Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3)

by Max Henry

  Maybe deep down he resents who he is too, despite what he says about being comfortable with his “gift.”

  Sawyer’s hands are tucked between his thick thighs, his dark lashes lying soft and delicate over his sharp cheekbones. The man really is a thing of beauty, and so carefully guarded. I can see why Ramona fell hard and fast, sucked into the idea that she could find that scared boy inside and set him free.

  Thing is, I don’t think he wants to be out here in the big bad world. I bet the child within Sawyer likes it where he is, wrapped up in the protection of this monster that keeps people at bay, friendly or otherwise.

  I slip off the bed and crawl across the floor, slow and careful in my movements so as not to wake him. His breaths come slow and heavy, a deep resonance straight from his chest. If it were possible for breathing to sound masculine, I’d think he nailed it.

  He has to be cold, surely. The sun’s already heated the day outside, the room warm from its rays. But even so, he’s slept here all night on the floor without a blanket and wearing only his boxers. I reach out, my hand hovering over his leg. Do I touch him? Do I disturb the beast as it rests? A slim red line pokes out from under the hem of his boxer leg.

  I retract my hand and sit back on my heels, studying the fresh injury as he slumbers. It’s clean and sharp, not as though he’s scratched himself by accident. Could it be? Were my suspicions back in Lincoln correct?

  My left thumb absently rubs over the healing lines on my opposite wrist. He’s full of surprises, and it makes me wonder if I was premature to apologize? Should I push harder? Do everything I can to force him to answer me?

  Not now, Abbey.

  King wants Sawyer back east to have his chance at finishing things with Carlos. I can’t get in the way of that. How petty would it be if I distracted him from something as important to our club as taking out the biggest threat to our future? I only know a little about what’s going on in the club right now, and it involves Carlos and a whole lot of vengeful agendas that needing sorting out. Seems everybody has something against Sawyer’s old man.

  I reach out again, drawn to pretty boy in his restful state. He’s so at peace, and yet, I get the sense that it’s anything but calm inside that ravaged mind of his. My fingers brush against his leg, and his eyes snap open, his hand wrapped around my wrist before I can let out a gasp.

  “What you doin’, Abbey-girl?” His husky morning voice drapes its dulcet tones around me.

  “You looked cold.”

  “Anything but.” He pulls me forward by the grip on my wrist and lays my hand against his hard stomach.

  My skin sears from the heat he radiates. “I guess you’re not, then, huh?” The fires of hell clearly rage within, even when he’s unconscious.

  “How did you sleep?” He lets go of my hand with a flick, sending me away.

  “Good.”

  “The company helped then?”

  “I think so.” I didn’t wake mid-nightmare trying to cut some imaginary intruder, so there’s that.

  “What’s for breakfast?” He pulls his legs in and stands, pushing off the wall behind him.

  I fall back on the heels of my hands and look up the glorious length of him as he raises both arms over his head and stretches, his boxers obviously tented from this angle. Oh my. Somebody woke up in a good mood.

  “Whatever they’re cooking in the kitchen, I guess.” Gathering the remnants of my scrambled thoughts, I right myself and stand also. “But first, coffee.”

  “Black, one sugar.”

  I jerk my chin back, hands on my hips as I stare down his wide back. He ignores me, shaking out his T-shirt before he tugs it on over his ripped frame. He turns, slowly, one eyebrow raised.

  “What you still doin’ standin’ there?”

  “Do I look like your fucking maid?”

  “Do I look like a goddamn babysitter?”

  I smirk. I can’t help it. Visions of him changing nappies flash through my mind. It’s so wrong it’s just absurd.

  “No,” he affirms. “Didn’t think so. And yet, there I was”—he holds a hand toward where he slept—“keepin’ you safe from whatever.”

  What do I say to that? Can’t argue that I didn’t ask him to, because I pretty much did. Also can’t argue that it wasn’t needed, because it was. I haven’t felt so secure in a long time. I’m usually up every hour, even when Hooch has his sleepovers. The habit of forever being on edge gets kind of hard to shake when even a locked door couldn’t keep you safe as a child.

