Scooter

by Marie James

  “Glad to see you guys here tonight,” Dominic tells my teammate.

  Tug nods. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

  They chatter back and forth for a few more minutes, and I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a more awkward conversation before in my life.

  Dominic excuses himself and walks away, and when I turn back to Tug, he releases a whoosh of air from his mouth.

  “That was intense,” I say with a chuckle that doesn’t even begin to ease the tension surrounding the man.

  “How’s Mia?” Tug asks rather than bitching about his girlfriend’s dad.

  “About the same,” I tell him just like I did Rocker a few minutes ago.

  “I never thought she’d let you walk away from her,” he says absently as his eyes focus across the room on Jasmine.

  “She didn’t.”

  Tug frowns, turning his attention back to me.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps.

  “She’s here,” I tell him softly, unsure of why I’m whispering. Everyone here, except him clearly, knows that Mia came back with me from Florida

  “She’s here?” His head jerks around, scanning the room as if he’s certain she’s going to pop out and surprise him.

  “She’s in my room,” I explain.

  “No, shit? I can’t imagine that went over well with her parents or Max.”

  “It didn’t,” I huff. “I can barely get the man out of my room long enough to get some sleep myself.”

  It’s the truth. Max hovers more than a dog waiting to be fed.

  “What? Max is here?”

  I nod, wondering if he started drinking before they showed up. This shouldn’t be news. From what I gathered, Max, Jasmine, and Tug have had some sort of relationship going on for a while now. Surely his sister being in New Mexico would be something he brought up to his lovers.

  “How long has he been here?”

  Then again, maybe not.

  “We came back the day after Christmas.”

  “A week?” he hisses.

  He doesn’t give me time to answer before he’s storming off in the direction of my room. He’s too fast, and I’m not able to grab him before he wrenches my door open.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Tug snaps as soon as the door swings open. “You’re here?”

  “Don’t wake her,” I hear Max say from my spot in the hallway. “We can talk in the hall.”

  “I think we’re going to need a little more privacy than that,” Tug snaps before grabbing the front of Max’s t-shirt and shoving him into another room.

  I ignore whatever is going on with those two grown-ass men and close myself into my room. After brushing my teeth, I change into my pajamas and join Mia on the bed. Unlike earlier, when she didn’t want to have a damn thing to do with me, she turns in her sleep and rests her head against my chest. Finally, everything is right in my world.

  ***

  A knock on the door startles me awake, and if it weren’t for the sun trying to infiltrate the room through the curtains, I’d kill the motherfucker standing on the other side.

  I know who it is before I climb out of bed, so I take a few minutes to get myself under control. I’m frustrated every morning when I wake up with a cock ready to take on the world. And even though Mia had a rough night last night, burdened with nightmares that made her whimper and cry out in her sleep, my dick still won’t behave.

  She whimpers when I slip out from under her, but quiets when I press my lips to her temple and promise her I’ll be right back. Before standing, I squeeze the tip of my dick until the pain causes it to get the message.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not all sexed up and ready to fuck a broken girl who is years away from any sort of intimacy, but my cock doesn’t understand a gorgeous woman sleeping on top of us all night without getting a little action. He’s bitter, and I’m embarrassed.

  I could blame nature, but the erections I get around her are all one hundred percent due to her and have minimal impact from natural causes.

  “What?” I hiss the second I pull open the door.

  “How is she doing?”

  “She’s fucking sleeping, Max.”

  Even though I don’t think the fucker deserves it, I push open the door wide enough so that he can see her resting form on the bed. Her forehead furrows when the light hits her face, so I close it a little.

  “I want to see her,” he insists.

  “I said she’s sleeping,” I repeat, anger growing exponentially every second I have to stand here and repeat myself to a grown man.

  With more anger than I’ve seen Max display, he clenches his fists and puffs his chest out like he’s going to punch me in the face. I raise an eyebrow at him in challenge, wondering if kicking his ass would be just what I need to let off the steam that’s been building since I saw Mia’s reaction to him being alive in the hospital.

