THIEF_Steel Saints MC

by Paula Cox

  The tension, the thrashing, the continual crashing of orgasm subsided. Ripples of delight leaked through her. Her exhausted muscles felt like melted taffy. Strung out, stretched, wobbly. Her thighs trembled as Tyler pushed himself off her. She slowly stretched her legs, groaning as she straightened them. If she stood, she'd surely topple over.

  Tyler wasn't fending much better. Hot scratches streaked across his back, bluntly pounding as his body demanded rest. He eased himself down to the bed, lying beside Miranda. She stared up at the ceiling, trying to reign in her fluttering thoughts that were scattered by hormones. She felt like she could melt into the bed. Heat and sweat tinted the air in her room.

  “I wonder if Naomi and Jack heard us,” Miranda sputtered, a flush tearing across her cheeks. She threw Tyler a glance.

  Before he could answer, however, shrieks of pleasure erupted from somewhere in the cabin. A creature skittered, scared out of its wits, across the roof. Silence weighed down after the sudden outburst, but Tyler thought he could hear the thumping of a bed.

  “I think,” he started, trying to keep his lips from quirking into an amused grin, “they're too preoccupied to notice.”

  They stared at each other for half a beat, both trying – and failing – to keep a straight face. Laughter spilled from their lips. Miranda curled up against Tyler, trying to stifle her giggles as much as she could. For some reason, though, she couldn't wipe the smile from her face. For the first time, in a long time, she was completely happy.

  The feeling resonated in Tyler, as well, though, a foreboding darkness tickled at the back of his head. He ignored it as he wrapped his arms around her body, tugging her into him. She simply snuggled closer, falling asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  The sun blearily peered over the edge of the landscape when Tyler packed up the rental car. The blue stain of night still clung to the air. From the porch of the cabin, Miranda rubbed her eyes and yawned, grasping at the piping hot cup of coffee she had made twenty minutes earlier.

  Beside her, Naomi inquired, “You sure you want to go?”

  “Yeah,” she turned a smile toward her friend. She hadn't had a chance to do her morning routine. It was a rare moment when Naomi stepped outside without the slightest bit of makeup or hairstyle tweaking. Then again, the cabin was in the middle of the forest. Who was going to gossip? Miranda nodded to Naomi’s stomach, her smile growing into a teasing grin, “Besides, I'd be a third…fourth wheel in your happy little family.”

  Naomi scoffed and rolled her eyes. Her hands went to her stomach, though. “Yeah, it's every modern woman's dream to live in a cabin in the woods while pregnant.”

  “Oh, hush. The next town over isn't that far,” scolded Miranda, though a smile curled at her tired lips.

  The words didn't alleviate the blonde's pout. The women fell silent as the men packed up the car. Birds sang to the early morning, trying to coax the sun over the horizon's edge. Miranda stared out over the forest. What would be in store for her tomorrow? They were heading to San Marta. It would take days. Hopefully, though, Pete's men were none the wiser. She still didn't know if any of the bikers had found the tunnel.

  “You sure you want her to come with?”

  “I can't stop her,” sighed Tyler, shaking his head as he shoved the backpack into a corner of the trunk. He tried not to think of their long journey to Texas. Cars were cramped, especially after the freedom of roaring down the highway perched on a motorcycle.

  Jack chuckled and muttered, conspiratorially, “I could call her into the cabin and you could take off.”

  “If I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to get both of the ladies to yourself, Jackie boy.” Tyler slammed the trunk shut, eyeballing Jack from the corner of his eye.

  “I have my hands full with Naomi,” Jack laughed, holding his hands up. A mischievous glint flickered in his eye. “After what I heard last night, I think doubling up would be the death of me.”

  Tyler let out a bark of laughter, startling some early-morning birds from their branches. He shook his head, the grin refusing to leave his lips. He and Jack locked gazes across the distance. A slight coldness nicked the air. It was the first time in the last three weeks they were at ease. In the forest, away from Pete and the world, and with their lovely ladies yards away.

