“I’ll get her taken care of. I’ll get Pink on it.”
“She won’t take a handout.”
Dragon smirks. “She’ll work for it.”
“She ain’t whorin’,” I growl, trying to stand, but my body won’t fucking work for me.
Dragon narrows his eyes on me. “Never would I force a woman to do that. I took Della from her father as payment, but she came goddamn willingly and spread even more willingly. Pamela can help Pink around the goddamn bar. Pink has taken a shine to her, like a fuckin’ mama bear,” he snaps.
Relaxing a bit, I jerk my chin. Dragon shakes his head a couple of times, his gaze connecting to mine before he sighs.
“We got a long way to go, but if you want this, want your family back then we’ll get there, Jag.”
“Will we?” I ask. “Fucked up the biggest way a brother can fuck up.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. You didn’t and you own it. Owning your fuckup is half the battle. The other half is proving yourself and you’ve already started doing that shit.”
Without another word, he turns and walks away from me. I watch him go and about five minutes later, Pinkie is at the door, a few bags in her hands. Frowning, I watch her as she makes her way straight for me.
“Brought you some food. I don’t think the girl has had a decent meal since she’s been here. I’ve caught her trying to sneak snacks from the kitchen, including some bone broth left over from one of the Old Ladies, that I assumed was for you. She’s a bit jumpy, nervous, that one. I didn’t want to scare her.”
Reaching for the bags, I set them next to me on the bed. “Thanks, Pink,” I rasp. “She’s been through a lot.”
“Yeah, Dragon said to get her some clothes and girlie shit, figure she won’t tell me what she needs though, would she?”
Chuckling, I shake my head a couple of times. “Reckon probably not.”
Pinkie’s nose wrinkles and she lets out a heavy sigh. “I feel like an old lady, I don’t know what the kids wear and what products they use these days, makeup and stuff.”
There’s something I don’t recognize in her voice, at least not something she usually carries with her—longing. I don’t quite understand it, and I’m in too much fucking pain to ask her about it. I make a note to talk to her, check her mental status when I don’t feel like I’m about to croak at any second.
“She don’t need makeup,” I snap. “Beautiful just the way that she is.”
Pinkie whistles. “You got it bad.” She deadpans. The way she’s looking at me, I have a feeling that she doesn’t approve of me having anything for Pamela at all.
I shrug a shoulder. I can’t deny that my dick gets hard for Pamela, it definitely does. Can’t do nothin’ about it though. Pinkie doesn’t need to worry about it, nothing is going to happen. I’m helping her to get right with myself, with my club. I like her plenty, but I can’t take her down with me. I can’t do shit for her.
Not a goddamn thing.
“I’ll do what I can, maybe Trista and Avah can help me. They’re in on the trends.”
Pinkie leaves me alone with the food and I forget to thank her, once again proving that I’m a fucking worthless asshole, selfish in every goddamn way possible. I’m trying to change, but fuck me, I don’t think it’s possible.
Chapter Eight
PAMELA
I don’t ask where they come from, knowing that it’s probably Della’s doing. I also don’t ignore it and act ungrateful, because beggars can’t be choosers and I’m happy to have a few more pairs of panties and more than one pair of shorts and one tank.
What I do, is make a note on a piece of paper that I found next to the phone about what has been given to me, so that I can pay it back. Because I will pay it back. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure out a way.
Dylan limps from the bathroom, and I turn my head to look at him. It’s been two days since he finally gained consciousness and although he looks better, he still looks like hell. He leans against the bathroom doorjamb and grins at me.
“Why do you look guilty?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I press my lips together and hold up the clothes. “Your friends gave me some clothes and toiletries. I can’t pay them back.”
His lips twitch and curve up into a smile. He stays where he’s standing, unmoving as he continues to watch me for a long moment. “Yeah, they’re good people like that. Don’t worry about any of it.”
“I do,” I confess.
He clears his throat, then pushes off of the wall and my entire body flinches, ready to go after him, but I don’t. He wants to do this on his own. He needs it and I can see that in his eyes. He is strong, but he feels weak and he is sick and tired of that shit. I don’t blame him. I’m weak and dependent, always have been and I’m equally as tired of it.
“Yeah, me too.”
The fact that he worries about anything surprises me. He sinks down on the edge of the bed, his gaze finding mine and he dips his chin, holding me hostage with his eyes. I love it. I love looking into the depth of him, seeing as much of him as he allows and surprisingly enough, I think he allows quite a bit.
“I’m not going to pretend that any of this will be easy, but what I will promise you
