Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3)

by Max Henry

  “You okay?” I twist back to face Sawyer as he frowns at the images.

  “Yeah.”

  Liar.

  He hesitates, cheek twitching as he looks at me. I can’t quite pick if it’s because that damn voice in his head is at work again, or if he’s holding back from saying something else. His gaze drifts out the window at the dimming light, the clouds having rolled around again.

  “We best get goin’ if you don’t want to be drivin’ all night with a wet shirt and your windows down.”

  “Probably be a good idea.” The longer we’re out here, the more I find myself longing to get back to Lincoln.

  I thought I could do this. I psyched myself up on the drive to Cali, but I guess when it all comes down to it, the scared little girl never went anywhere.

  She just learned to love the dark a little more.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Sawyer

  Her mood at the diner plays on my mind the rest of the journey. I can’t pick what changed. She was all sex and sass yesterday, leaning up against that clubhouse wall like the world would lie at her feet, and goddamn if it wouldn’t. Her confidence, her bite, it pulled me to her before she even opened her mouth.

  Word has been quiet from Lincoln until now. I moved across to be with the Cali boys, and the distance I wanted to put between the central chapters and myself happened naturally. Apart from the odd phone call with Ramona and Mack, the lines have been quiet. No word on what my father’s been doing—other than the incident with the fire—and no word on how that Butcher Boy is getting on being undercover with my old man’s current distributor. Not even a fucking peep about Abbey.

  I assumed they wanted to keep me out of club business so there was no chance I’d pull another stunt like I did in Fort Worth and fuck things up. Watching that news story splash images of the man whose license I have in my back pocket makes me think the plan wasn’t such a bad idea. Wherever I go, I cause trouble, and as it seems, sometimes I do it without even knowing I am. I didn’t take the radio silence to heart. I trust King, and I knew he’d tell me when it was time to put an end to my father’s tyranny.

  And he did. He sent me a fucking black-hearted angel to deliver the message.

  The time apart seemed good for Abbey, which only affirmed I made the right decision leaving. She was cocky, confident, and playful. But little by little the cracks have begun to show. She didn’t want to sleep alone last night. Today, she doesn’t want anyone anywhere near her. And now she seems as though she can’t even stand to be out in public.

  She’s becoming the Abbey-girl I used to watch with morbid curiosity as she scurried around the clubhouse, a rat-haired little kid cleaning up after the filthy pigs that were members at the time. She’s gotten worse than she was a month ago, if that’s even possible.

  You realize why she’s doing this . . . .

  What do you fucking think? If I knew, I wouldn’t be stealing glimpses of her in the side mirror of the truck, making sure she looks okay.

  You . . . .

  What the fuck about me?

  I’ve looked in her eyes. I’ve seen what hides behind . . . .

  Jesus—this asshole. Enlighten me, then.

  It’s dark and cold in there. It’s home . . . .

  The back tire of the bike steps out as I slam a hand heavily into the side of my helmet.

  Fuck you, asshole, you stay the hell away from her.

  Where you go, I follow . . . .

  I’ve never wanted to rip this defective brain from my head so damn bad. Why does he have to be there, watching, ruining everything?

  I am you, and you are me, and everything you touch, I can see, he sings, mocking me.

  He can’t be right, can he? Am I ruining her? Is she disintegrating because of me? Fuck it all—I never should have stolen that kiss from her. I should have backed the fuck away and kept my hands to myself, kept things uncomplicated. It was there, the apprehension and fear in her eyes, and yet like the selfish fucker I am, I pushed forward and took what I wanted anyway.

  I drift left and check her reflection. Flashes of her face come in sporadic bursts as we pass under the lights of the I-135. She seems okay enough, but . . . there . . . she fucking wipes her eyes. Jesus.

  The sign for the exit to Grand Junction is lit up ahead. I’ve got no idea how far she planned on traveling before we had a decent stop, but we’ve been at this over thirteen hours including the bite to eat, and I’m done. My legs went numb a while back, and now that I’ve stretched out, the most intense pins and needles throb in them.