  What sick fuck, regardless of what he had going on, lets his family believe he’s dead for ten years?

  “I want to see her,” he seethes, spittle forming on his lower lip.

  “Nothing has changed in the last seven hours, Max. Let her rest,” I say with more patience than I feel right now.

  Mia wouldn’t be impressed if I kicked his ass, and the sound of her low whimper behind me is the only thing that saves me from rearranging this dick’s face.

  “Why is she upset?” Max questions.

  “Because she’s fitful when I leave,” I answer. “Let me get back to her.”

  “This isn’t healthy,” Max whispers with resignation in his voice. I watch him as the anger drains from his body. He slumps forward, shoulders bent, leaving him looking defeated and broken. “She needs to face what’s happened, so she can begin to heal.”

  “And she’ll do that when she’s ready,” I remind him, not for the first time. The man is driving me crazy, but I also need to take a step back and try to picture how I’d respond if it were my sister. It’s difficult to do since I’m an only child, but I have cousins I’d go to the ends of the earth for, so I sort of get where he’s coming from.

  “She won’t ever be ready if you continue to coddle her. You’re only letting her get lost in her head.”

  Mia’s whimpers grow louder, and without a word, I step back and close the door in Max’s face.

  “Shhh, Sweet Mia,” I whisper as I climb right back into bed with her.

  She doesn’t waste a second before wrapping her arm around my stomach and resting her head right back on my chest like I never left to begin with.

  Max’s words filter through my mind as I run my hand up and down Mia’s back, but even though I know he’s speaking the truth, I can’t help but feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

  Chapter 6

  Mia

  Pretending to be asleep is easier, so when Ryan climbs back in bed, I settle on his chest with every intention of sleeping the entire day away.

  The comfort he provides is my happy place. It’s where I can imagine a different life, one without trauma and pain. It doesn’t last long. Ryan is too perceptive, and I’m not a very good faker when it comes to sleep. I blame it on my body being in a constant state of apprehension while I’m awake, and he easily picks up on that fact.

  “Ready to get the day started?”

  Instead of verbally responding, I nuzzle his chest. He chuckles, the vibrations bouncing against my cheek, and I can’t help the smile that tugs up the corners of my lips. I itch to press my lips to his t-shirt, but I don’t. He already holds me every night, I don’t want to pressure him into being more.

  As we lie there silently, I think about what my life has become, starting back to a couple of years ago when things turned sour with Jason. I was in a rut long before I was abducted, and like a light bulb going off in my dark existence, I realize I’m the only one that can change things. I’m the only one who can rise out of this bed and be a different person today from who I was yesterday. Max talks a big game about Ryan not coddling me, but
at the end of the day, I know my brother wouldn’t force me to act the way he expects either.

  With renewed determination, I sit up on the side of the bed, refusing to look back at Ryan for reassurance. He’s a crutch I’ve leaned on too much the last week, and since today is a new year, I decide I also need to be a new me. Cheesy, I know, but changes need to be made, nonetheless.

  “Shower?” Ryan asks as I head to the bathroom.

  I nod before closing myself inside to take care of normal bathroom business. He opens the door when he hears the water in the sink as I begin to brush my teeth. When I’m done, he wraps my arm in the plastic bag, and I’m counting down the days until I can be self-sufficient enough to manage a damn shower on my own.

  Once the bag is secure, I stand by the door with an eyebrow raised. Instead of the irritation I expect, Ryan winks at me and leaves the bathroom.

  “I’ll be right out here if you need me,” he says before I can close myself in the bathroom alone.

  I still tremble as I wash. Tears still leak from my eyes when I once again pour too much shampoo in my hand for my bald head, and I expect it’ll be a while before I get used to using the correct amount. It may take longer than it should since I avoid looking in the mirror. I can’t stand to see the yellowing bruises all over my body. It’s bad enough that I still ache in dozens of places where I was hit and kicked hard enough that my muscles ache.

