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Everything I brought on myself. How could I be so stupid?
When we get to the apartment, it’s dark and empty. Meghan's working at the campus bar until late, and Carrie and Liz are gone for a few days. I don’t want to be alone, but it’s good that nobody is there to ask why I’m a wreck, or why I’m being brought home by three scary bikers. The guys park their bikes and lead me up the stairs to the front entrance.
Using Meghan's door code, I buzz it open and turn to them. “Thanks for giving me a ride.”
“Anyone there to take care of you? Your roommate?” Mack raises his eyebrows in question.
“I don’t know. My friend was working, but I'm sure she'll be home soon.”
“Fuck that,” says Scrapper and reaches above my head to hold the door open. “We're not leaving you alone. Lead the way.”
“What? No, I can't ask you to?—”
“You're not,” says Reaper. “We’re telling you. Go on, show the way.”
“But I already feel bad for putting you in danger. You don't have to stay with me.”
“You didn't make us do shit. We chose to help and we’re not fucking leaving until we’re satisfied you’re safe,” Mack says, his stern voice leaving no room for debate. “Besides, you still owe us an explanation.”
Fine. I don't even know why I'm resisting the help. Maybe I just don’t want to admit that I messed up. Not by focusing on Mullerby. If anything, this proves I’m on the right track, but I let myself underestimate him because on the surface he seems so ordinary. The kind of guy that might be bending the law to put money in his own pocket, but not one that would arrange for me to be roughed up. I should have been more skeptical of the message after how he reacted during the interview.
“I'm home!” I yell out when I open the door, just in case Meghan did come home early. When the guys leave, I’ll send her a message so she knows I’m safe. Mostly.
“Just us?” asks Reaper. He looks around the apartment, opening all the doors and looking into my roommate's rooms.
“Hey! It’s not polite to go snooping around in other people’s spaces.”
“I don’t live here, so that’s not my problem. What would be my problem is if someone knew where you lived and was waiting here to finish what they started.”
Oh. Right. My shoulders started to relax when I came in, but now I'm shivering again.
“Which room’s yours?” asks Mack. He's leaning against the island that separates the kitchen from the living room.
“Here.” I point to a plastic laundry basket next to the couch, where my blankets and pillow are folded up and put aside so they're not in the way when I'm not sleeping.
“The couch?”
“I'm looking for a place, remember?” I can feel my skin warming with embarrassment. I'm a college senior. I'm supposed to have my shit together better than this. “It's hard right now, with classes starting up and everyone else looking at the same time.”
Scrapper doesn’t look happy about the situation. “Let’s take her back to the club. She’s safer there.”
I shiver a little. I knew who they were from the beginning, but now when I look at Scrapper, I see both the sweet guy who’s kissed and joked around with me, and also the one pointing a gun at someone’s head and threatening to kill them. I can’t pretend that their life is just sex, booze and rock and roll. It might be that, but it’s also scary and violent.
“You okay?” Reaper asks.
That violence saved me tonight, but I feel a little like I’ve been playing with lions, thinking they were safely chained up, only to realize the chains are made of paper. I nod.
Mack looks over at Scrapper. “Think they hit her on the head?”
Scrapper shrugs. “Could be.”
“You guys should go before my roommate comes home.” I sink into the couch, feeling a little odd and spaced out. I could have died tonight.
Mack shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Scrapper? Figure out how they make coffee. Reaper, you and me need to get her into the bathroom and make sure there’s nothing serious going on.”
“I’m just a little tired,” I insist, but is that really it?
“Come on, baby, time to get cleaned up.” Reaper takes my hand and pulls me off the couch.
