“Seven years, Truck. Not a couple. Myrt’s twenty-one, and she spent seven years under that bastard’s fist.” Bane watched as understanding dawned over the man’s face. “Yeah, let the knowledge settle in. Isn’t seven years considered a cycle for things? Phases of life. Relationships. Bad fuckin’ luck.” He shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, she’s due some sweet. She’s due picking her own wants and putting her own needs ahead of anyone else, and I’m standin’ here tellin’ you I’m the man to help her figure it all out. Me? I’m gonna be fine. Little bit of abstinence won’t kill me, and I’m going to put her first, always. She decides there’s somethin’ here worth diggin’ into and finding the real underneath it all? I’ll be all over that. She gets her feet planted and decides her fate’s leading her elsewhere? I’ll smooth the way for her. The woman she’s shown me over the past week is worth that a thousand times over.”
“It’s fast for you, huh?” Truck smoothed his beard, hand moving slowly down to rest against his chest. “The need to keep her safe?”
“Took about fifteen minutes.” Bane confided something to Truck he hadn’t bothered to think through on his own, taking at face value what his soul promised was true. “Climbed outta the van, saw her through the window, then met her upstairs.” He grinned, because the memory was too damn sweet not to. “Woman choked on her own spit, but it gave me a chance to get up close and personal while I made sure she was okay.” He frowned, letting the smile fade. “The instant she realized she was leaning on me, she bolted.” He shrugged. “And I was hooked. Since then, every time I get her close, I find out more about her. The things that make her tick. Make her smile or even laugh aloud. I dig ’em out and keep ’em close, holding each like the precious gem it is. Yeah, it’s fast for me, Truck. Lightning bolt out of the blue, and me brought to this doorstep by chance. Fate, maybe? I don’t know and don’t care. I just believe. You feel me?”
“Oh, yeah, brother. I feel you.” Truck stepped close, one hand landing high between Bane’s shoulder blades, above where the patch for the Freed Riders rode proudly on his back. “I feel you, and I see where you’re headed. It’s a real good place, brother. Keep reachin’ and stretchin’, and you’ll get there sooner than you’ll expect. That belief you talk about? I got a dose o’ that, too.” He gave Bane a gentle shove. “Get in there and get your woman. Sooner you get on the road, sooner you can sort out what kind of bullshit is shadowing her and deal with it. Call on any RWMC assets in Lexington you need. Carte blanche, man. Gonna see who I can roust for ya, but those are Mason’s orders.”
“That’s generous.” He reached for the door handle. “And probably will be needed. Much thanks.”
“Anything for a brother.” Truck followed him inside and broke away, stepping to the side and directly behind Vanna where she stood at the kitchen table. “Baby, did I tell you yet how much I missed you?” His head dipped, followed by Vanna’s giggles, and Myrt glanced at Bane, a smile curving her softly blushing cheeks.
“Ready to go?” Myrt nodded and hefted a plastic bag by the handles, the weight of it swinging low. “Those the snacks?” Bane grabbed the straps for their duffels and slung them over his shoulder. One final time. “Hand it over, Myrt. I got it.” He reached for the food bag, surprised when she danced backwards, swaying the object out of his reach. “What?”
“I can carry it, Bane.”
“Yeah, she can carry it, Willy.” Sharon slipped into the room with Josh on her hip, grinning widely. “Let the girl have it. She’s more than capable.”
“Oh, Lord,” Vanna muttered, to Truck’s chuckled, “Here we go.”
“I’m only saying Myrtle isn’t helpless here.” Sharon pursed her lips, looking Bane up and down. “Willy needs to listen to her.”
“I do listen to her.” Bane locked in place, hearing the subtext loud and clear. “I listen hardest when she doesn’t say anything at all. Like right now, when she’s wishing you hadn’t made her the center of attention.” He turned his gaze to Myrt, seeing how her cheeks were flaming scarlet instead of the quiet pink he liked so much. “I’m sorry, honey.” Her tiny smile was directed at the floor, but it was there. Still, not quite the reaction I wanted. He decided to pull out all the stops, going with her favorite. “Sweetie, you don’t want me doing anything, you tell me and I’ll listen.” Aiming his glare at Sharon, he finished, “Just like I was about to do with the snacks, once I understood what you meant. And my name’s not Willy. It’s Will or William, or just fuckin’ Bane.”
