by Max Henry
I want my pretty boy. I want the things he can offer.
How can I continue to believe what I’m told about the kind of man I should be searching for, when every time I get near Sawyer I feel as though there’s no need to keep looking? I don’t count his flaws when we spend time together; I look at his shortcomings and try to figure out how they complement mine.
I believe what he said about our jagged edges. I think there’s every possibility we could make one hell of a team. But first I need to know exactly what I’m in for. Not the rumors, the stories, and the hearsay. I want him to tell me all of it. Every black and hollowed experience that shaped the unbalanced man he is. I want to know what it takes to break him, because until now, it seemed like he was invincible. Yet as I chase him down, I’m not so sure. The vacancy in his gaze, the shock as he backed away, it’s as though he can’t figure out how to escape whatever rolls around inside that turbulent mind of his. As though, for once, he wants to get away from it.
He wants to escape himself.
Yeah, well, I know better than most that’s near impossible to do.
I ran once, and where did I find myself? Right back where I started. Can’t escape the one thing that’s always with you: yourself.
The night air hits me square in the face as I step outside and search the dim yard with squinted eyes. The sun from this afternoon has well and truly gone, leaving the evening to chill down considerably. I shiver, and cross my arms over myself while I step out over the dirt to search the big idiot out. I’ve barely been here half a day—I can’t lose him already, and especially if I’m truly to blame. King gave me a job, and by fuck I’m going to deliver on it.
The lights are on in the garage, but the gate is dark save for a single light over the control box. It’s eerily quiet out here given the noise and ruckus going on indoors. There isn’t a soul to be seen, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean we’re alone. With Carlos threatening the Aces like he has been, Tap will have half a dozen men stationed out here. They’re just out of plain sight.
My breath clouds before my face, and I shiver again a second before my entire back is wrapped in delicious warmth. Like a moth to a flame, I step back into Sawyer’s hard front; the musky smell of motorbikes and leather, laced with the metallic tang I’ve only just recently figured out to be blood, always gives him away.
“You shouldn’t be out here . . . alone . . .”
“With you?” I finish.
“Especially with me.”
He’s got no idea. “Why are you running?”
“Can’t hurt anyone when it’s just me, right?”
I turn to face him, this . . . looming shadow in the dark. “You really think you’d hurt me?”
“I used to know that I never could, but lately . . .” Sawyer glances at the ground to our side and taps a thick finger to his temple. “He’s not so predictable anymore.”
“What are we going to do about that then?” I ask. “We’ve got a long trip back to Lincoln to make yet.”
“Don’t know.”
I stare at him for a moment, turning ideas over in my head. “What if he liked me? Your devil? Would he still make you hurt me then?”
His gaze returns to mine, and he frowns. “He doesn’t like anyone, Abbey.”
“Maybe nobody’s tried to get to know him.” I shrug. After all, he can’t be any worse than winning over in-laws. “What’s he saying now?”
“That the untouched skin on your neck would look good drippin’ in crimson while I fucked the hell out of your dyin’ body.”
Well then . . . . I’m not sure what’s more disturbing: what he said, or the fact I’m not overly worried about it. Certainly a step up from a month ago. I still have faith in his self-control.
“There’s always role play,” I joke with a tight smirk.
He chuckles. It’s a sound to crave, like a hot drink on a winter’s night, curling its warmth through my chest and settling in my gut.
“Tempting.”
“Is he always the reason you kill people?” I reach out and boldly run my fingertips around the narrow part of his waist, stopping when they reach his belt.
“Mostly.”
Tha-thump. Tha-thump. The proximity, the way I’m touching him, it’s sending my anxiety into overdrive. And yet . . . I can’t stop myself. “What else does he say then?”
Sawyer’s brow twitches, as though my questions confuse him. “Why do you want to know?” He gently removes my hand from his waist. “It’s a bit rich of you to ask considerin’ you were the one to tell me where to get off when the roles were reversed.”
Fair call.
“I’m curious, is all.” I’m fascinated. And most of all, I’m excited at the prospect of possibly fixing my own issues by understanding his. What if he does have the answer, this madman who controls his crazy with such finesse? I can’t give up without at least trying.
Sawyer backs away, crossing his massive arms over his chest as he stands side-on to me. “I think it’s time you went back inside, Abbey, don’t you?”
Nuh-uh. I should do as he says, but the need to find out what exactly happened back there is too strong. “Nope. Sure don’t.”
He sighs, dropping his hands to his sides as he rolls his neck in my direction. “You made it pretty damn clear that I wasn’t enough for you, Abbey-girl, so if you thought being here in LA means it would be a great time for a fun one-night stand, then I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m closed for business.”
Is he for fucking real? “What the hell makes you think I wanted to jump you?”
I mean . . . the thought was there, I have wondered what it’d be like, but still.
“Your fingers on my belt,” he says snidely. “That sad excuse for fuckin’ clothing you’re wearin’. The fact you fuckin’ followed me out here like a bitch in heat.”
“Fuck you.” My fists ball at my sides. “Maybe I wanted to do something ludicrous like talk to you, ask if you’re okay, find out what the hell happened back there, because you’ve never been that bad.”
