“Are you certain I won’t come across it when I’m making our salads? I have to get out utensils.” She was careful to keep a wobble in her voice. She risked a quick look at his face, not wanting to take things too far but needing to stall. How long did it take to get from Caspar to Sea Haven on the Harleys? Ten minutes? Less? Five? She had to think in terms of longer. The longest. What if they had gone out of town? The club did that sometimes, and when it was club business, Savage didn’t tell her.
“Make the salad for us, Seychelle. You won’t find it, but if you get close, I’ll warn you and get whatever you need out of the drawer for you.”
She wiped her face again and nodded. “Thank you.” She forced herself to slip off the bed and walk on bare feet right past him.
Joseph turned to follow her. He was so close she could smell him. His drug of choice was cocaine, and that, mingled with his natural body odor, sickened her. She coughed delicately into her elbow and kept walking. In the kitchen he toed a chair around, straddled it and stared at her with a little smirk on his face.
“Tell me what those old ladies had to say that was so exciting you were late getting home. I saw Inez; she’s such a busybody.”
Seychelle retrieved the items she would need to make a salad from the refrigerator. She took her time, still stalling. Still hoping. “Why do you say that? Has she said something to you?”
Joseph glared at her. “Said she noticed I was always watching you.”
“She never said a word to me.” Inez hadn’t, and she should have. “I hope you told her you worked in the music industry and were just trying to find a way to help me be successful.”
He watched her wash all the vegetables before spinning the lettuce to get it dry. “You don’t want to be successful; that’s why you always quit.”
She sighed and half turned to face him, as if in resignation. “I don’t like to admit it, even to myself, but my health isn’t very good, and after a while, singing in bars is exhausting. I went to a doctor, and he told me if I kept it up, I wouldn’t live very long.”
Joseph’s face darkened into a scowl. His eyes narrowed to twin points of blazing anger. “If that’s true, why would you sing in that biker bar?”
Where the hell were her rescuers? How long had it been? It felt like a million years had gone by. She took a deep breath and let it out, striving for a normal voice. “You know I love to sing. Did you hear that band? I’ve never, not once in my life, had the opportunity to sing with a band like that. It was amazing. The good thing is that they don’t play on a regular basis. I wouldn’t have to commit to singing every weekend. I could pick and choose when I felt up to it. They’re kind of laid-back that way.” She poured enthusiasm into her voice.
“Are you fucking them?” He spat the words at her.
She let the silence stretch between them for a long time. “That’s just insulting. I’m not going to talk to you, Joseph, if you’re going to be ugly like that.”
He stood up, kicked the chair out of the way and caught her by the arm, fingers biting into flesh. She smashed the salad bowl right into the bridge of his nose as hard as she could and slammed the ball of her foot into his upper thigh, hoping to give him a dead leg. The moment he let go, she drove her foot into his groin and turned and ran to the front door.
Joseph dropped to the floor with a roar of rage and pain. Seychelle hesitated for a moment, thinking to go back and look for his gun, but decided she’d be crazy to waste what little time she’d bought herself. She flung the door open and ran outside. Her car was in the garage. The door was closed, and sometimes it took a few minutes to warm her baby up. She knew she wouldn’t have that kind of time, so she just ran straight down the road toward Sea Haven.
Already, she could hear the sound of vehicles coming toward her. Not the reassuring roar of pipes. Torpedo Ink hadn’t wanted Joseph to hear them coming. Then Savage had her in his arms, holding her close. Tight. Very tight.
“Did he hurt you, baby?”
There was something very deadly in his voice—in his eyes when she looked up at him. “He’s got a gun,” she whispered. “Savage, don’t do anything crazy. We should just call the cops. He isn’t worth it.”