I smirk at the thought. Fuck, everything is starting off backward today. I rub my eyes, and notice that I’m not jittery or off-kilter as I usually am on mornings. Taking a chance, I carefully lift off Angel’s lap to sit up. She doesn’t stir, so I get up, stretch, and go to the bathroom feeling not too shabby. As I step into the shower, I have to acknowledge the obvious truth. There’s only one reasonable explanation for my first good night sleep in ages, and it has everything to do with the woman on the other side of this closed bathroom door. It doesn’t help that all this hot water slicking over my skin only makes me ache for her to be in here with me again, with her sweet warmth wrapped around me.
I huff out a breath, blowing a blast of shower water from my lips. Is this how it’s going to be now? Will my body and mind live on completely independent of my own control, utterly connected to Angel, submitting to this force between us? The idea scares the hell out of me. One small part of my brain is tempted to jump into that crappy minivan, get to my bike, and ride until this place is a distant memory.
But that’s not going to happen.
I’m not going anywhere without Angel.
She’s not just any smoking hot curvy woman.
She’s mine.
Stepping out of the shower, I toweled myself off and brush my teeth. We have a few hours’ drive ahead of us. While I get dressed, I tick off reasons in my head why it isn’t a good idea to kiss her on the forehead before I leave to get us breakfast. Then I dismiss the idea altogether. Smiling, I jot down a short note on the motel scratch pad on the night table in case Angel wakes up, slide on my leather cut, and leave.
Fuck. This beauty has broken the beast.
Either that or I’m getting soft.
Angel’s suggestion about counseling is starting to sound smart, if only to overcome this newer, weaker, more pathetic side of me rather than address anything to do with my childhood trauma.
14
Angel
I wake up to the sensation of pins and needles all the way from my thighs down to my toes. I open my eyes. Right. I’m the one who made the idiot move by resting Axe’s head on my lap as he dozed off on the sofa. He isn’t resting on me anymore, but I can barely feel my legs right now. With a yawn and a stretch of my arms, I lean forward to check whether Axe is in the bathroom. Nope. The place is way too quiet. Assuming he’s outside stretching his legs or something, I push off the sofa and do a half-limp tiptoe duck walk on my numb legs to grab a change of clothes from my bag.
I notice his note on the nightstand and roll my eyes at the three rules he added to the bottom. Like I would open the door for a stranger, take a phone call, or use the handgun he left in the side drawer for anything other than self-preservation.
Shaking my head, I find a fresh pair of underwear, a t-shirt and some jeans, and get into the bathroom. After taking my sweet time to shower, get dressed and organize the room a bit, I’m bored. I pace back and forth on the dingy carpet, combing my fingers through my hair to keep my hands busy. What am I supposed to do with myself now that Axe is off doing his badass biker meets tortured soul meets white knight thing? I wonder how he feels after getting that tragically horrific story from his childhood off his chest.
That reminds me to take a closer look at how much damage he did to my neck. I head back to the tiny bathroom mirror and pop up on my tiptoes. Okay, so there’s redness and bruising. I look like I either had a run-in with an abusive boyfriend, or had a one-night stand with someone who’s really into giving hickeys. Or with someone who gets off from choking the crap out of a sexual partner until said partner is within an inch of his or her life. I’ve been with all three types at one time or another. Got the t-shirts and am never going back down that road.
This mark on my neck is different.
Even if me and Axe weren’t anything more than casual partners and fugitives from mutual would-be attackers, he’s different. He’s honest. And he gives a damn. I can actually see us becoming close friends after all this hiding out drama is over.
Friends with a heck of a lot of benefits.
While I’m in the bathroom, I give myself something to do. Looping up my hair into a nearly perfect fishtail braid, I snap a hairband around it and return to the bed. Time still ticks away and no Axe. I find the handgun he left in the drawer. This is not the first time I’ve held a firearm, but I don’t like them at all. With a quick test of the safety and examination of the clip, I put it on the counter beside Axe’s note. Boredom is a hell of a dangerous thing. I find my cell phone and curse. No sim card. I start scheming. Although Axe has disabled it, I can still swipe it on, put in my password and see a few numbers from my contact list. I look at the motel phone. A call to my job can’t hurt. And to my neighbors to see how my dogs are doing.
Before I can scroll through my contact list, I notice some movement out of the corner of my eye. My head snaps to the front door. Someone has slipped a folded sheet of paper under the door. If this were a decent hotel and we were about to check out, I would have thought nothing of it. The four and five-star hotel chains customarily slip a paper copy of departing hotel patrons’ final bill under their door as a rule. Here at a seedy low-end dive motel, though, that document has to be something else.
For a second, I don’t want to know. My stomach drops. Maybe the message is for Axe, but even if it were, the implications will affect both of us. Perhaps the Los Diablos have figured out where we are. I tilt my head to one side in confusion. What kind of dumbass idea is my oxygen-deprived brain coming up with? No murder-loving pursuer would be so courteous and amateur as to leave a note instead of breaking down the door to finish the job. Unless this is a warning from someone on our side.
