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by Chelsea Camaron

  Having hours of nothing but the sound of my bike and the open road, I think about how far we have come as a group. I can’t listen to the radio, but I’m so on edge about everything that I decide to let the wind be my comfort and release my mind to wherever it wants to go.

  I met Dover “Collector” Ragnes when he was still a cop back in Cloverville, Tennessee. At the time, Jackson “Rowdy” Presley had just been released early from prison on “good behavior.” Only the fucker wasn’t afraid to go back so long as he got his revenge on the man who put him behind bars. He got his revenge, and with some help from Collector and a little money from me, he kept his freedom.

  Along the way, others joined us. Gentry “Deacon” Hawkins met us while I was checking up on Tamalyn. The former Navy SEAL didn’t take kindly to my late-night calls and messages to Tempest.

  Funny how after all these years, the two of them still dance around each other. They could be happy together if they wouldn’t let so much shit stand between them.

  I sigh.

  Is that my problem? Have I let too much get between Tamalyn and I?

  Every time I sent a phone, I did so with the intention of calling her. And every single time, I would talk myself out of it. I wanted her to have her life free from the past … including me. I just couldn’t find a way to truly let go, though. So I checked in on her.

  Collector found his happily ever after with Sonnie, or Emerson Flint, as she was known as a kid. She was Collector’s baby sister’s best friend. When we got a lead on his sister’s, Raleigh Ragnes, cold case, none of us ever imagined it would land us in front of Emerson Flint. Solving the case of his little sister’s murder may have given him closure, but having Sonnie on his bike and as his forever woman, well, I do believe she’s given him completion.

  One by one, we all seem to be finding our way, or at least settling our pasts.

  Owen “X” Gallow is tucked away at Haven’s Harbor with Hadley Combs. They recently found each other again after X spent years thinking she was dead. As teens, they lived a rough life on the streets together. A fucked-up situation tied them together forever. In the chaos, they found a way to love each other and find hope, strength, and all that is good together.

  The miles pass on, hopefully bringing me closer to Tamalyn.

  Rowdy looks over to me. The man has given himself a life sentence of loneliness. I’m not sure what happened exactly. All he has ever shared are the peony flowers he has inked on his side and ramblings that she’s a ghost. I don’t know if he believes in happy anything anymore. Really, who could blame the man after all he’s endured?

  Trapper gives a random yell into the wind. Sometimes I wonder if he should seek medical attention.

  Trapper showed up on Old Earl’s shop step a bloody mess. He owned a tattoo shop in Leed, Alabama. It’s where Sonnie worked until she came on the road with us. None of us really knows what happened that night, and he likes it that way. Sometimes, I swear he has split personalities or some other mental illness. Other times, I think he might just be the sanest one of us all.

  Six nomads. Six drifters. Six men with hardened hearts, black pavement for souls, and very little hope for redemption.

  No matter how good I have it with my brothers, my mind and heart always go back to her. What will Tamalyn look like when I see her again?

  Will she still have long blonde hair? When we were kids, I would call her Goldilocks, and she would get so mad. Once, she died it purple. It was her first rebellious act when we were sixteen. While the purple didn’t do it for me, she was still gorgeous, and the fire in her eyes always got to me.

  How will she take it when I tell her Caleb is gone? Will she have any resentment that I didn’t do it sooner? What about her biological father? That is something Deacon is using his connections to find out, looking for anyone in her mother’s past that could be Tamalyn’s dad. It’s a shot in the dark, but to give her closure, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.

  Even remain in the shadows like I have for so long.

  Chapter Twelve

  ~Tamalyn~

  Three Days Later …

  I break the code. I don’t care. I miss her, and my gut tells me I need to check in.

  Sitting on the stoop in front of my shed, the pinwheel sits still.

  A pinwheel is whimsical and the perfect icon for the childhood many wish they could have had.

  With the phone in my hand, I dial the office line, and then her extension. It’s mid-morning here, so it would be early afternoon for her.