  It was almost too perfect to give up.

  Tyler shook the thought from his head. Lloyd needed help. Pete needed to be taken down. There was no sense in dragging Jack and Naomi down with him. Miranda would be enough of a weight on his conscience.

  “Well, we better hit the road,” Tyler mumbled, his feet scuffing at the dirt. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to go back to looking over his shoulder every time he turned a corner. Glancing up at Jack, he saw a glimpse of sympathy in the man's eyes.

  “Be safe, man.” Jack clapped Tyler on the shoulder with a big, beefy hand. He knew talking him out of leaving wouldn't work. There were promises to uphold. Even if Miranda were tailing along at his heels.

  As Tyler called out her name, Miranda started. Her heart pounded in her chest as she turned to Naomi, who looked up at her, a weak smile on her lips and tears brimming in her lashes. “Come back, Miranda. Please.”

  She nodded, blinking back her own tears as she caught Naomi in a hug. The blonde dug her fingers into her back, as if she were afraid to let go. A tear trickled down Miranda's cheek. This could be the last time she ever saw Naomi. As she pulled away and stepped back, she hastily swiped the tear away. Placing the mug of coffee down on the cabin's railing, she smiled teasingly at Naomi and motioned to her stomach, “Don't pop until I come back.”

  Miranda didn't catch Naomi's parting words as she clumped off the porch. She couldn't bring herself to look back. A heaviness hung between them. Miranda would have never guessed ever walking away from Naomi, not knowing whether or not she'd see her again. The thought brought a lump to Miranda's throat, realizing just how precious of a friend she was.

  And that was another reason to leave with Tyler. If Pete found out they had survived, if the bikers chased after them, it'd keep the heat off Jack and Naomi. Miranda clenched her fists, conviction pushing the sadness to the back of her head.

  Miranda and Tyler climbed into the burgundy rental car. Neither one dared to look back as Tyler pulled them out onto the road. The car trundled on, in silence, as the two of them headed for San Marta.

  Tyler's voice roused her from numbing thoughts, “You all right, Mir?”

  “I'll be fine,” she croaked, shifting in her seat. She glanced up at Tyler, offering him a small smile. He tossed back a weak grin of his own, though he wasn't sure how true her words were. His grip on the steering wheel tightened as the trees gave way to rolling plains. He suddenly felt vulnerable under the open, blue sky of morning.

  A warmth descended onto his thigh and he realized, a microsecond later, it was Miranda's hand. “I'm not going to leave you, Tyler.”

  He jerked his attention to Miranda, catching her smile, before turning his gaze back to the road. He pressed his lips together in a thin line. What she said was exactly the opposite of what he worried about. She should leave him; she should turn her back and run as soon as danger descended. Hell, she shouldn't even be in the car with him.

  Those words soon died in his thoughts, though. As much as Tyler fretted over her well being, he knew how much her presence helped him. His selfishness worried him more than anything else. Silence firmly wiggled its butt down into the cushions of the car as Tyler and Miranda sped toward San Marta.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Three days had passed since they left Legacy. One last day on the road until they entered San Marta. At Tyler's prompting, they had decided to duck into a bar on this final night of journey. Miranda wasn't too sure about partying. Getting drunk sounded like a disaster waiting to happen when you were dealing with someone in a motorcycle club – not to mention the fact that that someone was also involved with a Mexican cartel.r />
  Music thumped through the air, punctuated by chatter. Miranda glanced around the smoky bar, feeling equally vulnerable and foolish. She tried to forget about their current situation. This was just her and him, at a bar, enjoying a night together. Of course, the noise weaseled into her head and left room for little else.

  The bar was small and filled to maximum capacity. People could barely move without becoming intimate with others. It was good, though. More people meant more conversation, more distractions, and an easier time fading into the background. Well, that's what movies and shows always told her, at least.