I don’t dare take the chance opening the door to look around outside. Hustling over, I secure the door chain lock, yank up the paper and scurry back to the bed within arm’s reach of the Glock. I scan the fancy custom letterhead centered at the top of the page. This is the motel’s letterhead? It’s elegant for such a dump. I shrug one shoulder and keep reading. The gist of the note is that our credit card didn’t go through for the room payment and the owner is demanding cash now or we’ll have to leave in less than an hour before he calls the police.
Except Axe does not look like the type of guy who flashes plastic around to pay for seedy motels. He’s sure to have paid in cash last night. None of this makes any sense. Either way, this note gives me the chills. If Axe doesn’t walk in that door within ten minutes, I’ll pack my shit and find somewhere else to go before whoever comes back. I think about phoning Axe, but I don’t have his number. That in itself speaks volumes.
I wonder whether the note is a ploy to get us out of the hotel room. If it is, the motel owner must be involved. Or maybe he was threatened.
Christ! This paranoid line of thinking is driving me insane.
Convincing myself it’s nothing at all, I crumple the note into a ball and throw it across the room. I wait for what feels like forever until I figure out no one is going to knock on the door—or smash it down with a battering ram. Still, every time I hear a sound outside, I go on high alert and clutch my fingers around the gun.
The doorknob rattles.
“Angel, it’s me.” Thank God it’s Axe. “If you’ve got the gun out, lower it now and don’t shoot me in the face, okay?”
“Coming,” I call out, blowing out a breath as I open the door. “I’m so glad you’re back. What took you so long?”
“Good morning.” Axe comes through the door and shuts it with a decisive click. He hands me a cup of coffee from the cardboard tray he’s carrying and takes a seat on the sofa. “Rounding up breakfast took a while,” he tells me, stuffing his hand into the brown paper bag he also brought in.
“Okay. By any chance, did you see anyone leaving the parking lot, or anything weird, or maybe even dangerous?”
He stops dead, halfway through biting into a glazed donut. Only his eyes move up to lock with mine.
“What happened?” he asks, with his mou
th full and his lip still covered in crumbs.
“I don’t know.” I put down my coffee and bring over the crumpled note.
Axe reads it quickly. He wipes his mouth and stands up. “Grab your stuff. We’re leaving.”
He shoves his things into his satchel as I pick up my already packed bag at the side of the bed. I put the safety on the Glock and pass it to him with the muzzle facing down. I follow him out the front door into the waiting minivan, which Axe promptly starts and calmly drives out of the motel parking. All I can do is dart my eyes around the roads and squint to check the passenger side rear view mirror for whether anyone is following us.
We didn’t even take the coffee.
Not that I can eat or drink at a time like this.
15
Axe
I drive into the dark parking lot and cut the minivan engine.
Angel puts her hand on the door handle. “I’ll get us a room,” she huffs, only looking at me for a split second.
“No. You stay with the van. Do you mind telling me why you’re upset this time?”
She glares at me. “We haven’t stopped for eight hours, and dammit, I know we’ve been driving in a weird circular pattern for at least six of those. On what part of the planet is that kind of bladder control expectation okay?”
“It’s called staying off the main roads, honey. And you could have peed behind those bushes.”
“Yeah, right. Look, it’s easier if I stand and wait,” she announces. She jumps out of the minivan and storms off to wait on the pavement.
“You should know how sexy you look when you’re ticked off,” I tease, eyes trained on her ass, already picturing what I imagine will be some more scorching hot nights on the road with her.
Getting out, I head over to the motel registration desk. This isn’t any old place. Well yes, it’s another shithole, but I picked this particular shithole for a reason. After I pay and get my keys, I step around back and pull out my phone. It’s time to check in with Silas and determine what this new development with the Los Diablos means. Silas probably has no idea I’ve gone this far. I have to wonder whether the Los Diablos’ Arizona Chapter President, Antonio Vasquez, is in the dark too. I roll my shoulders, absently listening to the ring over the end of the line.
“Yo, brother,” Silas answers. “What’s going down? No one’s heard from you all day.”
“I ran into some more trouble. Before I get into it, let me ask, has anything changed for our deal with Antonio Vasquez?”
“Changed how?”
I give Silas the update on the note slipped under the door, and on my suspicion that we’re still being followed.
“Motherfucker,” Silas shouts. “I thought we were done with this bullshit. Are you sure it was Antonio’s people?”
“The pricks who attacked us at the library were Los Diablos for sure, but you’re right that I didn’t recognize any of them. Fuck, I should’ve checked the plates.”
“I did.” Angel probably saw me come around to the side of the building. She stands there with her arms folded. “What?” she asks defensively. “I need to go. Stat. So what if I followed you?”
I shake my head. “You were supposed to stay with the car. Just tell me what you saw.”
“Well, I noticed the plates, and I think I remember the first few letters and numbers. I would have had the entire thing on my phone if you didn’t smash my sim card,” she grumbles.
“Hang on, Si,” I say, motioning to Angel. “Did you notice whether it was Nevada or Arizona plates?”
“Neither,” she discloses. “But if I tell you which state it was, can we stay somewhere nicer?”
“Not a chance. Tell me what state,” I order.
