Torched (5 page)

“You got a name?” he asked.

Luckily, I’d anticipated that question. “Livia,” I told him. “Livia Ash.”

“That your real name or the one Snoop’s gonna put on a fake ID?” he quizzed.

“Thought you just wanted to make sure I was okay, not get my life story,” I snapped, bracing for the inner bitch to roar back to life.

“Touch
é.”

Touch
é
? What kind of badass biker said touch
é
?

Torch apparently got the hint to move it along, and stepped directly in front of me. It was chilly out, but he was so close that I could feel his body heat emanating off him. Or maybe that was
my
heat, because I was pretty sure that my organs were going to spontaneously combust at any second. I couldn’t have known my head from my ass at that moment.

Seriously, who
was
this guy? I must have been off in LaLaLand because the next thing I knew, he reached out and touched the zipper on my hoody.

I winced. He instantly stopped, but didn’t move his hand away. “Babe, not gonna hurt you, remember?”

I put my hand over his. “Torch, please—”

“Just let me look. Not trying to be an asshole here.”

I didn’t know why I didn’t want him seeing the rest, it wasn’t like my face wasn’t fucked up enough to make it obvious what had happened. Maybe I just wanted to hold on to what little dignity I had left, not start my new life being pitied. I definitely didn’t pity myself. But all that pride went out the window the second I felt my eyes start burning. I looked down, trying to plug the dam.

Do not cry. Do NOT fucking cry
.

For five years I hadn’t cried. Now I’d been struggling to keep the waterworks at bay for the past two days.

“Liv,” Torch murmured, lightly touching my jaw and tilting my head up to look at him. “Trust me.”

Two words. That’s all it took to contain it. Maybe that old saying that eyes are the windows to a person’s soul was tired and cliched, but looking into his, I did. For some inexplicable, weird, crazy reason, I trusted him. Just enough to let him see what I wanted nothing more than to hide. I couldn’t seem to get any words out, so I signaled my consent by simply taking my hand off his and dropping it to my side. He immediately went to work and slowly pulled the zipper all the way down, before slipping the sweater off my shoulders and letting it fall down my back.

“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 machine,” 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.”