  Toweling dry is easier today than it ever has been because I don’t have to keep my eyes locked on Ryan’s back wondering if today is going to be the day he turns around, disregarding my privacy before he takes from me what he thinks he’s owed for the help and comfort he’s provided.

  Deep in my gut, I know he isn’t that type of man. He’s proved it over and over, so many times I lost count, but it doesn’t stop my traumatized brain from creating scenarios where he turns into the villain and hurts me.

  More tears spring from my eyes at the realization that I’ll probably never be able to trust another living person again. That level of awareness brings a wash of sadness, but I straighten my spine as I struggle into fresh clothes. Only moments ago, I resolved myself to do better today than I did yesterday, and it’s too soon to already start back peddling now.

  “All done?” Ryan asks from the bed.

  He’s lounged back on a pile of pillows with the TV remote sitting in his lap. He’s the epitome of cool and casual, but the way he chews on the inside of his cheek as his eyes scan my body betrays his easy demeanor. He’s not the only one good at reading people.

  “I’m good,” I tell him, knowing that the first part of my getting-better plan needs to include more talking.

  I’ve avoided all forms of conversation, afraid that speaking will lead to questions because people will think that I’m ready to talk about what happened. What they don’t know is that day will never come. I want to burn those memories from my brain, not talk out loud about them.

  “I’m next,” he says as he pops off the bed and slides past me to head into the bathroom for his own shower. “Give me five minutes, and then I’ll go get us breakfast.”

  We literally switch places; him in the shower and me against the pillows as I flip through dozens of channels, finding absolutely nothing to watch.

  The water shuts off, but before he has enough time to dress, the bathroom door cracks open, releasing a puff of steam around Ryan.

  His head pokes out, and I’m struck speechless. I can’t focus on his face because the sight of his bare shoulder hypnotizes me. He’s rock-solid, and even though he’s worked out in the room while I watched, he’s always had a shirt on. He’s always been clothed, but right now, as my eyes trail down his side, it’s clear he’s only wrapped in a fluffy towel.

  My fingers begin to tremble when he shifts his weight, my eyes darting to the bedroom door that leads into the hallway, and that sadness I felt in the bathroom earlier returns since my first instinct is to get away from him. He’s too close to naked, too close to revealing the parts of a man’s body that’s designed to take a woman.

  “Mia?”

  Tears bead on my lashes as my eyes meet his.

  “What’s wrong?” He swings the door open, gripping his towel at the waist and walks a few steps deeper into the room.

  “Please don’t,” I beg, cringing further away with every inch he draws closer.

  “Fuck,” he spits. “I’m not going to hurt you. I forgot my clothes.”

  Without another word, he turns toward the closet, closing the door behind him, and it seems like an eternity before the door opens again to reveal him fully dressed with a cautious look on his face.

  “It won’t happen again,” he tells me, standing on the other side of the room and giving me enough space to get things right in my head again. “Our routine was thrown off this morning. I just forgot my clothes.”

  “It’s fine,” I mumble.

  “It’s not. I know your brain won’t let you trust, and I get that, but please know I’d never hurt you.”

  “I know,” I tell him, and in some place, deep in my heart, I do know that, or at least I want to believe that, but today isn’t that day, unfortunately.

  “Did you want me to go make breakfast?” He gives me a weak smile, knowing that morning time is when I’m the hungriest. My appetite wanes as the day goes by, and I’m certain it has everything to do with the stress building up over the daylight hours.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “Can I go with you?”

  I give him my best practiced smile, hoping he buys it when really the four walls of the bedroom feel like they’re closing in on me for the first time. Normally, I find sanctuary in here, but today it’s just too much.

  “Really?” A genuine grin spreads across his face. “I’d love that.”

