Only I’m not cold.
What the hell is happening between us? Figuring that out causes me a damn headache.
“Alright, stand up. Let’s get comfortable.” He lays the blankets on the chest and unfolds the first, then shakes it out on the other side of him. Knives lays the blanket down, then does the same to the other. “There,” he says.
Gosh, if I didn’t know any better, I would think this moment was romantic, but that would be ridiculous because the series of events that led us here were not.
I sit down and do my best not to think about the last time these were washed. We are lucky to be alive. “Thank you,” I tell him, feeling warm and flushed.
I don’t think it’s from the fire, either.
Knives being so close, and how the shadows curve the muscle of his arms, abs, and legs make him seem like he is from another world.
“I wonder if there is anything to drink in this place,” he muses, looking around in the dark.
“You’re kidding, right? Whatever is here would be deadly.”
He plops down on the blanket and covers his legs. “You’re probably right,” he says, just as the alarm bells sound again.
I hold my breath and wrap my arms around my legs, hoping the tornado is nowhere near us. I hope the clubhouse is okay. I hope everyone is safe. Knives throws his body over mine when the walls start to shake violently, and I hold onto him, ready for us to get sucked up in the tunnel of the tornado.
And then it stops, and Knives pulls away from me, taking the cloak of bravery and strength with him.
“I think we are fine,” he tries to reassure me, rubbing soothing circles on my back. “But I’m going to try to look for some alcohol in this place. Farmers always hide booze, and I’ll be damned, if we are going to be stuck here, we are going to do it right.” He pops up again, and he seems jittery and restless, like he has to be doing something. I mean, now that I think about it, he always is. He’s always working out, always making ninja stars, always practicing his aim, or he is in the garage or at Kings’ Club helping Tool.
He’s always doing something, and I’m sure resting isn’t something he is used to.
“I’ll be back,” he says again, grazing those calloused fingers along my back again. My skin prickles again, moving down the knots of my spine.
“Sure,” I whisper, watching him dart into the darkness. I can see the outline of his figure every time lightning bursts outside. It’s like a show. When I do see him, he is standing somewhere else in a new position. And with a flash, the outline of his body appears again, and even from here, I can see the square, cut jawline slicing through the sudden night.
“Ah-ha!” he cheers, holding up a bottle. “Told you.” He runs back over to me and sits on the blanket, wiping the dust off the label to see what it is. He whistles. “Damn, this is fifty-year-old whiskey.”
My nose scrunches at how horrible that sounds.
“Not a whiskey drinker, huh? Could have fooled me before we got rid of the booze at the clubhouse. I saw you turn up a few bottles.”
“—Of vodka, or tequila, but not whiskey. Bleh.” I shake my entire body as if just the word grosses me out.
“Do me a favor and try it,” he says, twisting off the cap and taking a swallow. He doesn’t flinch, but my eyes are burning from here from the strength of the whiskey.
I bet this whiskey could start a lawnmower. Makes me wonder what the hell it will do to my body. The bottle is heavy in my hand, and I can still feel the grime on the glass from years of being in this barn. “I have a feeling I’m going to hate you for this,” I say to him.
“You already hate me, remember?” There is a teasing note in his tone, but in the depths, there is this breach of pain that makes his words crack.
I turn the bottle up like I have a dozen others and wince, cough, then somehow manage to swallow. The liquid burns, just like I thought it would. My stomach warms, and my eyes water, but the after taste isn’t that bad.
“Hair on your chest?” he asks, taking another swing.
“Well, I’m sure I’m spouting hairs, but nothing like yours.” I wipe my mouth and chuckle when he falls to the side, grabs his stomach, and laughs. It’s deep, like it’s stuck in his gut and can’t seem to find a way out. It’s raspy, a larger than life kind of laugh, which is curious to me, because when he is around the guys, he’s more serious.
He hands me the bottle, wiping his eyes as he gains control of himself. “Well, don’t let me stop you from being a man.”
I snort, and the air rushes inside the glass, causing a whistle. “I’m better than a man,” I inform him, taking another large gulp. After the first one, the second isn’t so bad.
“Oh yeah? How might that be?”
“I’m a woman.” I take another drink for dramatic effect.
“A pain in my damn ass is what you are,” he jokes, taking the bottle away from me.
Out of habit, I tuck my hair behind my ear, forgetting that I have it up in a bun. Knives and I fall into a comfortable silence, the white noise of rain comforting instead of threatening. The worst part of the storm must be over.
“I’m sorry about your bike,” I say, playing with one straw of hay. I repeatedly tie a knot in it until it’s nothing but a ball, toss it into the fire, and grab another.
“Yeah, me too. Shit happens, right?”
“Today it does,” I grumble, stealing the whiskey from him
“Yeah, today was a shit show. I can’t help but wonder if that’s why Seer called me the other day.”
“You didn’t answer?”
“No. I’m not the kind of person that wants to know their future. I want it to happen when it happens.”
“I don’t know. If someone would have told me I would be chained in a basement before it happened, I would have wanted to know.” I keep my voice light and playful, but Knives doesn’t find it funny at all.
“Don’t do that. Don’t joke about what happened to you like it doesn’t matter. It matters.”
“I’m not saying it didn’t. I’m saying if someone had the ability to tell me something horrible was going to happen to me, I would want to know, but that doesn’t stop other terrible things from happening, does it?” The fire in front of me mirrors how angry I am.
Maybe that’s why I’m so reckless. Because I have this rage inside me burning away at my humanity every moment I’m awake.
“Want to know something?” I ask right after, not really giving him an option to say no. “When I found myself chained up in that basement in Atlantic City, a damn collar wrapped around my throat and my hands bound, you know what I finally thought?” My eyes begin to water, but the last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Knives.
Must be the whiskey.
I take another drink and sigh, swirling the bottle until the amber liquor creates its own funnel. “I thought, finally, a break. I went from the hands of one monster to another, but what’s even more disgusting is when I looked at the bikers that wanted to use me, I didn’t care. I was happy to be away from home, away from the man that numbed the part of me that’s supposed to care. The Atlantic City chapter were assholes and horrible people, but at least they weren’t family. Isn’t that sad? I almost looked forward to their touch, Knives. A part of me welcomed it. I’m not like the other women Boomer saved. I’m more haunted over what happened to me before I ended up in that basement.”