Chapter 12

Beggar

After my mother died and I left the only foster home I had, my hair became my shelter, my way to hide from the world. I always went down to the river to wash it out, so I haven't had lice since second grade.

Years went on and I just never bothered with cutting it. The comb I found in the dumpster six years ago keeps it knot free.

Combing my hair helps when the cold is unbearable and I’m starving. I normally pull my hair out and start with small sections at a time as I work out the knots. Hours go by and for that time, I forget the hunger pangs.

I know my hair is well over my butt and beyond the length for a homeless 21-year-old.

Storm said, “Nice hair,” when I opened the bathroom door.

That's the first honest compliment a guy has ever given me. I have my mother's hair, it's black with loose curls only on the ends. I like my hair, it's the one thing I got of hers.

Hair cut forgotten I jump and flop on the bed just as a knock on the door comes. It's an angry hammering, shit.

“Calm down,” I say to myself.

The door has a peephole and Storm is in the bathroom. He didn't lock the door.

The pounding is insistent. I slowly creep off the bed, grabbing the brass candle holder next to the phone and go to the door.

“Storm, get your ass outa there, gotta talk to the girl.”

I stumble at the sound of the voice, and grab the door handle to steady myself.

The door swings open from the pressure I'm putting on the handle, at the same time Storm comes out of the bathroom like a man on a mission, but I manage to right myself just in time.

I twist my head to face Storm, who's got a towel wrapped around his waist. His hard muscles straining and dripping from the shower. His eyes cloud in anger and I follow his direction and look at the man standing at the door, Zero.

His depths rake up my body slowly, too slowly. I start to say something but before I can get a word out, Storm is in front of me, forcing me to stand behind his back.

Not sure why but I'm scared of Zero so I don't even fight Storm.

But standing behind Storm, I see a very muscular back, with a tattoo covering every inch of it with the words ‘The Satan Sniper’s Motorcycle Club’ branded below and around the tattoo.

The sight before me makes me a little nervous.

How is it that I failed to notice he was so strong?

“I need to talk to the homeless bitch.”

My chin shoots up, over Storm’s shoulder and I stare smack into the face of the man that calls himself Zero. His words are meant to hurt and maybe at one time I would have felt something, but I lived too long, seen too much while surviving on scraps to let that word bother me.

It only reinforces my decision to start fresh, Storm promised to help me. I’ll hold him up to that, but even if he doesn't, I’ll help myself, I always have.

Zero doesn't acknowledge me. His green deep-set eyes are too focused on his brother.

The three-inch scar just under his left one makes it smaller.

If he wasn't such an asshole, I’ll say he was what wild women called sexy in a bad and very dangerous way, he is however definitely not cute.

But I think the fucker is too hardcore for the sweet Falon.

He needs one of those muscle women I see leave the gym downtown.

He scares the crap out of me, and I've lived on the street.

I've faced off with evil but there is something in this man, something dark that has been leashed waiting to come out.

I pity Falon.