Saved (Lucifer's Legion Motorcycle Club #4) Read Free Page B

right now.
    I walk over to her, put my hand under her chin, and lift her face so I can see it. One of her eyes can barely open it’s puffed up so badly. Her lip is busted up too, fixin’ her with a sad, downturned mouth.
    “Shit. They really did a fuckin’ number on you.”
    And it’s all my fault. I knew it would happen. I may as well have done it myself.
    She looks me right in the eye, and then starts to sob. In a few seconds she’s cryin’ with all the strength in her body – what little remains.
    It’s a good fuckin’ sign. Bitches that cry still have somethin’ to cry about. They ain’t given up totally. If she’s tearin’ up it means she comin’ out of whatever dark fuckin’ pit in the back of her mind that they pushed her into.
    “Get your clothes off.”
    She looks at me, her lips parted, and her wet eyes pleading.
    “I’m just gonna run you a bath,” I say, then go to the bathroom and turn the water on.
    About a minute later, I hear her voice behind me.
    “Hey.”
    I realize I’ve been starin’ at the water, swirlin’ in the tub, zoned out. I’m tired as hell. I shut off the taps and turn around. She’s naked, standin’ there holdin’ her arms underneath those beautiful fuckin’ tits. They’re not bruised at all – and it doesn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure out why.
    “It’s probably gonna hurt like hell when you get in.”
    She walks over to the tub, and puts a hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she lifts one leg inside. The bitch still trusts me. Bitches who go through all the shit she has usually keep their distance, usually start clammin’ up or freakin’ out at the idea of a man touchin’ them, but here she is, layin’ a hand on me like I’m fuckin’ innocent. Like she can trust me.
    I can tell she’s in worlds of pain as she eases herself into the bath, cut by stingin’ cut, bruise by painful bruise. But apart from wincin’ a little she hides it well. I guess pain has become second nature to her.
    She lets her body sink into the water slowly, closes her eyes, and I see her busted lip move in what’s probably meant to be a smile. She gently splashes water onto her face, and runs her fingers through her wet hair.
    I put the seat of the toilet down and sit on it. Then I pull out my cellphone and the pizza menu I got from the office, and order two of the biggest, meatiest pizzas they have. I tell the guy there’s an extra twenty in it if he can find me some beer, and he agrees. I need somethin’ to take the edge off my thoughts. I search my pockets and feel like I just found a lottery ticket when I discover some weed and papers left in my back pocket.
    I toss them onto the sink, and look at Angel. She’s soaping herself down, but I can see it hurts her to stretch and bend so much.
    “Lemme give you a hand.”
    I crouch by the bathtub, grab the soap, and run it along her legs. The bathwater is already dirty, but her skin is cleanin’ up nicely. A lot of the cuts are tiny – lashes from a whip.
    “These cuts will go in no time. The bruises too,” I say.
    She gives me a look that I don’t understand.
    “What?”
    She swallows before speaking. “Do you want to get in?”
    Maybe it’s ‘cause I can’t read the expression on her messed-up face, or maybe it’s ‘cause my mind is swingin’ between thoughts and emotions like a fuckin’ see-saw, but the question stuns me. Is this bitch for real? Is she askin’ me to get in because she wants me to be close? Because she wants me? Or is she just askin’ because that’s what she’s been trained to do? Because that’s what’s expected of a sex slave?
    “No,” I say, with more conviction than I’m really feelin’. We stare at each other for a full minute, like we’re tryin’ to read each other’s minds. “Turn around. Let me get your back.”
    I’m real gentle washin’ her back. It’s criss-crossed with lashes, and I think I can even see the outline of a boot against it. Seeing it almost