CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I want her buried in my fuckin’ skin. Melted like butter on hot toast.” – Rider

 

 

 

      "Peace offering." Zara cleared her throat holding out a cold beer, her fingers wrapped around the neck of the brown bottle.

      Rider sent a gaze up from under those spectacular lashes before taking it, his hands hanging between his legs as he squatted on an upturned crate outside of the shop.

      From inside came the loud volume of the radio playing and the sounds of the guys working.

      She'd waited for more than an hour to see Rider alone, unashamedly peeking out of the club window across from the shop. She'd been prepared to offer him the olive branch in front of the other club members if need be but was thankful it was one-on-one. Unable to gauge what he was thinking, she shuffled her feet, put her hands in her pockets and then pulled then back out again.

      For two days, she’d barely seen Rider, he was off dealing with club business, she heard that a lot from all the bikers, so didn’t ask what people were up to, she’d learned it was better not to know anyway, only she’d watched a few SUV’s coming and go, men she didn’t recognize, going into that small cabin office near the bike shop and wondered what was going on, or if this was normal practice for his MC.

      Rider had been busy, she hadn’t wanted to disrupt him, but since the night of...murder and conclusion, she hadn’t been able to grab a moment alone with him.

      She began to assume he was pissed at her for calling them friends, he hadn’t gone out of his way to see her either. She ate most of her meals in the kitchen with Tiny and twice now she’d sat at the bar and held a conversation with Uncle Jed.

      But no Rider.

      Her eyes ate him up whenever she saw him stride through the club, a giant imposing figure of a man in denim and leather, he’d winked catching her eye, so that had given her some hope.

     “Didn’t know we were at war, Icy, but thanks for this, got a real thirst on today.” he cocked a half smile.

      Hm. Still unreadable. Dammit, she’d missed him.

      He also hadn’t slept in his room, either. It was the push she’d needed to hunt him down now. Where had he slept? More importantly, with who? Her belly clenched. The crown of Rider's head was covered in his navy bandana capturing all his hair, the look appealed on a baser level, something raw and ultra-masculine, one that pleased.

      "Mind if I sit a minute?"

      One side of his mouth quirked as he drank, and when he cast that roguish gaze up at her Zara visibly inhaled feeling it deep in her belly. I want him to look at me. She realized. That slick rolling of his eyes down her body checking her out, appreciating what he saw, she wanted it

     "Sure, baby. I'd offer my lap, but I've been friend-zoned."

      Zara snorted a little embarrassed, did the man have no shame and zero filters? she dragged the second crate over a little to be closer to where he was. She liked that he hadn't stopped calling her baby. It was a good sign.

     "Big bad biker man doesn't have women who are just friends?"

     "Not until recently." His reply was flippant but amused. She observed how he took the beer to his full lips, licking them after he'd taken a drink. She might be crazy, but she wasn't looking at him like any friend she'd ever had before.

     "Do you think you'll mind having a girl who is a friend, Rider?"

     Nothing about his intense stare put Zara at ease. She put her hands in her lap and swallowed her nerves.

     "I'ma tell you, baby since you wanna go in circles with this, I’ma put a cap on it finally. You don't want me as a friend and I sure as fuck don't want you just for a friend."

      Well, that was rude of him. She frowned. "But you said----"

     "I'm not finished. I want you in my bed, Zara. Underneath me until I'm buried so far inside you, you won't ever think to call me a friend again, you won't know your own name, just how it feels to squeeze down around me as I pound you. I'm being upfront, so we're clear."

      Rider stood and Zara found herself popping up to her feet automatically, though she felt a little dizzy to hear him declare it just like that. No frills, no lies, straight talking biker man.

      Raw and open.

    "I'm starting to think you only want me because you've built me up into something epic in your mind. It's the classic don't touch the red button. All you want to do is touch that red button, right?" she shot her eyebrow up, sure she'd nailed it finally.

     Not the kind of nailing Rider wanted to do, obviously.

      Today was a brand-new day, and she felt...different.

      His mouth twitched. Eyes lit up brighter with humor. His voice laced with it. "That would be fine, if I hadn't had you already, Icy. Had you a lot, if you recall. Know your taste, your sounds. So, that's not buildin' you into epic. That's me rememberin' epic."

      “A million years ago.” she countered. “The red button feels all brand new again.”

      “You’re the red button in this equation, and me the finger?” She nodded his question, saw his mouth stretch again with a grin as he took the bottle to his lips.

