Hard Escape (Notus Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 5

  "I'm not getting in—"

  "He's married, a father, a grandfather...about sixty years old. He's also the cook at Vavoom's. He's safe." He threw his leg over his bike. "I'll give you your backpack at my house."

  He started his Harley, pushing her to do what he requested. She frowned, looking from her bag to the pickup. Finally, she walked toward Paxton and got in the truck.

  Glen pulled out in front of Paxton and led the way, much like waving a fucking carrot in front of a horse. He planned to keep Heidi's backpack until he figured out why a woman as beautiful as her, who worked at the bicycle shop, was spending her night on the street.

  Chapter 5

  Glen's friend stopped the truck in front of a two-story house. Heidi opened the door and feeling like she needed to say something, she looked at the driver and mumbled, "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." The older man hung his wrist over the steering wheel. "Glen will take good care of you."

  She shivered. The testament was one she'd heard promised before and refused to take advantage of. Shutting the door, she hurried over to Glen in the driveway. Biting her lip while he removed the cord holding her backpack onto the bike, she planned to split the second she had her hands on her belongings.

  She rubbed her arms, wishing she would've picked a different alley to sleep in. All she wanted to do was pick somewhere close to where she had to work on Monday and within walking distance of the river, where she could discreetly bathe.

  Glen hefted the pack over his shoulder and walked to the house. She hurried after him. If he looked inside her backpack, he'd know more about her than she wanted him to. Not her true identity. She had nothing on her about her previous life.

  He unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Go on in."

  She looked behind her. There was nobody outside at such a late hour to help her if she screamed. Unable to do anything more unless she was willing to lose everything she owned, she walked inside his house.

  Black leather furniture lined the walls of the main room, and a pair of black biker boots were kicked off in the middle of the floor, along with a dirty shirt, and two bunched socks. She pivoted and almost smashed into Glen.

  She held out her hand. "Can I have my bag now?"

  He shut the door and walked around her, ignoring her question. "I have a spare room."

  She scuttled around him and stopped, keeping him from walking deeper into the house. "I can't stay..." She peered at the boots, the dartboard on the wall, the empty beer bottle on the end table and lowered her voice. "Here with you."

  "Already said you could." He grabbed her upper arms, moved her to the side, and walked up the stairs with her backpack leaving her at the bottom.

  Tired of the game of leap frog they were playing with each other, she hurried up the stairs and found a door on the left side of the hallway with the light on.

  "The bed already has clean sheets." Glen tossed her backpack to the foot of the bed. "There's a bathroom at the end of the hall. I don't work tomorrow. Do you need me to wake you up for work?"

  The king size bed drew her interest. She yawned. Sleeping on the pavement was as familiar to her as an old friend. The bed was a stranger.

  She looked at Glen. Drawn to the bed like she was to Glen. Big. Scary. Tempting.

  "You lied," she blurted.

  He cocked his brow. "I don't believe I have."

  "You said you had a son. You bought a child's bike from me." It was the only thing she could latch on to, to remind her that she had no idea about the man standing in front of her. "There's no sign of a boy living in this house."

  "It was an excuse to talk to you." His mouth softened. "No kids. No wife. No girlfriend at the moment."

  "You bought a hundred and fifty-dollar bike to ask me personal questions?"

  "Small price to pay," he said.

  She couldn't figure him out. He seemed straight forward, matter of fact, and not a man who wasted time. Yet, he was frivolous. She couldn't wrap her brain around him. Too good to be true? Dangerous? Some weird non-stereotypical pimp trying to butter her up?

  "I don't work tomorrow, but I need to be up early to go to the laundromat. I'll let myself out without waking you." She glanced at the bed again, hating the fact that she was indebted to him now. "Thank you...for letting me sleep here."

  "Get some shuteye." Glen walked to the hallway. "My room is on the right side, right before the bathroom door, if you need anything."