  “Tempest Adams, Haven’s Harbor; how may I help you?”

  “It’s me,” I whisper like someone may hear me, even though no one is around.

  “Oh, my God,” she gasps.

  “I know I broke code, but I miss you and there is so much going on. I have about two days left here, and then I need to move on.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “That is not reassuring.”

  “My boss has a son who got himself into something I’m not sure what, but it’s trouble and it’s bellied up to the bar I’m behind.”

  “Is he there yet?”

  The question makes me pause.

  “Who?”

  “Bladen.”

  “Tempest, why would he be here? No one knows where here is, not even you!”

  “A lot has happened; a lot that shouldn’t be said over an unsecure line. Stay put; let him find you.”

  Before I can comment back, I hear the phone shuffle.

  “Tamalyn, this is Deacon. Give me a single city, a name of the bar—give me something, and I’ll have Judge to you by the end of the day.”

  Doing what any rational, heartbroken, scared out of her mind woman would do, I quickly hang up the phone.

  Pacing in front of my shed, I let all the panic, insecurities, and fears win.

  Where do I go? How do I get out here fast enough?

  Then I think.

  It takes a bit, especially since the phone keeps ringing with Tempest calling me back, but I finally settle enough to think clearly.

  Tempest saw me last. Bladen hasn’t been face to face with me in years.

  Maybe he won’t remember me.

  After all, no one here will say they know Tamalyn Andrews. I am Amanda Horte.

  With a new plan, I go inside and get ready. I take the time to wash and towel dry my hair. For the first time since I was a teen, I actually wish I had a curling iron or hair straightener. However, my lifestyle doesn’t afford me such luxuries.

  Making due with what I have, I put my makeup on a little heavy, knowing Bladen is used to me natural, and say a simple prayer no one finds me tonight.

  Maybe they will ride in and out with no leads. Then I can leave without notice.

  The shift goes without a hitch. I am ready to flip the open sign to closed when they walk in.

  Immediately, the air shifts.

  My heart races.

  I’m alone and in walks three men and one woman, all with leather cuts on.

  Deciding I have nowhere to run, I stick with my plan.

  “ ’Bout to close; I can get you one round,” I say, making sure not a single word gives hint to my Carolina roots.

  “Water,” a man with long hair pulled into a ponytail orders.

  I nod then turn my back to get him a glass of water.

  “I’ll take a Jameson neat with you as my embellishment,” the shortest of the group says as he settles on a bar stool.

  “Ignore him. Trapper’s just wired from a long ride,” the woman says. “Just give us each a beer; coldest ya got.” Her southern accent stands out, and I have to focus so I don’t slip.

  “What’s your name?” a dark-haired man with a two- to three-day-old beard beginning on his face asks.

  “Amanda, but everyone calls me Mandee,” I say confidently.

  Serving the beers, I avoid eye contact.

  “Maaaaaaannnnndeeee,” the short man says my name. “Amanda, oh, oh.”
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  I can’t help looking at him and draw my eyebrows together, not understanding.

  “Want to practice your name. That way, later when you’re calling me God and riding my cock, I get it right.”

  “Oh my—”

  He cuts me off, laughing.

  “See? She’s calling me God already. Now come over here. We’ll remove the necessary clothing only, and I’ll show you the masterpiece in my pants.”

  The man who asked my name immediately stands. “Get him out! Y’all take him somewhere and find some prostitute to suck him, fuck him, or take it up the ass—I don’t care—but he goes and he goes now. I’ll meet up tomorrow morning.”

  They each look to me, and then look back to the dark-haired stranger.

  “Your call, Judge. Are you sure?” the man with his arm around the woman asks.

  “Amanda, Mandee—it’s all a ruse.” His eyes come to mine. “That’s Tamalyn.”

  Rolling my shoulders back slightly, I make no moves. He looks familiar. Those dark eyes, the dark hair that is short and a little wavy on top, and that straight, strong jawline. It couldn’t be, I try to tell myself and play it cool.

