Torched Read online

  “Shit,” Torch muttered under his breath. I was wearing a low-cut tank top underneath, so he must have gotten an eyeful. He ran his fingers across the bruises on my chest and collar bone, ever so lightly that it didn’t hurt at all. It felt like the exact opposite of pain actually—warm, tingly, and intensely intimate.

  And arousing.

  It dawned on me that there was something fucking twisted about getting any kind of pleasure from a stranger feeling his way around the Henslow road map of brutality, so I did my best to ignore the heat spreading under every inch of skin his fingers brushed over. I couldn’t look at him for fear that my eyes would betray the sick thoughts going through my head. Thoughts I knew shouldn’t be there.

  It was wrong. Beyond wrong.

  I was just grateful that my bra had enough padding to cover up the evidence of just how wrong it was. Because, even without looking, I could tell my nipples were swollen and hard enough to hang a wreath from. I resorted to holding in my breath, hoping to slow down every other function in my body. Or something. Really, I had no idea what to do because I had no idea what the hell was happening.

  He proceeded to lift up the hem of my shirt, exposing more bruising along my torso. He flinched and stopped for a split second, before hiking it even higher, all the way to the bottom on my bra. Torch didn’t have to say anything, the disgusted look on his face was enough. He touched the waistband of my pants, but didn’t go any further. “Did he—”

  “No,” I cut him off, knowing exactly what he was getting at.

  He scrubbed his beard, looking me up and down, then zeroed back in on the bandage. He touched it again before gently peeling it back. Not to feed into stereotypes, but I was pretty sure he was a man who was familiar with what stab wounds looked like. He glanced at it with a pained expression, before sticking the gauze back down.

  “Fucking Christ.” He ran a hand through that unruly hair of his. “A raccoon, huh?”

  “A big one,” I smirked.

  “This critter have a name?”

  Even in my confused state of mind from this weird experience, I had enough sense to know I couldn’t tell him that. “No.”

  Torch stared at me like my face might give up something my mouth wouldn’t. He looked enraged, even scarier than before. “He’s gonna die,” he hissed, so quietly I almost missed it.

  “What? Torch, come on. Stay out of it. I’m fine, it’ll just take a couple weeks to heal.”

  It was like he was looking right through me now. I could sense he had some kind of internal battle going on, so I took the opportunity to zip my hoodie up and get back on my feet. “So… Since now you know I’m okay—”

  I didn’t get far with my thoughts before a nearly-naked chick rushed out of his room. She was wearing nothing but a bra and panties, her hair a rat’s nest and makeup smeared all over. She looked like a bigger mess than me, if that was possible.

  “Torch!” she shrieked.

  His arm wrapped around me and I heard him groan, “Fuck me.”

  “Come back to bed, baby. Let’s finish what we started last night,” she slurred.

  I was thrown by her appearance, feeling both uncomfortable and a little jealous. What the fuck was wrong with me? And him? His woman was standing right there and he had some other chick tucked into his side. Kind of a douche move if you’d asked me.

  I tried to pull away to give Torch some space, but his arm wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t pull any harder for fear of roughing up my ribs even more.

  Somehow, she hadn’t noticed me until I squirmed, but as soon as she did, her smile turned into an icy scowl. “Who’s that?” she sneered.

  “None of your business, Lacey. Get your shit and go,” he snapped.

  “Seriously, baby?” she whined at him, “You’re gonna kick me out to do”—she looked me up and down—“that thing?”

  Oh… Fuck, no.

  “What the hell, bitch? I’m not the one standing here naked, looking like a chewed-up cum receptacle,” I snarled.

  I felt Torch’s body vibrating, obviously trying to stifle a laugh. He leaned his mouth to my ear. “I got it, babe, relax.”

  “Do your thing, Torch, I’m getting back in my car,” I told him, still reciprocating Lacey’s stink eye. I tried to wiggle away, but he wouldn’t release my waist. If anything, his hold just got tighter.

