“I thought I was going to die in there.” Hermoine’s speaking so low that her words barely come out in a breathless whisper.
I swallow hard and take a few steps toward her. I’d never tell her this, but I was mentally preparing myself for it. I told myself she was dead as we were driving out, just because if I told myself the worst and found her alive, I’d be grateful.
I’m about to fib to her, but it’s only because I can see the exhaustion and exasperation oozing off her right now. I see how broken she is, and I don’t want her to feel this way. “I didn’t. You’re strong, Hermoine. You’re damn well one of the strongest women I know, and I knew you’d find a way to survive in there, and you did. I . . .” I pause for a moment because I’m afraid what I say could be too much for her right now, but I have to keep speaking from the heart. “I obviously don’t know what you went through, and don’t think this is me telling me you owe me those gritty details because you don’t. But where I’m getting at with all of this is that you survived in there. Don’t let this experience make you feel weak. Don’t let the demons come in and mess with your head because they don’t matter. What they say doesn’t matter, Hermoine. You made it through something awful, and if that isn’t a testament to your strength, then I don’t know what is.”
Hermoine closes her eyes, and I feel like she’s fighting back tears, but I’m not sure. She opens them, and as I see the glassiness, I have my answer. “I can take the couch tonight,” she murmurs, changing the subject.
“You’ll do no such thing. You’ll sleep on that nice ass mattress of mine, and I won’t have you arguing with me about it. I’ve got a really nice pull-out bed in that couch over there. I’ll be fine. I promise.” I flash my shit-eating grin smile to try and convince her, and she doesn’t put up any more of a fight.
“Thank you for bringing me here instead of taking me home. I don’t know that I would’ve felt safe there at the house. I think I’d be looking over my shoulder, wondering if he was coming for me.”
“Hermoine, you don’t need to thank me at all. I’m going to go get that duffel bag with some clothes I brought for you. They’re nothing special, just some stuff that’s been lying around. You go ahead and take a nice, relaxing shower. There’s a bath in there, too, if you’d prefer that. I can get Charlee to grab some things from your house if you want, some of your own clothes, perhaps?”
“I don’t want anyone going there. He could be waiting for me.” Hermoine visibly shudders in front of me, and I see this is a very real threat in her eyes. She’s terrified, and I don’t blame her for being so shaken.
“I’ll make sure she has multiple people with her. I promise you, she’ll be safe. Answer me this, would you like it if you are in your own clothes tonight?”
Hermoine takes a couple moments to think about it and then nods.
“Okay, I’ll get some things brought back here for you. Relax for a while. I’ll be in the main part of the clubhouse, and then I’ll bring the duffel bag back here and the new stuff for you when it’s ready.”
Hermoine gives me a curt nod, and I walk toward the door, but as I place my hand on the knob, she speaks up. “Falcon, no one can get to me in here, right?”
I turn around to face her and shake my head. “No, the only person who has access to this room is me. I’m the only one who knows the code.” I hope my words put her at ease, and as she walks toward the bathroom, I think they have.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hermoine
“Say the words, Hermoine,” Geno roars in my face, spit flying from his mouth as his skin turns red and his entire body seems to tremble. The rage he feels from my defiance is one of the only things keeping me going at this point. Besides, it’s not like I could even say the words if I wanted to with his fingers wrapped around my throat like a vice. Black dots dance in my vision, and the pressure in my chest makes it feel like it’s going to explode but still, I fight back a smile. He may kill me, but I know if he did, he would never get to hear the words he wants me to say, and I count that as a win . . .
“You all right, darlin’?” Falcon’s voice snaps me out of the hellish memory from my time at the motel, and I look over at him, blinking as I try to bring my mind back to the present. He’s standing next to the open passenger’s side door of his truck with his hand extended toward me, waiting for me to step out as he searches my eyes for any sign of distress.
Falcon has been . . . hovering for lack of a better word during the last three days. Ever since he pulled me out of that motel room, wherever I go, he’s there, and I don’t know why. Sure, something awful happened to me, so I can understand if he were worried, but it almost seems like letting me out of his sight physically pains him.
I don’t know.
Things have been weird between us ever since he rescued me and it has me stumped.
The comment he made in the truck as we were driving back to the clubhouse pops into my head—I would’ve searched the ends of the Earth for you if I had to. I hope you know that.
Why, though?
Why would he have gone to that much trouble?
We’re friends, yes, but I have other friends, and none of them went to such lengths to track me down. Hell, I don’t even think there’s a missing person report filed on me. I guess maybe it’s just because this is what he and the club do, what they’re good at, but his behavior has been confusing as hell. It’s almost like he has feelings for me. But I don’t want to be that girl, the one who assumes things and ends up with pie on her face when it turns out she was wrong. Besides, Falcon and I have known each other for years, and he’s never given any indication that he sees me as anything more than a friend, so why would that change now?
“Hermoine?” His voice yanks me from my thoughts again, and I give my head a little shake to clear it as I slip my hand into his, soaking up the comfort his touch provides as I slide off the bench seat. During my time in the motel, when I would allow myself to fantasize about somehow getting free, I imagined that having someone, especially a man, touch me after everything I’ve been through would feel wrong. Like maybe their touch would feel the same as when Coe, Butters, Sandman, and Hijack put their hands on me, but with Falcon, it’s different. Each time he presses a hand against my back or wraps his arms around me in a hug, all I feel is peace and safety. It’s the one time I can let my guard down because I know he won’t let anyone hurt me again. “Are you up for this?”
I peek up at him as he studies me with a scowl on his handsome face, and I force a smile to my own, hoping it will placate him.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m good.”
Of course, it’s a lie.
I’m not good, and I haven’t been since the moment Geno ambushed me behind The Java Zone. There are even times when I wonder if I’ll ever be okay again, but I can’t let myself think like that. If I start down that road, then Geno wins. Maybe I should seriously consider seeing a therapist because as I look back at my time trapped in that motel room, I find my reaction to everything a little concerning. I wouldn’t say I’ve ever been suicidal in my life, but I was fully prepared to die before giving in to Geno’s demands. In fact, there is a part of me that I couldn’t even acknowledge until I knew for certain I was safe, and that I had accepted the fact that I could have met my end in that shithole