Page 20 of Banshee's Lament
I nod before asking, “Do we know how long before her RV is good to go?”
“Sent a prospect off to grab the radiator, but we’re going over it to make sure everything else is good as well,” Phoenix replies, now drinking his own beer.
“Let me go ask her, because the last thing I want is to bring trouble to y’all’s door,” I say, walking away from the bar and toward her.
* * *
“Shit, I didn’t think about that,” she whispers, her horror-filled eyes staring at me.
“You’re safe here,” I promise. “Not a man here condones putting hands on a woman in anger.”
“I should just go,” she replies, standing up.
“And just how are you going to do that?” I question.
“Hell, I don’t know. I could rent a car or something,” she muses, tapping her finger against her chin.
“And risk him somehow being able to track you doing something online?” I ask.
I’m not as computer savvy as Hawg is, but even I know there are things folks can do to find someone if they want to do so.
She slumps back into the chair only to startle when a plaintive meow comes from the carrier. “Shit, I need to take her out to the RV,” she mutters. “That’s her ‘I need to go’ meow and I’m pretty sure they don’t have a litter box handy.”
I chuckle at her words then stand up, picking the carrier up in one hand while holding my other out for her. “C’mon, babe, let’s get Sassy squared away, shall we?”
I don’t examine how right her hand feels in mine, nor how I automatically lace our fingers together. Nope. Not me.
* * *
Looking around at the room Raptor gave us, I hide my smirk when I see her face flush at the king-size bed taking up a large portion of it, as I set down my saddlebags and a duffel she quickly packed.
Seems her RV needed more than just the radiator, so we’re going to be guests of the Dallas chapter for at least a week. Scythe and Kracken plan to spend a few days hanging around then head home since they’re needed. Me on the other hand? Well, I have a feisty, independent woman I want to know better and since her fucking ex burned her home, she’s going on a road trip.
To Roanoke.
With me.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
Gator, the VP, sent a prospect out to pick up what her cat was going to need, and I chuckle when I see it all set up in a corner. “Seems Sassy has all the creature comforts, huh?” I ask.
She turns and gasps when she sees they somehow managed to get one of the automated litter boxes like she uses in the RV. “That… that’s not cheap!” she exclaims, grabbing her purse. I watch in avid fascination as she pulls out a handgun, a wallet, a big ass flashlight, a tactical knife, then a checkbook. “I need to pay them back for all of this,” she mutters, now apparently rummaging for a pen which she holds up triumphantly. “Tell me how much they spent,” she demands.
As if I’ll ever let my woman pay for a fucking thing. Not likely. I realize I haven’t kissed her, felt her warm heat engulf my dick, or hell, known her for more than a handful of hours. But something my dad said when I was young hit me square in the solar plexus earlier and I realized she was it for me.
“Ban, I know you’re young now, and not thinking about shit like having an ol’ lady or a wife,” Dad said. “But you need to understand something, when it’s the right one, like your mom was for me, you’re gonna know. You don’t have to have four months’ worth of dates, or be aware of every little thing about her, you’ll get a feeling deep inside, and what it’s gonna tell you is hold on to her and never let her go. You’ll learn all that shit as you go through life together. Hell, I’mstilllearning stuff about your mom all the fucking time.”
Hearing her call my name brings me out of my memory and I grin. “Babe, don’t worry your pretty little head about what it costs. It’s taken care of. Same as your RV.”
Yeah, I have that as well. She needed new tires, new filters, a tune-up, and an oil change. Seems she and her grandfather had done all those things, but with it sitting in a barn, not being driven, the tires had begun to dry rot, and well, her finally taking it out on the road had caused the other issues.
“That’s not how I operate, Banshee,” she insists, waving her checkbook at me.
“Here’s the deal, Rory,” I reply, walking closer until I am practically in her personal space, “if I’m around, the female doesnotpay,”
“That’s… that’s rather archaic, don’t you think?” she sneers, her brow raised.
“Maybe so, but it’s how I was raised,” I state, shrugging. “My dad taught me to be that way, and at my age, I’m not about to change my habits.”