Sharon stuck her tongue out at him, followed by a gasp from Josh. “Mommy, that’s not nice.”
“Yeah, Sharon, that’s not nice.” Truck got in on the act, his tongue poking out in Sharon’s direction until Vanna’s palm landed over his mouth.
Bane decided their leave-taking had developed too large an audience already; he wasn’t going to wait for the girls to show up. He backed into the screen door and swept it to the side, moving out onto the first step. “I’ll text when we get there and get the lay of the land. Appreciate the information, Truck. I don’t envy you, man. Got your hands full with these two.” Jerking his head towards the parked vehicle, he waited for Myrt to step past him before he released the door. She opened the side door of the van for him, then got into the front, placing the heavy plastic bag between her feet.
Bane leaned into the van and dropped their bags on the floor, then pushed the button to close the side door. He paused next to Myrt’s open door and asked, “You ready, sweetie?” Thank God he was close enough to hear her quick intake of breath, because her tiniest reaction was reward all in itself. Her nod gave him permission, and he dragged her seat belt down from the recessed holder, stretching across her to slot it into place. “Nope, you weren't. But now you are.” He backed out of the van and closed her door with a soft thunk. A glance towards the house showed him Truck shaking his head, Vanna leaning against her ole man with a swoony look on her face, and Sharon ignoring them leaving by fussing with the dogs, holding them back by their collars.
Van running, he buckled himself in and then reversed out of the drive, lifting a hand at the last moment to wave goodbye to the crew still standing in the yard.
“And away we go.” He gave the phrase a tiny bit of singsong and looked over in time to catch Myrt smiling her tiny smile. Huffing with satisfaction, Bane put the van into drive and left the country house in the dust.
Chapter Nine
Myrtle
The gentle rocking of the van ended, and Myrt lifted her head from where she’d leaned it against the metal window frame, blinking as she looked out through the glass. They were parked near a familiar church that took up half a block around the county square, and she twisted in her seat to verify her instincts were right, seeing the old pharmacy and five-and-dime still where they’d always been.
How strange. On the one hand, it felt as if she’d fled the mountains forever ago. Her tiny set of experiences had changed, curtains pulling back wide and showing her the open world beyond. Myrt felt transformed, deep inside, as she’d come to understand her family and Sallabrook didn’t fit into how most of the world acted. But, on the other hand, it seemed she’d closed her eyes for a mere moment and been teleported back to her past. Heart racing, she turned to find Bane watching her closely. She flashed him a smile that felt hollow and fake, then sat straight in her seat, staring out the windshield.
“We’re here.” Her unnecessary words sounded as fake and flat as her smile.
“I could do with a cup of coffee and a bite to eat.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Bane gesture towards the town diner ahead of them, nestled between the furniture store and the church. The mention of food soured her stomach, and she bit back a grimace. He twisted towards her, and Myrt angled herself away. “Seemed a likely place. This okay with you, Myrt?”
“It feels smaller, somehow.” Held up against the sprawling hustle of Atlanta, even as seen from the windows of a car while passing through, this town—her hometown, which once had seeme
d the epitome of grace and sophistication—looked tiny and dingy. “Old.”
“It is old.” She turned to look at Bane as he spoke, catching him mid-shrug. “And it’s not large. But you shouldn’t discount your memories of it. They’re real and true, and right for when they were made. Doesn’t matter you’ve got a little different experiences underneath your belt now. How you saw this place is how it was, and how it is.”