  My hand trembles in his as we step out into the hallway, but as always, he’s patient with me, letting me stop and listen to the sounds of the building before taking another step down the hall.

  “It’s going to be pretty quiet today. Most of the guys will be sleeping off hangovers from the party last night,” Ryan explains as we inch our way toward the kitchen.

  I freeze on the threshold of the kitchen, but the man in the corner doesn’t even look up from his coffee cup as we enter. Ryan uses a bent knuckle to nudge my head up.

  “Eggs and bacon?” he asks as if the two of us standing in the kitchen is an everyday occurrence instead of it being my first time venturing out this far since I got here over a week ago.

  “Eggs and toast?” I counter.

  If he’s disappointed, his face doesn’t show it. Bacon takes too long to cook, and I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to stand being in here.

  “Why don’t you make our coffee.” He points to the station that’s thankfully on the opposite side of the room from where the guy is sitting. “That’s Jinx. He won’t bother you. The man doesn’t even speak until his third cup of coffee. I like mine black with a little sugar.”

  With a gentle hand at the small of my back, Ryan urges me in the direction of the already brewed coffee. The station is set off to itself, but it’s on an island as if these guys need space around the entire thing to line up and serve themselves. I’m grateful because it allows me to stand on the far side and keep an eye on the entire room as I make our cups.

  As I’m reaching for the sugar, another man walks in. He’s shirtless with pajama pants that are only staying up by the juts of his hips. He doesn’t seem to notice me as he rubs his eyes, but his destination is clear.

  The sugar jar, glass with a metal lid like the ones you’d find at a hotel or diner, falls from my hand, clanking on the granite countertop of the coffee station.

  The guy walking toward me looks up, freezing like he’s been struck, but thankfully the noise also draws Ryan’s attention.

  “Rocker,” Ryan snaps, “go get dressed.”

  “Sorry,” the man mutters, looking sincerely apologetic for startling me. “Good morning, Mia.”

  He turn
s around and leaves without another word.

  “Don’t forget a little sugar in mine,” Ryan says as he situates himself in front of the huge stove.

  He doesn’t make a big deal out of my negative reaction to his friend. He acts as if nothing happened at all.

  I nod, picking the sugar jar back up and sprinkling a little into his coffee before using a wooden stir stick to mix it well. My raging pulse and the spike of adrenaline makes me rush to his side, but I somehow manage doing so without spilling any of the coffee on my hands or the floor.

  “Scrambled okay?”

  I nod even though it’s not my favorite way to eat eggs because it’s the fastest way to get them on the plate and eaten so we can get out of here and back to the room that only moments ago was driving me crazy.

  Ryan makes small talk as he cooks, instructing me to the toaster, and not frowning or looking disappointed when I end up right by his side.

  When he’s done, and without me asking, he situates us on the far side of the room, tucked away but with the ability to see the entire room.

  I scarf down my eggs and toast, wanting to rush through breakfast, but Ryan eats slowly, each bite deliberately chewed as if he’s concerned about his digestive health. I want to tilt his head back, wedge open his mouth and pour his breakfast down his throat because he’s taking so long, but I end up distracted by a young girl that walks in. Dressed in nothing but a thigh-length silk robe, she’s disheveled and looks exhausted, and she doesn’t seem happy to be here. I don’t know much about biker gangs, and Ryan has assured me more than once that they’re not anything like what I would’ve seen on TV or watched in some criminal documentary, but the evidence of this place being like those shows is walking like a zombie to the coffee pot.

  Makeup is smudged on her face, and her hair is worse than a rat’s nest. She looks used and uncaring of her appearance, and her eyes are empty, much like many of the girls back at the compound.

  I don’t realize I’m trembling until Ryan lays his hand over the top of mine.

  “Hey, Gigi,” Ryan says to the woman rather than speaking to me.

  She turns her head in our direction, lifting her hand for a little wave.