  “Lacey, I’m gonna tell you one last time. Get the fuck out,” he huffed at her.

  “But, Torch,” she cooed, slithering up to him, “don’t you want to go again?”

  She raised her hand to his bare chest, but he grabbed her by the wrist. “Listen, you crazy bitch. Since you obviously don’t remember shit, let me fill you in. I don’t wanna go again ‘cause we never went the first time. Your nasty, drunk ass puked and passed out in my bed. I don’t fuck unconscious skanks. So get the fuck out before I toss you out. Got me?”

  Lacey’s eyes bulged as big as I imagined mine did, but hers were looking at him like he might change his mind.

  He didn’t.

  “Yeah. I got you,” she whimpered, before scurrying back into the room.

  A minute later she came back out, fully dressed—if you could call it that—and bolted by us without looking up or saying another word.

  “Fuck, it’s too early for this shit.” Finally letting me go, he turned to face me. “You good?” he asked, all signs of anger now gone from his tone.

  “I can handle myself, thanks.”

  Torch smirked. “I see that. Past experience?”

  Past experience? Sure, you could say that. Not with bitchy biker whores, but definitely with men who don’t mince words. I ignored his question, eager to get back to the conversation Lacey the Pukenskank had interrupted. “Can I go back to my car now?” I asked. “We had a deal.”

  Torch shook his head. “Deal’s off. I’m not leaving you alone out here.”

  “Goddammit, Torch. You said—”

  “Yeah, well, I changed my mind. You broads do that shit all the time,” he cut in, before lighting up another cigarette.

  Ass. I could be one of those too.

  I grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth and took a deep drag. “I’m not going to your room if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s probably infested with twenty different strains of syphilis.”

  Torch chuckled. “Got a mouth on ya.”

  “Am I lying?”

  Ass just kept smiling.

  I’d had enough nicotine to calm my nerves, so I stuck my hand out to give the cigarette back to him. All of a sudden my head started spinning and I stumbled.

  His arms shot out to catch me before I hit the ground. “Shit, you alright?”

  “Yeah, just got a little lightheaded.”

  He brought a hand up to my neck and tilted my face up to study it. “You’re pale as fuck, babe. When’s the last time you ate?”

  Good question. I thought back and realized my last meal was at Mitch’s house before everything had gone down. Being beaten to pulp hadn’t exactly given me an appetite, so I’d kind of forgotten to eat at all since then. Another thing I didn’t need to share with Torch though, he’d probably force-feed me some junk from the snack machine.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Total lie. I was starving now that my mind had gone there.

  “Babe, when did you eat?” he repeated.

  “Ummm—”

  “When. Did. You. Eat?”

  I was too weak to keep this shit up. Screw it, a candy bar was better than nothing. “Two or three days ago. I think.”

  He looked at me like I’d just told him I had cancer or something. “You think? No wonder you look like fucking hell.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not the reason I look like hell. But thanks for pointing it out. Again.”

  He waved me off. “Let me get some clothes on. We’re going into town and getting a hot meal in you.” There he went again, Sergeant Torch, barking orders.

  “It’s cool, I’ll just get something out of the mach
ine,” I protested, knowing fully well it was going to be a losing battle.

  “Fuck that. Get in the car, passenger side. Can’t have you falling off the back of my bike.”

  I rolled my eyes. Yup, losing battle. “Yes, sir.”

  “Cut that shit!” he bellowed, already walking back to his room.

  : 4 :

  Torch drove us to a small diner a few miles away. The ride was quiet on my part, he’d caught me by surprise walking out in a white t-shirt and one of those biker club cuts I’d been warned about. He wasn’t just some ruggedly handsome guy with a gorgeous Harley, I realized. He was an outlaw.

  Or was he?

