And then I remember the pain. The violation. The horror.
My bike slides out from under me and goes spinning, rolling down the road like a boulder in an avalanche. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. It turns and scrapes along the pavement, smashing and sliding and grinding until it hits the row of motorcycles in front of us, slamming into a sexy little custom deal with a crunch and a violent screech.
I expect to go down after it, get trampled by the roaring rush of tires behind me, torn to pieces by my friends and family.
That doesn't happen. Instead, I end up in front of Gaine, smashed against his chest with my mind running in slow motion, imagining faces I knew and trusted leering over me. My mind goes blank again, totally white, and I slump against the handlebars while we roll to a stop.
I hear people shouting over the intercom, but I can't be bothered to listen to them. Vaguely, I recognize the voices, but I'm still lost in time, drowning in emotion. Each and every spot on my skin where Walker's blood touched me burns like fire, sinks into my flesh and poisons my bloodstream.
“Bastard took a fucking shot at her!” Kimmi.
“Which one?” Austin.
“Guy in the front with the beard. Shot out the front fuckin' tire. Austin?!” Gaine.
“I got him. Keep Amy safe.” Austin.
“No worries, Pres. Watch your woman, I'll blow his friggin' head off.” Beck.
“Keep it tame for now, Beck.” Austin.
Gaine is shaking me, flipping up his visor with one hand and cradling my waist with the other. I have no idea how he grabbed me mid-fall like that, but it's impressive. Maybe later, I'll remember to thank him for it. But that's pretty doubtful.
“You gonna be my Old Lady or not, Sawyer? I ain't got time for uppity bitches.”
Walker is dead, but I can still hear his voice. A decade later and I can hear it in my ear, unwanted, burrowing into my brain and scarring me in irreparable ways. Why, why, why? I'm tired of being the victim though. Thoroughly fucking exhausted by it.
“Mireya! Wake the hell up!” Gaine grabs my helmet and tosses it to the pavement where it bounces and skids to a stop just inches from the boots of the man who fired a gun at my fucking bike.
“I've always said it, but nobody listens,” the man in the front says. Will Walker. My mind goes white again, tries to cover up the pain and the hate and the anger. “Bitches can't ride. It's just a biological fact.”
There's something inside every one of us that will make us snap, that will turn us from people into animals. For me, it was this. My rapist, the brother of the man that betrayed me, is standing up in front of my MC telling me I can't ride? Without a second thought, I'm pushing away from Gaine and spinning off his bike. I see Austin and Kimmi, guns raised, faces stoic. Beck stands perfectly still, a smile on his sweaty face, no weapons in his hands. He doesn't need 'em.
Surreptitiously, I slip my fingers into Gaine's saddlebag and lift out the tire iron he keeps in there for emergencies. And this, this for sure qualifies as an emergency.
“State your business or get the fuck out of our way,” Austin says, standing tall and sandy haired, so beautiful I could cry. He was mine for awhile. Maybe not as often as I wanted or as deeply, but he used to belong to me. And now … My eyes shift back to Amy. Her eyes are wide, but to her credit, she doesn't look afraid. A religious Southern girl yanked out of the bible belt and bent over a freaking pool table now looks perfectly at home standing in the center of a ring of bikes, the people looking on all covered in tattoos and piercings, leather and hard lives. I hate her so damn much, but I respect her, too. The guy in front of me, Will, I just loathe the bastard.
Will just laughs and shakes his head like he can't even believe he's having to stoop to answer our Pres's question. This sort of disrespect has to be taken care of now, before word spreads and we end up the hunted rather than the hunters. I move a step forward and Will's greasy eyes swing to my face, glistening like old oil on pavement. I want to kill him, too. I won't lie. Taking this tire iron and bashing in the front of his skull would make my life damn near complete.
“Business? Austin Sparks, the brand spankin' new president of Triple M, has the audacity to ask me that stupid fucking question?”
“I think what he's trying to say, rather politely, I might add, is that you better get up and fuck off before we blow your Goddamn brains out. How's that sound?” Kimmi asks, not caring that her breasts are holding center stage, bulging out the top of her leather corset and bouncing when she takes another step forward. I love that woman. Bravest damn bitch I know. She thinks I hate her, but that isn't true. I just want her to think I do. Don't ask me why. I don't give out my secrets.