  She applies the brakes as I speed ahead and cut in front, narrowly missing clipping the rear end of the car in the next lane over. I gesture toward the exit and lead her off, making sure she follows like the good girl she is.

  Fuck what she says. Fuck how she acted as a kid. This isn’t about common histories anymore; it’s about making sure her future is right. It’s about getting her to let go of who she was for long enough to believe she can be anything she wants to.

  I lead us through the town, bringing us to a stop at the first inn I come across advertising a decent nightly rate. I’m not above paying for quality, but when all I need is somewhere soft to lay my head I get a little twitchy at paying what some of these places ask for.

  Frugal bastard . . . .

  Don’t you know it.

  Abbey pulls into the empty park beside where I’ve stopped the bike. Her tires squeal when she slams the brakes on, the door of the Ford creaking in protest as she throws it open and marches my way.

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “Are you fuckin’ insane?” Hello: pot, kettle.

  Her eyes flash, and she tries another tactic. “Don’t you need to get back in a hurry or something? Like, don’t you have urgent club business?”

  I lift a finger and reach up to remove my helmet. She watches, arms folded, foot tapping a beat on the tarmac as I hang it off the handlebars and proceed to push my mask down around my neck.

  “If you need a—”

  “Just wait a second, girl.” I pull my phone out, holding her gaze the whole time as I swipe sideways and hit 1 to get to the preprogrammed number I need.

  She huffs out her nose, backing up two steps to lean her butt on the door of the truck. The evening’s cooled off quite a bit since the sun set, and she rubs her arms in an attempt to warm up as I bring the phone to my ear.

  The line clicks over after three rings. “How’s it going?”

  “All good here, King.”

  “Where you at?”

  “Stoppin’ off at Grand Junction for the night.”

  Abbey rolls her eyes, arms flopping dramatically to her sides.

  “She with you?” King asks.

  “Yeah, I’m keepin’ watch.”

  In more ways than one . . . .

  Fuck off.

  “Everyone happy?” he asks with a sigh.

  “Yeah, we all are.” King’s known me long enough; I know he’s referring to more than just the physical personalities on this trip. “Just think it’s best if we all get some rest.”

  “Good.” Shouting cuts through the line, and he curses under his breath. “I need to go, but you give me a call when you head off again, yeah? I’m not callin’ church until tomorrow, so you’re not missin’ anything.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I disconnect, a small smile playing on my lips as Abbey turns and wrenches the door to the truck open again. “I guess that’s settled, then, huh? No point asking me what I want.” She grabs a bag of clothes and slams the door shut. “Maybe I’ll feel better after a shower. Who fucking knows?”

  Jesus. She’s exactly like a tired and cranky toddler, refusing to admit she needs a nap.

  “What’s the real issue?” I dismount and step toward her.

  She’s literally vibrating. “I feel safer at Lincoln, okay?”

  “Safer.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  Why the fuck would King send her if he kn
ew she’d do this? “Don’t I make you feel safe?”

  Her gaze roams the length of me, and her mouth opens and snaps shut a few times before she finally picks her words. “Yes, and no.”

  “Well, that’s fuckin’ clear as day, then.”

  You’re under her skin . . . .

  Tell you who’s under my fucking skin—

  “Getting a room usually requires asking for one, you know.” She pointedly jerks her head toward the dimly lit office.

  “Yeah, I’ll get on that.” Shaking my head does nothing to clear the echoes swimming inside. It’s as though the devil’s seen what I want from her and opened the door to all the voices of my past. They swirl around in a painful eddy of doubts and questions.

  Have I broken her? Was she doing okay before I found her making up my room all those weeks ago, and it’s me who’s done this? The curse of Sawyer strikes, yet again . . . .

  Who else, you idiot . . .?