  The first day on the road, Tyler insisted on alterations and disguises. For the first time in her life, she now possessed a pair of expensive sunglasses that almost took up her whole face, four pairs of hats, a variety of hair dyes for just-in-case scenarios, and enough makeup to last her decades. Vaguely, she wondered just how long Tyler intended to be on the road. Judging from the amount of disguises, they'd be on the run for decades.

  She was definitely getting some lewd looks thanks to her tank top and jean skirt. Sitting alone at the table probably didn't help. Miranda felt like a barfly with her heavy makeup and her outfit, but it kept her from being recognizable off the bat. Being just another flirtation in the bar made people forget about her presence, even if there were men eyeing her hungrily. As soon as they saw Tyler coming, they wouldn't bother any further.

  Overall uncertainty fumbled through her thoughts. They hadn't met any of Pete's loyal subjects on the road. She was beginning to hope their suicide ploy had worked. But there was still a worry that coiled around her thoughts, ready to strike. It lurked behind, a constant rattle amongst her mind.

  She fussed with her shorter hair. It was amazing how being recognizable was a few short inches of hair, sometimes. She finally spotted Tyler - and his bleach blond hair - waltz through the crowd. He sported a pitcher of beer, two glasses, and a cocked grin.

  Shamelessly, he had taken delight in their last few days. It almost felt like a vacation. A thought pinged at the back of his head, hard and hissing. No, this wasn't a vacation. If he let his guard down, Miranda could get hurt. While their three-day trip had been pleasantly uneventful, they'd soon be in San Marta.

  Tyler swallowed the chill of uncertainty as he sat down at Miranda's table. He plunked the pitcher and mugs onto the table as her gaze flickered to his face.

  Miranda cleared her throat, almost yelling above the bar's din, “So, how much longer ‘til we make it to San Marta?”

  “We'll get there tomorrow morning,” he answered, flopping down beside her like a protective barrier to anyone leering. Tyler hadn't missed the looks other patrons gave her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as he filled the mugs from the pitcher, single-handed. “I figured we could check into a motel, get dressed, then go to the bank.”

  “Good plan. It's almost like you've done this before,” Miranda teased as she took the mug with less alcohol. Over their three days, she had listened to plenty of stories from Tyler. About his life, what 'law-bending' he did, what outright crime he committed even. If she were working with him, he needed to trust her. Miranda had no doubt he did, especially after some of the stories he shared. Her stomach lurched a little and she took a sniff of the beer, her nose wrinkling. The smell interrupted her suddenly uneasy thoughts about Tyler. Before leaving Legacy, she didn't realize how much beer differed from bar to bar.

  Before she took a sip, Tyler snorted. He slugged back a gulp of beer, then answered her, “No, I haven't done this before, Mir. Think I make a habit of running away from my problems?”

  “Well…” Miranda let the word hang in the air as she took a sip from her mug. Underneath the immediate acridity, there was something sweet lingering in the alcohol. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as the last bar's drink, after all.

  He shot her a glare from the corner of his gaze, both hurt and annoyed. He didn't blame her for repeatedly reminding him, though. It had been abrupt and it had left a hole in her heart. Tyler tore his gaze away from her as the first rumble of guilt wobbled through his heart. Still, he couldn't help his barbed pout, “At least I don't stick around a dangerous situation like a fool.”

  Miranda whipped around so quickly, Tyler almost feared she'd get whiplash. Her green eyes flared with rage and he resisted the urge to sink down in the chair. That was very much the wrong thing to say.

  “Well, if you think that, then we should just hole up in our motel room.” Miranda's voice dropped low, but seemed to cut through the noise of the bar. Each word was punctuated with a painful chill. “’Cause, you know, danger.”