Angel scowls, scrunching up her nose at me. “It was Louisiana, all right?” she answers, sticking her hand out. “Now, give me that room key before I have an accident.”
“Did you get that, Si?” I speak into the phone again, distractedly placing the key in Angel’s hand. I slowly head back to the vehicle.
“Got it. It doesn’t sound like Antonio’s people.”
“True,” I agree. “But who? The only connection to Louisiana is Molly’s old boyfriend, I think,” I suggest about Molly Davenport, Tate’s old lady. “But that dude had nothing to do with the Los Diablos.”
“There may be more to it than that. Cindy mentioned that Molly’s family lived out there when her father was killed.”
“I remember. Tate and I were there when your mom told us about it too. Mr. Davenport was sniffing around for info. What I don’t understand is why they would want anything from me.”
“Who knows,” Silas mutters.
“But they fucked up by trying to use Angel to get to me.”
“Yeah. I’ll get Dean on it, and while he’s checking it out, I’ll have a talk with Antonio.”
“Sounds good.”
“What about you? Are you okay?”
I croak out a laugh. “Me against a few shitty Los Diablos? Hell yeah, I’m all right.”
“Good. Where are you?”
“That place.”
“Hang on. Did you say what I think you just said?”
“I did.”
“Crap. Do you need us to take care of anything while you’re going AWOL with your old lady-to-be?” Silas keeps up the goading. “I figured it had to be some real good pussy to make you ignore everything else going on here, especially that security clearance.”
“Yeah well, keep your mind on your old lady’s parts, not on Angel’s,” I grumble, ignoring the fucking clearance crap. “I think I’ve got everything covered. Any other updates?”
“No. I’ll keep you posted as soon as I have answers. Be sure to check in with us every couple of days, as usual.”
“Will do. Hey Prez, hang on a second. Do you hear that?” I ask.
“Hear what?”
There’s a distinct clicking sound in the background. It’s intermittent, but my gut doesn’t like it. If someone’s listening in on our call, we’re fucked.
“Si?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell VV to hang on ten,” I say, stressing each word carefully. “Did you get that?”
“Got it. Godspeed, brother.”
I hang up and turn to face Angel again. She must have gone inside and used the bathroom, because she’s a lot less jittery now than a few minutes ago. Shoving my phone into my pocket, I go to greet the problem head on.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she asks. “You don’t look too thrilled—”
“Get inside. Right now,” I say firmly, releasing a threatening raspy groan from the back of my throat so she will not dare to question me now.
She doesn’t say a word.
I hurry with her across the parking lot, and quickly grab our bags out of the back seat of the van. Returning to our room, I get inside and shut the door behind me. I take the hotel room key and examine it in my hand, looking back and forth from the key to Angel. She’s not ready for what’s about to happen. I drag her bag off my shoulder and step in front of her again.
“It smells like mold and orange juice in here,” Angel says, scanning the dump, which is worse than the last place. She scrunches up her nose and gives me a sour look. “Maybe we should find somewhere else.”
That’s when I hold her arm and spin her around to face me.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she shouts. “I was going to take a goddamned shower!”
“You’ll do that, all right. You know why?”
“You’re kind of hurting me right now, Axe. But fine, tell me why.”
“Because my house, my rules. Understand?”
Her lips tremble as recognition hits that I’m not fucking around right now. Excellent. It means I can give her precise instructions, and she won’t give me any lip.
“You’re going to get into that shower and turn on the water.” I show her the small bag in my hand. “Don’t lock the bathroom door. Take off every piece of clothes you have on, and put on these
clothes when you get in there. After that, you’re going to stay inside the bathroom and wait for me. Do you understand? And not another word.”
She nods and begins to do exactly what I say. Once the shower is on, I step inside. She’s already naked. I place a finger to my mouth, signaling to her to stop her from speaking, and I point at the bag again. It has a simple t-shirt and boxer-styled shorts with a drawstring in the waist. Instead of letting her go into the shower, I make her put it on, and throw my phone into the shower stall, submerging it in water. We head to the back door of the room and exit, leaving every item Angel packed at her place, as well as her purse from the library. Even that piece of shit minivan is staying behind for the rest of this little trip.
One of the Satan’s Saints trucks is out back, exactly where we left it for exactly these types of emergencies. With a hand on her shoulder, I lead her to the passenger side and help her in. Getting into the driver seat, I start the truck and drive off, taking a gravel side road as opposed to getting back on the main road.
“You can speak now,” I inform an angry Angel. “Sorry I had to get a little firm back there.”
“That was not a little firm!”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Uh. No. You left everything I own back there!”
“It was for your own safety.”
She snaps on her seatbelt and folds her arms over her breasts. “You realize I’m not even wearing a bra or panties, right? And turn off the damned A/C. Will you at least tell me what happened back there?”
“My friend’s phone was bugged. Possibly mine too. I couldn’t take any chances that they did the same thing to something of yours. Maybe your backpack or purse. But it doesn’t matter. The point is we’re being followed. I did what I had to do to ditch the fuckers. Got it?”
She glances over at me, glowering. “Thank God I brought flip flops.”
Filthy Savage (Satan's Saints MC Book 3) Page 10