by Chiah Wilder
“I’m getting a room at the motel for the night. Come stay with me.”
Her eyes widened. “I need to bring in some money tonight, but thanks.”
“I’ll take care of that. You’re all stuffed up, and you look like you’re miserable.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s your call.”
She watched him for a few seconds, suspicion shining in her eyes. And then she ran her gaze over him, slow and unabashedly. The ringing phone broke in on her assessment of him, and she groaned when she looked down at the screen.
“What do you want now?” She brought her slender fingers to the base of her throat. “Who told you I was still in the diner? You got people spying on me? Really, Bobby? Anyway, I’m just getting ready to go back out.”
Paco saw her face tighten and her fist clench. I should take off. Why the fuck am I getting in the middle of this shit she has going on? The truth was he wanted to help her. She seemed as if she’d stumbled into a world in which she didn’t belong. It was like she lost her way, and for reasons he couldn’t articulate or even understand, there was something about her that touched him.
She placed the phone inside her skimpy short jacket. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
He chuckled. “No. Are you?”
Shaking her head, she laughed, and it was sweet and soft and sparkling like dew on green grass in the spring. Scooting toward him, she grabbed her purse and stood up.
Without saying anything, he walked over to the cashier and paid the bill. Holly reclined against the wall, watching him intently. Several men at the counter stared at the young woman who stayed close to him. He told the cashier to give Holly her tip, and then he walked outside into the freezing rain, the woman following.
He opened one of the saddlebags and took out his waterproof motorcycle jacket. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Put it on. It’ll keep you dry.” She slipped it on and jumped on behind him. The roar of his Harley competed with the howling wind, and as he rode away, he caught a glimpse of Holly standing by the window, her face pinched.
Roady’s Motel looked like hundreds of others off interstate highways strewn across the country. It had two sets of external metal stairs leading to the second floor. It wasn’t a total dump from the outside, but it looked like the type of place that travel-weary people stayed alongside drug dealers, pimps, and prostitutes.
Fitting the key into the doorknob, Paco turned it, opened the door, and switched on the overhead light. The room had one large bed, two chairs, and a small table. A TV sat on top of a scratched-up long dresser. He closed the door behind him and looked sideways at the woman, who stood quietly by the bed.
“What’s your name?” he asked as he dropped a small satchel on the table.
She jumped. “Misty. What’s yours?”
“Paco. You need to use the bathroom?” She shook her head. “I’m gonna get out of these wet clothes.” Before he closed the bathroom door, he looked behind him. “And don’t think of stealing any of my shit. I’m not gonna be happy if I have to track you down in the rain.” Without waiting for her to answer, he closed the door.
Twenty minutes later, he came out with a towel wrapped around his waist, his wet clothes in hand. Going over to the closet, he saw that Misty hadn’t moved an inch since he’d gone into the bathroom. “Have a seat. You want something hot to drink?”
“I’m good,” she said, going over to the bed and sitting on the edge of it. “I’m not feeling so good.”
“Don’t mind me. Go to sleep if you want.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her watching him, her gaze focused on his bare chest as he hung up his clothes. He turned toward her. “Like what you see?”
Quickly, she averted her gaze and stood up. “I’m going to take a warm shower. I’ll be done soon.” She scurried out of the room.
Grabbing the remote control, he went over to the satchel on the table and took out a bottle of whiskey. Spotting four glasses next to the television set, he nabbed one and poured a generous amount of booze into it. He propped a pillow behind his back and leaned against it, switched on the TV, and then took a deep drink. The whiskey tasted smoky and sharp, and it burned its way down his throat into his belly. Fuck that’s good. He poured a bit more into the glass.
