Page 64 of Thug

“Often?”

I shrugged. “A few times a week. Maybe.” I turned toward the door. “What do you want?”

“Tacos,” she replied. She rifled through a few drawers and then looked at me. “Do men have brushes?”

“Not sure about men in general, but I’ve got a few.” Mildly distracted by her nakedness, I handed her a brush. “Anything else?”

“Detangler?”

“De-what?”

“Tangler. It’s a spray that helps untangle your hair.” She lifted two handfuls of her wet hair by the ends. “Mine’s a mess.”

Her hair may have been a mess, but her perky tits made up for it. I shrugged one shoulder and considered looking away but couldn’t seem to peel my eyes away from her. “Not going to be much help with that one.”

She dragged the brush through her tangled hair. “I’ll manage.”

I couldn’t stop staring. If I stuck around, I was afraid I’d make a fool of myself.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. “I’m going to grab you something to wear.”

Seeming unaffected by her lack of clothing, she looked at me and smiled. “Okay.”

I got the smallest pair of cut-off sweats I could find, a pair of my boxers, and an old tee shirt for her to wear. I placed the folded clothes on the vanity at her side.

Laughing, she picked them up. “Good thing these shorts have a drawstring.”

“Why’s that?”

She held them at arm’s length. “They’d fall off if they didn’t.”

I grabbed her wet towel and dirty clothes. “I’ll throw these in the wash and start cooking.”

“You wash clothes, too?”

I detested washing clothes but needed to remove myself from the presence of a woman who was unknowingly teasing me. “I don’t have a choice.”

“I’m just not used to…” She waved her hand at me. “Never mind.”

I tilted my head toward the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

I tossed a skirt steak in the skillet, and sautéed some peppers and onions, hoping my creation would satisfy her taste buds and her hunger. I couldn’t imagine going through what she’d experienced over the past twenty-four hours. Imagining her surviving it both mentally and physically was difficult.

Her belief that it was nothing more than a game helped matters, I was sure. If she ever found out otherwise, it would change her outlook, no doubt.

She limped into the kitchen. “Smells fantastic.”

I hadn’t noticed the limp until that moment. “You’re limping.”

She reached for her ankle. “They tied my legs really tight. It cut into my ankles. I tell you what, they had me second-guessing myself for a while. I figured it was a test, but that guy with the tattoos on his fingers was doing a pretty good job of making me think otherwise.”

Her ankles were covered in a red rash. “I’ll get some ointment as soon as we’re done eating.”

I wanted to kill Chivo for what he’d done to her, but realized it wasn’t solely his fault. I told myself he was acting on the orders given by a senior member of the club, but it didn’t come close to dissolving my anger.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” I said. “How about that?”

“Okay.”