      She was mesmerized by the working of his throat as he drank one long swallow at a time. Oh god, how can a throat be considered sexy, really? But Rider’s was. All long, thick, tanned and strained with veins and muscle. Not too much muscle, he didn’t look like he gulped steroid covered Cheerio’s for breakfast, just the right size.

      She blinked and caught his eyes on her. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Watching her watching him. “Then you should let me finger you, baby.”

      Zara spluttered. “Don’t you mean push the button?”

     “Nope.”  His grin stayed on his face. A wicked naughty grin that warmed down to her cold toes in last days of October cold. “I mean what I say. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I only wanna finger you once, and then walk away. Maybe I wanna finger the fuck out of your red button until it breaks and no other lucky bastard can touch it ever again so you’re left with only the pleasure of me strokin’ and makin’ you feel good, really good, so damn good you dream of my fingers, Icy, and you wish you’d asked me to press that sweet fuckin’ button long ago.”

      Oh. My God.

      Zara had not even an attempt at a witty comeback. She was too busy swallowing a moan, a deer in his headlights, staring hard at him as she aimed to pull air deep, deep into her lungs. Somewhere along the conversation line she thought they were no longer talking about any metaphorical danger button anymore.

      She was no match for that kind of honesty, seriously, the man had no filters whatsoever.

     "Thanks for the beer, baby." Rider touched his cold hand to the side of her face briefly, smiled and winked before heading back into the shop towards the drilling and hammering noises.

      Zara stood outside for another thirty seconds in full processing mode before making her feet move taking her across back into the clubhouse.

      Well. That peace offering didn't go as she planned it to. But at least she discovered he wasn’t mad at her for anything.

      But she was smiling. It hadn't gone badly, either.

 

 

******

 

     “What's her deal?" Inside the shop, Hawk grimaced after seeing the eyefuck exchange with Rider and the girl, his face twisted in stark confusion. "She's leading you around by the magical pussy you're not digging into if your sour mood is anything to go by these days, get laid already, man, plenty of pussy around to choose from, do us all a favor and get inside one."

      If anyone had been looking close enough to describe Rider, they would have said there was no time in between having a joke around with his boys to his face turning dark and murderous. A straight up thunder-clap of death.  His voice matched the look, pointing at Hawk.

     "You get one fuckin' pass because you're my best friend to say that shit to me about her. You do it again, you speak in terms less than anything but respectful, Hawk, I'll forget I ever knew you and fuckin' bury you."

     Mechanics seemed to stop breathing around them, the tension grew thick as everyone held their tongues, tools ceased working, all of them waiting for the next word.

      Hawk was not known for his subtlety or having a rein on his temper if pushed, the man was a walking bad mood most of the time, but Rider couldn't give a fuck. He was pissed his VP had spoken that way about Zara.

     Magical or not, her pussy was HIS business, no fucker else's.

      Both men glared before Hawk took the smart road less traveled...for the first time, ever and nodded his head in accord, his face hidden by his hair, eyes masked by coldness. He reached out and clapped Rider briefly on the shoulder as a somewhat unspoken apology to his lifelong friend, and strode across the garage.

      Only then did the men breath again. A whoosh of noise.

     "Holy mother Magdalena, who else just shit themselves?" Announced Capone with his unmistakable Hispanic accent. Rich chocolate eyes dancing with humor he threw a wrench up into the air and caught it on its down spin. "I mean, I would’ve put money on you, Prez, but Hawk ... maaaan, if looks could kill, Santa don't visit the funeral home, Hermano."

     Guffaws joined the laughter, Rider smirked and got back to working on the '69 Fat Bob FXEF brought in that morning. It was a thing of beauty, but unless he could find the part to fix it then she was good as a relic. He smoothed his hand over the chrome pipes admiring the old girl.

      His boys were still flapping their jaws.

     "I mean ... like ... Z-girl is hot, those eyes, man, but a magical Pu-----" Rider rose his head and pinned Capone the big mouth with a stare, an arch of his brow dared his Sergeant at arms with no vocal filter, to finish his sentence. Go ahead, I dare ya, bro. Fuck, Rider was a territorial motherfucker wanting to piss up Zara’s leg to make sure everyone knew she was taken. They knew, but still.

     Capone in his busy manwhore life had the good fortunate to know when to quit while he was ahead of imminent death, the laugh stopping in his throat and he chose not to cap off what he'd been about to say about Rider's girl’s pussy.