Kimmi flips some red-orange hair over her shoulder and adjusts the sunglasses on her face, pushing them up and flicking her tongue across her lips.
“One of you boys better answer me real quick or I'm going to get angry here, and you don't want to see me angry.” She laughs and her earrings sway in the breeze.
“What are you doing with that?” Gaine whispers from behind me, but I ignore him, crossing my arms over my chest and hiding the tire iron in the folds of me leather jacket. From above, the sun beats down on the black fabric and heats me up from within, boiling my rage into a frothing fury. It's one thing to disrespect me, but to disrespect my bike? There aren't even words to describe how I'm feeling right now. Blank, white hot, empty, pissed. My hands are shaking, but I don't let anyone see.
“Where the fuck is Tray?” Will asks, but I'm sure he already knows. He keeps looking at me with this little flicker in the back of his dark eyes. He knows what happened to his brother.
“How the hell should I know?” Austin begins, arm poised and steady, holding the gun perfectly still. He never wavers, but his eyes slide along the group of men in front of us, taking in their stances, the weapons that he can see, the ones he can't. There isn't a single woman among them. Pity. I'd have liked some of my old friends to see me now, see what they're missing out on.
“He's six feet under if he's lucky. Rotting forgotten in a morgue while the police pretend to give a shit, if he's not.”
Will's nostrils flare, but he doesn't look at me. A few faces turn my way, but they don't stay, hovering there, remembering when I was Mrs. Walker, when I rode with Bested and smiled the whole way, before things changed, before my world was destroyed and my life shattered into fragments that I'm still working on picking up, piece by piece. Behind me, bodies shift and clicks sound loud as jets in the quiet air.
Let's just hope nobody accidentally stumbles upon us. MC business should stay MC business. Period.
“We don't want any trouble now,” Austin says, and I can't help but see the way Amy's lips part when she's looking at him. Even though I shouldn't be able to, I swear I can hear her sigh from here. Ugh. I look at my bike lying fucked and forgotten on the concrete, glad that I sold off my custom piece last year. Better she found a home between someone else's thighs than get trashed like this. “Tray and Kent had something going on that I don't know nothin' about. We've moved on, and I suggest you do, too. Let sleeping dogs lie if you catch my drift.”
Will takes a step forward and the men behind him shift, muscles tensing, terrible prison tattoos winking at me from empty eyed skulls and the faces of big breasted women. Austin does the same and violence sifts through the air like flour, coating each and every one one of us. Even little Amy looks like she could throw a punch or two. But it's not going to go that far, not yet. This is all a formality here, a chance to strut and throw muscular chests around, grunt like friggin' animals.
“I killed him,” I say, moving just another few inches forward, towards my damaged bike. “I slit that pig's throat and laughed while the blood flowed from him like rain. If I could, I'd have carved him into bacon and sizzled a bite for you to savor.” I grin, and I don't hold back. I don't care how crazy I look or sound, it's nothing compared to the inner turmoil inside of me. I think again of the other girls, the ones that stayed with Bested by C
rows. What ever happened to them? Did they suffer the way I suffered? Do they suffer?
I make sure all these stupid fucks can see in my eyes how much I despise them, how little worth I see in them. If I could, I'll kill each and every one one of them right now, strike them down with lightning and watch their corpses sizzle. The world would be better off that way. Besides, Mireya Sawyer knows how to carry a grudge and she firmly believes in the whole an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth thing. I will extract my vengeance, one way or another.
Finally, I get Will's attention and he swings his 9mm over to me, focusing the sight on the center of my chest. He wants to shoot me just as much as I want to smash this tire iron into his face, but he knows that the second either of us moves, the rest of our people move and neither will benefit. We'll all go down in a hail of gunfire and find ourselves on the way to hell, bodies still and bathed in blood, bikes abandoned.
“You miss my dick, bitch?” he asks me, but I don't respond. I reach out and grab the handlebar of my poor Bonneville, yanking her up with a scream of metal and the cry of an abused engine. She's trashed, absolutely friggin' trashed. I let go and the spirit in the metal dies, flitting away in the heat soaked afternoon to whatever heaven there is for machinery. When she hits the pavement again, she's just a hunk of parts and discarded faith.
