Page 8 of Saber's Claim
Now that it’s morning, I take in my surroundings with more discerning eyes.
The room is small, but nice, with a bed, a dresser, and a lamp. The sheets are clean, and the mattress is comfortable. The walls are thin enough that I can hear music from somewhere downstairs and the low rumble of male laughter.
I’m still in shock, but memories from last night come back in pieces. The ride. My arms around Saber’s waist. The gravel lot of this building. The rumble of bikes. Saber told me I was staying at his clubhouse.
And when I walked through the doors of the building, which looked like a converted hotel, men and scantily dressed women stared at me like I was a problem.
Saber told me to wait when he brought me to this room. I sat on the edge of the bed with the memory of blood on the groundand gravel dust on my jeans. Fifteen minutes later, he was back. Clean pajamas. A toothbrush, still in the packaging. Soap, shampoo, and a few clean towels. A change of clothes folded in a stack—a t-shirt and sweats that were too big but clean.
He set it all on the dresser and told me there was food downstairs whenever I was hungry. Said he was staying in the room next door. Then found a charger, plugged my phone in, and programmed his number.
“You need anything,” he said, “you call. I don’t care what time it is.”
Then he left. Closed the door behind him. Didn’t try to stay. Didn’t linger.
I stood in the shower until the water ran cold, scrubbed my body clean, put on the pajamas, and fell asleep with the lock turned and a sense of safety that he was close by.
I stand from my bed. My purse is on the floor where I dropped it. My phone is on the dresser, still plugged into the charger he brought.
I pick it up. Three messages from Tiffany asking if I’m alive. Apparently, the lot was a mess by the time anyone got to work this morning, and the whole town is making up stories.
I text back that I’m alive, but I won’t be in today. I don’t respond to the rumors.
And there is a text from my ex-boyfriend.
Kyle:Tell your new boyfriend I won’t be a problem. I’m done. You won’t hear from me again.
I read it twice. Three times. My hands are shaking, but not because I’m afraid.
Kyle is actually gone. A stranger in a leather vest made Kyle disappear in under a minute. And a six-year relationship ends with a single text.
Saber intrigued me for weeks. But when he made my ex-boyfriend disappear for good, that is when he earned my trust.
Buttell your new boyfriend.Like I’ve been handed off. Like one man let go and another picked up, and I’m the thing getting passed.
I set the phone face down on the dresser and don’t reply.
Hunger pulls me out of the room around noon.
I haven’t eaten since my shift yesterday. My tips are in my apron pocket—forty-three dollars and a handful of coins—and my apron is in my bag, and my bag is all I have in the world.
Forty-three dollars, and whatever is left in my bank account. No job, because I can’t go back to the diner. No apartment after this month, because I can’t pay rent with the money I have left.
For now, I have to stay here. But I will not be dependent on another man. I will figure this out.
But first, I need to eat.
The hallway is dim and smells like stale beer. I follow the noise downstairs and find a common area—a big open room with couches, a pool table, a bar along one wall, and a door that leads to a kitchen in the back. Three men in leather vests are sitting at a table playing cards. A woman in cutoffs and a tank top is pouring herself a drink behind the bar.
Every head turns when I walk in.
I almost turn around. My legs lock, and my chin drops—that old reflex, making myself smaller—and I have to force it back up. I’m not doing that anymore. I am not shrinking for anyone.
I walk to the kitchen. There’s bread on the counter, a jar of peanut butter, and a fridge full of beer and not much else.
I make a sandwich, go back to the main room, and eat it standing up. Because sitting down means choosing a spot, andevery spot in this room is surrounded by someone who makes me feel uncomfortable.
I don’t belong here.