     Fucking clowns. Rider's boys were fucking clowns. Before a third fucking interruption happened, Maybe Snake wanted to belly dance or some shit, Rider got his hands dirty and back to work.

      Only giving a passing thought of Zara's pussy he wanted to get into it. Magic. She was fucking magic to have him this wound tight. His Icy was a lot of things, but most of all she was his.                

      Now to persuade her of that.

      “Nice of her to drop by to see you, Presidente.” Teasing Capone commented. “Real nice. Notice we didn’t get a beer. I think she’s got herself a favorite.”

     “Mmhm,” Rider said noncommittally, his mouth twitching.

      He was fixing it so he was her favorite.

      All in good time.

      He worked on the hog to keep his hands busy. To keep them off Zara and her crazy friend’s idea, as clever as she was, she was pretty clueless to think they could ever be friends. Friends who fucked, he could just about get on board that, even then he wanted more. No one who sticks their tongue in his mouth like she had wanted to be his fucking friend, now he'd convince her of that.

      Stubborn girl.

      He already had ideas in his dirty mind.

     Between his dick issues with Zara, and the shit going down in his club, Rider wasn't sleeping much lately. His eyes were gritty and sore at the back of his skull, he'd slept last night in the cabin almost waking with hypothermia biting at his bones.

      The Rebel bodies were taken care, the barn scrubbed clean by his prospects not even his mother would find a spec of DNA in there, and she was a good old fashioned southern woman who thought cleaning was a fine hobby to have.

      And as satisfied as he was that there were no more Raging Rebel minions to deal with, the bigger issue of Hades was still pending. That cranked his fucking gut to think of him still alive somewhere. If death was ever designed for a sole person it was Hades; also, answers to dead man walking.

      And Rider was determined to deliver it.

      Two of his nomads were on a scouting mission, sending reports every night. The last Rider had heard there was not one sighting or whisper of him at any of his known haunts.             

      How could the man just up and disappear? Hades, what Rider knew of him and none of it was good, liked to gloat and showboat and for him not to hit back at Rider's club was unusual. He'd once swore out a full-scale war with Apollo Kingsmen MC over a lousy bar-room pool bet. If he left Hades out in the wind, it gave that fuckstick time to regather nomads and men from other chapters. As it was, Rider and his club had sent a giant message to The Raging Rebels; Don't step on my patch. Not now, not ever. Rider wasn't gonna give Hades an inch to find his footing, to get back in the game.  Not gonna happen. He was going to see to it that for his club's sake and more importantly, for Zara's sanity, that Hades was put to ground and soon.

      Hawk liked blood on his hands like he was Cleo-fucking-patra bathing in ass’s milk, Lawless was a demon with a blade who got off on cutting up bodies until they resembled ground beef, his men could pick over the carcasses of any straggler Rebels who would dare set foot in this territory again, but Rider himself wanted to deal with Hades.

      Kyle fucking Williams. Such a normal boring name for a piece of shit President-wannabe. The name didn’t maketh the man, but the reputation sure as hell did.

      Hades had driven his club into shit along with the members he’d taken on over the years. Talk about scraping the barrel to the bare bones.

     Rider had seen maggots with better reputations. 

      The Raging Rebels were the kind of MC to give all outlaws a bad name. Hades was a president who didn’t care about his club only that he held the gavel and spat out the orders. Rider might be a one percenter, but he never shit where he ate. This was his town, his people and he loved every square inch of Armado Springs. He wouldn’t suck his town dry of all resources, that was just counterintuitive to his own businesses.

      He didn’t allow hard drugs through, no prostitution, hell, if someone so much as snorted an Advil in his territory he wanted a doctor’s note to explain why. He hated hard drugs, had seen the effects of what they could do, and the day he let his town be drawn into that kinda shit would be the day Rider was in his pine box.

       An hour later he called it a night. He was gonna put an idea into motion.

       How do you protect the one thing you never knew you wanted until it was already broken? Zara was making him think like a pussy in touch with too many of his feelings, but the question remained, could he fix her, help her?  He needed to do something.

      He found her in the kitchen, cozy as fuck with Tiny, laughing over a pan of boiling milk. Now Rider was a simple man, clear tastes and wants, and he said what he thought, but he’d never found anything funny about dairy.

