Thanks to tellmesweetlittlelies, Robin.D, angel897, and nanarosedarkness for the reviews. I have to apologize for the delay in this chapter. I work in marketing and the run up to Black Friday is terribly busy. Good news, there's a long weekend a head so I should have a second update coming Friday or Saturday.
Enjoy.
When they hit the hallway River heads for the room they'd kept her in the first night at the clubhouse but before she can reach for the handle Chibs grabs her wrist. She watches him curious as he presses his ear to the door before he pulls away shaking his head with a smile.
"It's occupied darlin'." He's got a grin on his face and it takes her a moment to realize what he means. When she does her nose crinkles up in disgust and she raises her eyebrows signing "where?"
To his credit Chibs recognizes the movement he'd only learned a few days before and answers her without much hesitation.
"Come on." He grabs her hand and the move is more comfortable than it should be but she doesn't pull away as he leads her two doors to the left and she reads the little silver name plate on the door. This is his room. He drops her hand to fumble with the keys attached to his wallet chain. It takes him a few moments to get the door open but when he does she glances down the hallway to make sure they're alone before following him inside and closing the door behind herself.
The room is pitch black until a lamp on the desk flashes on and he's knocked over the chair trying to cross the room. She picks it up and sits. It's the only place other than the bed and River isn't sure being on a bed near the drunk Scot is a good idea.
She likes Chibs. She'd started to like him around day two but determined that it was okay to admit it somewhere around the time they were discussing classic literature that afternoon. He's kind and relatively thoughtful. He does his best to make her comfortable despite her prisoner status and she's pretty sure he'd been flirting with her earlier in the evening. Liking someone, however, is the fastest way to wind up dead. Sure, he'd promised not to kill her but that doesn't mean he can't pass the gun to one of his leather wearing brothers. She's only about 60% sure she doesn't have Stockholm Syndrome.
He's digging through desk drawers and she watches him throw items onto the wooden top as he looks for who knows what. He'd been right when he'd accused her at being better at reading lips than she let on. Hiding the skill was a long-founded protection mechanism, honed over years of delicate and dangerous situations. She knew what Clay had said to him at the end of the game. Cartel property, what a fucking mess.
River spent most of her life around protective testosterone filled men, she knows how Clay sees her. She'd started the betting with Chibs earlier in the night to give them something to talk about, or really to flirt back. She'd liked his leering smile and the way she'd caught him staring down her top. It'd been a minute since anyone had looked at her that way and when combined with the tequila shot it had made her feel warm.
Joining the poker game though, that had been a mix of desperate longing and rebellion against her current situation. She loves poker, doesn't matter what kind, she's been happy to play since she learned at her father's knee as a little girl. She's good at it too. She'd been on her way to making a living at the table before this whole mess. She missed the game and watching them play when she had $500 sitting in bank with Chibs was too much to pass up. She'd hit a nerve though.
She'd seen the danger in Clay's eyes on that last hand. He'd been amused at first and she'd played it up being careful not to bet too boldly or push players out of the game too soon. She'd taken it too far though, she'd revealed too much of herself and the MC president did not like losing his money. She'd sensed the line as it got closer but Chibs' drunken warning had been enough to let her know she'd gotten far too close. Still, folding on an ace high straight felt disgusting.
She lets out a little sigh and Chibs waves his hand in her face, sweet smelling smoke curling up from his fingers. Her head snaps up eyes wide and he nods pushing the joint at her with raised eye brows. Well at least she knows what he'd been looking for. She smiles and takes the spliff from him carefully. He's watching her, his eyes just a little fuzzy, she decides not to disappoint and inhales deeply maintaining eye contact while she holds in the dry smoke before tipping her head back and blowing it out to the ceiling. He's still watching her when she looks back down.
"Yeh could have won the last hand." It's not a question. She just passes the weed back to him and strips off the leather jacket she's had on all night. "Yeh pissed him off."
It's like something snaps and she doesn't care that he can't sign. She's got a few things to say.
Of course, I could have won. That whole table was a collection of obvious fucking tells.
It feels good to sign in full fucking sentences. She can tell he's taken aback and his eyes widen. He opens his mouth but she makes a strangled noise in her throat and keeps moving.
I've been held against my will for months. I'm tired, I'm fucking starving, I don't have my own clothes. I miss my home. I hate these fucking boots. They took them off a dead woman in a cut shop three weeks ago and they give me blisters.
She stops moving to take a deep breath and he's watching her come unraveled impassively.