Myrt looked behind them, then out the front windshield again. “Everything’s in the same place it’s always been. Dime store next to the shoe store, right next to the Bible bookstore. But after seeing the huge store we went into last night, I know the overalls folded on the shelf at the back of the five-and-dime aren’t the best quality.” She shook her head and glanced at the two new duffel bags lying on the floor of the passenger cabin. At Bane’s instance, they’d gone shopping for Luke and Thad, and nothing she had done seemed to derail the outing. He’d bought two of everything, sizing up one from what her guesstimates had been. His reasoning was the boys could grow into the clothes, and she’d been forced to admit he’d made a lot of sense. Her stomach growled loudly, and she glanced towards Bane, seeing him smiling widely. “The diner sounds great, Bane. I’ve only been in there once, but the cake I had was delicious.”
“You had cake but no dinner? That’s cheeky, Myrt.” He reached out the same time she did, fingers tangling around her seat belt buckle. “I got it, sweetie.” Her hand fell away.
That word. Every time he used it directed towards her, Myrt melted inside. It was caring and intimate, bearing the weight of affection she hoped he might have towards her. Not that I’d know a thing about affection. But the way he’d held her when she’d cried, when she’d told him about her fears for her brothers, when she’d confessed the challenges in her past with Sallabrook and her terror about the future—everything in his actions told her he did have affection. That he did care. About her. About me. She marveled again how a man who hadn’t known she existed two weeks ago would seem so invested. And for no return at all. He not only didn’t demand anything from her but had gone out of his way to ensure she knew there were no strings tied to accepting his help.
“Myrt? Where’d you go?”
She startled and blinked, finding his face much closer than it had been a moment ago. Except he was on the wrong side. Somehow, she’d daydreamed through him exiting the van and making his way to her door. “Oh my lands. I’m sorry, Bane.” She angled her body out of the van, sliding across the edge of the seat until her feet hit the ground.
Bane didn’t step back.
Which meant her entire front slid down his front and ended with his belt buckle pressed against her belly.
Oh my lands.
Heat bled through her clothes, and she looked down to see one of his hands resting on each hip, fingers curled possessively but not gripping hard enough to hurt. His hold on her was firm, telling her without words that she was exactly where he wanted her to stay.
“Myrt,” he said, bending closer and sliding his cheek along hers so he whispered directly into her ear. “You ready, baby?”
Her stomach dipped, but not in a bad way. Her chest hitched, stealing her air, leaving her with barely a mouthful she used to whisper back. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
His actions belied the single word, as his fingers tightened and he leaned against her a little more, the weight of his body pinning her against the side of the seat. She felt surrounded, but in a good way, like she had back at Vanna’s place when he’d held her. Her stomach settled. He may have given her some of his weight, but it was metered and measured, because he held back. Always careful. Aware of his strength, his fingers flexed and tightened, then flexed, never enough to bruise or hurt. He shifted again, and she was mindful of every inch of his body as he touched her. The trail of his lips along her jaw, the tip of his nose as he explored behind her ear.
“Bane.” Light and airy, her whisper of his name brought things to a close, making Myrt wish she’d kept her mouth shut. He stepped back, and she mourned the loss of heat, of strength, the glorious feeling of possession and protection. Dipping his chin, he stared into her eyes. Bane must have seen what he wanted, because he smiled, fine crow’s feet crinkling next to his eyes, which were sparkling with pleasure.
“Right. Feed my girl.” His bent knuckle landed underneath her chin, tipping her face up to meet his. The kiss landed to the side of where she’d hoped for, as he pressed his lips lightly at the corner of her mouth. “Come on. Let’s get our grub on.”
She was glad he knew the maneuverings of diners in general, because it meant she didn’t have to do anything. They walked in and she let him step in front of her, then lead the way to a table near the front window when a woman called out “Seat yourself.” He took two stiff sheets of paper from underneath the napkin holder, handing her one.
“What looks good?” He was staring at the paper, declared a menu by the words at the top. Flipping it front to back, he hummed. “Oh yeah, they do breakfast all day. I hear an omelet calling my name.” Glancing up, he asked, “How about you?”
“Breakfast sounds good. Something light. Couple eggs and toast would be good.” She glanced around and realized every pair of eyes in the diner was fixed on their table. On me. Myrt didn’t recognize anyone, but she had a terrifying thought. The moment of clarity drove her to lean over the table, clasping Bane’s hand. “What if he comes in here? What if someone recognizes me and calls him? Bane, I didn’t think. I never thought about someone seeing me.”
