Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3)

by Max Henry

He sighs, opening his mouth to speak, yet shutting it just as quick. Rejection strikes me like a hot iron as he shakes his head and turns away, walking the last few feet to the bike.

  It’s begun: the frustration, the confusion, and ultimately the rejection.

  Before long, Sawyer too will give up on the mess that is the wild child trapped in her gilded cage of fear.

  Fear of rejection.

  Fear of not being enough.

  And ultimately, fear of finding out who she really is . . . and not liking that girl one fucking iota.

  This, right here, is why I never let people in.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Sawyer

  “We’re about an hour out,” I tell King as I sit on my parked bike and watch a mother wrestle her child into their car seat across the way. “Abbey needed another fuckin’ nature stop.”

  King chuckles down the line “It’s a woman thing, man.”

  “Nope,” I argue. “It’s all those goddamn energy drinks she lives off.”

  The mother shuts the door of her car and takes a moment to suck in a deep breath before opening the driver door. Yeah, love. Don’t we all need to do that from time to time.

  “Heard you took her on a field trip last night.”

  “Vine works fast,” I muse. “Tuck never was able to keep his trap shut.”

  “That guy has more secrets than even you could shake a stick at, brother. He just likes to look out for our girl as well.”

  Our girl . . . .

  Yeah, I didn’t like that either.

  “Don’t you trust me to take care of her?” I growl, fingers turning white with the grip I have on the phone.

  “You ain’t exactly got the smoothest track record there.”

  “Thanks for throwin’ it back in my face.”

  “Sawyer . . . .” King sighs. “Not about to start this fuckin’ conversation when you’re on the road, okay?”

  Fair enough. I shouldn’t give him so much shit—he’s just trying to do what he thinks is best for me. Hell, when half the southern states were gunning for my ass he was one of the few that thought I deserved a second chance.

  Right after he dumped you back in your father’s lap, knowing that meant you were as good as dead . . . .

  Yeah, but I ain’t, am I. And besides, I deserved that.

  “Tap shouldn’t be far behind by now,” King says, breaking the silence I created.

  I cast my gaze across to the coffee shop in time to see Abbey walk out with a giant cup of some frothy fucking concoction in hand. Jesus. Does the woman ever eat anything real? She seems to function on a mix of high-sugar, high-caffeine drinks. Going to do something about that. No girl of mine is allowed to treat her temple that badly under my watch.

  “Better go,” I tell King. “Li’l Miss Shy is on her way back to the truck.”

  “Li’l Miss Daredevil, more like,” he says.

  “We talkin’ about the same girl?” I muse. The Abbey I’ve seen these past few days has been caged, holding back.

  “Oh, man,” King says with a laugh. “Have you given our girl a crush?”

  “What?” So not ready to have this conversation yet. I’d planned on keeping things on the down low once we got back to Lincoln to keep my mind on task.

  And to give her a chance to rethink what she says she wants out of me.

  “If she’s gone quiet, man, she’s totally into you. Isn’t that how girls work?”

  “Nope, scared of me more like.” I pucker up and give her an air kiss as she nears me.

  The rise of her cheeks goes pink, her lips puckered around the straw she so diligently sucks on.

  Could put that skill to use somewhere else . . . .

  One of the few times I agree with you.

  “You’re so full of shit,” King says with a laugh. “See you when you get here.” He disconnects.

  I pocket my phone and stretch both legs out as she stops before me. “What you got there?”

  “Salted Caramel Mocha Frappuccino.”

  “I don’t think you said anything that made sense other than salted caramel.”

  “Try it.” She tips the plastic cup toward me.

  I frown.

  Bitch steps closer, tapping the green straw on my bottom lip. “Come on, pretty boy. You know you wanna.”

  I open my mouth enough to let her slip the tip of the straw inside, and besides the caramel, I can taste her on the plastic before I start sucking. Fuck it all if my dick doesn’t get hard at how erotic she can make a goddamn Starbucks drink.