  She waited until she couldn't hear his bootsteps on the floor and approached the bed. Poking the plush comforter with her finger, she quickly jerked her hand away, ashamed to have touched it before washing.

  Before she talked herself out of sleeping in a bed fit for a rich lady, she grabbed her backpack and tiptoed down the hallway. In front of Glen's bedroom, she paused. He stood facing away from her and pulled his shirt off by the back of the neck. She gawked, and a hot puff of air escaped her mouth.

  Broad shoulders flexed as he threw his shirt toward the other side of the room. She stopped breathing as he turned. Unable to move, she dropped her gaze to his stomach. Rock hard and tan, she could only watch the way his six-pack moved in waves and grew closer. She snapped her chin up and stared at Glen's face. Uh oh.

  "Let's get something straight. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you. But, if you try to lift one thing off me, I'll have no problems hunting you down." He inhaled through his nose. "Tomorrow, I'm going to straighten your shit out and find out what you were doing trying to sleep in an alley."

  With that, he turned around and dropped his jeans, leaving his boxers on. She stood exactly where he left her mesmerized over his tight ass until he flipped off the light and she could no longer see him.

  In the dark, Glen said, "Don't even think of leaving before I'm up."

  She stared in the direction of his bed. "I'll leave when I want to leave."

  The lamp beside the bed came on. Glen sat up in bed, the blanket covered him to his hips. "Listen, Blue. I'm dead on my feet. I need sleep. There's a lock on the bedroom door if you want to use it. You'll be safe. I don't feel like dealing with you anymore tonight. If you give a damn about whether I'm in a better mood in the morning, you'll go take your shower and then go to sleep."

  She moistened her lips. After what seemed like a lifetime of sleeping on the ground or on the floor, a real bed sounded better than the worry over her safety around Glen. She nodded. "Okay. One night."

  "That's all I need, and then I'll straighten this shit out in the morning," he said.

  She hurried into the bathroom, away from where his astute eyes could read more into the situation than she wanted him to know. Dropping her pack, she locked the door, undressed, and stepped into the walk-in shower before the water had fully warmed to a comfortable level.

  In her rush, she forgot to unpack her sample bottles of soap and shampoo one of the shelters had handed out to the homeless. She eyed the large, family-sized containers on the shower rack. Glen had invited her to stay. He probably wouldn't care if she used his liquid soap and shampoo.

  Five minutes later, she stood in the bathroom, running her hands down her wet body to dry herself. She'd leave Glen's house in the morning untouched—except for his bed. She frantically rubbed her crew cut, getting rid of the drips and then found her last clean pair of panties, jeans, and a sweatshirt. She'd be too warm in Glen's house, being summertime, but she had nothing else clean to wear.

  She left the bathroom. This time, she scurried down the hall silently without looking into Glen's room. In the three seconds it took her to seek shelter into the spare bedroom where she was invited to stay, she shook from exhaustion and from the chill being away from the warm water.

  She locked the door, turned on the lamp by the bed, and turned off the ceiling light.

  Not trusting Glen to unlock the door and pilfer through her pack while she slept, she put the backpack on the bed next to the wall, her shoes on the floor close to her, and crawled under the covers. She closed her e
yes, taking comfort from the light hitting her eyelids. Sleeping in the daylight always made her feel better. She hated the darkness.

  She couldn't stop the moan of pleasure escaping her throat. The mattress like cloud cushioned her tired body. She slipped her hand into her pack and held onto the yarned material. In the house, a soft snore penetrated the closed door. That awareness of Glen staying in his room, leaving her to sleep on her own, brought her more comfort than she was used to, and her mind kept drifting until her thoughts left her completely and she slept.

  Chapter 6

  Standing at the door of Glen's spare bedroom, Heidi gave the area one more look to make sure she left everything the way she'd found it. She'd made the bed without a stubborn wrinkle in the cover. The three pillows lined up against the wooden headboard without a single dent. Yesterday's clothes were shoved in her pack.