Misty came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her small frame. Her hair was damp and smelled like almond and cherries, and he was glad he’d left the complimentary bottle of shampoo for her. Her hair looked darker than it had in the diner. It was long, shiny, and almost black. Her skin was smooth, and he figured she wasn’t a meth user like a lot of the women he’d seen sniffing around the trucks earlier when at the diner. Her complexion was clear, her lips heart-shaped, her brows perfectly formed, and her dark lashes framed the most amazing eyes he’d ever seen. The tattoo of a crown with the initials “EZR” underneath was interesting, and he wanted to see what other tats she had on her body, underneath the towel.
“Do you like what you see?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she walked over to the bed.
Fuck yeah, sweetheart. “You feel better?”
“Yes.” She began to take off her towel.
He stood up, went over to his case, and took out a T-shirt. “Put this on,” he said, handing it to her.
Confusion crossed her face. “Why? Don’t you want me naked when you fuck me?”
“I’m not gonna fuck you. Why don’t you try and get some rest?”
“Wait. I thought you wanted me to stay with you so I could earn my quota. I’m not in the habit of giving freebies. If you’re not going to pay me, then I need to get back to the truck stop.” Her voice quivered slightly.
“Don’t get so fucking bent out of shape. I said I’d pay you. I just don’t wanna fuck you. You’re sick and you need to sleep. I’m just helping you out.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she thumped her foot on the carpet. “You pity me?”
“I didn’t say that.” He sat back on the edge of the bed and took another long drink.
“You don’t find me attractive? I’ll have you know I have no problem getting plenty of men who want sex.”
Quirking his lips, he eased his eyes up and down her body. “I don’t doubt that. And I think you’re damn attractive, but I don’t pay to fuck, sweetheart. I’m offering you a warm room, a good night’s sleep, and no worries about hustling your ass with a lot of old men with beer guts who probably haven’t showered in a while.” He switched the channel on the TV.
She stood there for several minutes, holding the T-shirt, staring at him. He kept watching the screen, keenly aware of her presence, the scent of cherry blossom roping around him. Fuck, she smells good. He adjusted his boxers, trying to ease some of the ache in his groin. I could bang her and relieve some stress.
For the past three weeks, he’d been at his sister’s in Richfield, Utah, helping her out while she gave birth to a third boy. His brother-in-law was in Afghanistan, and when Kendra called and asked him to be with her when her baby was born, he didn’t hesitate; he jumped on his Harley and made a beeline for Richfield. Kendra was the only family he had. He’d always looked after her, especially after their father murdered their mother.
Images of blood-smeared walls pushed through his mind, and he closed his eyes tightly as if to squeeze the memory out of his brain.
The bed moving brought him out of the past, and he looked sideways and saw Misty slip between the covers. A low chuckle escaped from her lips. “I’ve never been in bed with a guy without fucking him.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t want her, it was just that he didn’t want it like that.
What the hell’s up with me?
“Get some sleep. You’ll feel better.”
The guys at the club would never believe that he was next to a pretty woman who was naked under his T-shirt, willing to fuck, and he didn’t go for it. Hell, I don’t believe I’m just sitting here, drinking whiskey and staring at the TV instead of fucking
her good.
Turning toward her, he saw her body move up and down with each breath she took, and he could feel the warmth radiating from her. Shit.
Her breathing became deeper, and he knew she’d fallen asleep. He watched her for a long while, finished the whiskey, and then switched off the lights.
* * *
Sunlight filtered through the tears in the worn curtains, illuminating the shadowy corners of the room. Paco glanced over at Misty, watching the way the rays danced over her body before finally resting softly on her skin. In the morning light, her hair was as black and glossy as a puddle of spilled ink, her slightly parted lips pink like strawberry ice cream. Without thinking, he reached out and stroked her cheek, and her eyes flew open as she jerked backward.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, getting up from the bed. His head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as he went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. When he came back into the room, her back was against the headboard, her knees drawn up close to her chest. “It stopped raining.” He looked out at the parking lot and saw several large trucks heading to the highway.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“By the four corners in Colorado. Have you ever been there?” He kept his back to her, watching the convoy of semis leaving the truck stop across the street.
