Tainted Love Book 3

Damon

“You seriously think I can’t finish that?” Van’s cocky smirk is back in place.

Stopping at an all-you-can-eat breakfast place wasn’t meant to turn into an all-day affair, but when my girl is challenged, the result is right here.

Scooting into a corner booth with a full visual of all of our angles, I make sure to keep a watchful eye on the door. Nobody is getting in or out without me seeing them.

We’re halfway across the states and nowhere near home, but I still can’t risk it. We aren’t safe until the raiders are finished and turned to ash.

“Deadass. There’s no way you’re eating 26 waffles plus the sides, babe.” Taking up the menu, I hear her I’m going to show you sound and feel daggers from across the table.

“Hey there, my name is Mackenzie and I’m going to be your server today. Is there anything I can start you two on? Tea? Lemonade? Pepsi products?”

“I already know what I would like, if that’s okay with you.” Here we fucking go. Savannah hasn’t touched her menu. She’s so damn stubborn.

“Oh yes, miss, go right ahead.” Our waitress pulls the pen and paper out to take her order.

“May I please have ice water and the Big Stack Conqueror?”

The waitress double-checks with Van. She makes sure she knows how many waffles this really comes with and how the winners go up on the wall and the losers go on their board of shame.

Then she goes into how it also comes with 8 eggs, 8 strips of bacon, 8 links of sausage, and 8 pieces of toast.

Savannah chirps, “Yep. That is what I would like, please. And thank you,” leaving the waitress shook.

“And I’ll have a coffee with cream and a West Coast omelet. Thank you.” Folding my menu, I hand them over to her.

Entering a deadlock with my wife. I can’t believe she’s butt-hurt over me not believing she could eat all that. No one can!

It’s a scam to get people to come in and spend 50 fucking dollars with free publicity. Those are just facts. I’m not the bad guy.

“Good luck, shortcake.” I blow her a kiss from across the booth.

Van doesn’t miss her shot. She twists her face up and sticks her tongue out at me like some little crybaby kid before giving me the finger and telling me to shove my well wishes right up my ass.

We’ve been on the road for 54 hours and a little over 16 hours off the road, giving us a total of 70 hours since we left the closest state to home.

Thanks to Grave giving us the tickets, Savannah has something to look forward to that keeps her mind off whatever is going on.

We are finally in the dry, dusty state of Nevada. Riding hasn’t been easy on her. She doesn't want to admit it, but she's sore and swollen. Her joints are inflamed.

Darrion showed me what to look for before we left. He went over the type of operation Savannah had, paying attention to her legs and knees.

The fight beforehand didn’t do any bad damage after the full night she had onstage.

She could have sat out the pissing contest with Dax.

He shouldn’t have had his fucking cock out around her at all.

It’s not just the riding and breaking up her school that has fucked with her. Leaving everyone took its biggest toll. When I turned off the block and said goodbye to the bar, I drove as fast as I could.

Feeling the hiccup of her cries had me putting the pedal down to get us closer to being gone.

Unfortunately, I can’t do much to soothe her. We’re fucked right now. I knew it would be hell on her. I’m doing my best to keep her distracted until we get to Alaska.

I have a few surprises up my sleeve when we get there.

“Ow, can you watch your fucking feet? How about you stay on your side of the goddamn booth, shortcake?” I know I’m pissing her off. I’m trying to.

The redder she gets, the better the bathroom sex is going to be.

The flesh wound is still raw and healing. Riding has fucked with it. It’s itching worse than anything else right now.

“Oh? Did I hurt you, my angel?” Batting her long lashes, the green in her hazel eyes flares up. Her mocking tone and her hands under her chin to fake that prissy-ass look lets me know it’s working.

Before anything else is said, the waitress returns and starts unloading the trays of food.

“Put up or shut up then, shortcake.” Sliding her the white napkin containing her knife and fork, I blow her another kiss.

No way is she eating all of this.

***

Holding her hair in one hand, I shake the polaroid in the other. I use my foot to flush the toilet so she doesn’t have to sit and look at it much longer.

“I can’t believe you fucking did it.” In disbelief, I stare at the picture coming into focus.

She did it. Down to every dribble of syrup.

She incoherently mumbles something before painting the porcelain bowl again. Like before, I make sure to flush it for her.

Her arm rests on the toilet lid. I show her once the picture is fully developed.

A lazy smile paints her shit-talking lips as she closes her eyes. She’s trying to calm her stomach.

“Pretty,” she says, burping at the end and waving at me.

“My gorgeous green wife,” I tease, knowing she can’t do shit but sit there and try not to dry heave. I keep hold of her caramel-colored hair so nothing gets in her face. I like it better this way. I love looking at her.

Sluggishly, she manages to give me the finger and tells me to fuck off.

Getting my phone out, I take my own picture of her just as she is: her long hair in my hands, her face hanging over the bowl, camped out on the floor of the ladies’ room.

“What did you say about a money shot, shortcake?”

This is going to be a great honeymoon.