“You didn’t see me before these assholes packed me home, did you?”
“You think it would have made a difference if I had?”
“Perhaps then, you’d know that what you’re doin’ now, trying’ to ‘help me,’” he mocks with air quotes, “is pointless.”
“It’s not. I wouldn’t bother wasting my time if I didn’t see a point to what I’m doing.”
His eyes narrow with clear suspicion, and I scoff at his fucking judgmental ass.
“So I can’t even talk to you now without having an ulterior motive?”
“Everyone’s got an agenda.”
Damn fucking right they do. I frown, unsure what to say next. After all, he’s right, isn’t he? I do have an agenda. As much as I give a shit about him, ultimately I want inside that head of his to find out if it’ll help me.
Selfish, Abbey.
He drags a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “What is it you really want?”
Just tell him. “To get up in there,” I admit, wriggling my fingers in the direction of his pretty face. “And to find out how it is that you tick.”
“Yeah?” he scoffs. “Why?”
“Because it might just help me,” I say quietly. “Without me having to share the things I’d rather leave hidden.”
He smirks, cold and calculated. “I’m not tellin’ you a thing until you fuckin’ talk to me.”
“Well.” I chuckle. “Guess that leaves us at a bit of an impasse.”
“I suppose it does.”
He watches me closely as I cross my arms over my middle and head toward the clubhouse. I’ve reached the concrete step outside the doors when he calls out.
“I don’t understand how you think knowin’ what it is that eats at me is goin’ to help you.”
I stop, my back to him, and look to the ground as I answer. “Because I want to learn how to live on the bottom too. Sunshine ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.” I sigh. “Sick of s
earching out its warmth only to get burnt.”
“You want me to teach you how to quit on life?” he asks. Going by the sound of his boots on the dirt he steps closer.
“No.” I shake my head, lifting my right wrist out to the side so he can see it. “Tried quitting and it wasn’t for me.”
“What then?”
“I want you to teach me how to shut off my heart and not feel anymore. If it can’t hurt me, then it can’t destroy me. I want you to teach me to be how you were once: dead inside.”
He stops beside me and leans a shoulder against the outside wall. “One for one.”
“Pardon?”
“You give me something, I give it back. We share one for one, but, Abbey?”
“Yeah?” I give in and look up at his handsome face, side lit by the glow coming from the garage.
“You’ve got to go first. Show me you’re committed by taking the first step.”
I look away, my shoulders tense with frustration. It all sounds so easy, but when every memory stashed away in the dusty corners of my mind is nothing but a snapshot of the ugly side of humanity, I may as well agree to walk over a bed of glass and fire.
It’s going to hurt. It might also kill me. But you do it in the hopes you come out the other end stronger than before.
NINETEEN
Sawyer
Tap flags me down the second I show my face in the clubhouse, waving me over to where he’s leaning against the wall, pool cue in hand.
“Don’t go far,” he says as I rest my shoulders against the plaster beside him. “I want to have a sit down with you tomorrow morning before we leave.”
“We?” Abbey only came here with a message for me.
“Yeah.” He reaches to his right and snatches a square of chalk off a small shelf, swiveling it around the tip as he talks. “King phoned while you were outside to say things have gone to shit. He’s had some complication he didn’t want to discuss over the phone literally turn up on his doorstep. He’s callin’ all the officers together.” A lazy smirk crosses his bearded face. “He also wanted to make sure Abbey got here all right.”
They know you far too well . . . .
I jerk my chin up in acknowledgement, feigning indifference to the way he eyes me.
“Didn’t tell King she got here earlier than he expected though,” he says with a lilt of humor.
“No?”
Tap shakes his head, setting the chalk back on the shelf. “What’s the deal with you two?”
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“She’s been followin’ you around like you’re fuckin’ Jesus risen.” He swaggers to the far end of the table, placing our conversation on hold while he takes a shot.
It misses.
“If the girl has a crush,” I say when he rejoins me, “then I can’t help that.”
“She’s supposed to be headin’ back first thing in the morning. King’s a bit antsy about havin’ her out of his sight for too long.”
Interesting . . . .
“Why?” I will the guy to give me something . . . anything.
Tap chuckles, giving a nod to his opponent after the guy sinks two. “If you mean well with her, then you’re sure to find out yourself before long.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I regard him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over my chest.
“It means,” Tap says, knocking a loose fist into my shoulder, “I’ve been talkin’ to Hooch and he told me what you were askin’ about while you were in Lincoln: details on her past. Don’t fuck around with this one, yeah? I get you’re pissed off that your old man stole Hooch’s sister from you, but messin’ with a girl like Abbey’s head for fun ain’t the way to get over it.”
They all sound the same . . . .
Do they fucking ever. Not only has he been talking with Hooch, but it’s as though the asshole’s given him a play-by-play script.
