He wore g a black tank underneath his flannel, one that molded over his torso in a very nice way. His arms were muscled, corded, not smooth. They were peppered with scars that were all the more noticeable in the harsh fluorescent lights, unhidden since he didn’t have tattoos like almost every other outlaw.
I wondered about his scars.
Wondered about what else was underneath his tank. Wondered how agreeable he’d be to me finding out.
Until he spoke with the flannel outstretched.
“Put this on,” he ordered.
I frowned at the flannel. “I’m not cold,” I told him. Although that was kind of a lie. I had sobered up during my time in the cell, and the air was turned way down in here.
“This is not about you bein’ cold, which you fuckin’ are,” Elden grunted, eyes on the gooseflesh on my arms. “This is about you wearin’ that.” His eyes skimmed my body once more. “In public, around a bunch of men who are thinkin’ things about what’s mine.”
“Oh, no he didn’t,” a girl murmured from the booking bench.
I put my hands on my hips. “I think he just did,” I told her then focused on Elden. “It looks like you’ve made it through your whole life without being educated on this fact, so it’s my utter delight to enlighten you. I am not responsible for what men think. It is not my duty to cover up in order to not tempt men into thinking or doing things that they shouldn’t be fucking thinking or doing.”
Elden was glowering in fury. “They shouldn’t be fuckin’ thinking or doin’ shit. But they will. So put the fuckin’ shirt on.”
“Shit, he ain’t hearing you, babe,” the girl muttered.
“He is not,” I agreed, hands still on my hips. “So boys will be boys, huh?” I tilted my head. “Men are not going to change nor stop acting like animals, so the responsibility remains on the woman to change what she wears, how she acts in order to make sure she doesn’tinvitethose looks or sexual assault.”
“You tell him, girlfriend,” my new bestie encouraged.
Elden’s nostrils flared … he was pissed, which was fine since I was absolutely furious.
“Men shouldn’t rape women, but they still will because, you know, boys will be boys,” I continued, almost shouting now. “So women should do everything in their power to make sure they’re not raped. Even though there is no such thing as doing everything in your power tonot get raped.”
I angrily swiped away the tears running down my cheeks.
“And even if they get caught, these fucking good old boys won’t do shit.” I gestured at the various officers around who had stopped to watch the show.
I guessed it could be considered funny to watch a playboy bunny shout at a biker.
But nothing,nothingabout this was funny.
“You can do everything right, and still, one night you’re having fun, like you should be allowed to do, and then some fucker with a powerful father and enough connections can do what he wants, and no one fucking punishes him,” I screamed. “And then when I see him at the bar and decide to do what these assholes didn’t, I’m the one who gets arrested!” I threw my hands up in the air, returning my gaze to Elden. “But sure, blame it all on me for putting on some fucking bunny ears.”
“Someone touched you, baby?” he asked delicately. Quietly. With a calm that was a lot more terrifying than any shout or growl could’ve been.
It took me a second to realize he’d understood how personal that little speech had been. And he thought it was me. Thought that something had happened to me.
I shook my head rapidly. “Not me,” I choked out.
The fury dissipated from his face, his features relaxing. But only a little.
“Who?” he demanded.
“Sariah,” I whispered. “She didn’t want me to tell anyone. She was … embarrassed.” The single word sent spears through the center of me. The image of my tear-stained best friend, who always seemed so big, so full of light, embarrassed about something that had not at all been her fault almost brought me to my knees.
“He got her drunk. Way, way too drunk. She was not in the state to consent to shit. But he did it anyway.” I sucked in a ragged breath. “I convinced her to go to the police. And they didn’t do shit.” I glared around the room again. “Because it was her word against his. And he has powerful parents. A good reputation. Sariah has a reputation for being a party girl, and she had the audacity to wear a fucking short skirt. So, of course, it was her fault.”
I’d been holding it together for this long—well, as much as I could—but having something this horrible happen to my best friend had shaken me to my core. Men all around me were violent. Dangerous. I was angry about it. So fucking angry.
Not as angry as Elden was, though. He was clutching the flannel so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
“Who,” he spat the single word out.