  I’d seen a few different patches and insignias in passing over the years and had yet to figure out the differences, so I probably shouldn’t have been making assumptions. Bossy and domineering or not, he was going out of his way to do something kind, so I figured I owed him the same kind of non-judgment and decided to save that conversation for another day. One which would probably never come, because as soon as Snoop got me squared away, I’d be gone. For all I knew, Torch was taking off as soon as we got back anyway. The Oak Barrel didn’t seem like an extended-stay type of place.

  It was just as well.

  I’d only managed to catch a glimpse of the patches on his back as he struggled to contort his gigantic frame into the driver’s seat of my car. There were three. The top one said “Iron Serpents”, the bottom “Nomad”, and in the middle was a wicked-looking snakehead, blood dripping from its fangs. After seeing that, I was pretty sure he wasn’t a man to be fucked with.

  It hadn’t dawned on me until we sat down and a waitress came over, that walking in with a brawny biker—him with tattooed arms and wearing a cut, me with a mangled face—would give the wrong impression. It didn’t seem to bother Torch, but I felt horrible as her eyes darted between us several times while we looked over the menus.

  Torch politely ordered a sausage skillet and some coffee, and I asked for french toast, eggs and a soda. He added a side of bacon to my order, stating that breakfast wasn’t breakfast without some kind of fried pork.

  So much for going vegetarian. Oh well, I probably would’ve eaten an entire pig raw at that moment if it had been the only option. As I handed the waitress my menu, she stopped mid-grab to shoot me a worried expression.

  Whether Torch cared or not, he was doing me a favor. I felt the need to speak up so he didn’t look like some shitty woman-beater. “Monkey fucking,” I told her with a wink.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “Monkey fucking,” I repeated. “You know, fucking in a tree like monkeys. My man and I like to get creative, so we decided to try a big oak in the backyard. I got a little excited and lost my grip. Fell on my face.”

  I looked across the table at Torch, his curved lips clamped shut, trying not to laugh. When I looked back at the waitress, she was still staring at me with her mouth hung open.

  “Uh, um… r-r-right,” she stuttered, “I’ll be back with your drinks.” She turned red and rushed off.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Torch chuckled and shook his head. “You’re fucking crazy.”

  I grinned, angering every muscle in my face. “You have no idea.”

  “I’m starting to get an idea. Bitch about pissed herself.”

  Seeing the nosey waitress coming back with our drinks, I just shrugged. After she walked off again—as fast as the first time—I took a sip of my soda and looked around to avoid conversation. From the corner of my eye, I could see that Torch was still watching me like a hawk. But, not wanting to get lost in those enticing eyes, I did my best to avoid his general direction altogether.

  The place was eclectic, for lack of a better term, lined with shelves holding all kinds of ugly country knick-knacks. Mostly animal figurines and shit. It was comfortable and clean, but definitely aimed at an older crowd. Maybe I’d appreciate the style in sixty years, when I was a lonely old spinster with a dozen cats.

  Wait—scratch that—I’d never get a cat. One always seemed to turn into a whole herd for old people, and I’d read one too many stories about them getting hungry after their lonely owners keeled over and had no one to find them. That would just be my luck—surviving everything I’d survived, only to die alone and have my face chewed off by a fucking pet.

  Somehow, my brain got stuck on images of treacherous felines with bloody eyeballs hanging from their mouths, until Torch thankfully interrupted that disturbing—and slightly psychotic—train of thought.

  “Didn’t have to do that, you know,” he said quietly, taking a sip of coffee.

  “Do what?”

  “You know what. The waitress. Don’t give a shit what people think, sweetheart.”

  “Didn’t think you did.”

  “You shouldn’t either.”

  I smirked. “I don’t.”

  “You sure?”

  “Torch?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  He saw what I did there, smiled, and shut the fuck up.

  Our food came out before I could flap my gums again and we spent the next half hour stuffing our faces. Actually, it should be clarified that I stuffed my face. He only ate half his plate and stared intently as I pigged out on mine. He pushed his leftovers across the table and I ate those too.

  “Guess I was a little hungrier than I thought,” I admitted sheepishly. “Sorry, that was pretty unladylike.”

