Three Kinds of Trouble by Anne Malcom

Chapter Eight

“Okay, so you know that there’s a man in your living room, right?” Marilyn chirped after she’d strutted into my bedroom, a large Chanel tote slung over her shoulder. She had been to visit me just before I’d been discharged from the hospital with Kallum in tow. Tears had filled her eyes as she’d muttered curses about men, about how every single one should have their cocks cut off. I’d never heard her speak with such anger, with such animosity before.

It had hit me in a place very deep down, a very vulnerable place where nobody other than my Aunt V had reached in such a visceral way. I’d managed to hold in my tears, fearing they wouldn’t stop once they started.

Fortunately, Marilyn wasn’t one to linger in painful, emotional moments, and she’d straightened her spine then opened her bag to prepare to do my hair. She painted my nails too. There was no need for makeup considering I was wearing various shades of purple and pink already. Plus, anything touching my face hurt. It even hurt to smile too wide.

Kallum had leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, glowering. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was a protective, kind man and seeing a woman, a friend bruised and battered like this, fucked with him. Or if he was still harboring guilt for having employed a fuck-stick like Dante. Or because there was some protective, alpha male showdown going on with Hades who was off ‘getting his shit.’ Anderson had been lounging in the chair in my room before Marilyn and Kallum arrived. Both had looked at Anderson—Marilyn with obvious interest, Kallum with a glower.

Kallum had given Marilyn a ride so he didn’t get the chance to say whatever may have been burning inside of him. I’d dealt with enough males in the past twenty-four hours.

Hades had arrived not long after they left, with Marilyn promising to come over once I was home.

And here she was keeping her promise.

“A man wearing a Sons of Templar cut and wearing the absolute fuck out of it is in your house,” she fanned herself with one hand as she put her bag on one of the chairs at the end of my bed. Then she ruffled Sirius’s head. He’d been incredibly fascinated by Hades when he’d first walked in with me. But he quickly became incredibly protective of me once he’d gotten a good look at me and the tentative way I was moving around the house. He had not left my side since.

I felt awkward with Hades in my house, unsure of what to do with myself. Suddenly, my cozy, colorful, chic home felt strange and foreign. I felt uncomfortable inside of my own battered and bruised skin, staring out all of the windows I’d loved so much yesterday. And all the yesterdays before that. I’d adored the fact that I could look out every single window and not see a house or the evidence of a single soul.

Now, I felt exposed and unsafe. Or I definitely would’ve felt like that had Hades not been here.

But he was here.

I was totally fucking glad he was here. That was supremely anti-feminist of me, but sometimes when your ex beats you half to death you need a scary, sexy, dangerous biker lingering in your living room with a gun.

I’d offered him every kind of liquid I had in my fridge, including cold-pressed celery juice and kombucha. He’d declined everything without even looking at me. He was too busy looking at all the entrances and exits with a furrowed brow. I figured that the locks weren’t up to his standard. I must’ve been annoying the shit out of him since he ordered me to lie down in my bed. Or maybe he’d noted the way I was holding myself and had barely slept last night.

Whatever it was, I’d been glad for the command and had let him walk me into my bedroom. He’d glanced to the bed once with an empty expression, then he had walked out without a word. I hadn’t known how to take that. I didn’t have enough energy to think about how to take that. So I ran myself a bath and stayed in there for forty-five minutes. Then I’d put on my very expensive and comfy sweats which I’d thought were a rather ridiculous purchase since sweats weren’t supposed to be expensive, but I was incredibly happy I owned them now since I wanted to look effortlessly and impossibly glam.

Hades had not entered my bedroom again, though. Not even to ask me if I needed more water or pills or something to eat. Then again, he wasn’t here to take care of me in that kind of way. He was here to make sure I wasn’t horribly murdered.

Marilyn, thank God, was here to take care of me in that kind of way.

“I’m aware of the man,” I told her, pausing the Real Housewives and sitting up in bed. She had started unpacking everything that was bursting out of her Chanel.

“Oh, as long as you’re aware,” she replied, raising her brow while handing me a jar of edible cookie dough and a spoon. I grinned, shaking my head, taking it gratefully.

“Well, he kind of owes me one,” I hedged, opening the jar, avoiding eye contact.

She continued unearthing snacks with varying degrees of sugar from her bag. “I’m going to need to know why a member of the Sons of Templar owes you one and why the fuck you haven’t told me about it,” she replied, holding up what I knew to be a very expensive bottle of Pinot Noir from New Zealand. “I’m also going to need to know how many pain killers you’re on, so I can pour your wine accordingly. The good ones you get a big glass, the really good ones you get an even bigger one.” She winked.

“You should pour it readily and heavily if we’re going to have this conversation,” I admitted with a sigh.

Marilyn grinned. “Oh, yes, I suspect we’re going to need a lot of wine.” She began walking toward my bedroom door. “I’m going to go get glasses and drool all over that man again. I’m also going to put together a cheese platter to balance out the sugar.” She nodded her head at the snacks covering my comforter which Sirius was sniffing thoughtfully. “I know you well enough to know that you have the fixings for an excellent charcuterie platter in your fridge at all times.”