  “How’s that?” Her gaze is hooded as she watches me lick my lips.

  “Better than I gave it credit for.”

  “Mmm.” She pops the straw back in her mouth and turns away, swinging that tight little ass as she walks the few feet to the truck. “Ready to go?”

  Fuckin’ more than she knows.

  ***

  Forty-eight minutes later we’re waiting at the gate to the Lincoln compound. Yeah, I may have pushed her to go a little faster. The raging fucking boner trying to punch a hole in my jeans most of the trip might have had something to do with that.

  She fucks like a damned angel, and she has no hang-ups about the sick shit I do to let off steam. Then she goes and teases me with a fucking frappe-what-the-fuck-ever-it-was.

  The girl’s toxic.

  And this sick fucker loves poison.

  You’re such a lovesick fool . . . .

  What can I say? When I find the rare ones that fit my bent mold, I fall hard and fast.

  Much like this goddamn prospect is going to if he doesn’t open that motherfucking gate any quicker.

  “You need to do your fuckin’ job and clean the tracks, you lazy piece of shit,” I yell at him over the sound of my engine.

  His eyes go wide as saucers, and the kid pulls some extra muscle out of his ass to get the damn thing wide enough for us to pass through. I swing left, taking the bike straight to Fingers for him to work his magic, while Abbey backs the truck into its park to the right of the doors.

  “You didn’t come all that way just to see me?” Fingers teases as I kill the engine and kick the stand out. He wipes his hands off on a rag, and wanders over. “Givin’ you any trouble?”

  I dismount and look around at his new workshop, letting out a long low whistle. “Flash as, brother.” The guys rebuilt the garage ground up, adding a few bonuses for the old guy.

  “Everything I need,” he says with a smile akin to a proud father. “And still shiny as new. But you would have known that if you’d stopped by like you said you would when you saw Mack last week.” His smile falls to a quick frown.

  “I had other engagements.”

  He gives me a knowing nod, and then shifts his focus over my shoulder. The old wrinkled man’s eyes go soft and he holds out one arm. Abbey bypasses me and tucks herself into his side.

  “There’s my girl. How did the truck go with the new rings we put in?”

  “Much better. We should have done it six months ago.”

  “I know.” He gives her a squeeze and lets her go.

  Touching your things again . . . .

  Seriously—stop reminding me.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Guess I’ll go find the boss then, yeah?”

  Abbey watches me with a slight frown as I completely dismiss her and walk toward the door that adjoins the garage to the clubhouse. It’s not as though I want to be a complete asshole to her, more that if I so much as catch a whiff of her, touch her, or look at her too long I’m likely to pick her ass up and march it to the nearest flat surface so I can fuck the shit out of her.

  She was eyeballed by Rooster.

  Watched as she walked into the Starbucks by some frat boys.

  And hit on by the fucker at our last gas stop.

  And now Fingers—platonic as it is—having his hands all over her . . . .

  A man needs to claim his territory from time to time.

  Just that now isn’t the right time.

/>   King’s standing out on the back deck, watching his son run around and kick a ball with Callum. He turns as I approach, holding out a hand for a quick clinch on greeting.

  “You made it. Abbey still in one piece?”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “Serious. Is she?”

  I shake my head as he laughs.

  “You realize,” he says, “that without Cash around we’ve lost a connection to the men he dealt with. He had a unique channel to a couple of elite buyers.”

  Back it up. “We?”

  King turns his head to look at me again. “Yeah. I told Tuck I’d help in exchange for his assistance with our latest problem.”

  The one Tap said fell on King’s doorstep. “What is the problem now?”

  He huffs out his nose, frowning. “Bronx may have got himself tangled up with a girl while he’s undercover, a girl who also happens to be Tuck’s estranged daughter.”

  “Fuckin’ small world.”

  “That it is,” he says flatly. King leans back, checking behind us for I’m assuming the girl in question. “Don’t say anything though. It’s a long story, but basically she still thinks Tuck is her uncle until he can get here and explain otherwise.”

