Heathen (Cerberus MC Las Vegas Chapter #1)

Chapter 24

Kaylee

A second shower, a colder one this time, doesn't provide the distraction I need.

Two dozen laps around the swimming pool doesn't help either. The entire time, I kept thinking about the damn hot tub interaction from last night, which leads to thoughts of the shower this morning, and then I feel like I'm spinning out of control once again.

There's nothing that seems capable of distracting me completely, and I've spent nearly all day missing a man I shouldn't even know past our one interaction at the grocery store.

The house is completely empty except for me and Rooster. He came out of the big room he works in, made a plate full of what he calls nachos which consist only of tortilla chips and shredded cheese, and heated up two hot pockets, before grabbing a handful of candy and then disappearing again into the room and shutting the door.

All I got from him while he was in the kitchen was small talk about the heat, humidity, and the lack of a chance of rain.

What it did do was confirm that there are grown men who still eat like toddlers, and I sort of felt bad that he didn't have a more rounded meal.

I, on the other hand, raided the fridge like I lived there, and found some thawed chicken, fresh green beans that weren't purchased at my grocery store earlier in the week, and some rice. I managed to cook up a little stir fry for myself. I ate in silence, washed my dishes, and then commenced being bored and wishing that Ellis would hurry up and get home.

That idea both scares and titillates me in equal measure.

My walk around the backyard only makes boredom set in harder, so I decide to leave.

Having spotted the key rings hanging by the door close to where the detached garage is, I grab a set and pray that the vehicle I find isn't a stick shift. I haven't driven one in years and I'd probably embarrass myself if I had to drive one.

The second I open the door and step into the garage, the motion sensor lights activate, leaving me looking around the massive space with my mouth hanging open.

There is a row of matching black SUVs that had I not been told what this team of men does for a living would have left me wondering if they were a part of the Secret Service. To the right there is a line of clean and sleek motorcycles, and just the sight of them makes me wonder if Ellis would take me for a ride on one if I asked even though the thought of riding such a dangerous thing makes my knees threaten to bump together with a tremble.

I press the lock button on the key fob to find out which one I have the keys to and find that it's one of the SUVs right in the center of the line. Each one is backed into its slot with such precision, that I have no chance of sneaking out and returning it without it being noticeable. Hell, because of the lack of distance between them, backing it in without causing damage isn't even in my wheelhouse.

I tap my foot on the speckled concrete floor, considering that this might not be the best idea ever, but my boredom and need to interact with others make my decisions for me.

The second I climb inside the massive SUV, I fix the mirrors and open the garage door. No one is standing on the other side of the door, and it makes me feel as if that's permission enough to go for a drive.

The gate to the property opens when I inch closer. The vehicle itself has to be programmed to do that because there's no clicker on the sun visor that would've let me escape if it hadn't been.

I wait just on the other side of the fence until it closes, wondering where I should go.

I know going back to my house isn't possible. The men from the warehouse showed up there within minutes last time. If I left this vehicle in the driveway and snuck out of the back again, they could possibly trace it back to this residence, and then the protection Ellis swore I had while I was here would be void.

I pull out, heading right, and drive until the area becomes more familiar. I don't risk getting within blocks of my house, but circling town seems absurd and wasteful.

As if working on muscle memory, I end up in the parking lot of Main Street Grocery, my home away from home for the last two-plus years.

I see Garrett ringing up a customer and the shadow of another employee stocking some shelves deeper in the store. Mr. Giles is nowhere to be seen, but his ten-year-old car is parked in the same spot he takes up seven days a week, so I know he has to be in there somewhere.

Instead of driving back to the villa and facing sheer boredom, I turn the vehicle off, lock it the second I climb out, and make my way into the store.

The glare and deviant smile on Garrett's face when I step inside tells me that Mr. Giles might be telling the man more about my business than I originally thought. Despite knowing the owner has been trying to groom his grandson to take over the family business, even though Garrett's father shunned the idea of running the store and opted to work as floor manager at one of the bigger casinos in town, rumor has it that even being family didn't make Mr. Giles pay his son a living wage, sending him to look and find work elsewhere.

Ignoring Garrett's stare, I walk deeper into the store, finding Mr. Giles at the back, near the dairy counter, just staring at the closed doors housing the milk and yogurt.

"Mr. Giles," I say as I approach.

"Kaylee, dear," he says, a smile on his lips when he sees me, but then it turns down into a frown. "Where's your apron? It's part of your uniform."

"I'm not working today," I remind him, but it seems to bring even more confusion to his already tired-looking face. "I called out this week, remember?"

He still looks confused, cementing my previous suspicions that he's losing his memory. As unfortunate as that may be, it could possibly help me later when I need to come crawling back. I know I won't be living with Ellis forever. Eventually, he and his team will be able to shut down the warehouse, and I'll be safe to resume my life. As much as I dislike this job most days, it's a paycheck.

"That's right, dear," he says, but he looks like he's merely agreeing with me rather than confessing that he doesn't recall the conversation we had the other day.

"I'm here to pick up last week's check," I say with an easy smile.

"Of course, dear," he says, turning around to head toward the small business office. "Can you grab that cart and bring it back with you?"

Being the helpful person that I am, I don't remind him that I'm not currently on the clock. I simply grab the handle and pull it behind me, taking it around to the back and parking it in the cooler. The cold items are supposed to be stocked from inside here anyway, so the older stuff is always at the front, but who am I to tell the owner of the business the proper way to do things?

By the time I make it to the office, Mr. Giles is sitting behind the desk, confusion still on his face.

How in the world does this poor man make it through the damn day?

"Hi, Mr. Giles," I say, as I step into view. "I'm here to grab my paycheck."

"Ah, Sandra. So good to see you," he says.

He's slipped up and called me the wrong name before, but when he sorts through the stack of checks, he hands me the correct one.

"When is your next day to work?"

I give him an easy smile, the same one I would give my sweet grandmother when she was at the height of her own battle with dementia.

"I'll have to check the schedule."

"Well, have a great day off, and don't spend that all in one place," he says, pointing to the paper check in my hands.

Feeling a wash of sadness come over me, I walk back toward the front of the store, grateful that Garrett is busy with another customer so he can't give me a hard time about my recent absences.

Distracted, I feel like crying as sadness about Mr. Giles's predicament begins to swirl around inside of me. He's honestly a really nice man. He's just a tightwad living in a time that is decades past and seriously out of touch with what it takes to live these days. But the price of groceries in his store is nearly up fifty percent over what they were when I first started working there, so he has to have some grasp on reality.

I unlock the SUV and climb inside, watching through the windshield as Mr. Giles walks up to Garrett who just finished with his customer. I can tell the conversation is about me because Garrett points out toward the parking lot, but he doesn’t look in my direction, telling me he must've been too busy to see me climb inside this SUV.

"If you don't start the damn vehicle, we're both going to suffocate."

I freeze at the sound of the masculine voice behind me, all the while wondering how big of an idiot I have to have been not to make sure I was alone before climbing inside. Now I'm trapped with an angry man with no means of escape.