Page 116 of Tormented

THIRTY-THREE

Abbey

“If you don’t quit staring at my chest, Dog, so fucking help me . . . .”

He’s harmless, but it still doesn’t mean I appreciate it. And neither does Sawyer, judging by the stunt he just pulled.

I wasn’t ready to let everyone know yet. Not that I knew what I was supposed to be telling them anyway. I haven’t figured out for myself where exactly we stand. I could bet on the response Ramona’s going to have when she hears about Sawyer and me, and it won’t be supportive, that’s for sure. A problem that, unavoidable as it is, I’d kind of hoped to hold off on for a while longer yet.

“Fine.” Dog rolls his eyes. “You want a drink or anythin’ then?”

The guy would be a catch if I didn’t already know his faults. Strong jaw, icy blue eyes, blond hair, and the most endearing smirk ever. Pity he’s earned his name from his habits in the bedroom. Perhaps if he had a few more morals when it came to how he treats others, he might find himself with women who want to stick around a bit longer.

Then again, I think he enjoys the rotating view just fine.

“I’m good for now.”

Dog tosses the bag of ice in his hands into the freezer draw under the counter. “Heard that a few of the Cali boys are on the way as well, so thought it best somebody stock up. I seem to be the only face that’s here day in, day out, Pres excluded.”

I look across the room at King’s closed door, as though if I look hard enough I can see Sawyer in there on the other side. He’s been hot and cold the whole journey home since our stop in Grand Junction. After the way he took me in the shower, I expected one or the other, not both.

Does he want me? Or doesn’t he?

Do I want him? No doubts there. I’ve wanted the guy since I laid eyes on him as an impressionable preteen, only I didn’t know what the feelings were back then. Nobody had girly nights with me, I didn’t have any friends to discuss boys with, and the birds and the bees were taught to me by a stray copy of Penthouse left lying around the place.

He’s easy on the eye, but he’s also broken, and what do women like to do? Fix things and nurture them back to health. Which is why he’s never had any shortage of interested women to pick from. A wallflower like me stood no chance of being noticed in a sea of gorgeous women who wanted nothing more than to be the one who redeemed his damned soul.

Maybe that’s what he likes: I’m no ordinary woman, and fix him is not what I want to do in the slightest. When I picture us making a go of a relationship, I’m not trying to make him “normal.” I don’t want to change who he is. I want to make him need me as much as he needs that voice in his head. I want his broken parts to shine shattered sunlight on mine to make a stunning kaleidoscope of courage. I want the fact he’s fucked-up to make me feel okay that I am too.

I want to feel welcome where I am, not like the outcast I’ve been the past twelve years.

I’ll never be ungrateful for what Apex, or this club, gave me. How cold would that be? Apex gave me reprieve me from a life begging on the streets, and the club has given me a home. I think it’s fair to say without either I wouldn’t be here to tell my story.

Yet, the one thing nobody’s been able to do is make me feel like I fit in.

I’ve always been “Abbey, the wild kid.” “Abbey, the animal.” “That little bitch.”

I’ve never been what anyone needs. And I want that more than ever: to be needed.

“You still with us?” Dog jokes.

I snap out of my daze and spin back to face him.

“Yeah. Did I hear some of the southern guys before?” I was only half paying attention, and I’m not sure if I saw a few of the Fort Worth crew or if I imagined it.

“Yeah. They’re out the back.”

Anxiety, my old friend, sets in. “Hooch here?”

“Well, duh. He is their president.”

“Presidents don’t always travel,” I snap back.

“When they’re meeting about war, they do.” Shit. Of course. “You look worried.”

“Tired,” I lie, flashing Dog a winning smile.

He nods, easily pleased.