  “So how is any of this our issue?” I mean, I think Tuck is great and all that, but . . . .

  “We offered protection in exchange for manpower when we deal with Carlos.”

  “Well, ain’t that kind.”

  “As if I’d be able to turn him down anyway,” King mumbles more to himself than anything else. “Might as well make sure I get somethin’ out of it.”

  “What’s the current situation with that fucker who sired me? Any news?”

  King’s mouth quirks up in a lopsided grin. “No news. He’s blissfully livin’ out his days, unaware they’ll be his last.”

  I scoff. “He treats every day like his last. Asshole has that many enemies, I swear he doesn’t even take a shit without sweepin’ the room first.”

  “It’s a double-headed attack.”

  “How so?”

  King jerks his head toward his office. “Take this somewhere less open, shall we?”

  Abbey watches from where she now sits at the bar as King and I cross the common room to his office. I start to smile to ease her mind, but it quickly becomes something a whole lot less friendly when I see the fucker who’s working the bar—Dog—copping an eyeful of her tits while she’s distracted.

  She frowns as I change course. Dog looks up with a fair amount of panic painted across his pierced features, yet I’m stonewalled by fucking King blocking my path.

  “Office. Business first.”

  “You didn’t see the way this greasy fucker was eyeballin’ her,” I complain. “Where’s the respect, huh?” I shout across to the young blood.

  “I did see,” King growls, shoving me backward. “And so did she. It’s nothin’ he hasn’t been doing for fuckin’ months while you’ve been anywhere but here—physically and mentally.”

  Fuck it. He’s right. I don’t know what goes down here day to day. I’ve never been involved with the business side of things until this shit with my old man blew up, always choosing to live on the road, keeping my hands dirty for whoever offered the right price. I couldn’t have cared less—until he threatened my family—what he was doing to anyone else. I’ve been here, but not here at the same time.

  So you’re going to let him get away with it . . . .

  No choice, old buddy.

  Ducking my head, I let King manhandle me back into his office. My ass hits the seat with a whoosh as the air gets crushed out of the cushion. The slam of his door echoes around the room as he strides to his side of the enormous desk.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “Me?” I try deflecting with a joke.

  He stares me down, one hand absently stroking his beard.

  “I was kiddin’ when I said she must have had a crush on you. Shit man, we all know that Abbey is volatile when provoked, but she’s also quiet as a damn mouse.” He jabs one hand toward the closed door, other on his hip. “You messin’ with her?”

  “Depends what you classify as ‘messin.’”

  “What the fuck have you done?”

  His fatherly tone annoys the ever-loving shit out of me. “Nothing she didn’t fuckin’ beg for,” I rumble back.

  “That was uncalled for,” King levels, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Yeah? Well so is you questioning what’s goin’ on between me and Abbey.” I push out of the chair and stand, matching his stance. “She’s a woman who can make her own choices.”

  “Evidently the wrong ones.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What do you think it means?” King shouts. “She’s fragile, broken. She’s fuckin’ scarred. And you . . . .”

  “I’m what?”

  Give it to him . . . . My devil scoots to the edge of his seat.

  “You’re not the balance she needs.”

  Sucker punch right to the gut. “You self-righteous assholes all sound the same,” I sneer. “You, Hooch, and Tap. You all think you’ve got some fuckin’ magic insight into what she needs, but none of you want to accept the truth.”

  “Which is?” he challenges.

  “That Abbey the woman is nothing like Abbey the kid who first came here. But you bastards keep drillin’ lies into her, tellin’ her she’ll never be anything but socially awkward and a fuckin’ failure at life, and she believes it. She thinks she’s still that wild fuckin’ kid from ten years ago, but she’s not.” I pause, chest heaving as I catch my breath. “She’s so much more.”

  “You done yet?” His nostrils flare; I’ve angered him by questioning his motives for keeping Abbey shielded from the world around her, from relationships, dating, . . . love.

  “For now.”

