By the time I was discharged late the next day, Killer had me booked for an appointment with an obstetrician. I’m now on bedrest until they can be sure the shit put in my food won’t cause me to lose the babies. That has Killer even more on edge than normal. Every little pain, twitch, or movement, he’s on me in case something happens so we can get right to the hospital.
Needless to say, I’m going out of my mind. A person can only take so much TV, magazines, books, and visits from the men and women of the club. I’ve been staring at the same four walls of our room at the clubhouse since coming back here. I need to get out of here and Killer is either going to let me go down and sit on the couch, which I’m allowed to do, or I won’t talk to him. Maybe I’ll have my sister come get me and take me to her house for a while. I definitely won’t do anything to put our children in jeopardy, but he has to understand where I’m coming from.
“Killer, I need to go to the common room or something,” I plead with him. “I can’t keep sitting in here staring at the same four walls.”
“Sparrow, you know that’s not the best idea. You’re supposed to be restin’,” he states, never once taking his eyes off me.
“I’ll be resting, just in the common room. You hear Doctor Spears; I’m allowed to go to the common room and sit. I just can’t do a lot of standing, walking around, or anything to add stress to me,” I state, knowing he heard the same thing I did. “Killer, I love you, but this insanity has to stop. I just want to sit on the couch for a while and hang out with everyone.”
Killer regards me for a few minutes before stalking to the bed. After pulling the blankets back, I’m lifted into my man’s arms. Wrapping my own arms around his neck, I lay my head on his shoulder and breath in his scent. Killer smells like the cologne he wears, sweat, smoke, oil, and leather. Everything I now relate to safety and love. He carries me down the stairs and directly to one of the new couches. Once I’m safely lying down on it, Killer has Rich grab a blanket from our room before sitting down at the end of my feet. He pulls them up on his lap and begins to massage them.
Letting out a moan, I let my head drop back as I close my eyes. I hear Killer growl out in response. Yes, I know it gets to him when I moan out. However, this feels so good right now. Rich is back before Killer can say anything in response to me. He covers me up with the blanket and asks if I need anything else. Right now, I’m good. I don’t need any more water or juice and Killer just made me eat a little while ago.
As Killer begins flipping through the channels on the TV, the main door opens, and I watch Stryker come walking up to us. After placing a kiss on the top of my head, he sits down in the chair closest to me. He’s been sticking close when he’s not at Phantom Ink or with Sally.
“How are you feelin’ today, Gwen?” he questions me, accepting the beer from Torres, our newest Prospect.
I don’t like Torres. He gives me the creeps. Whenever he’s around, he stares at everyone as if he’s trying to find our weakest link in the club. This means he spends a lot of time staring at the women. The few times I’ve been in the common room without anyone else, the hair on the back of my neck and arms has stood on end. I’d look around the common room, or whatever room I’m in, and Torres would be the only one there.
He’s got black hair that’s slicked back and wears jeans and shirts that are way too baggy for him. It’s as if they’re three times the size he should be wearing. The rest of the men in the club always wear tighter clothing so he definitely sticks out. If one of us dared to get close enough to him, I’m sure we’d see his underwear hanging out like you used to see years ago by every member of the male species.
I also won’t take any food or drinks from him. The first time he handed me bottled water, he opened it before letting me see anything. I don’t trust anyone on the best of days, after everything going on, I truly don’t trust anyone. Torres got pissed at me to the point I was afraid. All the memories of my father’s house filled me. Before he could react, Playboy and Fox were by my side. Needless to say, he’s pissed as fuck and hasn’t like me ever since that day.
“I’ve been better. Thankfully, Killer was smart enough to let me out of our room,” I joke while keeping my eyes on my man.
“What did you have to give up in order to make him give in to that one?” Stryker asks, wiggling his eyebrows at me.
“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen,” I mutter disgruntled under my breath.
Still, Killer and Stryker both hear me as they bust up laughing. I may be sexually frustrated once more because Killer won’t touch me until we know for a fact we’re out of the woods. I’m not amused at all.
I watch as Torres leaves the clubhouse. I’m not sure where he’s going, but I take the first deep breath I’ve been able to since coming down here. That’s the one aspect I didn’t take into consideration when I wanted to come down to the common room. No one knows I feel the way I do about him either. Looking between Stryker and Killer, I try to figure out whether or not I should say anything.
“What’s wrong, Sparrow?” Killer questions me.
“I don’t like Torres. I get a weird vibe from him every time he’s around. He makes me feel as if I’m being watched when there aren’t many people around and I just don’t like him. He makes me feel as if I’m back at my father’s house in a way,” I respond to him.
“Is it just him or the rest of the Prospects too?” Stryker asks as I keep my gaze locked on Killer.
Killer’s face has gone a deadly shade of red. I know when his face gets this red, someone is going to get hurt or things are going to be broken. This means he’s angry as hell and trying not to explode while I’m in front of him. Or any of the other ol’ ladies. All of the men in the club try to contain their rage when something is happening. Killer is having a hard time doing that today. Especially when Torres walks back in carrying a package.
“Gwen, this is for you,” he states, ignoring the deadly looks he’s getting from both men sitting with me.
“Where the fuck did you find this?” Killer asks, jumping up from the couch after setting my feet off his lap and back on the cushions.
“It was at the gate,” Torres answers, still ignoring the hostility being directed at him.
“How did you know about it?” Stryker demands from him.
“I got a call from Robbie,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders.
“Get the fuck outta here,” Killer orders him.
Instead of running off, Torres remains rooted to his spot for several seconds. I don’t even look at him as he continues to stand there. When Killer finally makes a move toward him, Torres finally heads behind the bar. It’s as if he knows what’s in the box and wants to see my reaction. I’m not going to hide from him.
“Stryker, take this out of here for me?” Killer asks him.
“No, babe. I want to open it here,” I tell him, reaching out to hold his arm.
“I don’t want you gettin’ upset, Sparrow,” Killer tells me, looking down at me with nothing but worry, concern, and love shining down at me.
“I need to do this. I’ll let you know after everything happens,” I plead with him, knowing this may be a step in the right direction; one that we need to go in.