Page 8 of Savior
I attempt to quietly make my way into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before I peel the Velcro straps of the Kevlar vest apart to remove it from my torso. I manage to get it off without waking her, and walk quietly back into the room to pack the clothes into my duffle bag. I’ll let her sleep as long as I can while I pack my shit. But we need to hit the fuckin’ road and blow this town. I’ve managed to rack up quite the body count this time in Arizona…
“Dean?” her sleepy voice breaks the silence in the room. I glance up from my bag to look in her direction.
“Yeah, doll. It’s me.”
“Are you okay?” she sits up.
“Aces, baby.”
“Is it over?” she whispers, a desperate eagerness in her voice.
“It’s over.” I assure her. “You’re really free, doll.”
In an instant, the covers are flung off her person and her arms are suddenly wrapped around my neck. Her petite little figure slams against the front of my body with an unanticipated force that rocks me backwards against the dresser, damn near knocking over a lamp. Before I can react, her lips are pressed to mine. I grab her arms as gently as I can to retract them from me, keeping my mouth clamped shut as I twist my face from hers.
“No, doll. Stop!” Her grip on me loosens and I hold her at arms-length, trying to look her in the eyes in the mostly dark. “That shit ain’t necessary and it ain’t okay, either.”
“I have nothing else I can give you to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” She whimpers.
Shaking my head, I insist, “You can’t thank me like this.”
“Why?”
“For starters, I’m not a fuckingpedophile.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“I don’t care, baby.” The legal age of consent is eighteen. And even if she was legal, she doesn’t look a day over fuckin’ fifteen. I ain’t into that shit. No fucking way. I’m a few years shy of being almost twice her age. If she were at least in her early twenties and had some meat on her bones, I still wouldn’t go there with her.
“Am I damaged goods?” she sniffles, and it tugs at my black heart.
“Fuck, no.” I try to reassure her, lifting a hand from her arm to stroke the side of her hair. It’s a hell of a lot shorter now. I gently grab the ends between my fingers. “Did you cut your hair?” I can feel her nod her head against my hand.
“I dyed it, too. I went across the street to the pharmacy and bought some box dye while I was waiting for your clothes to dry.” She explains. For a brief moment, I wonder why women always seem to find the time to drastically change their hair in what I imagine to be times of high stress.
“Thanks for that, by the way.” I say. “What color is it?”
She moves to step back from me and I release her from my grip, watching her slight form move to the light switch in the room. When she hits the lights, her hair is no longer the natural shade of saffron red that came down past her shoulders. Now, it’s a bright Maraschino cherry red, cut into a bob that barely reaches just below her jawline.
“Do you like it?” she asks, as if my approval matters to her.
“You look like a little cherry bomb.” I smile. “It’s real cute, doll. I like it a lot.” That seems to lift her spirits some, soothing the sting of my adamant rejection of her advances, mere moments ago. “Did you wash your clothes too?” I ask. She nods. “Great. I need you to get dressed. It’s time to head home.”
“You’re really going to take me with you? Back to North Carolina?”
“Do you want to come back with me?”
“Yes.”
I grab my Saviors MC hoodie and toss it at her. She catches it, holding it out in front of herself to look at the logo, a skull with angel wings. “Put that on and throw on your jeans. You’re one of us now.” I tell her, and she scampers into the bathroom to change.
By four a.m., I’ve got our shit strapped to Serene’s sissy bar, and the girl is between my back and the bags, holding onto me.
“You good back there?” I ask her over my shoulder.
“I’m good.”
“You know, doll, you’re gonna have to think of a name before we get back to the clubhouse, or I’m not going to be able to introduce you to anybody.” I tease her.
She squeezes me a little tighter, pressing her cheek against my back. “I’ve already decided on one.” She says, and I can hear the genuine smile in her voice.