  “Fine,” I say on a sigh. “Anything else?”

  “Your tank’s a little twisted.” He points to my chest with a devilish smirk.

  Jesus, I could die. I look down and yank the fabric around so my nipple isn’t poking out the side of the armhole anymore.

  “Hey,” he says with a chuckle. “We’re almost even now, right?”

  “Almost?” I cry. “Why only almost?”

  “You got full frontal last night. I only got a peep of nip.”

  “Ugh. Serious?”

  “Deadly.” He bites his bottom lip, screwing his palms together.

  “Fine.” It’s long past time to call this fucker’s bluff. I spin around so my back is to him, feet shoulder width apart, and wrench my cut-offs and panties down my legs, bent double at the waist. “Even?”

  “Baby, you got no idea.”

  ***

  “Morning, Abbey.” Tap enters the dining hall with a frown on his face.

  “Lovely day out there,” I murmur.

  “It is.” His gaze drifts across the room to where Sawyer sits at one of the far tables; chair reclined on its back legs as he sips his coffee. “You were up early,” he addresses me, while still staring at Sawyer.

  “Always am.”

  Sawyer smirks.

  I push the last quarter of my waffle around the plate before me, well aware I’m being watched.

  “King expects you back today.” Tap returns his focus to me. “The rest of us will head off later today—all the officers have been called in—but he wants you on the road this morning.”

  “Of course he does.” Couldn’t let my leash out for too long.

  “Sawyer,” Tap says, eyeing me suspiciously. “My office in an hour.”

  “No can do.”

  “Excuse me?” Tap’s head snaps around.

  I take a small bite of waffle, watching their showdown with interest.

  “I said,” Sawyer drags out. “No can do. We can talk about whatever it is you got on your mind in Lincoln.”

  “Look, I get you’re keen—”

  “Ain’t the reason why I want to leave early.”

  I wilt under the intensity of Sawyer’s stare.

  “Let me guess,” Tap drawls, looking between the two of us. “You two want to travel in convoy.”

  “I hadn’t really—” I’ve started to protest, when Sawyer’s chair legs hit the floor with a loud whack.

  “Yeah, we do,” he answers with a stare that dares me to say otherwise.

  God, after the way he damn near devoured me with his gaze when I flashed him, I can’t look at him for too long without wanting to break out in nervous giggles. No way in hell I’m travelling with him.

  “It sounds like you’ve got more important things to sort out first,” I say, standing and picking up the plate. “I’ll get going now, see you there.”

  “Nope. Nothing that can’t wait. Eh, Tap?”

  The big guy positively glares at Sawyer.

  “Don’t you need to refill your bike or some shit?” I try.

  “Don’t you need gas for the truck?”

  Fuck. Tap watches us with concerned interest as we bicker.

  “I’ll follow you back,” Sawyer says with finality. “Meet you out front in thirty.” He stands and crosses the room to the adjoining kitchen.

  His mug clinks in the sink as I meet Tap’s raised eyebrow. Shit.

  “Anything you’d like to confess about where you really were this morning?”r />
  “I’m all good.” I hesitate, thumbs running around the rim of the plate. I’m not sure Sawyer’s left the kitchen yet, and I’d like to avoid another heated interaction like earlier—even if I did start it.

  “Ring me when you get halfway,” Tap says, dropping a hand to my shoulder. “Give me peace of mind, yeah?”

  “He won’t harm me,” I whisper.

  “Exactly what I’m worried about.” He looks toward the kitchen. “Go. I’m sure it’s safe to ditch your plate now.”

  He leaves the same way he came in, back out to the main corridor. I stand in the room, flanked by the four matching timber tables, and sigh. What are you afraid of, Abbey? A day on the road together gives me plenty of time to work out how to broach the subject of the lines on his leg.

  As long as I can keep my raging female hormones in check.

  He’s been flirting nonstop, clearly not put off by the fact I shut him down the day he left Lincoln. At least, I think it’s flirting. Never had a guy initiate a proper relationship with me to know for sure.

