8. Sienna

8

SIENNA

Today has been the longest day of my life. At least that's what it feels like. Last night, Lash asked me to trust him. He asked me to give him some time to talk to his club to see if they could help us. Once he told me about the other club, the Hands of Hell, all the horrible thoughts I had about what might have happened to Max and Lia came rushing back. According to Lash, these people aren't as good as they seem. They don't care about what Max and Lia are trying to do with their lives. All that matters to them is that they are a hole to be filled. That means they are not against beating them and leaving them for dead somewhere. I'm praying that's not the case, but from what Lash was saying, I can't help but think that's exactly what might have happened.

The only problem with waiting for news is that it's all I have enough energy to do. I tried to get up this morning and go on with my routine, but this was the first day in a long time that I wasn't able to finish work from my day job. All I could think about was how I would get back in touch with Lash and speak with him. He told me not to just show back up at the clubhouse, but as far as I know, it’s the only way I can find him. I didn't even think about giving him my phone number before he left yesterday. Now I'm feeling rather foolish for that.

It's nearly six at night now, and I know I should be getting ready to do my walk-through and check on everyone else, but I don't want to miss out on any chance that Lash might try to get in contact with me. I hate having to depend on him for something like this, but he's right to think that he knows this world better than I do. I'm only on the outside looking in. Lash lives this life every day.

I inhale deeply, trying to practice some deep breathing exercises to get my nerves under control when the strong, pungent scent of burning tomatoes assaults my nose. The spaghetti!

"Shit!" I curse at myself and run to my kitchen, only to see the pasta sauce I'd put on for dinner turning to thick gloop and sticking to the bottom of the saucepan, moments away from turning black with char. Without thinking, I grab hold of the handle to try and move it from the fire. Of course, the handle is scalding hot, and I wind up dropping the entire pot on the floor, splattering red sauce everywhere.

"Fuck!" I curse out loud before I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my hand back and forth like it's on fire. The burn doesn't dissipate, and I rush over to the sink to turn on the cold water. There’s a sudden instant relief as I shove my hand under the cool water, and I finally am able to take a deep breath.

My mind is all over the place. Imagine if I’d gone outside to do my rounds and left the pot on the stove. I’d have come home to a burned-down kitchen and a whole new set of problems to deal with. I'm not going to be any help to the girls if I can't get myself under control.

"Seems like you need a hand."

A deep voice echoes in the space, followed immediately by my own ear-piercing scream. I spin around and scream at the top of my lungs at the sudden appearance of another person in my usually empty home.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Lash barks as he rushes over to me and slams his hand down over my mouth to get me to stop screaming. I could faint right now, not only from the pain in my hand but also from the intense fright that I just went through.

I narrow my eyes at him and bare my teeth. When he doesn't move right away, I open my mouth slightly and bite down hard on his palm. I hope I break through the skin. I want him to bleed.

He yanks his hand back. "Ow, what the fuck? You act like a fucking mangy dog!" he snaps at me as he looks at his palm before wiping it against his pants.

"What in the fuck! How the hell did you get in my house?" I screech at him.

"First of all, stop fucking yelling at me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. You want me to be nice?"

I bat my eyelashes comically and take a step in his direction, pressing my hands together in front of my chest like a prayer. "Oh dear sweet Lash, how happy I am to see you. I've missed you so much. I can't imagine what I would've done without you in my presence for even a moment more. And. What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing. In. My. House!" I yell the last part of my statement at him, which only brings forth a smile on his face.

"Easy, Red. I came with information, like I said I would."

"Fine, but that doesn't explain one, how you even knew where I lived, or two, how you got into my locked house." I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. He's got way too much information on me, and I'm not sure I'm a fan of how he keeps calling me Red. I've been called Red before because of my brick red hair, but it's usually only one and done once whoever is saying it gets a look at my face. I was teased enough in elementary school for being a ginger; I'm not going to be teased as an adult. Lash, on the other hand, doesn't seem bothered by the glares I'm sending his way.

"I found out where you live from the people you help. You honestly think you walk around among those folks all day and no one has ever tried to scope you out? I'm surprised you haven't been robbed before."

