WULF : Gang Of Wolves - Motorcycle Romance | Dark Romance | MC Romance

Chapter Eight- Wulf

After two hours, I realize she isn't coming out of the bathroom.

Without knocking, I open the door. The lock is easy to pop from the outside. Either she's slit her wrists or she's hiding out in here. Neither situation requires me to announce myself. What I find though, surprises me.

She's curled herself up on the floor, using the fluffy rug in front of the tub like a mattress. Two folded towels make a pillow, and she's using another towel like a blanket. Her dark hair is knotted from the wind on the bike. Earlier, she looked venomous. Like a savage little pixie. Now, she looks innocent. Her cheeks and lips have a red flush from crying.

Looking down at her, I see the same things as when I first saw her. This girl is beautiful. She's a knockout in an understated way. She doesn't turn heads, but once you truly see her, you understand that she's someone you can't look away from. As if she knows I'm watching her, she blinks a few times, and then her light green eyes sweep up to mine.

"Come on," I say, holding out my hand.

She swats it away and sits up on her own.

I crouch down, attempting to get on her eye-level but she's still shorter than me. "Do you want to eat?"

"No."

"Do you want to sleep?"

"No."

"What the fuck do you want then?" I ask, attempting to manage my temper.

"I want to go-" I hold up my hand, cutting her off.

"This is your home now. The sooner you understand that, the happier you'll be. So tell me what you want and I'll make it happen. I can either be your best friend here or your worst enemy. You pick, baby."

"Fuck you," she narrows her eyes.

I wrap my hand around the base of her skull and jerk her forward to me. "You keep saying that, but are you really offering?" Reaching for her hand, I let her feel the bulge in my jeans. "Because I'd love to fuck that bratty mouth just one good time."

She pulls her hand back and looks up through dark lashes. Our eyes hold each other, both refusing to back down.

"Now tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen."

She puffs out some air, blowing up her bangs. "I want you to keep your hands off of me for one thing." Her eyes dart around the bathroom. "And I want to get my things."

"What things?" I ask. She has nothing here.

"My stuff." She enunciates like English isn't my first language. "I have important things at home. I need them. My clothes, my phone, my laptop."

"We'll get you new stuff tomorrow," I say, releasing her hair and rising from my crouched position. She looks even smaller now than she did before.

Turning to walk away, her voice sounds smaller than she looked. "Please," she almost whispers it. "I have things I don't want them to take. Money, too. I've been saving for a year. If I'm gone, I know they'll..." she can hardly finish. She swallows her sadness and then finds her strength. "I know they'll take it."

"How much money?" I ask with my back turned still.

"Two hundred," she says, as if it's two hundred thousand.

She's been saving for a year and all she has is two hundred dollars?

Without a word, I walk over to my safe and pull out some cash. "Here," I say, dropping a band in her lap.