  Still—no point getting the hopes up, now, is there.

  He’s probably playing you. Yeah, there’s that too. I know how he works, and nothing happens unless he’s going to benefit from it. A lot like me. He promises a thrill ride to rival the biggest and best theme park, except with his roller coaster, there’s no safe finish, just the uncontrollable fall into oblivion when the novelty’s worn off.

  I’ve got to keep the upper hand and remain in charge if I want a chance at getting out of this without being burned. I can’t let him think he has one over me, and standing here afraid to enter the kitchen is doing just that; giving him the power. Besides, he’s probably out in the yard already. It’s been a while, right?

  I stride forward, berating myself for being so weak after I’ve spent so long making sure I’m not. I was that scared and dependent little kid. I killed her when I found out how comforting the fog from a night of drinking could be. Day by inebriated day, I managed to shut her weak and unjustified fears down until I all but numbed every memory of who I was. A lot’s happened in the five weeks since he’s been gone.

  God, I need a drink.

  Fuck being sober. All it does is remind me of who I was escaping to begin with. I don’t like this girl, the one who second-guesses herself and seeks affirmation from everyone around her.

  I’m a fucking warrior, and I don’t need anybody’s attention to make me feel vindicated. I polish my own crown.

  “Starting to think you were going to take that fuckin’ thing with you.”

  Damn it. “Have you been waiting the whole time?”

  “Looks like it, huh?” Sawyer smirks, shoulders big and overbearing as he sits atop the counter, palms pressed to the surface either side of his legs. “Why do you want to travel separate?”

  “Why you want to do it together?”

  “You think you can flash me that pussy and then let it outta my sight?” He shakes his head, chuckling. “You really dove in the deep end without learnin’ to swim first, huh?”

  “I’m not in over my head,” I snap. “You don’t intimidate me.” Liar.

  “Who said anythin’ about bein’ intimidated?”

  I frown, arms crossed over my chest as I stare him down, His gaze roves my attire, same clothes as yesterday, and his pupils dilate.

  “You want a shower before we head off?”

  “You saying I stink?”

  “Sayin’ I could lather you up so you don’t.” He hops off the counter, his boots making a hell of a thud as his heavy frame hits the floor. “Sound like fun?”

  “Are you like this with everyone?”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “I tried with Tap once, but he wasn’t too keen. Thought the guy liked men and all . . . .” He trails off, a smirk tugging at his lips.

  “Funny. Real funny.”

  “To answer your question, though.” He reaches out, running a finger down the middle of my tank, drawing a line between my breasts. “No, I’m not like this with all the girls. Only the interestin’ ones.”

  “Glad I pique your curiosity then,” I sass back, stepping out of reach. “I think I’ll pass on the shower though; might keep you away from me on the trip home if I stay stinky.”

  “Don’t pretend that’s what you want.”

  “I’m not.” He frowns as I retreat toward the door. “Just think it could be hazardous to your riding if you were preoccupied with other things.” Palms either side of the girls, I give my cleavage a boost, blowing him a kiss on my way out the door.

  His growl follows me down the corridor.

  Balance of power—restored.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Sawyer

  Fucking girl’s going to do my head in.

  Don’t know what the fuss is over anyway . . . .

  As if you’ve ever liked anyone.

  Thought a little intensity in the kitchen might sway her my way, and it almost did. She had that defiant look in her eyes, the one that says she knows she’s bitten off more than she can chew but she’s going to make a fine show of trying to eat it anyway. But then she blew that fucking kiss on her way out the door, letting me know the chase is on.

  She’s fucking with me, playing hard to get.

  Thing is, I’m never one to let prey go.

  Especially when it presents a fair workout to catch it.

  Still love you, Dana girl, but can’t stay celibate forever. She’d understand. Getting my dick wet doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what she meant to me. Just means I’ll be getting a little extra cardio on the side while I avenge what that fucker did to her. Not as if I’m looking for anything long-term. A little fun here . . . .

  A little blood there . . . .