  They exit, and then Bladen turns the open sign to closed and locks the front door behind them.

  “Um, sir, it’s time for you to go.”

  “Cut the shit, Tamalyn.” I jump at his words.

  He notices. I am fucked.

  “I don’t know who Tamalyn is. My name is Amanda Horte, as I explained.”

  He closes the space between us, backing me into the wall behind the bar.

  “Amanda, you say? Hmmm?” He studies me, and I swear he sees right through me. “Kiss me,” he commands, and my body shudders.

  Bladen Jacob Jones is tall, built, and there is a blend in his eyes that tells a story of a man who has walked a thousand miles in pain. And he’s done that for me.

  “Kiss me, Mandee, and I’ll know you’re not Tamalyn.”

  Softening, I don’t think as I let him win. Pushing up, I press my lips to his.

  Slowly.

  Tenderly.

  His lips don’t part, and neither do mine. Top lip to top lip, and bottom to bottom, we are connected.

  He exhales, the heat from his nose making me open for a split second, which he takes advantage of, darting his tongue in and commanding my mouth. The onslaught is rapid, controlled, and domineering. Bladen Jones could kiss as a boy. As a man, this is more. This is igniting a flame.

  My hands unconsciously come to his neck as I willingly open my mouth wider, accepting his gift.

  Devouring.

  Hungry.

  Explosive.

  The kiss continues until I am a true puddle of mush.

  Only when I slump into his hold does he soften and slowly pull back. A small suckle to my bottom lip, a release, and then he looks at me and smiles.

  “Mandee, huh?”

  Dazed, I shake my head. “What?”

  “Tamalyn Mary Andrews, those eyes don’t lie, darlin’.”

  Fuck me.

  Bladen Jacob Jones just kissed me senseless and fucked up my entire plan.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~Bladen~

  “Hate to put you on the spot, but we need to talk, and not in public. What’s your address? I’ll take you home.”

  She’s still in my arms. Her lips are plump like bees have stung them. I like it. I relish that I did it to her. I knew the minute I laid eyes on her that, though Tamalyn Andrews may have lost some weight, that hair, although a little frail, is the right color, those hips, those eyes—this is my woman.

  “You’re not going home with me.”

  “Shit’s gone down. Did what should have been done before. You’re safe, you have my word, but I need to talk to you, and this ain’t the place to do it.”

  “I’m not who you think I am.”

  My frustration builds. I don’t want to be a dick and push her too hard, but time is important. She needs to know what has gone down.

  “Don’t have time to play games.” I cup her chin in my hand and tilt her head softly to make her look me in the eyes. “Never played games with you; always kept it real. It’s always been you. Don’t push all that aside for some self-preservation shit right now. I get I fucked some shit up. I get I’ve stayed away. But fuck, you know why. You know if they found me, it would lead to you if I didn’t play it right. Now please, Tamalyn, I’m begging you to tell me where you live so I can take you home and we can talk. When I’m done, you want me to leave and never look back, so be it.”

  It kills me to even think of being away from her ever again, but if she learns the truth and wants me gone, I will leave. I will go back to the way it was before, or I will at least try my damnedest to.

  For a moment, I wonder if she will stand behind this ruse. Then she softens and sighs.

  “I’m just up the road behind Benny’s. I live in the shed.”

  She lives in a shed, while I have more money in my bank account than I’ll ever spend in a lifetime. It kills me to think of her struggling. I help her finish her work. Then, when we get outside, she hesitates before climbing on the back of my bike after giving me directions to her house.

  The moment she settles in behind me, I can’t help asking, “Remember the first ride?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  “Bladen, I can’t believe you got a motorcycle.”

  “It’s better on gas, easier to maintain, and all around cheaper,” I explain, just like I did my mother.

  “You really want me to climb on here?”

  “Trust me, Tamalyn. Promise you, baby, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you when your arms are around me, or mine are around you.”

