriously, I have no idea what you're talking about."

That was, apparently, the more dangerous choice.

I knew this because he was no longer leaning across the table, but around it, right in front of me. His hands grabbed the sides of my face. Not held, not cradled, grabbed. He simultaneously pulled me upward as he leaned down and his lips took power over mine, crashing down hard and demanding. He pulled me onto my feet as his tongue traced the crease of my lips until they slid open and he slipped inside. My arms grabbed his forearms, holding on as a shiver ripped through my system. Against my mouth, Repo growled, dropping my face. His one arm went around my lower back, hauling me against his body. The other traveled into the hair at the crown of my head, sinking in, curling, and tugging slightly.

Another shiver worked through me and my hands went up and around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, holding on tight as his tongue teased mine, retreated, then teased some more before pulling away as his lips took mine again, softer, deeper. I whimpered against him, feeling the desire like a white hot bolt between my legs.

His teeth bit into my bottom lip hard, holding and pulling, making another whimper escape me. "Fuck," he hissed, releasing my lip, but not my body or my hair. He used the latter to drag my face back several inches so he could look down at me. "That's what I'm talking about," he informed me, releasing me so quickly that I actually faltered a step, slamming my hand down on the back of my chair to keep my feet.

His back was to me as he grabbed all his items off the counter by the fridge and moved beside the stove, giving me a long minute to pull myself together. I needed it. Actually, what I needed was a cold shower, an hour long session with a powerful vibrator, and about fifteen miles between me and Repo at all times in the future.