“Someone recognizes you and wants to chat, I’ll ask them how they sleep at night knowing they allowed a fourteen-year-old girl to be sent off to a grown man.” Bane lifted his gaze from the menu, eyes blazing with sudden rage. “Sallabrook waltzes in here, he won’t walk out.” Nostrils flaring, he tightened his jaw, grinding side to side as his lips flattened. “Won’t ever walk away.”
She started to pull back, and he flipped his hand over, grasping tight to her wrist, holding her in place. “Bane?”
“You aren’t afraid of me, Myrt.” His fingers tightened, then slightly relaxed their hold, curling around her hand. “No reason to be. I’m not in the habit of hurting women. I loathe men who do. Hell’s got a special place for men who prey on those younger or smaller than themselves. They’re the ones who should be afraid, but you don’t ever have to be afraid of me. Not ever. I’d sooner cut off my own arm before I’d hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Don’t lie.” His head shook side to side, ponderously, as if her words had wounded him. “Don’t ever lie to me. I scared you just now. Something I said about dealing with Sallabrook struck a chord and you became afraid. It’s okay to be scared of wondering if he’d come bursting in here.” His fingers threaded between hers with a grip both firm and steadying. “Because he’s been such a terrible thing to happen to you. The totality of your youth, stolen by his greed and arrogance, thinking he could own a person. Just don’t be afraid of me.” He shook her hand, conveying the certainty of his words. “I will never hurt you.”
“You want coffee or water to drink?” Myrt startled when she realized the waitress stood next to their table. She stared down at them with an uninterested expression, as if her thankless customers had little dramas at this table every day. “Know what you want to eat?”
Bane rattled off his order, then glanced at Myrt. She opened her mouth and tried, but she couldn’t force out a word, still caught up in the feel of his hand in hers.
With a smile, he gave Myrt’s order, too, ending it with a request for a chocolate shake. The waitress took it all in stride, as if strangers came in here all the time and ordered ice cream with their breakfast foods. Then she was gone, and Bane shifted around the table, moving to the chair closest to where Myrt sat. His knee crowded hers under the table, his foot tapped the side of hers, and he brought his other hand to rest on top of their joined ones, cradling hers between his own.
“Sweetie.” That now-f
amiliar sweep of comfort and pleasure swept over her, and Myrt closed her eyes to savor it a little more. “Let’s talk about our next steps, okay?” She nodded and blinked, staring at him. His face was close to hers, and she found herself reliving the almost-kiss from outside. The heat and feel of him all along her, the way he’d breathed her in, as if he couldn’t go another minute without having some of her, even if it were only her scent. “Baby.” His voice had roughened, dropping an octave. Myrt watched as his pupils enlarged, taking over much of the iris, dimming the color to a ring of brilliant blue circling the swimming blackness. “You gotta stop lookin’ at me like that.” His thumb swept across the back of her hand and her nipples tingled, her core clenching.
“Then,” she whispered, bending her head closer to his, “you gotta stop touching me like that.” A dose of honesty never hurt anyone, and if she was looking at him weird, it was his own fault for making her believe he could want her.
“Never wanna stop touching you.” His rasped whisper fell between them, creating an intimate moment Myrt wanted to keep forever. “You’re gonna have to get used to it, and figure out how not to look like you want me to pounce on you every time I talk to you, or touch you.”
The edge of the table bit into her ribs painfully and Myrt pulled back, suddenly glad of the furniture between them. Without it, she would be in his lap now, begging him to please, God, please, touch me again. Over his shoulder, she saw the waitress headed their direction and sat back a little more, their clasped hands the only connection between them, finally broken as they made room.
Plates clattered to the table in front of them, glasses of water with a cube or two of ice set next to those, and silverware wrapped in a paper napkin dropped to the center of the table. Bane’s mug was flipped over and filled to the rim with dark coffee.
In Search of Solace (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Page 10