Delilah

 

Get up, you fucking idiot! You’re not supposed to be here! You’re supposed to be anywhere but here! Are you crazy? You said you’d never do this. You said you’d never be this type of girl. But here you are– still in bed with this… guy! GET UP!

 

My mind, my dreams, and my body all slap me awake with a hard thump of realization. I am still here, still sleeping naked in some stranger’s bed. My arm is outstretched over the sandy-colored, extra stiff sheets of the seedy motel room bed. The fabric ruffles softly against my skin as I turn myself to the side of the bed that doesn’t have another body occupying it. I practically will myself to open my eyes and check the time. I don’t have anywhere to go, or any means to get home outside of a taxi, but I’m still concerned with how long I’ve been here.

 

Eight in the morning. I’ve been with Race for nearly ten hours now. Someone’s got to be looking for me, wondering where I am. My phone’s probably been buzzing around in my purse for hours without anyone to answer it. I glance over at my pile of clothes where I’m sure my phone is buried. On the top sits my white work shirt, wrinkled and stained from last night’s affairs.

 

I try to conceal my devious smile as I think of how he ordered me not to button it as we rode off from the bar back to this motel room. The tail of my shirt flapped wildly in the wind behind me as the cold wind blew against my bare skin, and my tender breasts bounced on the back of his worn leather jacket. It was electric then– less so now.

 

As much as I would enjoy just letting him take me like that over and over again, the reality is that I am not supposed to be here. I am not supposed to be with a guy like Race. If anyone did see us sneak out the back of the bar with our hands clasped to one another, I doubt I’d ever live it down. The boys of the club would think I am open, hell, willing to let them do what they will to me after a few drinks and a bad night at work. I’d become just another one of those girls who spread their legs at parties because a club guy ordered them to.

 

No thanks, Race. That shit just ain’t for me. No matter how you may try to tie me down–or, if we’re talking about the events from last night, hold me down– I’m going to escape each and every time.

 

I start by freeing my legs out from under the tight-tucked bedding. I hug them to my chest as I gently roll from one side to the end of the bed. The springs jerk slightly under my weight, but they don’t make a sound when I dismount. It’s only when I take a step towards my clothes that my feet hit a squeaky board.

 

My head spins back towards the bed for any signs I’ve might have woken up Race. But something catches my eye. The lump that I was pressed against all night isn’t much of a human. The massive body that enveloped and dominated me last night looked shallow and small under the folds. And there was no springy black hair to be seen. I yank gently on the end of the comforter, but there’s no movement. He’s gone. He’s beat me out of this place. Dammit. I feel like a fucking fool.

 

Not wanting to continue this humiliation, I grab desperately for my purse and scroll through my messages. Just like I predicted, my mom’s frantic. She expects me to check in with her after my shifts are over. Not hearing from me is basically poking some anxiety-prone bear to emerge from her cave.

 

One of the messages reads, in all caps: THIS ISN’T FUNNY DELILAH! IF YOU’RE AT THAT BAR, YOU’RE ASKING FOR TROUBLE!

 

That bar. She’s always ranting and raving about the damn Pipeline and how scummy it is. I don’t argue with her there. Given my line of work, there are so many nicer places I could choose to drink. But the mixes are strong, I know the bartenders by name, and the prices are friendly on my take-home pay. I can ignore the bikers and their roaming hands or the drunks who practically spend the night (and smell of it too) for those perks.

 

I shake my head and scroll down to the next few messages. No surprise there. It’s Ariel. I did just leave her there without any notice. That’s not like me at all. I typically get out with a hug and a promise that we’ll grab coffee or see a movie– something a normal girl would say to her BFF. But disappearing wasn’t like me, and I could see her mounting fear as the messages progressed from annoyance to straight out crazy:

 

Del! Where the hell did you go? I can’t find you anywhere! I’m gonna check in the bathroom.

 

Seriously, hon. This isn’t funny. Can you just let me know if you left or not? Your car is still in the parking lot, so I know you didn’t drive home. Are you with someone? Kel said he served you with that new guy, Race. I know you didn’t go off with him…

 

Omg. I am so mad at you right now. I am in like full-on panic mode. Your mom is messaging me every five minutes because you didn’t check in with her. And now it’s 4 AM, and the bar is closing. What the hell am I supposed to do, girl? If you’re not dead or kidnapped, and you just ignored me, you better believe I am going to hunt your ass down!

 

She must have given up after the last message because even the calls stop coming in. Poor Ariel. She’s such a mother, even if she wants to pretend to be some badass girl with a roadie attitude. Her boyfriend’s turned her into some soft, lovesick groupie who wants to nurture everything that comes into her path. No wonder she makes a great nurse.

