Where Loyalties Lie: A Standalone Romantic Suspense

by Jill Ramsower

  I began at the bottom, trimming away the hair that covered his neck. He’d needed a haircut before we started our little adventure, and now, it was downright shaggy. When I worked my way toward the top, I had to stand in front of him to check the length of my cuts, something that had been unremarkable when I’d cut my father’s hair. But with Tamir, it was an entirely different experience.

  Standing before him, my legs touching his so I could get close enough for the proper angle, I tried to focus on my work. I tried to ignore his hungry stare pressing against me, but I was weak, and my eyes were repeatedly drawn to his. When our gazes would collide, it was a hit of heroin straight to my bloodstream. Exhilarating. Powerful and disorienting. Like the bindings that held me to the earth were stripped away, and I might float off into the sky forever.

  I wanted this man so badly that my muscles ached with need.

  But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not unless he knew everything. I hadn’t planned to tell potential boyfriends or even a husband about my past, but Tamir was different. He already knew so much, and it felt like a betrayal to keep the rest from him. To build something with him under a false pretense. It felt wrong, dirty.

  Yet I couldn’t make the words form on my lips to admit the final truth. I could imagine his dark eyes turning harsh, judgment twisting his features. Just the thought doused my desire with an icy bucket of water.

  “All done,” I breathed, a knot of emotion balling in my throat. I gripped the scissors in my fist as I walked around to face him, making sure to keep several feet between us. “You’re welcome to grab a shower first if you want to get the hair off.” Each of my words and movements reeked of awkward tension.

  I could see the confusion in Tamir’s face, but he didn’t press the matter.

  “Your hair takes longer to dry, so you go ahead. A little bit of hair trimmings won’t bother me.”

  “All right, thanks.” I gave him a tight smile and fled for the cabin, feeling every bit the coward I was.

  Chapter 19

  Tamir

  Birches was a local restaurant and bar hangout filled with rugged individuals in flannels and canvas work pants. There was a bar close to the entry, a pool table on the opposite end of the room, and a crowd of tables in the middle. They served standard small-town American fare in poor lighting while an ancient jukebox played songs from decades past.

  By the look on Emily’s face, you’d think I’d taken her to the Russian Tea Room back home.

  Seeing her so happy was worth whatever minimal risk was associated with our outing. Her happiness made me happy, and that was a dangerous response for me to have. All of my emotions and reactions were slipping from my control. I wasn’t sure if she noticed, but I had to grip my hands in my lap while she cut my hair to resist touching her. I’d been involved with plenty of sexy women in my life, but no one compared to Emily. The way she ran her hands through my hair. The rub of her legs against mine. Even something as simple as a haircut had felt borderline pornographic.

  When she was lost in the process, her lips would purse and plump. It killed me. For once, I was glad the water in the cabin shower was ice cold. It forced my mutinous body back into submission.

  Being with her would complicate things, but I wasn’t sure I cared anymore. Unfortunately, it was obvious that she did care. She wasn’t ready to go there. I didn’t understand it, but I would respect her wishes without argument. For now.

  “What are you getting?” she asked, drawing me back to our dinner.

  “I think I’ll have the salmon plate.”

  “That’s very health conscious of you.”

  “Why? What are you getting?”

  She grinned mischievously. “The chicken fried steak. I haven’t had one in ages.”

  “I didn’t grow up eating fried food, so it doesn’t appeal to me much.”

  “Oh, man. You missed out. We used to fry everything. TexMex isn’t the healthiest dietary culture to be born into, but man, is it delicious.”

  The waitress arrived to take our orders. Emily ordered a beer, so I did the same. I could tell she was tickled to see me do something so normal as drink a beer. It wasn’t my drink of choice, but if it helped her lose herself for a bit and pretend she was living an ordinary life, beer was an easy sacrifice.

  Much like Cinderella, Emily’s fairy tale would end when we left this place and went back to the cabin in the woods. Equally as unfortunate, I was no Prince Charming. I didn’t know what I was to her, but regardless, I felt protective of her.

  It was excruciatingly fucked up.

  I had lied to her, led her away from her home on false pretenses, and now, I wanted to get in her pants? I could honestly say I was walking a very fine moral line—one I had been all too eager to judge others for crossing in the past.

  At the very least, I needed to admit that I had feelings for the woman and that I wasn’t going to be collecting her bounty. Nothing was deplorable enough about her to justify the price on her head.

  That being the case, our time at the cabin had come to an end. But what did that mean? If I took her back home, there was a very real chance another hunter could find her and take her life. Could I live with that? I’d grown to know her, care for her. The more my feelings for her morphed, the longer I’d kept her at the cabin because I couldn’t, in good conscience, throw her to the wolves.

  If I was being honest, that wasn’t the only reason.

  I liked Emily. I enjoyed learning about the complicated woman and found myself fascinated with every new facet I unearthed. But most importantly, I respected her. And if I had any hope of her respecting me in return, I needed to tell her the truth. Tell her about the bounty. If I was walking away from her, she ought to know there was a price on her head so she could protect herself. I would also need to tell her about my role in her situation. She would be furious, but if we were parting ways, her anger would be inconsequential.