  When she rests her hands on my sides, I turn my head to her. “Whether your arms are around me or mine around you, Tamalyn Andrews, you’re safe now. Fucked up before. Made shit as right as I can. You’re safe.”

  She blinks in shock. I hate that she’s reading between the lines and probably thinking the worst. Then again, the worst is the truth. She’s safe and I made it so by taking his life. I have no regrets on that, only that I didn’t do it sooner.

  As I turn back around to crank my bike, she slides her arms around my front, resting them on my abs and pressing her front into my back. The familiar feelings settles in my belly. Never had someone on my bike but her. She is my purpose in life.

  Home.

  This right here is home. No matter where I’ve traveled, nothing is home unless she’s by my side.

  I pull off, feeling settled for the first time in my entire life.

  We get to her place quickly. I park at the edge of the street, trying not to disturb her landlord since she lives in someone’s backyard.

  Before we can enter, I see the sparkle in the night sky off the pinwheel.

  “Amanda Horte, my ass, Tamalyn,” I remark, pointing to the shining spinner.

  She shrugs.

  “Still have yours. Never been without it.”

  “Doesn’t matter, Bladen.”

  She says my name, and I swear my heart stops. I stand still as she pushes on, not knowing what it means to hear my name on her lips again.

  Shaking off the multitude of emotions washing over me, I follow her inside.

  The sight in front of me has both Tamalyn and I standing still.

  There is a man’s naked ass in her bed. Some fucker is face down, ass up, no clothes, uncovered in my woman’s bed.

  “What the fuck!” I roar before yanking the man up and setting him upright on his feet.

  “Shit,” he slurs, wobbling before falling to the bed again.

  “What are you on, Tommy?” Tamalyn asks, standing behind me.

  She hasn’t touched me, but I can feel her body trembling behind mine.

  “Ice,” he says before passing out and falling sideways on her bed.

  I turn to her. I read her face.

  Fear.

  “Tamalyn, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just … this … Who is he?�
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  “My boyfriend,” she fires off quickly. Too quickly. She also gives a small roll of her eyes, her clear tell since childhood she’s lying.

  “Try again,” I reply, trying to sort heads or tails of the situation.

  She huffs, but I can read it in her face, she’s defeated. “Benny’s son. He’s in trouble. He comes and goes. Apparently, tonight he’s here.” The truth comes out.

  I turn back around and slap his leg. “Get up and get out.”

  It takes a beat, but he finally gets up and puts clothes on.

  “Mandee, I’ll be just inside mom and dad’s if you need me.”

  “Just sleep this shit off, Tommy, and don’t tell your folks. They’re good people,” she tells him.

  He takes off, and I lock the door behind him.

  Watching her move around the space like I’m not here kills me.

  Taking clothes with her, she goes behind a curtain and changes.

  “It’s late. I’m tired,” she says from her curtain. “Can we sleep and talk tomorrow?”

  Rather than answer, I strip down to my jeans and boxers. It may not be the most comfortable way to sleep, but my cock this close to Tamalyn after so long, I need barriers.

  Climbing in bed, I wait.

  When she emerges, her hair is tied back, her face is makeup free, and she’s wearing some short-ass shorts and a tank top. She slowly climbs into bed beside me. When she turns her back to me, I reach out and stroke her hair back from her face without messing up the ponytail.

  “Would rather say this with you against me,” I say softly.

  “Don’t think we need to talk right now.”

  “Caleb Andrews is dead, Tamalyn. Nothing for you to fear anymore. My dad is gone, too.”

  She gasps then turns to look me in the eyes.

  “Shoulda done shit differently. Learned some stuff, baby. Don’t know how to lay it out, except just to say it.” I pause. “Caleb told me everything.”

  She drops her head.

  I roll her over and pull her close. Resting her against me, I tip her chin to look me in the eye. “None of that was on you, Tamalyn. He was a sick fuck with a chip on his shoulder. Don’t know how you’re gonna take this, but baby, he wasn’t your dad. Guess at some point your mom stepped out. I don’t know. We’re still looking into it.”