 

I sigh heavily as I sit my naked ass on the floor and hold up the phone to my ear. The other line rings three times before I hear a high pitch squeal. “Bitch! Where the fuck are you? Do you know how fucking worried I was about you?”

 

“Cool it, Ariel. My phone was, uh, turned off. I didn’t realize it till now.” A little white lie never hurt anyone, especially when the truth is much more damning.

 

“Fine. But you didn’t say goodbye either. You never do that. And Kel told me you were drinking a ton with that guy—”

 

I don’t want to dwell on the MIA Race. “Oh, yeah. I know. I ended up calling a cab. He picked me up faster than I thought he would. I figured someone saw me and would tell you if you were wondering where I went.”

 

“That’s a load of bull, but I’m guessing you’re not going to tell me the truth today.”

 

I hate when your best friend knows you so well that she can practically read the change of your voice’s timber and know you’re outright lying to her.

 

“Nah. But I could use some brunch before I have to shower and get ready for my shift. You wanna meet me somewhere?”

 

“Yeah,” she answers eagerly, forgetting that I am expertly maneuvering around the whole deceit thing. “Let’s meet at Pipeline and then Sunrise Sunset Diner in an hour or so? You drive.”

 

We hang up, and I quickly survey my options. With no way back to the bar, I’ve got no choice but to go by foot. But I’m not about to do a walk of shame. While I can wear my uniform to brunch with Ariel, she sure as hell would call me out for showing up looking like I’ve been put through the ringer.

 

A quick glance at the long, gold framed mirror confirms this. I’m wrecked. Besides the pain between my thighs and the soreness in my hips and chest, I look like plain shit. I’ve got no choice but to stick around and grab a quick shower.

 

For some reason, I tiptoe. Something about being in Race’s space without him here seems so… completely and totally wrong. There’s no sign of him other than his duffle bag thrown on the couch and a few wrappers from earlier meals in the trash can. He leaves zero evidence of where he may have gone. It should be a relief but knowing he was the one who left me just angers me even more. With a deep breath, I stop sneaking around like some stealth ninja and storm through the hotel room in search of toiletries I can swipe.

 

At least the water heats up fast. The wafting, misty air fills both the small bathroom and the main living area within minutes. I slip into the room and pump the water heat up even more. I can never do this at my home. Money’s always tight when it comes to luxuries like this. Showers are short and freezing. Baths are non-existent. My mom practically waits outside the door to tell me how much water I’ve wasted in the five-minute, in-and-out shower I’ve done. It’s all an exercise in guilt. But this, no. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this.

 

Long streaks of warm, burning water trickle down my back, my breasts, my legs. I maneuver the shower head around so that it hits places still stinging from last night. My hands massage gently in the raw areas as if I can soothe it back to where it was before. My own touch brings up flashes of last night– fast and frantic movements in the dark of an office, the stumbling out of the bar with a shirt undone and a bra barely on, his hands wrapped around my thighs as he carries me into his motel room. It seems so far off in the hazy fuzz of my drunken memories, but as I move my hands quicker, it’s almost as if he’s here with me, watching me, waiting for me…

 

“Are you going to be in there all morning or what?” His voice booms through the shut door and into the bathroom. My body freezes as I listen to him turn the door handle. Dammit. I should have locked the door!

 

“What the hell are you doing?!” I protest. “Get the fuck out of here!”

 

“This is my motel room, Del. I can damn well do what I please.” The monster doesn’t even care that I’m naked in here. He pushes open the door with a jolt. From the tinted glass doors, I can see the shadow of his head peak in first and then his full body follow. His head nearly reaches the top of the shower doors.

 

“Do you mind? I’ll be out soon. I’m almost done.” My breath is lost in my voice. Me being trapped in here with him is more frightening than me going home with him drunk. I can’t explain why my knees tremble and my hands move to cover my more sensitive parts up.

 

“I’ll wait,” he replies. He leans against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest. I watch him check his phone a few times, almost impatiently. Can’t keep the king, or vice-king, waiting apparently.

 

“Like hell you will. I’m not getting out of here until you leave and give me some privacy.”

 

He laughs deeply– a sound so low that the glass slightly rattles on its metal tracks. To my horror, his fingers wrap around the inside of the door, and the panes come sliding back towards me. I step directly into the water as he appears before me.

 

“You think I haven’t seen a girl in the shower before?” he snarls out, an eyebrow lifted high. He examines me from top to bottom and then back up. A twitch in his permanent frown tells me that he at least likes what he sees. He points towards me as he exclaims, “You look done to me.”