I haven't slept a full night in over two months. I'm 15 pounds underweight. I miss my family and I don't even know if I can go home after this whole thing because they might fucking kill me. I just want to go home. The last thing I am worried about is pissing off stupid Clay in a dick measuring contest during a poker game.
She's made a strangled noise of frustration and he's leaning back against the desk watching her with dangerously dark eyes. When she pauses, breathing hard, he takes a long pull on the joint.
"Aye is that all then?" He exhales after he speaks and she stands in frustration the chair falling over again with her haste.
Fuck you.
He knows that sign. She can tell from the way his eyes go hard. He's so fast when he reaches for her she doesn't have time to react and before she knows it he's pulled her to him and he's got her held between his legs. She struggles, her anger over flowing, one hand coming up to try and scratch his face with non-existent nails. He tosses the joint and grabs her wrist, twisting it behind her until both are trapped in one of his larger hands against her back. She tries to kick at him but it's useless so she lunges forward maybe she can bite him. He catches her chin in his free hand and holds her still.
"Calm down." She's breathing hard and every breath tugs painfully at her still bruised ribs. "Yeh don't have room for mistakes and yeh don't have room for anger. Do yeh understand me." From the careful way he's speaking she knows he wants to make sure she picks up every word he's putting down. She nods.
"Are yeh going to stay calm?" She takes the deepest breath she can and closes her eyes for moment letting her mind go blank, she focuses letting her body go soft. Releasing each tight muscle. She lets her eyes drift open to find him watching her, his eyes half lidded, irises blown out by the pot. She nods. His hand releases her wrists and drops to hold her hip keeping her in place. She zeros in on his lips.
"I don't know how yeh got here lass or what all that was about but yer in a tight spot." He pauses and looks away for a moment before looking back at her and his eyes carry some conviction now. "I'm going to do what I can to get yeh out of this whole mess alive but yeh can't afford mistakes. Head in the game, yea?" He releases her chin and taps at his temple as he talks and she nods and slowly mouths okay. "Okay then." He mumbles.
The quiet agreement has broken the tension of the room entirely. With her anger managed River becomes painfully aware of the hand he has sitting low on her hip, his calloused thumb rubbing gently at the skin just over the waistband of her jeans. She looks down and watches as his ringed hand tightens on her the movement over her hipbone stilling. Sliding her eyes back up she finds him still staring at her intently, his eyes have gone soft.
He lets out a soft huff of air and for moment she thinks he's going to kiss her. His eyes are trained on her lips and he shifts just a bit, his hand flexing again on her hip. His head comes forward but instead of landing on her lips his forehead comes down on her shoulder, the hand on her hip moving around to slide up her back. She can feel his breath hot against her skin and his other hand lands on her head to tangle in her short hair, pressing her forward until her forehead lands on his chest. River doesn't question it, she hasn't been held her like this in months.
When she finally reacts, wrapping her arms around him she can feel the scratchy fabric of the patch on his back under her fingers and she presses her face into the leather of his cut. He tightens his arms just a bit and she decides that Stockholm Syndrome or not she needs this. He smells like cigarettes, weed, whiskey, and comfort. She refuses to cry but she can't help the soft sigh that leaves her throat from the contact.
As suddenly as it all starts it's over and he gently pushes her back from him until they're only connected by his hands at her hips. She lets her hands hang uselessly at her sides and stares up at him. His eyes are even more unfocused and she suspects the joint is finally hitting his system.
"Flip yeh for the bed?" The offer is so unexpected after everything she laughs and then slams a palm over her mouth in embarrassment. This seems to be the exact right reaction because his head goes back and she knows he's laughing. "Never mind, yeh can just have it." She shakes her head and lifts her hands signing share.
He doesn't get it at first but she gestures a few more times using her fingers to indicate them both and he picks up the gist. "Yeh sure." She nods. He doesn't even have all the facts and he's just made himself her only ally in all this and she can't bring herself to make him sleep on the floor.
He doesn't argue anymore. Releasing her entirely he rights the tipped chair and drapes the cut over the back. She uses the time to toe off her hated boots and after a moment of hesitation she undoes the jeans shedding them quickly and getting under the covers in her tank top and underwear. She's thankful Gemma bought panties with a bit of coverage.
He shows no such hesitation and she watches with wide eyes as he moves about the room, laying a shoulder holster on the desk before stripping down to his boxers. She gets a quick look at a wealth of ink spread across his chest and back while he flips the lock and turns off the light, then he gets into the bed. She's trapped in the dark between the heat of his body and the wall, she finds it oddly comforting.
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