“You owe me a fucking bike,” I say as I turn to face Will fully. He looks out at me from under his dark, shaggy eyebrows and the thin lips under his beard twitch imperceptibly.
“And you owe me a fucking brother. What are you gonna do about that, Mrs. Walker? Can't exactly head down to the dealership and pick up another.” I smile because I can tell he doesn't believe me. He doesn't really think his brother's dead.
“It's Sawyer,” I say, lifting my chin and squeezing my fingers tight around the metal under my coat, not so much to make sure I don't drop it but rather to keep myself in check, to make sure I don't use it. “Tray and I got a divorce after he raped me. Don't tell me you've forgotten?”
“You might've been divorced on paper, but it was never made official in the group, Mrs. Walker. By all right and reason, you belong to Bested by Crows. Now, why don't I make you an offer you can't refuse? You tell me where Tray is and you come ride along with us and forget your busted bike. We'll call it all even and the rest of y'all can go on your way. I don't give a fuck what you did to Kent Diamond or anybody else.”
I laugh then, eyes focused on Will, waiting for that perfect moment when he realizes that I'm not kidding around, that I really did take that blade that Beck gave me, that I slid it along Tray's stubbled throat.
“Will, you're living in a world of your own creation, a disillusion so strong it's got its hands wrapped around your throat. One day, you'll wake up and you'll realize what it is that you've been missing, but by then, it'll be too late.”
I pull the tire iron out of my jacket and get rewarded with a chorus of hammers clicking back, ready to pump me full of holes. I lay it on my shoulder and turn around, watching the toes of my boots as I move forward towards the row of gleaming metallic beauties before me. In the past, I might've climbed onto the back of Austin's bike, but today, that's no longer an option for me.
I raise my chin and spot Gaine staring at me, dark hair almost red-brown in the sunlight, eyes hard and unyielding. Nobody moves and nobody speaks as I drop my weapon back into his saddlebag and climb up behind him, sliding my arms around the hard body of the nicest man I've ever met.
The one I refuse to fall in love with.
The intercom stays quiet for awhile. Nobody's willing to weigh in on what just went down between the two MCs. There's a lot of bad blood between us, and now, it's startin' to spoil like roadkill in the hot Southern sun. This can only end bad, we all know that. Our only goal from this point forward is going to make sure that it ends worse for them than it does for us. My only goal is to keep Mireya safe, mentally and physically. Right now, with her wrapped tight around me, fingers twitching gently on my belly, I can almost pretend she's gonna let me, that she's going to smile up at me and touch her hands to my cheeks.
“First stop in the next town, I'm getting myself a new ride,” she growls through the crackling microphone, shattering my illusion with a single sentence. Mireya Sawyer is tough, I get it. And she doesn't need anybody to watch over her. Doesn't mean I don't want to though.
“I don't think so,” Austin replies, taking the lead, playing Road Captain just the way he's always done. I think he's going to have to learn to delegate, but I haven't had the chance to bring that up yet. Right now, Beck and I are just trying to make sure he stays afloat as President. It's not easy to fall in love, kill an old friend, and take over a motorcycle gang in a single week. “Mireya, you need to learn that there are boundaries for a reason. You damn near got yourself shot back there. You're riding with Gaine until I decide otherwise.”
“The fuck, Austin?” Mireya screams, and I swear, I see a few bikes swerve at the outburst. “I'm not taking any Goddamn orders from you.”
“Then you're out, Sawyer. This isn't a game. You'll listen to what I have to say or you'll leave. That's the way it is. And don't even say what I think you're gonna say. This has nothing to do with Amy and everything to do with you.” Austin pauses. “And this isn't a man/woman thing neither, so don't even start on that.”
“You cock sucking son of a – ”
“Ain't that a little harsh, Austin? I mean, it isn't Mireya's fault she got her bike trashed.” Maybe I shouldn't speak up, but I can't help myself. Austin might be my best friend, but when it comes to Mireya, he never knows what to do, never has. He's been stringing her along forever without even realizing it. Man's as dense as a week old loaf of bread, but just as tough. I know I should cut him some slack, but I just want to see Mireya happy. That fear I felt when I got that phone call from Amy really lit my ass on fire. I can't rest until I convince her to take me – mind, body, and soul. I'd like to call her mine, too, but I'm not holding out for that. Mireya isn't a woman that wants to be owned or tamed.