I squint my eyes shut, gathering my shit together long enough to finish this heart-to-heart with Tap. “I’ll tell you what I told him: I haven’t got the slightest interest in messin’ with that kid, so go worry yourself with someone else’s business.” I jam an angry finger into his shoulder—fucker does well not to wince. “And don’t you ever fuckin’ question how serious I was about Hooch’s sister again. Dana fuckin’ knew how to silence this shit,” I say, gesturing to my head. “The only girl I ever met who could, and my fuckin’ asshole father took that from me, from all of us. If makin’ him pay is the last goddamn thing I do, then so fuckin’ be it. I’ll gladly die knowin’ I did it avenging her death.”
He brushes off where I prodded him. “No need to get all dramatic on me, brother.”
I push off the wall with one foot and head toward my room before I’m tempted to kick his timber-loving ass into next week.
“Before you go,” Tap calls after me. “Abbey’s twenty now. She ain’t a kid anymore, so you can stop callin’ her that.” His laughter follows me from the room.
Yeah, thanks. Like I hadn’t noticed.
Abbey
What the fuck is his deal? What the fuck is mine? Get given a damn task by King, a simple message, and here I am scheming some reason for me to hang around the Cali boys until Sawyer hits the road tomorrow afternoon.
When I left home, I was counting down the hours until I could turn around and get the hell away from him and his games again. And now? Jesus, I’m weak.
“You eaten?” Tap cuts off my path toward the bar.
“A little.”
He lifts one brow.
I roll my eyes and sigh. “Pringles, okay? I had a can of fucking Pringles right before I pulled into town.”
“Get your ass to the kitchen, girl.” He jerks his chin in the opposite direction of where I was headed. “Sure they’ll have something there for you.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow.” He narrows his gaze on me. “Best you do it with a clear head.”
“Can’t a girl get a break before she’s shunted out the door again?” He has to have been talking with King. Swear the bastard is like the uncle I never had, always looking out for me.
“Not with your track record, love.” Tap crosses his heavily tattooed arms. The man’s the epitome of why you should never judge a book by its cover. On the outside he’s as soothing as wood smoke and mountain air, but dig a little past the surface and there’s one relentless bastard who’ll cut you down quicker than you can think to run.
“One day, Tap. Please.”
He shakes his head and thumbs toward the kitchen. “Late dinner, and then early night, yeah?”
“I’m not a child.”
His lips curl up on one side. “You act like one, you get treated like one.”
“Oh, come on. It was one time.”
“Three.”
“You and King really share everything, huh?”
He nods, steering me toward the promise of a full belly with his wide frame. I start walking when the pressure of his chest against my shoulder gets too much.
“Fine. I’m getting dinner.”
“Good. I’ll make sure you get there okay.”
I glance around at the dregs of what’s left after the Friday night rush. A handful of members are moping around nursing their heads already, while a couple of the younger guys are still trying to outdo each other at the bar. Half of the people who were here an hour ago have left already, having swept in like a hurricane to grab their fill of free drinks and drugs, and then left to sleep it off in the comfort of their suburban homes.
“There’s really no threat,” I assure Tap. “I think I can make it down a corridor on my own.”
He shadows me anyway as we pass the laundry and storeroom. I hesitate at the door to the kitchen and look down the darkened end of the corridor toward the bedrooms. Wonder if he’s already turned in? I didn’t see Sawyer come in, but his bike is still in the yard.
“Food,” Tap instructs as he sets a gentle hand on my sho
ulder and steers me in the room. “That’s all you should be thinking about.”
“I’m not like you men, you know. I do think about more than sex and food.” He scowls as I cross over to the twin fridges and pull the left one open to find nothing but alcohol. Speaking of men. “Am I doing something wrong that I should know about?”
He sighs, leaning back against the steel counter as I try the right fridge and find leftover mac and cheese. “Of all the guys in your life that you could take an interest in, you pick him?” Tap lowers his chin, glaring out at me from under his brow.
“What?” I try for nonchalance while I slip the plastic container into the microwave. “He’s a kindred spirit.”
Tap sighs heavily through his nose.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” I tease, knowing his concern would be anything but.
We’ve always got along, the few occasions we’ve had to hang out over the years. I’ve never been one of the girls who sleeps around in the club, never had aspirations to be one of the pampered whores like other girls did, and in some way I think that makes Tap more comfortable to have me as a friend. There’s no assumption of our bond ever being anything more.
“What would I have to be jealous of, Abbey?” He smirks, confirming my thoughts.
“Yeah, I know. I’m not stupid, though,” I say, watching the pasta to save from having to look at him. “I know why you’re concerned: because King’s got you up to speed on my bad habits. He wouldn’t have sent me here without at least giving you some warning.”
“When was your last?” he asks quietly.
“Drink?”
“What else, Abbey?”
I study his reflection in the microwave door as the pasta circles slowly. “Today.”
He drops his face into his hand, thinking I can’t see him. “And before that?”
“I made it two weeks.”
“But you’re trying, right?”
“Rich coming from you,” I snipe. The guy wrecked his bike a few years back riding drunk.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.” The microwave signals its end, and I pull the hot pasta out, thankful for the distraction. “If I told you I was trying, would you believe me? Or would you think I’m just saying what you want to hear?”