  I yank the strap on my saddlebags a notch tighter. The leather complains; it’s not as though it needs to be shackled down so damn tautly, but if I’m not taking my pent-up frustrations out on this fucking strap, I could guarantee there’d be a few expensive machines in the garage that are a little worse for wear by the time I cruise out the gates.

  Abbey fusses with the truck in my periphery; making it damn fucking obvious she’s trying to attract my attention. Thought I had her this morning when she flashed me that pink pussy, but dang, the girl’s done a right one-eighty. She’s playing hard to get for sure.

  Maybe she is as equally fucked in the head as me?

  What you trying to say . . .?

  Come on—not as though we’re exactly over the moon about being stuck with each other, is it?

  Touché . . . .

  I throw my leg over the seat and unscrew the fuel cap, giving the machine a wobble between my legs to see where the level is. Damn gauge has been playing up for weeks, but Cedric, the young guy they have in the workshop here, isn’t quite as careful with his work as Fingers. I’ll be handing my keys over to the old boy as soon as we pull into Lincoln; wouldn’t trust anyone else with my ride.

  I replace the cap and make the fatal error of glancing up as a flash of light off chrome catches my attention. Fucking Abbey’s standing up on the front wheel of the F150, ass hanging out of her cut-offs for the entire world to see as she makes a show of wiping off the windshield.

  “That really necessary?” I call across the yard.

  “Will be when the sun starts to set,” she hollers back. “Makes it hard to see when the light hits this road grime.”

  She’s not wrong, but I’m not buying her excuse either. Didn’t look that bad to me.

  She hops down, her small but pert tits bouncing as her boots hit the dirt. I lean back, arms folded over my chest as she dusts her hands off and walks my way.

  “There anything around here I can use as a step?”

  “What for?”

  “Need to check the fluids before I start her up.”

  “Tire looked handy enough a few seconds ago.”

  “I can’t reach around the hood properly.”

  I roll my eyes and dismount. “All this necessary, Abbey-girl? Or a
re you just stallin’?”

  “You forget who I grew up with?”

  Right. She and Fingers were inseparable until she went AWOL earlier this year. “Think there’s a crate in the garage. Come on.” I jerk my head toward the open doors of the hangar-size shed and lead the way.

  She follows a safe distance behind, out of arm’s reach, otherwise I’d probably have pulled her close just to fuck with her some more.

  Keep telling yourself that . . . .

  What you getting at?

  We all know why you want her up against you, and it isn’t because you’re using her for her feminine qualities . . . . My devil waves his arms about, conducting an invisible orchestra. Fucker can be a right asshole at times.

  “This okay to use?” Abbey points to a steel toolbox that I know is full of chains.

  “If you can move it.” I step back and prepare to watch the entertainment unfold.

  She gives it a shove and the damn thing doesn’t move an inch. Hands on hips, she frowns, as though calculating her next move. The box has two handles on either end, and she squats down and takes hold of one in both hands. Her hamstrings stretch and go taut as she pushes her feet into the concrete and gives it her all to pull it across the floor. The box skids a little. Impressive. Backing up a step, she rubs her palms off on the butt of her shorts, and damn if that doesn’t liven things up in my jeans.

  “Are you going to help, or just stand there?”

  “Thought women liked to be independent these days?” I tease.

  She sighs, tossing her head back. Makes me want to lick her throat.

  “We like the opportunity to be able to do things ourselves. It doesn’t mean we don’t need a little help every now and then.”

  I chuckle, wandering over and motioning her to get out of the way with a jerk of my chin. She smirks as I bend my knees and grab both handles. Girl doesn’t think I can do it. Needless to say, it’s satisfying as hell when her eyes damn near bug out of her head as, with a heave, I lift the box clean off the floor and start walking it to the truck.

  My arms burn like hell; the thing has to weigh somewhere close to two hundred pounds. Every tendon in my neck is on fire with the strain to keep it at waist height, and I’m pretty sure I’ve popped a few of the new scars open in my arm, but like fuck I’ll give her the satisfaction of dropping this and admitting it’s too much, even for me. Fuckin’ long way to the truck. Didn’t remember it being parked so far from the doors.