      He’d done some glaring at Tiny, that giant motherfucker all smiles and winks knowing he was pushing Rider’s buttons, before Rider hooked Zara’s hand, pulling her along with him. He already had her jacket having collected it first, he’d told her to put it on leading her outside to his bike.

     “Shoppin’, Zara. You need more shit. Thought you’d wanna choose it yourself this time.”

      “I don’t have any money.” she frowned, allowing him to hold the jacket out for her arms to slip into it.

      Rider was putting his spare helmet on her head when he said. “I’ll take an IOU.” He had no intention of taking money from her. He chose his arguments well and this wasn’t one.

      “Oh. Well. Okay, thanks.” he saw her eyes stray to the gate, she nibbled her lip.

      Zara was nervous about leaving.

     “There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m with you all the way.”

      She laughed and her pale eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the waning day. “Like Superman, but worse, huh?”

      Rider winked and threw a leg over his Harley. “Something like that. Lift your leg over here, baby. Careful you don’t touch the pipes, they get hot.”

     Rider was hyper aware of Zara on the back of his bike. How good it felt her slim arms wrapped tightly around his waist, hands right near his groin, her little body plastered so close to him he experienced her every inhalation and the way she moved with him on a turn. His heart had pounded at first, before rolling into a steadily heated patter, comforted that she knew what to do after he’d explained that she needed to lean into the turns and not fight the bike, the last thing he needed tonight was to have them both flying across the road at a neck breaking speed.

      He was eighty percent sure Zara was about to squeeze the life outta him as he took another turn on the road leading away from the Renegade Souls grounds into town, he cocked his head, eyes still to the road, it wasn’t uncommon for deer to cross at any time, didn’t wanna be killing any bambi’s tonight either.

     “Baby, you okay back there?” most of the wind caught his words and her reply was muffled but the repeated tap on his belly told him she was signaling him for something.

      He chose a stretch of the deserted highway to pull over to the side, leaving his hazards blinking. “Zara, talk to me, what’s up, you need to take a piss?”

      No bathroom break made you shake and Zara was doing some bodily juddering against him, he was off his bike, and cupping her cheek. “Hey now, what’s all this about?” Wide eyes looked up at him.

      That glance poleaxed him in the gut. She was spooked.

 

 

******

 

      “I think.” A hard inhale of panicked air.  “I really think we should go back. I don’t need any more clothes, what I have is more than fine, and----and.” That distress claw took hold of Zara like it wanted to become best enemies. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t vocalize how she hated the emotion of fearing every-fucking-thing of every-fucking-one.  “It's irrational, I know. Look, I can’t do this … I feel uneasy like my heart is going to explode out of my chest, Rider.  I want to go back."

      Her panic attack was always louder than logic.

     "Zara. Look at me," she was too busy glancing back gauging how far it was through the darkness, her hand clutched tightly on his shirt while she heaved in the air like it was going to be rationed any second now. She hated the fear crawling inside her head, whispering all the hateful things to fuck her up mentally.

      Bad things happen to me in the dark.

      She was safe with Rider, on some level, she knew that, but the fear was greater than any reasoning she could adhere to. Her brain wouldn’t work properly, why wouldn’t it just stop! She wanted to scream.

     "Zara. Shit. Darlin’ it's going to be okay. Look at me." Zara's head came around, meeting his eyes immediately.

      Not because he'd commanded it, but something in the way his voice had dropped to softness, the timber of it reached inside Zara and soothed what frightened her the most.

      She felt her breath even off and slow to a steadier pace before she hyperventilated. The blue had turned almost black, such steady sure eyes Rider had, calming her with them.

     "We're more than halfway, it would take longer to head back then it would be to make it on the other side. Trust me, nothing here can hurt you. You want to tell me what set you off?”

     She shook her head. How could she explain to the man she was probably falling for all the nasty in her head? Another hard lung full and she let go of his shirt one finger at a time, frowning she saw she’d wrinkled it, she did her best to smooth it out. “I feel safe at the clubhouse.” behind the gate and security, inside his room and the very tall wide menacing biker president as protection.

      The stretch of road they were on was practically dormant, only one car passed by and she’d never felt so far from protection. Which she reasoned on some deep level was stupid, because hello, she was with a big bad biker man who wouldn’t let harm come to her.

      She hated that the panic was louder in her head than anything else.

     Panic attacks didn't make sense, they didn't come calling to chat over tea, it was to override your system with a sense of foreboding and fear, it was all those little voices in your head coming together to have a feast of unimaginable alarm.