  She pushed herself away from the table and her chair scraped noisily against the floor. He winced, but had no choice other than watching her cleave through the crowd. His words had been said out of spite. Now, he should pay the price. The bar atmosphere wasn't doing it for him tonight, anyway. Sighing, Tyler got to his feet and moved after Miranda.

  * * *

  Her thoughts steamed as she powered through the crowd. Her fingers curled into fists as she sought her way out of the hot and smoky bar. The last corner reaped no escape. Perhaps this side would assist her. Some fresh air would help her mood. Her lungs shriveled in her chest, suffocated from anger and heat.

  Did Tyler even want her around? Or did he only agree since she wore him down? Her heart deflated at the thought. She swallowed down the bile climbing up her throat and maneuvered her way through the crowd. She needed to get outside. Heat mounted inside her, pressing down on her from every direction, making her claustrophobic.

  A man turned and Miranda found herself covered in something cold, wet, and sticky. She gasped, her eyes flicking from the exit to who just spilled beer on her.

  “Oh, hey, sorry!” He yelped, fumbling with his glass as he sought somewhere to set it.

  “It's al lright,” Miranda sighed and glanced up at the stranger. Her heart froze and her eyes widened. She resisted the urge to tug on her newsboy cap – which wasn't even there - as Mike Franklin eyed her apologetically. Bile climbed up her throat. She couldn't string together any more words. And, all the while, the beer soaked into her shirt and bra.

  He cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing into a valley. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”

  “I-I don't think so,” stuttered Miranda as her heart thudded violently against her ribcage.

  He peered at her closely, before shaking his head. Another apologetic smile twitched across his lips as his face pinched with apology. “Let me go get you some napkins. Again, I'm really sorry, miss.”

  Miranda sighed in relief as the bald man took off in search of napkins. Her stomach churned, thinking about how courteous Baldie had been. Then again, he had been all smiles at her apartment, too. Fighting down vomit, she stalked out of the bar. In the cold night air, she inhaled deeply. The chill sunk into her lungs, solidifying in her veins.

  The heat from the bar, her anger, and her fear eased. She paced into the parking lot, running a hand through her hair. Worry clenched at her chest. What if Mike was in there, calling Pete right now? What if his unfamiliarity was an act? Surely, her makeup and haircut wasn't enough. Then again, he had been drinking – quite a lot, if his ruddy cheeks had anything to say – and the bar was dimly lit.

  Still, her stomach roiled.

  From the back of the bar, a figure trekked to the parking lot, advancing on her. “Mir!”

  She whipped around, a finger to her lips as she hushed her companion, “Shhh, shut up!”

  “What's wrong?” His eyebrows furrowed as he closed the distance between them. The street lamps caught her eyes, widened with fear and paranoia.

  Her gaze flicked to the front door of the bar, feeling as if she were tempting fate as she spoke, “I just ran into Mike Franklin.”

  “Who–” Tyler stopped short of asking as a mental image of Baldie slammed into his thoughts. He grabbed Miranda by her shoulders, his eyes wide and darting across her body. This was a bad idea. He shouldn't have let h
er come. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “I'm fine. He just spilled beer on me,” she answered, trying to ignore the pleasant warmth evoked from his reaction. “I don't think he recognized me.”

  “Good, good,” sputtered Tyler, his heart still thrumming a mile a minute. He hastily patted his pockets, withdrawing the keys to the rental car. He didn't want to argue about going back to the motel room any longer. Especially not with Baldie trotting about the bar. “Let's get back to the motel.”

  “Yeah,” whispered Miranda, nodding her head once. She followed Tyler through the parking lot, keeping her head down. Her gaze flicked to the front door of the bar, fearful it would be opened by a familiar face just as they beat a hasty retreat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  The drive back to their motel was quiet and tense. The radio buzzed quietly, the music interlaced with strong static. Miranda watched the land pass by outside her window. After her scare with Mike Franklin, she remembered her irritation with Tyler. Now, she pouted in the passenger seat, silent and brooding.