  She turned away from the best night of sleep she'd had in a long time and purposely walked down the stairs without making any noise. At the landing, she looked around the first floor of the house, more curious to know about Glen than where he lived.

  One thing stood out. No, two. Both of them validated what he'd confessed.

  He didn't have a son. He also didn't have a wife.

  He had a bachelor pad. A decent one, but he'd been single for a long time because there was a kitchen towel hanging from the handle of his oven. He'd obviously learned to live independently and bought some small necessities single men who spent all their time in a bar or restaurant wouldn't have bought. The towel. The toaster. She inhaled deeply. A coffee maker. The last cup of coffee she'd consumed came from a homeless shelter in Portland, about three months ago.

  "Are you done looking around?" said Glen.

  She stiffened, stepping closer to the living room, and found Glen sitting on the couch. Holding her bag tighter in case he tried to take it from her again, she said, "I'm leaving. I need to go to the laundromat."

  He stood. "Follow me."

  "But, I'm leaving."

  He slipped his hand under her arm and grabbed her. "I have a utility room off the kitchen. Save your quarters and wash your clothes."

  She walked beside him until he stepped into the room, and then she waited because they both wouldn't fit through the doorway with her pack over her shoulder. The temptation to save her money overcame her fear of staying around Glen longer. And with him shirtless, again, it was hard to argue when what he mentioned made sense. It cost her five dollars and twenty-five cents to wash and dry her belongings. Plus, three dollars for laundry soap if she couldn't jimmy the dispenser. Eight dollars and twenty-five cents could buy eight burgers off the dollar menu at McDonald's or two pairs of pants at Goodwill.

  "The setting is on regular wash with warm water. If you need a different setting, you'll need to—"

  "That's fine." She dropped her backpack to the floor, holding on to the strap. "Th-thank you."

  He tilted his head. "Want a coffee?"

  Her stomach growled. She couldn't take advantage of his generosity. "Okay."

  God, she was weak.

  "How do you like your coffee?" He scratched the small patch of hair in the middle of his chest.

  She raised her gaze to his face. "Strong."

  "How strong?"

  "Really strong."

  He grinned. "The dankest of the dank?"

  She nodded. "Please."

  Heidi finally realized she was smiling, and he was grinning, most likely because it was obvious to both of them that they'd found common ground over their choice of coffee. A flicker of panic started in her stomach. She couldn't go there. Not with him.

  "Come on out to the kitchen when you have the load going." He stepped around her and left the room whistling. The sound startled her in the silent house, like a visitor neither one of them knew.

  She shook her head and pulled out the garbage bag she used to hold her dirty clothes and dumped every article of clothing in the washer. She never worried about separating the colors or her underwear and bras. They were all old and their colors faded.

  She found a tub of laundry soap between the washer and dryer on the floor and added a scoop. Pushing the button, she waited to hear the water start to fill. In the other room, she heard a cabinet bang shut. She braced her hands on the washer and inhaled a deep breath, calming the constant flutters inside of her when she was around Glen.

  It was much safer when she only admired him from a distance. He was the kind of man many women would like to look at and imagine what it would feel like to have him protecting her, loving her, paying attention to her.

  She wasn't like most women though. Her right to pretend that she could be attracted to a man was stolen from her. She opened her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and left the room. Left her pack. Left the reasons why she was here doing her laundry and not far away from Glen.

  The aroma of coffee and the pleasing low whistling led her to Glen and the mug on the counter. She curled her fingers into the hem of her shirt. "Everything fit into one load."

  "That's all?" He pushed a plate full of toast covered in jam toward her.

  Her stomach growled. "If it's okay, I usually do two loads. My sleeping bag takes up the machine alone."

  "Like I said, I don't work today. There's no hurry." He dipped his chin. "Eat up and drink your coffee."

  He stepped back and leaned against the fridge. She picked up the coffee first, unable to deny herself a guilty pleasure that most people drank every single morning and whenever the urge hit them.