Marilyn did know me well enough to be right about that. Two things I always had in my fridge: ingredients for a charcuterie platter and French champagne. She knew me and my house well enough to leave and come back in twenty minutes with an excellent looking cheeseboard and two very generous glasses of wine.

I knew her well enough to know that it did not take her twenty minutes to pour wine and put together a cheeseboard. This was not her first rodeo.

I also knew her well enough to know that she loved men, hot men. And Hades was beyond hot. Fortunately, I also knew that she loved me more than she loved hot men, if only by a slim margin. She was protective. Behind the red lipstick, the perfectly curled, perfectly colored hair, the slim-cut red suit and rockstud Valentinos, she was a bad bitch. Certainly brave enough to take on someone like Hades if she thought he was a threat to me. It was very likely that she had given some threatening speech to him in the kitchen. On any other occasion, I might’ve grilled her about what she’d said to him, but Hades would not have been in my kitchen on any other occasion.

So instead of doing that, I took the glass of wine and waited for her to arrange our little feast on the bed, sneaking a slice of cheese to Sirius before I shooed him off my bed and back to his bed in the corner of the room.

Marilyn held up her glass. “To the super bad, super-hot, super scary biker and his team of equally super-hot and scary bikers finding that motherfucker and burning him alive,” she toasted cheerfully.

My stomach dropped ever so slightly at that visual and the prospect of Derek’s death weighing on my conscience for the rest of my life. But I gritted my teeth and clinked my glass to hers, taking a heavy swallow.

“Now’s the time to spill,” she informed me, picking at the Brie.

I took a breath, then another sip, and then I spilled.

And spilled.

Everything. From the night we met till now. Everything including my confusing feelings for the man. Including the fact that sometimes I thought he might have confusing feelings for me too. Except when it seemed like he didn’t; when it seemed like he didn’t like me at all.

“Holy fuck,” she uttered.

I nodded.

“Holy fuck,” she repeated.

I nodded again, as this entire situation really did warrant two holy fucks.

“I don’t know how it happened,” I admitted as she refilled my wine. The story had needed a lot of it. “I moved here because it’s small. Tranquil. Quiet. A place for me to settle. Peacefully. Where there’s no trouble.”

Marilyn quirked her brow. “Honey, you’re a stripper with an ass that won’t quit, moves that I’ve never seen before in my life and eyes that tell anyone looking that you’re a great fuck. On top of that, you’re a YouTube sensation, some kind of whiz with the stock market and make more in a year than a fucking surgeon.” She gulped her wine. “There’s no way you can exist anywhere in this world without at least a little trouble. And I’m not talking about the asshole who did that.” She nodded to my face, fire in her eyes. “I’m talking about that out there.” She pointed in the direction of the kitchen with her wine glass.

“But I don’t think he likes me,” I whined, hating the way I sounded. I also fucking hated that I was somehow still interested in whether a guy did or didn’t like me after what had happened to me last night.

“Honey, he likes you. He’s prowling around out there like a caged lion. You can feel it in the fucking air, his fury. I only know that because I’m plenty fucking furious too. And I love you. It’s only people who care about you that can get that mad about you getting hurt.”

I bit my lip. That made sense. At least a little sense. I’d been battling with why in the heck his reaction to this was so damn strong. Yes, Anderson had seemed pretty fucking pissed off, his normally casual expression turning rock hard, his eyes filled with rage. But he hadn’t demanded I move in with him and his pregnant girlfriend, nor had he been willing to move into my home with me.

“It makes no sense. Him being here. Him being all intense. I don’t get it.”

I waited expectantly as Marilyn just stared at me.

“What?” she demanded after a few beats.

“Some insight would be great,” I grumbled.

“Honey, just because I happened to be born with the same parts does not mean that I know what the fuck men are thinking. I may know a lot about them through sheer experience, but I know nothing about that kind of man.” She did the pointing with the wine glass thing again. “I don’t think another man like that exists. The world would tilt on its axis or something.”

I sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.” Oh, and you can’t tell Des,” I ordered.

Her brows furrowed. “I won’t tell Des because you have to tell Des.”

It was my turn to furrow my brows. “I do not have to tell Des. Des will do something stupid.”

She didn’t speak immediately because she knew that seeing my face, Des would get angry. Very angry. Then he’d be likely to do something stupid.

“Des does not need to know,” I stated firmly, my stomach turning even thinking about him seeing my face.

“How are you going to hide it from him?” Marilyn asked. “It’s going to take weeks for that to go away. And one week at the very least for makeup to be able to cover it.”

I sighed, the small realities of this situation rushing at me. “I’ll make excuses. Tell him I’m sick or something. Can we please not talk about it right now?” My voice went up at the end, too high. Bordering on shrill. That was only because I was forcing it not to shake, struggling to keep the tears from escaping.

Marilyn’s face softened, and she reached forward to pat my hand.

“For now, let’s drink wine and eat food we don’t need, watch trash TV and try to forget about men, good and bad.”

“Good plan,” I agreed. “You’re staying the night, right?”

“Of course I’m staying the night,” she said. “I brought my toothbrush and nothing else because I know you’ve got great PJs and even better skincare.”

I relaxed back into my bed, glad that, at least for tonight, I didn’t have to sleep alone in my house with Hades under the same roof.