      She rested her head on his chest, felt his hand come up to her neck, stroking slowly. “I’m sorry, I ruined the shopping trip.”

     “Nothing is ruined. We’ll sit here a minute; see how you feel.”

      “Why are you like this with me, Rider? Patient. Kind. I mean, if it was me, I’d tell me to stop whining already and get over it. I can hear my whine and I hate it.“ She tried to laugh and failed. His thumb never stopped his soft motion under her hair.

     “Maybe I just love shoppin’, baby.” Even mid panic Zara heard the laugh rumble in his chest. She looked up, arched a brow at him.

      And just like that, a simple grin from him, the amusement laced through that smooth whiskey tone brought calm. Damn, maybe the big bad biker man should charge for that kind of therapy, one grin and you’d be cured of all ailments.

     Whatever his reasons for being so...so him, she was grateful and wouldn’t take it for granted. It felt easy after another minute, her breathing returning to normal and the noise not so loud in her head.

        All through it Rider had stood with her in the confines of his arms and just let her be, not tried to cajole with platitudes of stupid negativity or ridicule, or tell her it was all in her head.

      Yep. She was going to fall for him.

      “We can go now.”

      She took full advantage of enjoying holding onto his waist the rest of the journey into town. Hard muscles under her hands, a warm back against her face, he had such control over the huge beast of a motorcycle. “Wow.” She declared when he came to a full stop, he helped her off with the helmet, leaving it hooked over the handlebars. “I don’t remember the first time I was on your bike, but boy, that was so much fun. You rode fast. I might have eaten a bug.”

      Rider grinned, one of those full teeth grins that had her belly curling warmly. Her friend was making her feel things.

      Bad things. Not at all friendly

      “Good protein. You’re not a biker until you’ve swallowed a few critters. C’mon, let’s go.”

      He caught her hand in his.

      “I think I want a sweater. It’s getting cold now. Maybe it’ll snow. I should get gloves and scarf.”

     “Anything you want, baby.”

      “You make a good sugar-daddy.” she laughed up at him.

      Noticing how many stares he got as they walked the block to a local fashion superstore. Zara was never a designer slut. She was excited to go through racks and racks worth of bargain clothes. Besides, she really didn’t have a dollar to her name, not until she sorted out her whole life again, and she was kind of hiding from that right now. And keeping track of every penny Rider had spent on her so far, she needed to get on that to pay him back.

      Tomorrow. Maybe. The day after for sure. Maybe.

      “I’d make a better fuck-buddy. As a sugar daddy I ain’t gettin’ any action.” dryness in his tone had her laughing again.

     “People are staring…” she informed. It wasn’t so late. Stores were still lit and heavily populated, people doing their late-night spending. She saw Rider didn’t care, he gave a shrug. Were they noticing him for the leather cut he wore declaring he was in a MC or just because he was gorgeous? Definitely the latter when a blonde lady gave him the once up and down.

      Zara found herself scowling. Hello, I’m stood right here with him. Blondie didn’t know she wasn’t Rider’s wife or girlfriend, yet still eyefucked him deliberately. Bottle blonde and rude.

     “Maybe they’re checkin’ out your butt. It looks damn good today, baby.” to prove his point she felt him pat her a little ushering her into the store.

      He’s your friend. She warned.

      Nope, further South of her body disagreed, growing warm, wet.

     Oh, Jesus.

     Twenty minutes, three outfits and two bags later she was strolling back to where he’d parked the bike. Once again, he’d caught at her hand, in his other he carried her bags. “Thank you, Rider.” she told him.

       He’d been patient if not a little growly when she hummed and deliberated over clothes.  Did she get the red sweater or the blue, and what of the black pants, but then she would be better getting the beige shirt and she kind of liked the flannel shirt because it would keep her warm in the evening. “Just get them all.” he’d growled. She didn’t of course, only choose three in the end, but his gesture and flash of blue irritation warmed her deep down. She didn’t tell him she thought he looked cute stood tall as a tree among the women’s clothing department while she chose more underwear.

      Cute big bad biker man.

      She decided then and there, a bolt of anxious clarity, with her heart thumping and her belly doing a salsa dance as she watched him pull on his own helmet. A nondescript building with a yellow sign across the street had caught her eye and she’d known it was good timing. If she was moving forward as she wanted, then she had to leave behind everything where it belonged and she still had threads loose. “Rider…”

       “If you wanna grab some food before we head back there’s a burger joint on the next block. It’s got good fried pickles.” He offered. She couldn’t eat right now.

