Sinclair

Chapter Twenty-Three: Dance For Me

AROUND A WEEK LATER, my brother came over to drop off the groceries I'd asked him to pick up for me. Despite the fact that I was currently trying to grow used to the stares that I knew would follow me for the rest of my life, I needed a break. I had been going to Wallflower Diner for the past couple of days each morning. And of course, wherever I went twelve Iron Order motorcycles followed so that increased the stares by a million. The guys who followed me weren't overbearing, though. They actually seemed to be trying to give me as much space as possible. However, after what happened at Walmart last time, a couple of them were required to follow me inside and keep an eye on me.

It was kind of stifling but I preferred it over having that greasy haired man follow me around. Remembering how terrifying he had been and how uncomfortable I had felt made the whole being followed wherever I went thing seem even more bearable. At least I knew no one would be stupid enough to approach me with two hulking men trailing behind me, shooting spine-chilling looks at anyone who even looked at me.

Lately, I've been spending a lot of time at Carla's. Mainly because if I didn't go to Carla's to see Sinclair, he'd show up to my house to see me. After what had happened between us a couple nights ago, I wanted to be surrounded by as many people as possible when Sinclair was around. Because of the fact that The Iron Order seemed to follow wherever I went and parked in my yard to watch over my house, the rumors began to circulate even further. I had a feeling that this mysterious person, Lucky, who ran The Grave Rebels was bidding his time, waiting for cracks in the practically flawless security Sinclair had set up around me.

It made me want to shake the nosey, gossiping townspeople and tell them to shut the hell up. The last thing I wanted was for Lucky to link my mother and my brother to me and kill them to hurt me which would ultimately hurt Sinclair.

Of course, my mother heard the rumors and she checked in every now and again to make sure I was okay. She called in a lot more now than she used to. She probably thought I was involved in something dangerous. She was right but telling her that would give her a heart attack. Whenever she spoke, I could hear the wariness in her tone, the worry. She was scared that I'd end up dead and that I'd leave her. I always assured her that I was fine, that Sinclair had gone overboard and that there was no way for any human being to break through all the defenses he had set up. This always seemed to appease her and then she'd leave me alone for a spell.

It was Halloween night now. All of the houses in my neighborhood were decked out in their Halloween decorations and you could hear the children and their parents talking as they went door to door. I didn't even bother to buy candy or anything of the sort. I knew, even without looking out of my window, that everyone was giving a wide berth of space to the house that belonged to the "Iron Queen."

"If there are men outside, you don't need to be here," I called to Sinclair who is currently in my shower. The bathroom door is cracked, little bits of steam trickling out, and the shower water is off so I know he can hear me.

"You're always trying to get rid of me, little goddess. It makes me think you have a hard time controlling yourself."

Currently, I'm sitting on the couch in my living room with my feet tucked underneath me and a fleece blanket with the Batman logo wrapped around my shoulders. There's a tub of Ben and Jerry's in my lap and I scoop up some ice cream and shove the cold goodness into my mouth.

"I only want to get rid of you because you're fucking annoying," I mutter to myself.

"What was that, little goddess?"

I hear the sound of the bathroom door swinging all the way open and I turn my head automatically. Sinclair is standing there ass-naked, looking at me with an amused look on his face. I yelp like someone's just tased me in the ass and I jump so hard my ice cream falls from my lap and lands on the floor, the spoon going with it and landing with a clatter. I can't even find it in me to mourn my ice cream as I cover my eyes and turn back to the TV.