Chapter 15
Megan - Day 28
I paddedto the door wearing only one of Aaron’s T-shirts and a pair of purple panties. There was no need for my sweats anymore. Aaron was only going to rip them off as soon as he entered his house.
A suffocating gasp hissed from my throat after I swung the door open and my gaze swept over three, big-ass men who looked like life had given them hell, standing on the porch. They didn’t utter a word, but their slow-scanning gapes raked over my body and left me feeling like I needed to wash myself in a pool of bleach.
Beards, dirty jeans, black boots, and leather vests covered blue turtleneck T-shirts and made the three look like twins. The one with the longest beard had nerve enough to lick his lips at me suggestively. It was funny how these people claimed to hate blacks, but the moment they saw an African-American woman that piqued their interest, they’d lose their fucking minds.
The one with the shortest beard had a cold sore on his lip that appeared about ready to pop. His beard was also patchy like he’d caught the mange or something. My gaze traveled back to the cold sore, no matter how much their dangerous presence alarmed me.
Medium beard was the first to speak. “Who the fuck are you and where the fuck is Aaron?”
My stunned gape and excessive staring prevented me from answering the question right away. Smudges of dirt and grime clung to their faces and necks. Where the hell had these men come from, the inside of someone’s chimney? There was so much dirt under one’s nails that it appeared he’d painted the tips black.
The stench of body odor sailed up my nostrils, and I was forced to choke down a gag that had climbed up my throat. The funk and that cold sore made it difficult for me to concentrate. I attempted to formulate an escape plan in my head, but nothing that made sense would come together. I decided to shoot from the hip until my brain decided to piece itself back together and come up with something that might save me from the vile shit that was apparently about to go down.
“I’m the maid, and Aaron’s personal property,” I expressed, with the straightest face I could muster. “He’ll be home from work in a little bit.”
With a hand gesture, I ushered them in because I didn’t know what else to do. There was no use telling them they couldn’t come in. Their stern, aggressive vibe told me that they were there to start some shit, no matter what I said or did.
Aaron’s house was way off the beaten path; so far off, that you probably wouldn’t find it even if you were lost. I remember Aaron mentioning that his house was not even under his name, so if anyone came looking for him that wasn’t from his MC, they were likely looking for trouble or bringing it.
A breeze that I hadn’t felt during my entire stay in Copper County blew against my bare legs. It reminded me that I was only in Aaron’s T-shirt and panties with no bra. The T-shirt reached midways down my thighs, which thankfully, covered me a bit. Nevertheless, I did my best to swallow my nervousness.
I glanced at Aaron’s wall clock when I turned to follow the dirty men into the house. There were fifteen minutes to kill until Aaron arrived. He hadn’t been late coming home because he knew I’d be there ready and waiting with my pussy on a platter for him.
Fifteen minutes. So much could happen in that short amount of time. My rape, murder, and the mutilation of my corpse were all possibilities. It took everything in me to convince my twisted brain to muster the strength to entertain this hungry-looking pack of wolves. If there was one thing I was sure about, they were hungrier for me than they were for food. If their lingering eyes were any indication, I may as well have been standing there naked and bent over the couch.
“Have a seat. I made beef stroganoff if you gentlemen are hungry.” Gentlemen. Ha! They were more like a bunch of rabid hell hounds.
“Lady, are you serious? You’re the maid and Aaron’s personal property? Did Aaron pull you out of one of those nuthouses?”
This was the third or maybe even fourth time someone had accused me of being crazy. The talker bolted in my direction when I took a step towards the kitchen. He gripped my arm hard enough that it would likely leave a bruise. He slung me onto the couch next to the shortest beard, mangy, and cold-sore-faced one.
The shortest beard glanced over at me, his cold sore still pulling my attention. A wheel turned in his head as he side-eyed me. “So, this is how the August Knights get away with fucking black women? Hide them away in their secret homes in the woods?”
What was I supposed to say to that question? I kept my gaze on the carpet as I rubbed my sore arm from where the woman-slinger had gripped it.
“Shit, I am kind of hungry. And that food does smell mighty good. And we’ve been staking out these damn woods for days trying to figure out where that bastard lived,” Cold Sore informed, as he absently brushed his hand over his dusty jeans. “Let her up, Clint. I think I’ll have me a bite to eat while we wait for Aaron.”
Clint, the woman-slinger, leveled a pointed gaze at Mr. Cold Sore.
“I’ll go in the kitchen with her and watch her to make sure she doesn’t try to get away or poison us. We may as well enjoy everything before we take care of our business.” The one I now knew as Clint volunteered this information. He said it all while staring at me.
The sinister glint on dirty-long-beard’s face as he watched silently across the room confirmed my assumptions. He’d been the quietest of the three, but his gaze revealed more than their words ever could. They were here to kill Aaron and me too for being in the way.
The way Clint and Cold Sore kept glancing at my tits and bare legs proved that their intentions weren’t just on the business they wanted to take care of with Aaron. Every crime they could possibly commit was certainly in play—robbery, rape, arson, murder.
Aaron had warned me that my life was in jeopardy every moment I spent around his MC. The second day had been positive proof. I’d shot someone to prove myself to the MC and stood by as they took the rest of their rivals out back.
Also, I didn’t miss that the bearded group with me now all wore guns shoved down the back of their pants. They’d likely left them visible in case I tried something. My mind whirred, and I kept my horror-filled screams locked inside my head.
Clint shoved me repeatedly toward the kitchen. What was up with bikers and shoving women? Clint watched, more like hovered, as I fixed three plates and retrieved a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator.
My mind fell on the various guns I’d seen throughout the house when I cleaned it. There was one on top of the kitchen cabinet across the room from me, but I’d need to climb up on the countertop to be able to reach it. There was also one under Aaron’s mattress. One of our sex scenes had been so active we’d worked it out from its hiding place under the mattress, and it had fallen to the floor. There was also a gun in the couch that Cold Sore sat on. Three damn guns and I couldn’t get to any of them.
I handed Clint his plate, but all I wanted to do was to smash the glass pitcher of lemonade against the counter and use the jagged edges to slit his throat.