Page 11 of Sin

Blinking through the water, I rub my hands over the flat surface of my stomach. I figure I'm about seven weeks pregnant. A baby has been growing inside me for seven or so weeks. There is a life in me, a life I'm protecting. That is reason enough for me to run. My child. Not his, he has no right, no claim to my child. I don’t want Tyson’s evil, his anger to ever touch the innocence of the life that I'm protecting within the depth of my body. Its funny how one can allow themselves to go through so much misery, so much pain. But the idea, the smallest inclination that their child may endure the same fate, well, that just won’t do.

A slam of the door makes my heart jerk. Shit. I stay quiet, and listen. I'm not sure if Sin has come back or someone else has entered the room. Sin. What type of name is Sin? He keeps talking about his club, I’m wondering what he meant by that. Am I safe here? I don’t feel like I'm in any danger. Isn’t that strange though? I don’t know him or anything about him, yet I'm not scared. I don’t feel threatened. Shouldn’t I feel threatened, at least? He took my car. He drove a car that wasn’t his with a woman who was unconscious in the back over state lines. He basically just up and took me and yet I don’t have any fear when it comes to him. He feels safe.

*****

The shower makes a huge difference in the way I feel. Sin’s mother, bless her heart, packed everything I need to help make me feel human again. I haven’t even laid eyes on the woman, but she sure knows what it takes to give a girl a little comfort. Comfy panties with new tags, an oversized t-shirt with the logo of what looks like a bike club on the front and a pair of sweats. She also gave me a pair of shorts, but the feeling of soft cotton against my legs has always been one of my favorite things. She topped it off with a new pair of socks, I'm in heaven.

Wiping the steam from the bathroom mirror, I run my brush through my hair. I pull it up in a messy bun, letting it air dry. I tug my makeup bag from my purse and push the contents around. I'm not about to try to cover up the bruising on my face. There really isn’t a point.

I step out of the bathroom jerking back a little. Sin’s reclining on the bed, leaning against the headboard, arm tucked behind his head, booted feet crossed at the ankles. His dark hair is cut short on the sides and longer on top, noticeably longer. His beard is well maintained as it fades nicely with his hair. I can’t get over how pretty, yes pretty; his eyes are with the contrast of his hair. His arms are covered in tattoos, even the underneath of his bicep, with a name penned in what appears like a beautiful script. I take a step closer, trying to read what’s written on his arm, but can’t make it out. He sucks air in between his teeth and my eyes shoot to his. He’s playing with something in his mouth. His fingers are rolling it back and forth over his lips. It’s small, maybe a toothpick? He clears his throat causing my eyes to land on his. By the smirk on his face, I know he can tell that I was checking him out. My face heats with embarrassment. I can’t help it though; Sin is like no other man I’ve ever seen.

“How’s the shower, sugar?” He asks.

I scan the room, avoiding eye contact. “Good, thanks.”

“And your mom?” He continues as if we’re old friends.

“She’s good.”

“She’s good? I know you’ve been gone at least two days, no contact and you think your mom’s good. I’m sure she was shittin’ bricks, not being able to find you, not knowing where you were.”

“I told her.”

“What exactly have you told her?” He continues to play with whatever is in his mouth. What is this, twenty questions?

“Enough.” He doesn’t say anything; he just removes his hand from his mouth and patted the bed next to him.

“I’m not gonna bite, sugar.”

“I never said you would.” I walk over to the bed and crawl across it, sitting in the spot where he just had his hand.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“What’s there to know? Can’t you figure it out?” I point to my face.

“In life, I’ve learned never to assume anything and never judge a book by its cover. There is always a story. I’d much rather have truths and facts than lies and fiction. So, sugar.” He smirks. “Start talking.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How about the beginning?”

“Not sure we have the time for that.”

“Then what about twenty questions?” Okay, mind reader.

“Okay, Sin. Do I get to ask you questions too?”

“No.” His answer is firm and I decide not to pry, just yet. “How old are you, Savannah Ray?”

“Well since you already know my last name, I’m guessing you already know how old I am.”

“Humor me.”

“Twenty-three.”

“Occupation?”

“None, just graduated.”