  I chase my usual hand to the head with another on the other side, just for good measure. If I’m going to make it through tonight without falling at her feet and begging her to tell me what the problem is, I’ll need to get a grip on things. Even so, I need to know; my mind won’t settle until I’m assured that I’m not the cause of her setback.

  But what if I am? What if she tells me that I’m the reason for this breakdown in her?

  Fuck.

  As if you’d ever have reason to doubt that you’re at fault . . . .

  Useless . . . .

  Broken . . . .

  Boy . . . .

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Abbey

  Why is it taking him so long? And why is it so fucking dark in this parking lot? One light? I mean, come on. How’s a girl supposed to feel safe around here?

  My heart physically hurts, it’s beating so damn hard against my ribs. Normally the dark doesn’t bother me too much anymore, but shit, after the headfuck Sawyer’s given me these last two days, I’m ruined.

  Fucking wildlife. Whatever the hell is clanging around in the rubbish needs a bullet. As does the flickering light at the end of the porch. Could this get any more horror movie clichéd?

  I wipe my free palm over the leg of my cut-offs, gripping the bag with my change of clothes tighter in the other. It’s a roadside inn, Abbey. Look at that car over there. A family would own that, a nice family. Or a serial killer who needs room for all the bodies he transports to hide in the woods.

  Get it together. Breathe. In, and out. There you go . . . .

  “You okay?”

  I snap my eyes open and find Sawyer standing before me, the single light near us directly behind him so I can’t see his face.

  “We got a room?”

  “Eager, huh?” His tone is teasing, so I’m going to guess he’s smiling too.

  “Tired, is all.”

  He walks toward a room two doors from where we parked and sticks the key card in the lock. “Explains why you’re shakin’ like a leaf then, huh?”

  How did he . . .?

  “This is us.” He pushes the door wide, feeling around on the wall until the room is flooded in light.

  I dash inside and hot step across to the far side of the room, placing the bed between the door and myself. Sawyer watches me with a frown, backs out the door, makes a show of looking both ways along the porch, and then finally comes back inside, closing the door behind him with a shrug.

  “I start to imagine things when I’m tired,” I lie. “Sort of like sleep hallucination or something.”

  “Looked to me like the hounds of hell were on your ass when you shot in here.”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “Whatever you say, Abbey-girl.” He proceeds to strip off, laying his cut over the chair and then pulling his T-shirt off in that one-handed sexy-as-fuck way only men can. “Feel free to get in that shower if you want it.” He drops his shirt to the floor and runs his thumb across his bottom lip. “I’ll give you a five-minute head start.”

  I didn’t pack the right equipment for the kind of shower I’m going to need with the way he’s currently looking at me. Give me strength. Plastering a forced smile on my lips, I back toward the bathroom door and sidestep inside. He chuckles as I slam it behind me and sag against the panel.

  My heart races, my chest tight, and my stomach churning in knots of worry. I just need a moment. Just a few minutes to settle this unjustified panic and get my ducks in a row.

  A deep, masculine moan filters through the thin walls, followed by the complaint of the bed as he presumably drops his massive frame onto it.

  Damn it all. Why does he have to be so goddamn beautiful? I’m not asking for much: a jagged scar here, a lazy eye there, and maybe a soft jaw and an overbite to round things off. But nooo, Sawyer has to be the most gorgeous mental case on the fucking earth.

  And he’s there.

  On the other side of the door.

  Making my resolve to be bold, brave, and not reliant on anybody but myself to make me happy, weaken.

  Years, I’ve been working on improving, building the right mind-set, and then one week in Lincoln with what can only be the offspring of an angel and the devil himself, and he reduced me to a withering mess. I missed him more than I’d like to admit while he was in LA, and I thought about him more than even he’d care to know. And as much as I tried to talk myself into being strong, to not letting him get to me this time around, all it took was a day.

  One damn day.

  Twenty-four hours to fall hopelessly in love with all his broken parts.

  It scares the ever-loving hell out of me to admit that. This trip has done nothing but cement how I really feel about the arrogant asshole, and in some way I wonder how much more King knew about me than even I did? I’m convinced our selfless president set this up so I had no choice but to come face-to-face with reality.