  “Good. Sit down,” King instructs gently. “We’ve got business to talk over, and bickering over a girl that hasn’t got a thing to do with it is pointless.”

  I drop back into the seat, having said my piece. He’s right; arguing about her doesn’t help the more important topics at hand.

  Like judgment day . . . .

  Exactly.

  Time’s up, Daddy-O . . . .

  THIRTY-THREE

  Abbey

  “If you don’t quit staring at my chest, Dog, so fucking help me . . . .”

  He’s harmless, but it still doesn’t mean I appreciate it. And neither does Sawyer, judging by the stunt he just pulled.

  I wasn’t ready to let everyone know yet. Not that I knew what I was supposed to be telling them anyway. I haven’t figured out for myself where exactly we stand. I could bet on the response Ramona’s going to have when she hears about Sawyer and me, and it won’t be supportive, that’s for sure. A problem that, unavoidable as it is, I’d kind of hoped to hold off on for a while longer yet.

  “Fine.” Dog rolls his eyes. “You want a drink or anythin’ then?”

  The guy would be a catch if I didn’t already know his faults. Strong jaw, icy blue eyes, blond hair, and the most endearing smirk ever. Pity he’s earned his name from his habits in the bedroom. Perhaps if he had a few more morals when it came to how he treats others, he might find himself with women who want to stick around a bit longer.

  Then again, I think he enjoys the rotating view just fine.

  “I’m good for now.”

  Dog tosses the bag of ice in his hands into the freezer draw under the counter. “Heard that a few of the Cali boys are on the way as well, so thought it best somebody stock up. I seem to be the only face that’s here day in, day out, Pres excluded.”

  I look across the room at King’s closed door, as though if I look hard enough I can see Sawyer in there on the other side. He’s been hot and cold the whole journey home since our stop in Grand Junction. After the way he took me in the shower, I expected one or the other, not both.

  Does he want me? Or doesn’t he?

  Do I want him? No doubts
there. I’ve wanted the guy since I laid eyes on him as an impressionable preteen, only I didn’t know what the feelings were back then. Nobody had girly nights with me, I didn’t have any friends to discuss boys with, and the birds and the bees were taught to me by a stray copy of Penthouse left lying around the place.

  He’s easy on the eye, but he’s also broken, and what do women like to do? Fix things and nurture them back to health. Which is why he’s never had any shortage of interested women to pick from. A wallflower like me stood no chance of being noticed in a sea of gorgeous women who wanted nothing more than to be the one who redeemed his damned soul.

  Maybe that’s what he likes: I’m no ordinary woman, and fix him is not what I want to do in the slightest. When I picture us making a go of a relationship, I’m not trying to make him “normal.” I don’t want to change who he is. I want to make him need me as much as he needs that voice in his head. I want his broken parts to shine shattered sunlight on mine to make a stunning kaleidoscope of courage. I want the fact he’s fucked-up to make me feel okay that I am too.

  I want to feel welcome where I am, not like the outcast I’ve been the past twelve years.

  I’ll never be ungrateful for what Apex, or this club, gave me. How cold would that be? Apex gave me reprieve me from a life begging on the streets, and the club has given me a home. I think it’s fair to say without either I wouldn’t be here to tell my story.

  Yet, the one thing nobody’s been able to do is make me feel like I fit in.

  I’ve always been “Abbey, the wild kid.” “Abbey, the animal.” “That little bitch.”

  I’ve never been what anyone needs. And I want that more than ever: to be needed.

  “You still with us?” Dog jokes.

  I snap out of my daze and spin back to face him.

  “Yeah. Did I hear some of the southern guys before?” I was only half paying attention, and I’m not sure if I saw a few of the Fort Worth crew or if I imagined it.

  “Yeah. They’re out the back.”

  Anxiety, my old friend, sets in. “Hooch here?”

  “Well, duh. He is their president.”

  “Presidents don’t always travel,” I snap back.

  “When they’re meeting about war, they do.” Shit. Of course. “You look worried.”