“Fuck off, Gaine,” she snarls, squeezing me tight. Wish it was out of affection and not anger, but hey, I'll take what I can get. I can feel her full breasts smashing against my back, can practically taste the heat between her thighs. She's crushed so tight against my spine that I can't miss the warmth contained there in that blessed domain. Like a needle to my veins, Mireya gets into me and swirls around my bloodstream, poisons me with need and desire. I'm so wrapped up in her that I barely hear the rest of the voices coming through the intercom.
“I think I'm going to be sick,” Amy whispers softly, and Beck starts laughing like he's trying to cough up a damn hairball, making highly inappropriate pregnancy jokes while he's at it. Austin tells him to shut the fuck up, but it's Mireya who finally puts a stop to the nonsense.
“Beck, you insensitive sack of shit, this is Amy's hometown. Show some respect.”
The group goes silent as we approach the faintly lit sign on the side of the road. It's just about dark out now, so it's hard to make out the words Welcome to Wilkes, Friendliest Little Town There Ever Was, but there isn't really a need to. Amy breathes them against the mic like a curse, and I swear, I can hear her heart pounding from back here. Or maybe that's Mireya's. Maybe she's remembering the moment she laid eyes on the little brunette and lost her chance at Austin forever. I clamp my hands tight on the handlebars and resist the urge to reach down and curl my fingers around hers.
“We'll stay at the same place as last time. Finances are all screwed up right now, so let's make it two a room, just for now.” There aren't many complaints at that. Most folks end up shackin' up together anyhow. “Don't talk to anybody else, don't fuck anything up, got it?” A chorus of shouts and cheers ring through the mic, weak at first, but getting better. Losing Kent was like cutting off a diseased limb. It ain't so pretty at first, but in the long run, it'll make everything better. With Austin at the helm, we can't go wrong. “Beck, Gaine, Kimmi, Mireya, meet me in the bar a
fter everything's settled and we'll talk.”
“You got it, boss,” Beck says, laughing maniacally, like there's something actually funny about that.
We roll into the little town like a dark curse, idling up next to silver SUVs and mud covered trucks. We don't fit in here, that much is obvious. And now that the festival's over, we might not be welcome. I don't tell any of this to Austin though as we park best we can in the remaining spaces in the garage. There's no cordoned off section for us this time, no welcome mat. I can only imagine the look on the faces of the folks behind the counter when we march inside, chains rattling, tattoos bright under the fluorescent lights, and ask for twenty-five odd rooms.
Mireya slides off the bike like I'm offensive to her somehow and tosses her borrowed helmet to me, swinging her ebony hair over her shoulder and combing it out with her long, bronze fingers. I watch her through my visor and try to wait her out. Wouldn't help if I waltzed inside with a massive hard-on cloggin' up my jeans. If she notices, she doesn't let on and turns away, watching Amy with narrowed eyes as Austin takes her face between his hands and kisses her hard and fierce, like he'll never get enough. And I know he won't. She's his soul mate, that girl. I hope he gets the balls and realizes it soon. I can't tell my girl how I feel, so he better damn well take advantage of the fact that he can.
As soon as Mireya's attention is diverted, I take my helmet off and climb off my bike, giving the girl a gentle pat to tell her how proud I am. I swear, my little baby has a soul. Ain't nobody gonna tell me otherwise.
With a smile, I turn to Beck and watch him ruffling up his red hair, grinning like the asshole I know he is. Fucker's got a pair on him, too. Bravest dumb ass this side of the Mason-Dixon.
“Room with me?” I ask him as he brushes dust off his pants and winks at Kimmi's girlfriend, drawing a smile from the girl even as Kimmi flips him off.
“Nah, brother. Tonight, I'm performing a public service and making sure the ex Mrs. Diamond doesn't get herself into no trouble.” Beck stands up straight and leans in close to me. “We're hittin' the bar tonight and then after, well, if she needs some comforting, I'll be right there at her bedside with my entire body at her service.” I roll my eyes and curse under my breath.
Loving Me, Trusting You Page 2