  “I get the feeling no one’s ever accused you of being ladylike, darlin’.”

  I shrugged. “You’re right… Pie?”

  The look on his face was priceless. “You’re still hungry?”

  “No way,” I giggled, “I think I just gained ten pounds in one sitting.”

  Torch shook his head. “Knock it off, woman. You’re too damn skinny anyway.”

  He got me an apple pie to go.

  : : : :

  I could hear Torch and Snoopy’s muffled voices outside while I stretched out on the couch.

  After breakfast, Torch had taken me straight to Snoop’s apartment, conveniently located just above the front office. Whatever they were talking about sounded contentious. I hoped it had nothing to do with me, because the last thing I wanted was to cause problems for the guy who was holding my future in his hands. I’d be screwed if Snoop backed out.

  Curiosity got the best of me. I tiptoed over to the partially open door.

  Snoopy’s was the first voice I heard. “Look, brother, I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  “He really didn’t say shit else?” Torch asked.

  “Just what I told you. Some dirtbag ex beat her up and she took off.”

  “But she’s from Philly?”

  “Don’t know. That’s where Neil’s at and the car’s his. The only reason I’m even telling you that is ‘cause you’ll run the plates and find out anyway. But I guarantee, he ain’t gonna tell you shit.”

  Thank fuck Neil hadn’t said anything else, because despite Snoop’s assertion that discretion was important, he’d already spilled everything he did know.

  But Torch wasn’t done pushing. “I can be persuasive,” he grumbled.

  My blood pressure went through the roof. Why couldn’t he just back the fuck off?

  At least Snoop seemed to have some sense. “Come on, man, you know my side-shit depends on trust. You contact him, that’s my reputation on the line. I feel what you’re trying to do—respect, brother—but leave it alone. Sounds to me like you got enough shit to deal with anyway.”

  Torch blew out a deep breath. “Yeah… Alright, I hear you. I’ll back off. She just reminds me of Em, you know?”

  Who the hell was Em? He didn’t know the first thing about me, how could I possibly remind him of someone else?

  “I get it,” Snoop replied. “Pisses me off seeing a young girl looking like that too.”

  “She shouldn’t be driving either,” Torch tossed out. “I gotta get to Akron, but I’ll pay for a room. Would you ke
ep an eye on her?”

  That did it.

  Was I overreacting by letting myself get worked up? Probably. But between what I’d been through the past few days and still feeling like a big pile of dog shit, my boiling point was lower than usual. I was done letting men make my decisions for me, whether they meant well or not. I stormed outside, intent on telling them both exactly what I thought about their little powwow. “Let’s get something straight—”

  Torch instantly cut me off. “Thought I told your ass to rest on the couch. Why are you eavesdropping?”

  All of the warm and fuzzies he’d given me earlier flew right over the railing. “Thought I made it clear no one tells me shit,” I snapped.

  Snoop stepped back and lit up a cigarette. Smart man.

  Torch threw me some serious shade. “What’s the problem?”

  “What’s the problem?” I asked incredulously. “The problem, Torch, is that you two are sitting out here making plans for me like I’m not a few feet away. The problem is that you’re prying into my business, when I asked you to stay out of it. I appreciate you getting some food in me, but I don’t appreciate being treated like a fucking charity case.”

  "Christ," Torch groaned. "Told you she's got a mouth on her."

  Oh, my mouth was just warming up. "There you go again, talking like I'm not standing right here."

  An exasperated Torch looked to Snoop like he was hoping the man would back him up.

  Snoop wasn’t having it. "Hey, don't drag my ass into your little domestic situation. Not sure how you two even crossed paths, but I'm getting paid to get her a new identity, not play a goddamn therapist."

  "Don't worry, that's still the deal," I assured him. "As far as I'm concerned, I'll be on my way and out of your hair as soon as we get our business taken care of."

  "Like fucking hell you will,” Torch barked. "Act as tough as you want, but fact remains you can barely sit right. Don’t be stupid just to stick it to me."