I bite the corner of my lip; there's no way I'm going to tell him that I have been robbed before. Three times, to be exact. I don't keep any cash or anything of great value in my house, so it didn't really bother me too much when I did get robbed. Buying new TVs is bothersome, but they are so cheap nowadays it doesn't really hurt my pockets too much.

"Fine, you pilfered the information from the streetwalkers. Now how about you tell me where you got a key to my place? I know for sure no one has an extra set." I tilt my head to the side and wait for him to come up with a lie. That's the only way he'd be able to explain being able to get into my house.

He actually has the nerve to look sheepish as he lifts his hand to massage the back of his neck. He looks away from me as he speaks. "Well, I don't have a key. I heard you scream, and I thought something bad was going on in here. I might have panicked a little." He steps to the side, and I see the door.

The knob is completely broken off.

How the hell did he manage to do that without me hearing it? This man is strong, and it should scare me, but I can't stop thinking about him putting his strong hands on my body and manhandling me in a way I'm sure he can.

"Well, fuck. I'm going to have to get that fixed," I reply, my anger drifting out of my sails quickly.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get it fixed before I leave. That's my fault. What the hell happened in here, anyway?" Lash asks, looking around the kitchen at the mess of spaghetti sauce.

It's only then that I look down and see what kind of disarray everything is in. Not only is the kitchen a mess from the mishap, but so is my clothing. I'm in an old Simpsons T-shirt that I have slept in since I was a teenager and a pair of plaid capri lounge pants. My hair is up in a messy bun, and I'm pretty sure there is sauce splattered all over my body. This is not how I want Lash to see me. Hell, I don't think I want anyone to see me like this.

It's too late now. He's already here. I can't run away to change with him in my house.

Lash closes the door and then, for good measure, props one of my kitchen chairs at an angle to keep it semi-locked. I'm not worried about anyone coming in here while he's here anyway; they'd be a fool to go up against him.

My face pales as I contemplate exactly what I'm thinking. Since I've met Lash, besides him pissing me off at every turn, there's always been something about him that sets me at ease. I wasn't sure what it was; couldn't put a finger on it, and now I know. It's because I feel safe with him. He's already told me that he was a killer, but for some reason I know he'd never kill me. Hell, I've already threatened him with a weapon twice, and he's not once even raised a hand in my direction.

"Red?" he calls out to me, and I realize that I've been daydreaming.

"My name is Sienna, in case you forgot," I snap at him as I reach down to pick up the pot that I dropped on the floor.

"Nah, you're Red. My Red."

I try not to let his words affect me. I'm no one's, but it does feel nice to think he fancies me.

"Whatever," I mutter and drop to my knees to start cleaning up the floor. My heart nearly skips a beat when Lash grabs hold of another dishrag and drops down to the floor to help me as well.

"What the hell did the spaghetti do to you to get you to demolish it like this?" Lash jokes, and I give him a small chuckle. It feels nice not to be at each other's throats all the time.

"Don't take what you see here as normal. I've been very distracted all day. I put this on for my dinner and completely forgot all about it."

"So you haven't eaten?" Lash stops what he's doing and leans up to look at me.

"I had a yogurt this morning. I tend not to eat too much when I'm focused; usually, it's on work, but today I've been more focused on Max and Lia." I sigh, telling him the truth.

"That's unacceptable," he groans and stands to his feet. He walks out of the kitchen, and I hear him on the phone, but I'm not sure who he's talking to. I go about cleaning the mess on the floor, and by the time he gets back, I've already pulled out my Swiffer WetJet and have gotten up the last traces of the pasta meal.

I place the pot in the sink so I can soak off the burnt bits.

"So what's up? Why are you here?" I ask Lash, and he leans against the doorjamb of my kitchen. He crosses one leg at the ankle and stuffs his hands in his pockets. The motion itself is relaxed and natural, but I swear with every breath he takes, the man gets hotter and hotter. All the fire is off in the kitchen stove, but my body is on fire.

I clear my throat and look back to my fridge as if something is miraculously going to appear that I'm going to want to eat. I just need to do whatever I can to avoid him. He's not here for me to ogle; he's here to help me find Max and Lia.