     “No, it’s not that. Do we have time to make one more stop?”

      She was nervous as a rattlesnake as he stopped his long-legged stride to look down at her, his brow arched in question. Here goes. “There’s a clinic across the street.” she pointed. “One of those walk-in places from the looks. And I. Well. I.” Christ. It was harder to say it than she’d thought.  And to Rider of all people. She didn’t want him to know how dirty she felt inside. Words stuck in her throat, she inhaled and blurted it out. “I need to get checked out ... tested … I should get tested.”

      A streak of shame stained her face and even though it was dark now, nearing nine o’clock, with only street lamps lit, she was sure he could see it cloaking her cheeks going done to her soul, all that dirtiness on show.

      Zara was so fucking glad those men were dead, she hoped they rotted in Hell forevermore.

      She didn’t want to tell Rider of the agonizing abortions forced on her by the Rebel’s physician. The man was no more doctor than she was and the pain she suffered because of it said as much. It wasn’t as though she would have wanted those babies, god, the mere thought of it brought bile to her throat, to her they hadn’t been foetuses, but a disease, she was glad it was ripped from her, or she would have done it herself.

      Of course, they hadn’t wanted their slave knocked up.

      But now she was left with all the what ifs and---- god.

      She heated with more shame, unable to look at Rider.

      Why would he want a woman who had just told him she could basically be riddled with every STD known to the modern era.

      Disgusted.   

      “Sure, baby. We can get that done for you. It's a good idea.” he said it so matter of factly, like it was no big deal.

      His sweetness hurt her heart.

      She didn’t deserve this life, but here it was. Glaringly real. Zara rounded her shoulders to look at Rider. Not an ounce of judgement on his face. Relief flooded her system.

She might as well go all in, she thought, since she’d told him the worst.

      “And. You’re right, we’re not only friends, so. I’ll get tested, and checked out and Rider...“ she watched both of his eyebrows slide down, his eyes hooded in concentration almost as if he knew what she’d say and he wanted to hear it with his own ears, but how could he when she’d only this moment decided it against all her better judgement, fuck, she needed to know if she could be normal again. “And I want us to have sex...”

      As bombshells go, it was probably the biggest of her life. Her ears were only ringing a little. Say something.

      Her face flamed hotter than ever, she fidgeted from foot to foot, lost in her own mortification she’d told him she wanted to have sex with him. Well done, Zara. My god. So buried in her own thoughts she barely heard.

     “Fucking hell, Zara. How can I ride us home with my dick hard as a rock? You tell me this now? You couldn’t maybe tell me it at the club where we had a bed and privacy?” He exhaled hard, puffing out his scruff covered cheeks, sending his eyes to the sky as if asking Jesus himself for the strength not to strangle her.

      It broke the tension. She giggled.

      “I’m sorry.”

      His eyes pinned her. “You’re not sorry. You’re so far from sorry.”

      “I am.” she insisted with a smile growing as they crossed the street, her hand tucked lovely and warm in his.

      “You tell me you want me to fuck you, out here where I can’t get hands on you, baby. My dick is hard and we’re about to sit around this place for shit knows how long. You’re not sorry.”

      “I so am sorry, Rider! I take it back.” He was doing that breathing thing again, his nostrils flaring and she laughed this time.

      How did he do that just pull all the tension and fear out of her? He was a miracle worker.

     “Nope. No taking it back, you said it. I heard it. You want a piece of me.” His smirk was so dirty so nasty so Rider she giggled.

      And because he could and because Zara desperately wanted him to initiate some form of touch he leaned down and kissed her neck.

      She sighed.

      Her life was about to change again, only this time she was choosing it. God help her, she hoped she could go through with the sex.

      It seemed fitting the flooring was grotty checkered linoleum inside the clinic, she was grateful her shoes didn’t stick to it. It didn’t quite smell medical but it had that skin crawling feel. A brightly lit waiting room where all diseases came to die.

     Behind her, Rider placed his hand on the bottom of her spine. Tenderness from a bad man. Her hands were clammy. Shaking. Well, this was it. The rest of Zara’s life started with this one step over to the desk towards the middle aged overweight woman with the bright orange hair who was sat wearing headphones and reading a copy of People magazine.