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Then she tried to talk tough. Goading me into beating her as punishment. As if she thought she deserved it.
“I have a feeling she’s been through hell,” I said. “And for the record, she’s not my girl.”
Kingpin shuffled the cards we’d been playing with earlier.
“She put her hands on your bike. That means she’s your problem.”
Before I could respond, Baby Doll snapped my nose into place. White-hot pain exploded, making my eyes water.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I groaned.
“Took it like a champ,” Baby Doll said with a pat to my shoulder. She pressed an ice pack into my hand. “Ice it to keep the swelling down. Although I’m sure your girl won’t give a damn if your face puffs up like a balloon.”
I bit back the urge to repeat that she’s not my girl. If I protested too much, they would smell blood in the water and latch onto it even harder. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t mind their ribbing.
But Liss…she was quickly developing into a tender subject. I admired her sass. And I’d certainly entertained some unholy thoughts when I saw her soaked panties clinging to her bony hips in that tub.
Then there was that moment—the slightest flutter of her lashes and the hitch in her breath at the mention of a spanking. Her fear had melted and her desire flared, before she tamped it down again.
None of that mattered though. Liss had clearly fallen on hard times. Scared, hungry, and desperate. Throwing sex into the mix on top of everything else would only complicate things for her even further.
Crash cleared his throat to get my attention and inclined his head to the side. I followed the direction he indicated to see Liss standing in the hallway that led to the bathroom. Her short, choppy hair was still damp, toweled off until it fluffed and curled slightly around her ears. She’d changed into a dry set of clothes—a massively oversized fog-gray sweater with stretched-out sleeves that draped over her hands, and a pair of jeans with holes in the right knee. Her backpack was nowhere in sight, which meant she was relaxed enough to part with it, and she wasn’t looking to bolt out the door at the first opportunity.
“Hey,” I said, lowering the ice pack.
“Thought I’d take you up on that drink now,” she replied.
I gestured to the bar stool beside me.
“Have a seat. Pick your poison.”
Liss barely perched on the stool, tense, and wary. She rubbed at a scratch on the counter.
“Just a beer would be great. By the looks of it though, I should be the one getting you a drink.”
“Trust me,” Baby Doll said. “Big G has been through much worse. Don’t worry about him. I’ll get you that beer.”
I studied Liss’s profile as she tried to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. But her hair wasn’t long enough for that. She must have cut it recently—a rushed, hackneyed job she’d probably completed alone, in a grungy public restroom at a gas station or truck stop in a desperate attempt to sever all ties to the life she knew before.
“Crash,” I said. “Get something to eat for our guest.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crash disappeared into the small kitchen attached to the bar.
“It’s nice to see some normal color in your face,” I said. “You were turning purple in that shower.”
“Yeah, well, some asshole was hogging all the hot water. I broke his nose though, so I guess we’re even.”
I breathed a faint laugh. Baby Doll slid an ice-cold bottle of beer onto the counter in front of Liss.
“There you go, sugar. If you want something stronger, let me know.”
Liss wrapped her hands around the bottle and tugged it closer, clutching it like a lifeline or a weapon. Maybe both. She didn’t drink from it though. Alcohol would dull her senses, lower her guard. She probably wasn’t ready to do that yet. I turned on my stool and gestured to the room at large.
“Why don’t we try a round of introductions again, yeah? With a little less violence this time.”
“You take all the fun out of everything, grandpa.”