“Yeah, but I didn’t see much.”
“Where’re you from?” There was no answer. He turned around and looked at her. She smiled weakly, pulled at the sheet, and shrugged. “You don’t know where you’re from?”
“I gotta get going. I didn’t mean to spend the night.” She threw off the sheet and, as if on cue, her phone rang. Fear etched her face as she stared at her phone on the nightstand. “I better answer this,” she mumbled as she grabbed the phone and headed to the bathroom.
Paco stuffed his dry clothes into his satchel, then slipped his boots on. Glancing at his watch, he figured he’d make it back to Alina in a little over two hours.
“You going?” Misty asked.
He whirled around and saw her propped against the wall, arms hugging her small frame. “Yeah. I paid for the room, so you got a few more hours until checkout. How’re you feeling?”
“Better. Thanks.” She fidgeted in placed. “Uh… didn’t you say you were gonna pay me?” He opened his wallet and counted out five hundred dollars, then tossed the money on the bed. With wide eyes, she shook her head. “That’s too much. He’s gonna know something’s up.”
“How much is normal for you?”
“A really good night, I can bring in five hundred bucks, but last night was raining, so about two hundred fifty. I already have a hundred, so one fifty’s good.”
Surprised at her honesty, he held her gaze. “Take the rest for tonight. You can spend another night here. You still sound sick.”
“I don’t want you feeling sorry for me. I can take care of myself.” She picked up the money, took what she needed, and threw the rest back on the blanket along with his T-shirt.
“Go ahead and keep the shirt.”
“I can’t.”
He shrugged and picked up the T-shirt and money except for two fifties. “You can pay your tab and have something just in case you don’t feel good tonight.”
Slowly she stretched out her arm and snatched the two bills. “You must be rich. What do you do?”
“I own a surplus store.” He picked up his leather jacket.
“What’s that?”
“I sell military surplus clothing and gear. I also have a large biker section for leather cuts, jackets, boots, and other things.”
“I never heard of a surplus store. Do you sell camouflage shorts and T-shirts for women?”
“No shorts, some tees.”
“Where’s your store at?”
“Alina. I gotta get going.” He bent over and picked up his satchel. A soft hand touched the top of his; he looked down and then at her.
“Thanks for everything. I mean it. I don’t meet people who don’t want something from me.” She leaned over and brushed her lips across his cheek.
Straightening up, he ran his fingers through her soft hair. “Take care.” He opened the door and left the room. As he walked to his Harley, he felt her eyes on him, but he didn’t look back. He had no reason to take one last look at her before he left. She wasn’t anything to him, just a girl who’d felt like shit and needed the night off. When he was hitchhiking around the country—after his return from Afghanistan—he’d depended on the kindness of strangers when he was broke. He’d now paid it forward by helping a stranger in need.
Swinging his leg over the seat, he switched on the engine and drove away, fighting the urge to see her one last time. Blending into traffic, he welcomed the rush of the cool air as he soared down the highway. As far as Paco was concerned, he couldn’t get back to the clubhouse fast enough.
Chapter Two
Misty stood in front of the Walmart bulletin board, scanning the flyers of missing persons. A picture of a smiling teenage girl with long dark hair and eyes stared at her. It was an achingly ordinary school portrait with the branches of green leaves background. The girl’s smile was self-conscious, her hair too perfect. Above the picture, the word “Missing” was in bold, red lettering. The flyer listed the girl’s age to be fifteen at the time she went missing and indicated that she had pierced ears.
Bile burned its way up her throat, and it felt like she was in a box where the walls kept closing in on her. Black spots floated before her eyes and she looked over her shoulder. I know Bobby’s found parking by now. I can’t let him see this. Grabbing the flyer from the board, she ripped it in half and then again. Dashing over to a trash can, she saw him coming into the store. She threw away the pieces of paper and took several deep breaths.
“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, a look of suspicion in his eyes.