  But what if I wasn’t willing to let her go?

  A primal, selfish part of me demanded to consider that alternative. I could keep her for myself, and then, I would know she was safe. In that case, telling her about my interest in her bounty would jeopardize any chance we had to be together. Could I keep my profession and the lies I’d told from her if we tried to have a relationship? Did I want to keep such a monumental secret?

  During our entire evening out, I was consumed with questions. I tried to keep the mood light, but inside, my gut twisted with indecision—something I rarely struggled with. I kept those conflicted emotions to myself and was pleased to see Emily having a wonderful time. That was, until a pair of bikers swaggered into the restaurant and sat at the bar. She visibly stiffened in her chair, and I watched as the blood drained from her face.

  Both men wore black leather vests over their clothes and had tattoos peeking up from their collars. I could see how they might be intimidating at first glance, but their posture was easygoing, and they were more interested in the food than a fight.

  “Emily, look at me,” I commanded softly, waiting to continue until her eyes were on me. “There’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine, okay?”

  She nodded and put a smile back on her face, but she wasn’t the same after that. We finished our food, indulging in a rich dessert, then paid our tab and left. Only after we were in the car on our way back to the cabin did the tension in Emily’s posture ease.

  “Thank you for an amazing night,” she said as I helped her from the car once we were home.

  “It was dinner at a dive bar, but you’re welcome,” I replied in a playful tone, still trying to pull her back from whatever dark cave she’d descended into.

  “As far as I’m concerned, it might as well have been a day at a tropical beach because it was an escape just the same. A chance to get away from it all.” She leaned in and placed a chaste but heartfelt kiss on my cheek. Her eyes were lit with moonlight and regret as she smiled, then walked away without another word.

  ***

 
; The next morning, I woke to an empty cabin.

  Rain pelted the rooftop and pinged off the windows, the sound keeping me in bed as I enjoyed its relaxing cadence. When I sat up and realized Emily wasn’t inside, I flew from bed and threw on my clothes. I rushed outside, half expecting to see the car missing, but found it right where I’d left it. The realization stalled me, confusing me as to where Emily could possibly be in the middle of a rainstorm.

  Then I spotted her. Standing among a cluster of trees, she was drenched to the bone and shaking like a leaf. I grabbed a blanket from inside, then hurried over to her, wrapping her snugly in the thick wool.

  “Emily, what the fuck? You’re going to end up with hypothermia.” I tugged her toward the cabin, but she resisted.

  “I can’t lie to you anymore,” she announced, water dripping from her lashes. Her words were resolute, stirring up a deep sense of trepidation inside me. “I have these feelings, and I’m not sure what to do with them. I don’t want you to look at me like a monster, but I have to be honest. Seeing those men last night was too much. It was a sign.” She began to rub her wrist, and I realized there was no watch there anymore. She’d been consistent, not once taking it off since we’d been at the cabin.

  Her pleading eyes met mine. “I don’t know if you noticed their cuts,” she continued, “but those men were part of the Los Zares MC.” She lifted her wrist, exposing the faded Z tattoo. “Just like I was.”

  Chapter 20

  Emily

  Past

  “Hey, Tita?” I called from the kitchen. “Dad said he was going to stop by later today and finally look at that leaky sink in the bathroom.”

  “Eh,” she spat as she joined me from the living room. “I told you from the beginning to call a plumber. I don’t want your father here.”

  “Tita, he’s your son and my dad. We can’t kick him out of the family.”

  “We can, and I have. You’re the one who won’t let go. You know just as well as I do that that man is no good. Neither he nor his brother—they’re not the boys I raised.” She pointed one of her gnarled fingers at me.

  She was agitated. It wasn’t the first time talk of my dad got her worked up. She adamantly refused to accept any of my dad’s help, including his money. It was the reason we lived in a tiny house in a crap neighborhood. Not that his place was much better, but he made a lot more money than her measly government aid brought in. He tried to help, and if he gave me the money, and I didn’t mention where it came from, I was free to use it to keep us afloat. At seventeen, I was a waitress when I wasn’t in school, so she and I had an unspoken agreement to pretend that’s where the money came from.

  I had an uncle, but he never even tried to help. Dad might have had his downsides, but his older brother, Adrián, was downright mean. Even as a little kid, I had enough sense not to go near him.

  “Well, it’s cheaper than calling the plumber. You don’t have to talk to him, just watch TV and pretend he isn’t here.” I finished setting the dishes on a drying rack and went to the hall closet to get a new roll of paper towels.

  “Ha!” she called after me. “I’ll be surprised if he even shows up. That man has never once followed through with his promises.”

  “But aren’t we supposed to forgive, Tita?” I hollered back, using the step stool to reach the unopened paper towels on the top shelf. She hated when I played devil’s advocate about my dad, but I couldn’t help myself. Teasing her until she was flustered was just too easy.

  This time, she wasn’t taking the bait.

  I snickered to myself and walked back into the kitchen to find my tita on her hands and knees, clutching her chest.

  “Tita? Oh, my God. Are you okay?” I rushed over and dropped to my knees. I couldn’t think through the terror that suddenly wrapped its serpentine body around me and squeezed.

