“Um…maybe…” I have no idea what foods I like. I am trying not to feel overwhelmed. Charlie is helping, he isn’t pushy or getting upset with me. He’s kind and good looking. Though his hair and beard could use a cleanup.
“Best to warn you now I’m no Betty Crocker. Takeout is usually my specialty but being so far out, there isn’t anything convenient nearby.”
“I can cook.”
“Yeah?”
“At least I think I can.” I grin.
“Next meal is all you then. There’s a pen and some paper if you want to make a list of stuff you might need.” A feeling like I have heard him say that before— Deja vu washes over me but quickly dissipates.
I stare at the paper and panic looms in the back of my mind. I know certain things but not everything. It’s a scary feeling.
Chapter Twelve
—Boogeyman—
I see the fear in Shelly’s eyes and I don’t like seeing it there. Makes me think of the terrified look Kristen would have in her eyes when my old man would take her to his room. She promised me that one day she would kill him. That one day we would be free. Only I got my freedom and Kristen earned her wings.
I don’t know what she’s doing to me but part of me likes it. I didn’t exactly lie to her, but I didn’t tell the complete truth. I’m the bad guy she should be running from. I’m the monster who kidnapped her and brought her here. It was either take her or kill her. I couldn’t let her go and have the club go down because for the first time in my life I have a soft spot for a woman. Well... since Kristen. I’m not a deep feeling kind of man. Since I was a boy I was taught love makes you weak. I was conditioned to be an unfeeling bastard. The club is the only place to ever accept me for the monster that I am. I have my brother’s backs and they have mine. It’s what we do.
I have never gone against an order. I have never lied to my club. But that is exactly what I am doing having her here. Keeping her.
I could take her home and drop her off and never look back but what happens if she one day remembers who I am and what I did? I know what I should do with her, but I can’t bring myself to give her up.
When I first brought her here I was being a dick. My father always said the only thing a woman was good for was spreading her legs.
It’s what I know, and I wanted to punish her for making me want her. For making me fucking care.
I want to hate her.
I want to fuck her.
I want to fuck her until I hate her some more.
I’m not right in the head.
Never have been.
I grew up to be what I hated the most. My old man. Wouldn't he be proud if he could see that the monster in me is him.
She looks so lost and yet so determined to be okay with whatever this situation is. Being around her and her not exactly hating me is nice. I don’t like it. And yet, I’ve never had anything that was just mine. At the club I have always had to share. Though there was never anything that I wanted to keep for myself. It has never been a problem until now.
Until Shelly.
I find myself wanting to help her and it kills me. Even if I don’t want her to remember who I really am. Maybe for however long it takes I can pretend to be just Charlie, the man I may have been had everything not been stripped of me when I was a boy.
The pen shakes in her hand as she struggles to make a list.
Where did her fire go?
Where’s her sass?
I’ll bring it back.
I have to.
I slip the bologna onto a piece of bread, slather some mustard on another piece and top it off. I drop the paper plate on the coffee table. “Tell you what. Fuck the list. I’ll just get a bunch of shit and it can be like a game to see what you like and don’t like.”