"I spoke with my president and the rest of the club. This comes at a really bad time for us. We're supposed to do a deal with the Hands of Hell. We haven't been on the best terms with them, and going back on our word with them is likely going to lead to a big fight." Lash puffs out a breath from his nose.

I turn to look at him. "So what does that mean? You're just going to ignore this so you guys can make a quick buck?" I slam the fridge door shut and try to walk out of the kitchen. Lash grabs my elbow and stops me from leaving.

"Jesus Christ, Red, does a person have to be homeless or a prostitute before you give them the benefit of the doubt? Let me finish talking before you chew my goddamn head off." Lash shuts me up before he continues. "Like I said, it's going to pose problems for us, but if what you're saying is true and they have something to do with girls going missing, then my president agrees that we can't have anything to do with them. We have a meeting set up with the president of the Hands of Hell tonight. We're going to find out for sure if they had anything to do with the missing girls. If so, we'll find out where they put them or if the worst has happened. One way or another, you'll have some more answers tonight. That way maybe tomorrow you won't have to burn your food." He adds on the joke at the end for my benefit, I'm sure.

Just like that, all my anger is gone once again.

What is this man doing to me?

He lets his hand slide down from my elbow to my hand.

I flinch away and hiss in pain. It's the same hand I burned on the scalding hot pot before he came in. It was out of my mind while I was trying to figure out how he managed to make his way into my house, but now that he's touched it, the small burn feels like it's spreading through my entire hand.

"What the fuck is this now?" He grabs hold of my wrist and lifts my hand to his face.

"I burned my hand trying to get the pot off the stove. It was stupid."

"Stupid not to take care of it. I'm sure this shit is painful as fuck." He shakes his head. His words are harsh and jagged, but the way he turns my hand side to side so he can get a good look at the injury shows me just how gentle this man really can be.

"Where's your first aid kit?" he asks without looking back up at me.

"You don't have to worry about it. I'll take care of it in a minute."

He lets his eyes slide up from my hand to my face. "First aid kit. Where?" He growls, and I know that it's no use fighting him.

"It's in the bathroom, under the sink." I gesture with my free hand to the hallway behind him.

He nods his head and gently lays my hand to my side before he turns and waltzes in the direction of my bathroom.

It takes him longer than I would expect to find the first aid kit in the bathroom, so I follow behind him just to make sure he's able to locate it. When I get there, I see the medicine cabinet open along with the doors to the stand I have in the corner of the bathroom, right along with the cabinet under the sink. The first aid kit is right there in plain sight, but he's yet to pick it up.

"What the hell are you looking for?" I question when I see what he's doing.

"I'm making sure no other man lives here." He shrugs like this is the most normal thing in the world.

I scoff and tilt my head to the side. "You could've just asked me."

"This was easier."

"What about in the bedroom? I could be hiding my sex slave in the closet." I play right along with him, but Lash doesn't hesitate to take the bait. He puts a finger up to stop me from talking before he walks by me and into my bedroom.

"Lash, what the hell?" I complain as he starts opening drawers and even the closet.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll be finished in a second." He opens up my nightstand, and my face explodes in shame. Right there for him to see is my very own personal boyfriend. Except this one is of the vibrating sort.

"Oh god, close that!" I hiss and rush to close the drawer.

"Don't be ashamed; I like a woman who knows how to get herself off." He winks at me and goes about closing the closet and drawers before going back into the bathroom and grabbing the first aid kit.

"You coming?" he calls out from the living room, and I have to take a few breaths to calm myself. I'm not used to having anyone in my space, let alone someone like Lash.

I follow him into the living room and sit on the couch opposite him. He grabs hold of my hand and gently cleans off the burn. It's already starting to form a little blister. I barely feel his hands as he applies the salve to the area to numb it. I think he's going to use some gauze to wrap it, but instead, he just places my hand back on my lap.

"You're not going to wrap it up?"

"No, burns need to breathe. Once the blister pops, then you can wrap it up. You should put some burn cream on every few hours, though, to fight the pain." He reaches back into the first aid kit and plucks out the pain pills. He opens the bottle and tips one pill into his hand before he places it in front of my mouth. Is he really feeding me medicine right now? My inner feminist wants to scream that I'm more than capable of fending for myself, but this feels so good. I allow him to put the medicine on my tongue, and he reaches over to my bottle of water on the coffee table. "Drink," he orders, and I do exactly as he says.