  There’s beauty in Sawyer’s destruction, and I’m attracted to it like the aftermath of a car crash; you know you shouldn’t look, but you just can’t help yourself . . . .

  The damn door doesn’t have a lock, which leaves me at his mercy, much to my unease. I drop my cut-offs and peel the tank off in record time, discarding my underwear on the way across the small room to the shower. Muted sounds of the TV filter through the wall as I crank the taps on. Thank God. If he’s distracted, then hopefully he really was joking.

  Still, the thought of him coming through that door and taking what he wants . . . . I stare at the panel, buck naked, almost willing him to act on his threat. Why does the thought of his hands rough around my neck as he shoves me up against the side of the shower have me so wet?

  I shouldn’t want that. After everything I underwent as a kid, the last thing I should want is a man being forceful with me. But it’s not just any man . . . it’s Sawyer. Only him. Thinking about one of the other guys at the club doing the same thing . . . it just doesn’t get the same response—even the good-looking ones, like Dog, or my guilty pleasure, Hooch. Nope, just Sawyer.

  I step in the shower and lather up with the complimentary soap, gaze trained to the pale blue door the entire time. The water cascades over my shoulders, running in rivulets off my hardened nipples. I’m wasting time, well and truly clean, hanging out in the shower in the hopes he wasn’t lying.

  It has to have been more than five minutes by now. And yet, he hasn’t come in. Because he’s doing what he does best: fucking with your head.

  I’m so fucking gullible. But still so fucking horny. Realizing I’ve been played doesn’t do a damn thing to ease this new ache in my gut. Might as well sort it myself then. My hand travels south, my back finding the wall under the showerhead. It’s been so long since I’ve let Hooch touch me in this way. Fuck, it’s been too long since I’ve done it myself. My eyes drift closed on images of Sawyer stripping, of his huge cock standing proud when he woke yesterday, his naked body when I slipped into his room. I give in, circling my clit with two fingers, my muscles pulsing in anticipation of the release.

  His
eyes.

  The way he looked at me as I worked on the Ford.

  His smirk.

  And the gravel tones of his voice when he calls me Abbey-girl.

  Holy fuck. I slip my fingers inside my swollen cunt, heel of my hand rubbing over my clit as I pump in and out. I’m so close, so wound, so tight . . . .

  “You started without me?”

  So busted.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Sawyer

  Abbey dripping wet, fingers buried in her slick pussy, and on the verge of orgasm is one hell of a sight when you’re not expecting it. I’m not sure what I thought I’d find, but it was more likely her showering in her underwear for privacy than masturbating.

  And clearly enjoying it . . . .

  Shut your eyes, asshole. This is mine to watch, not yours.

  “You started without me?”

  She jolts, almost slipping on the wet shower floor. I fucking meant it when I said five minutes, but after an urgent message from Tuck at the Devil’s Breed, it became closer to ten.

  “Ohmygod,” she rambles on a moan.

  Those damn fingers are still doing my work.

  Her eyes are hooded, watching my every move as I step out of my boxers. Her knees press tight, and I know if I don’t get in there now she’s going to finish without me.

  “Jesus, Abbey-girl,”—she groans as I say her name—“I hadn’t planned on it bein’ this soon.”

  Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as I open the glass door and step inside with her.

  “Stop touchin’ yourself.” I place both hands either side of her head and lean in close.

  I can smell her . . . .

  Yeah, me too. But I told you to fuck off. This is mine. All mine.

  Abbey’s hands drop away, her little fingers twitching with the need to get herself off. Not on my watch.

  “Now what?” she whispers, short of breath.

  Fuck talking. I’m all for showing, not telling. Her feet slip wide on the wet tiles as I shunt her legs apart with my knee. Her chest heaves, those pert as fuck nipples begging for attention. Her gaze locks with mine and she issues what looks to be a challenge.