“Just throwing away a tissue. Did you have to park far?”
He looked down into the trash can, then back at her. “Not too far. Let’s go check out the lingerie.” Bobby gripped her hand and they went into the store.
Ever since she’d turned over the money Paco had given her, Bobby had been in a good mood. He’d even let her stay in and sleep the night before, making Crystal and Amber Jade hustle even harder. The two women hated her anyway, and she was sure they were going to plan something to get back at her. They blamed her for Bobby making her his special woman. She was allowed to stay with him in the RV while the other two women had to share a small camper. He never spent the night with them, though he occasionally had sex with them to spite her when she made him mad.
“You like this?” He picked up a purple lace mesh top with a G-string.
“It’s pretty,” she said, but her mind was on the picture of the girl on the bulletin board.
Chelsea Sullivan. I was her a lifetime ago.
“You seem distracted. What’s going on?” Bobby stared at her intently.
Her stomach twisted in several knots. Under no circumstances did she want to break the good mood he’d been in. When he was in a foul mood, he could be very cruel. Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, she stroked his cheek. “I’m just happy you’re buying me something so pretty, that’s all.”
A tense pause filled the space between them, and then he tugged her to him and hugged her. “You’re my good girl. You want some cold medicine?”
“That’d be great. I know if I had some, I’d feel so much better faster.”
“Yeah. Tonight I need you out there. I can’t keep giving you time off.” Her heart sank but she kept her smile and nodded. “You can wear this under your coat. No way any of those whores can compete with you.” He dropped the lingerie set into the cart and steered it toward the pharmacy.
As they maneuvered the aisles, she saw a man ahead of them wearing a leather jacket with writing on the back. The bottom read “Colorado.” Is Paco back in town? Butterflies erupted inside her as they passed the tall man. She looked quickly at him and her heart fel
t like it was shrinking. It wasn’t him.
Since he’d left the day before, all she could think about was him. He was different from any man she’d ever met. When she’d entered the diner that stormy night, she noticed him immediately. How could she not? With his dark brown hair, chocolate-brown eyes, and square jaw covered in just the right amount of scruff, at first she thought he was a figment of her fevered state. But then he looked at her, and the way Holly—that bitch—kept flirting with him told her that he looked as she saw him: rugged and gorgeous.
“You want cough drops too?” Bobby asked.
“Uh… yeah. Yeah. That’s good.” She turned away, pretending to be looking at the bottles on the shelf. The fact that Paco ignored Holly’s advances told Misty he was different from any of the guys who pulled into the truck stop. And when she saw him with a towel around his waist, his chest perfectly sculpted and sprinkled with wicked tats, and the trail of dark hair suggesting something wonderful, she wanted to fuck him. But he said no. She couldn’t fathom it. He’d paid her to sleep and feel better. It’d blown her mind, and she still couldn’t believe it.
“I think this one will do. What the fuck’s up with you?” Irritation laced Bobby’s question.
Focus. Don’t make him mad. “I guess I just need the medicine. I’m feeling a little out of it.”
His face softened. “We’ll go back and you can take it and sleep before you get out there tonight.” He steered the cart toward the checkout counters and she followed. Maybe Paco will be in the diner tonight. She knew it was a long shot; he’d told her he lived near the four corners in Colorado, and that was over a hundred miles away. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.
Just stop it. Even if you saw him again, so what? It’s not like you can go away with him. It’s not like you’re free.
Images of her jumping up in the air shaking her pom-poms during a game at Roosevelt High flitted through her mind. Back then she’d been free. She shook her head in a vain attempt to scramble the memory. Allowing herself to remember wasn’t good; it made her sad and resigned. She’d done a good job of erasing her past, but sometimes it shoved its way front and center. Meeting Paco had stirred the walk down memory lane, and seeing herself at fifteen on the flyer had opened the floodgates. But remembering was dangerous, and as shitty as her life was, she still wanted to keep living.