We sit there for a few beats just staring at each other. Something is happening between us. Something I'm not ready for, but I can't stop myself no matter how hard I'm trying. His eyes go dark, and I'm nearly begging telepathically for him to take me, but he doesn't move an inch. Just when I think I'm about to throw my hands around his neck to pull him to me, the doorbell rings.

"What? Who could that be?" I swing my head to the sound. I'm not expecting anyone to show up right now.

"Your replacement meal." Lash's voice is gruff and thick with tension as he stands and walks to the door. He opens it, and right outside is a man with two big bags of takeout food.

"When did you do this? And why?" I ask as he is busy paying and thanking the delivery man. I don't miss the large tip he gives the young kid before closing the door and securing it with the chair once again.

"You told me you didn't eat." Lash shrugs as if that was all the explanation I needed.

"So I could have whipped something else up," I argue as he walks into my kitchen and grabs two plates and spoons from the drying rack. He moves around like he lives here.

"I wanted to feed you. I'll feel better knowing you're taken care of." Lash once again offers the most simplistic of explanations.

How can I fight him on this? He's only doing what he thought was right. Hell, it's what I do every day when I check up on all the strippers and nightwalkers. Besides, it feels nice having someone worry about me for a while.

"At least let me serve." I sit on the couch, feeling completely useless as I watch him put the plates out.

"With that hand, you're not doing anything." Lash shakes his head.

Lash gets busy plating a heaping amount of food on my plate. I'm grateful. My stomach growls as he works in front of me. I didn't realize how hungry I truly was until I saw all the food. He got a few different options, one being spaghetti in meat sauce, which is exactly what I'd planned to cook for myself.

He makes a plate for himself and, without any further talking, dives right in. We sit in silence for a while, both of us focused on our plates of food. It dawns on me halfway through dinner that this is by far one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. Not only is he helping me find the girls, but he came here and took care of me while I was close to losing my mind. I'm not used to letting people into my world, but I'm glad he's here.

The question is, now that I've let him in, what are his intentions?

"So what is this? Your idea of a first date?"

"I don't date, Red. I... I fuck. Though I don't mind spending time with you when you're not trying to kill me." He jokes, but the words hit home and I bluster.

"Well, you can get that out of your mind right now. I'm not fucking you, Lash. I can barely stand to be in the same room as you as it is."

"That'll change," he says like he has all the answers in the world.

"You got a response for everything, don't you?"

"I do when the writing is all over the wall. I'm not stupid, nor am I blind."

"Oh yeah? And what is it that you see?" I question, putting my plate down, no longer interested in the conversation we're having.

"I know you are going to fight me tooth and nail. You're going to get on my last nerve. You're not going to listen when I tell you something. I'm going to work harder than I've ever had to work for your trust, and I'm going to enjoy every fucking second of it." He puts his food on the table now, getting closer to me, not letting his gaze break from mine. "The one thing I know for sure—it's written in stone, so there's no use in your trying to fight it."

"Yeah? What's that?" I whisper, my voice holding none of my usual fire.

"You're mine, Red. Claimed and taken. You better get used to having me in your life, because the only way to get rid of me is to stop me from breathing."

My mouth gapes open as I stare at him. He means it. He'll die before he lets me go. I should be scared. His feelings for me happened too fast and too quickly. I don't know anything about him, and he doesn't know anything about me. This is all wrong. But it feels so right.

"You might not think that's such a good idea once you get to know me," I mutter, feeling myself getting even closer to him.

"I'm all for making bad choices. It's made me the man I am today. I already know you're going to be one bad choice I'll never regret."

My heart hammers in my chest. The tension is too thick. I'm feeling too much. I want this. I shouldn't, but I do. Before I have a chance to overthink any more, I reach forward and grab the back of his neck, yanking him closer to me before I slam my mouth to his in a kiss so scalding that the burn on my hand feels like a feather's touch. He growls in response, and before I know it, all my reservations about this man vanish like mist in the air. He's claiming me as his, and I'm excited to see exactly what that means.