  The first sip of warmth hit her tongue and the deep pull of caffeine settled in her. "Perfect," she blurted before she could stop herself.

  Glen studied her without saying a word. To distract herself, she picked up a piece of toast. The sweet jam tickled her senses. She hid her enjoyment and continued to remind herself that normal people believed a single piece of toast was nothing. A simple filler to a real meal.

  To her, she was eating like a queen.

  "How long have you worked at the bicycle place?" Glen motioned for her to sit at the table behind her.

  She carried her coffee with her, taking a chair opposite of Glen who put the plate of toast in front of her, tempting her more. "A week."

  He raised his brows. "I'll assume you don't have money to get another apartment."

  "Not your concern." She licked the jam off the corner of her mouth.

  "That's where you're wrong." He planted his elbows on the table. "Besides working a regular job at Port Loaders, the Notus Motorcycle Club helps the St. John's P.D. search for missing persons. Do you read the paper or watch the news? It's only been a few months ago that we had a serial killer loose in St. John's. People disappear all the time, especially women. I can definitely tell you're all woman."

  "So?" She held her breath to keep from hyperventilating. "I can take care of myself."

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Her pulse roared through her warming her body until a cold sweat washed over her.

  She thought it was safe to admire a biker from a distance. They were supposed to be ruthless, above and below the law. God, they were supposed to be hiding from the law.

  She never planned on talking to him.

  Or, meeting him.

  Or, spending the night in his house.

  On the streets, she'd lost her identity. Not only her real name that came with a past she was hiding, but she became invisible. A nameless, homeless person with no story. Not male or female. Nobody cared who she was or why she was spending her nights hidden from the world and her days fitting in with everyone else.

  He inhaled and softened his voice. "If you need money to get an apartment, I can loan you enough to get a roof over your head."

  "No." The food and drink settled heavily in her stomach. "I can't afford a place on my own. It'll take a while for me to find others to room with and in the meantime, I'm not going to lose my job because my private life isn't going the way I'd hoped. But, I'll figure it out. I can take care of myself."

  "Everyone
can take care of themselves until they can't." Glen whistled low.

  In the background, the washing machine spun. She cupped the mug with both hands. Sometime between last night and this morning, she was giving him the time of day. She couldn’t do that.

  He'd eventually figure out all the answers to his questions if she continued to be around him. The only thing left for her to do was keep lying and finish her laundry.

  "Well, I'm going to go to the other motel, further away from work, and stay there. I believe the yellow line for Max goes a block from Pauly's Peddlers and I'll be able to get back and forth with no problems." She took a sip of coffee. "I get paid every Friday. Renting a room for a week won't hurt me. So, you're wrong. I can take care of myself."

  The light rail transportation system was a waste of money. A motel would leave her more destitute. Camping was free. She only had to find a place to lay her roll out of the way so that Glen wouldn't find her. It was a mistake trying to sleep in the alley. She wouldn't make that error again.

  She studied Glen's hands. He had two tattoos. On his right hand, he had NEVER. On his left hand, he had NOTUS.

  "What does that mean?" She pointed at his hands.

  "Never forget why and how I became a Notus member." He rubbed his hands together. "They're fading. I got them over twenty years ago. They were my first."

  "You can always have them redone." She shrugged. "I don't have any tats, but I've seen ones on people who have them recolored or a new tattoo put over old ones."

  "Nah." He stopped moving. "It's a part of me."

  He had nice hands. Strong with enough scars and callouses to show he worked for a living.

  A cat meowed.

  She looked under the table and finding nothing looked at Glen. "Was that a cat I heard?"

  "A stray." He scooted back his chair, stood, and pulled the vertical blinds back on the sliding glass door. "She comes around looking for food."

  A fluffy gray cat arched its back and showed its fangs. Heidi laughed softly and went to the glass, already in love because the cat could've been the sister or brother of Daisy—her cat she'd left at her parents' house when she'd moved out to live with Evan.