  My tita rolled to her side before collapsing on her back. Her normally rich, caramel coloring drained to a pasty white, and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

  “Tita? No, please no. Oh, God. What do I do?” I ran for my phone, dialing 911 and hurrying back to her side. I started to do chest compressions even though I had no idea how to do them properly or if that’s even what she needed. I just knew I had to do something.

  The operator picked up after three rings. “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “My tita, she collapsed. I think she had a heart attack, but I don’t know. Oh, God. I’m not sure she’s breathing. Help me, please.” Tears blurred my vision and dripped onto her yellow blouse, making dark yellow polka dots.

  I felt like I was having a heart attack right alongside her because my chest ached with the need to breathe life back into her. To fix whatever was wrong and see that feisty spark back in her eyes.

  The operator assured me help was on the way and walked me through how to do CPR. It took ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive. My arms burned with the strain of trying to save her life, but I never let up. Not for a second.

  The two EMS workers pushed me aside and took over compressions, allowing me to step back and truly see what was happening. See my tita lifeless on her gold linoleum floor.

  She was gone.

  I could feel it in the shattered pieces of my broken heart. Like a part of my soul had been ripped out and stomped on.

  They didn’t even get her on a gurney before they turned to me with twin looks of remorse and declared they had done everything they could.

  I couldn’t breathe. My lungs wouldn’t allow air in or out. They simply seized up and quit, forcing me to squeak and wheeze as I tried to catch my breath. One of the men had me lower my head down between my knees and encouraged me to relax my breathing, but I couldn’t understand. I didn’t see how I could go on breathing, go on living without her.

  She was my everything. My mother and best friend. She was my comfort and entertainment. She was my anchor when the waters were turbulent, and my compass when I got off course. She was the first person I shared good news with and the one who held me when things didn’t go my way.

  Without my tita, life would never be the same.

  I would never be the same.

  ***

  The remainder of that day passed in a blurry haze of condolences and tears. Not my tears. Tears of the family who came to help and offer their respects. I had a large extended family, and it seemed all of them felt the need to jump into action, not bothering to consider whether I might need time to process.

  As for me, I slipped into a cocoon of numbness, greeting guests and answering questions with the methodical indifference of a machine. Yes, it happened at the house. No, I had no idea she had a bad heart. Yes, an enchilada casserole would be lovely.

  Eventually, my father kicked everyone out and wrapped me in his arms. He’d never been involved much in my life—he wasn’t the active father-figure type—but he was all I had left. His embrace was what allowed my dam to burst. The tears that had seemed to dry up flowed in heavy drops down my hot cheeks. He held me for a solid half hour, then got me in bed and gave me time to grieve alone.

  Tita’s funeral was just what I had wanted for her, but it was little consolation. My life had been uprooted in every sense of the word. Emotionally, I was detached and heartbroken. Physically, I was forced to move in with my dad and leave my childhood home behind. Dad put the house on the market, and it sold in a matter of days. My life was quickly unrecognizable, and I floundered to figure out my new place in the world.

  I was finishing my junior year of high school, so I wasn’t ready to live on my own yet. Dad wasn’t opposed to me living with him, now that I was old enough to take care of myself, but his place didn’t feel like home. Even more so when Dad began to bring his new girlfriend, Courtney, to the house. She was trashy and lazy, and I hated everything about her, but I had no say in how my father lived his life.

  All I could do was keep myself out of the house as much as possible. I began to hang around my cousins more because they lived across the street from my dad.
My tita had always warned me away from them, but now that she was gone, I felt like I had no choice. Hanging around them was also my misguided way of lashing out at her for leaving me. I knew it made no sense, but grief wasn’t based on logic.

  A mere five months after Tita passed, Dad got married to Courtney.

  I was livid. Granted, some of my anger was likely misplaced. I was still upset at Tita for leaving me, and Dad was an easy target for those pent-up emotions. Some of the anger was justified. Courtney was a leech, living off my father and refusing to contribute anything, whether it was money, cooking, cleaning, or just pleasant conversation. As far as I could tell, she was utterly worthless, and I hated her.

  I drank every chance I got to escape the cesspool my life had become. Partying with my cousins made me realize they weren’t so bad. We had a great time despite getting into trouble. I was more of an onlooker than a participant and argued with myself that witnessing their actions wasn’t the same as committing them. But deep down, I knew Tita would disapprove.

  I told myself all I had to do was get through my senior year, and then I would be free. I could get a job and move out on my own, never having to see my worthless stepmother again. But life rarely followed the blueprints we set out. Weeks after their wedding, Dad and Courtney announced they were pregnant.

  My dad was in his forties, but his young wife was still in the prime of her childbearing years. I should have known it would happen, but I’d told myself that my dad was so uninterested in raising me that he wouldn’t allow more children in his home, especially now that he was older. But that wasn’t how their relationship worked. What Courtney wanted, Courtney got.

  I was furious when I found out. For months, I ranted and raved to my cousins about what an idiot my father was. I stopped going home. For weeks at a time, I’d stay with friends, couch surfing and actively avoiding my family.

  Because of my childish protests, I missed the birth of my little brother, Isaac.