 

“I look done to you?” I chide back. “How the hell would you know if I’m done.”

 

With a daring glare, he replies back, “Then let me finish you off.”

 

I know the meaning behind those words. This isn’t some innocent playtime. He’s serious as he reaches around the bottom of his shirt and pulls the fabric up and over his head.

 

Before he can fully unbutton his black jeans, I reach a hand out towards him and say, “I don’t think so. I’ve had enough of you.”

 

“Enough of me? Girl, no one has enough of me. I’m the judge of that.” His brow furrows in frustration. Two rounds aren’t enough for him. The slight bulge in his pants tells me that.

 

“Then let me get out of the shower and get dressed.”

 

He mulls my request over, still letting his eyes linger over me like I’m some big meal he can’t decide if he wants to make leftovers out of. Every part of me trembles and quivers from the wait. Finally, he pulls back and walks backward out of the bathroom. I stand huddled in the water until I hear his body fall hard back onto the bed.

 

I don’t linger in there. There’s no reason now, and I doubt I can enjoy the few minutes of quiet pampering with Race waiting out there for me. Facing him again would take some strength and resilience, especially knowing that there are parts of me that were screaming for him to join me in that shower.

 

I wrap a white, starchy towel around my body and quietly turn off all the lights and fans in the bathroom. With my hair still soaking wet, I make a beeline for the pile of yesterday’s clothes sitting at the foot of the bed. But there’s no way to avoid him. Race sits on his throne, watching me attempt pull dry clothes onto a soaked body underneath the cover of a bath sheet. As I’m struggling to balance on one leg while the other is stuffed into my pantyhose, I hear his laugh again. I’m glad at least one of us is enjoying this.

 

“I’d offer you breakfast,” he finally says as I walk towards the mirror to fix my hair up in a quick bun, “but I don’t do that shit. I’m surprised you’re still here.”

 

“I didn’t plan to be,” I shoot back. “I slept in. I’m almost always the first one out of bed. I’ll be out soon though. I’ve got places to go.”

 

“Places to go? Looking like that?”

 

“Yeah. Breakfast with my friend, if you must know. And I’ve got work tonight. This is my uniform.”

 

“Hmm. I thought you just liked dressing like a fucking slutty pilgrim.”

 

I hold back a laugh as I repeat back, “A ‘slutty pilgrim?’ What the hell does that mean?”

 

“Your white shirt. The black skirt. Isn’t that what pilgrims wore?”

 

“How the hell am I supposed to know? Waitresses at the Pier Inn are required to wear it.”

 

“Pier Inn?” he responds. “Never heard of it.”

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s not really your scene.”

 

The thought of this burly, leather-clad biker stepping into a place like the Pier is laughable. He’d get kicked out so fast, he’d never see it coming. And knowing bikers, he’d burn the place down for the slight.

 

“You don’t know what my scene is.”

 

“You don’t know mine either.”

 

“I thought that was the point of the game yesterday.”

 

Ahh yes. The game. I had forgotten that bit. Race had accurately guessed every little detail of my life and drank me under the table for it. Was I that predictable?

 

“It was just a game,” I choke back. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“I suppose not. But I do like knowing the club girls.”

 

“I’m not a Bad Devils’ girl. My friend is. I’m not. I don’t do MCs or bikers.”

 

“You did one last night.”

 

Before I’ve got time to think it through, I respond, “Yeah, and it was a mistake.”

 

There’s a small pause– one where I can feel the options dancing through his mind. He could have me punished for being insubordinate or bitchy. With almost all the power of the club, Race can make my life a living hell and do shit to me I can’t even imagine. On the other hand, he could ignore me altogether. He could laugh it off. At this moment, I have no clue what kind of mercy he plans on showing me.

 

His large body shifts slightly on the torn apart bed covers. He places his hands in his lap as he says calmly, “I’d agree with that. It was one night.”

 

“One. Night.” My lips move but my voice barely ekes the words out.

 

“Then I’ll see you around the area.” He holds out something shiny and black in his hand– my phone. My mind races. While I didn’t say a damn thing about him in any of my messages or texts, knowing that he had access to my phone feels like a total violation. I snatch it back, scrolling through it for any sign.

 

Watching me, he clears his throat and says almost reassuringly, “I left my number in there. It’s yours if you need it.”

 

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and nod in agreement. I can’t imagine any need to call this brut, but there’s something about that– relief. I place the phone in my purse and walk towards the door. He doesn’t follow me or even watch me go. His long neck stretches towards the back wall, and his head tilts towards the ceiling as he keeps his focus on some spot on the ceiling.

 

The last I see of Race is him closing his eyes with the sound of the door shutting behind me.