"Don't come any closer," she shouted, aiming for his chest, right in between the rib cage where his leather jacket hung unzipped.
Seeing the gun pointed at him, Joe stopped in his tracks and raised his hands a little. But to her surprise, he didn't panic; didn't try to fight her or grab the weapon. As she stared at him, he calmly crouched down on his knees, right in the mud, the thick rubber soles of his boots oozing ever downward, as he stared down the barrel of the gun. He wasn't even shaking.
He took off his riding gloves and calmly reached his hand out to her. She drew in a breath at the sight of the preposterously smooth, ivory skin, then up at his face, his full lips slightly parted in an expression of almost painful concern. Joseph Ryan was attractive, a realization that sunk into her stomach like a cherry pit she'd accidentally swallowed.
How dare he be so good-looking? And how had she missed it? Fox Keene’s good looks were Hollywood-flashy, almost bombastic; heads perked up when he walked into the room. But Joe had seemed so unassuming at first in his dark leather, keeping his head respectfully down so as if not to seem presumptuous, until the moment when he became brave enough to look up straight into her eyes--and suddenly she was nearly blinded to realize how absolutely gorgeous he was.
And it made her angry. It wasn't fair. She tightened her grip on the gun.
No. She couldn't let him do that to her. She couldn't let herself fall under whatever spell he was obviously using his good looks to try to cast over her, to try to control her. It was a trick. Something nefarious that would end in blood, like everything else the Steel Jockeys touched. Ruby growled under her breath like a wolf. It was true she felt a bit animalistic; tonight had brought that out in her.
Joe stayed calm. "Put the gun down, Ruby. Please. You don't know how to use it."
"Fox taught me how," she insisted. "In fact, he taught me a lot more than that. He taught me that you, every one of you, isn't worth the mud we're sitting in. He taught me that I was an idiot to listen to one of the guys who got my brother killed. I was an idiot not to listen. I should have killed you. Hell, I should have killed myself before getting on that bike with you."
Joe only blinked, his long eyelashes cast down briefly at the earth. "Did you ever listen to Kyle talk about us?"
"I didn't have to. I already knew."
"You already had your mind made up," he said. “You didn’t know.” She felt her mouth drop open at that. She almost laughed, hard and bitter.
"When I said I knew Kyle, I wasn't lying," he said softly, patiently, as if she weren't pointing a gun at him. "We were best friends. We were more than that. We were brothers."
"Brothers?" Ruby scoffed. "Brothers? He wasn't your brother. Don't you dare compare yourself to me. Don't even talk about Kyle. You don't have the right to even mention his name or to call him your brother!"
"Ruby--" He looked hurt, but she refused to see it.
She curled into a ball, burying her head in her knees to shut him out. "When Kyle died, Fox was there for me. He gave me a job; a place to live. He gave me a home. A new life. Which is more than I can say for you, or any of your trigger-happy buddies. You guys got Kyle killed, and you just left him there bleeding on the sidewalk. I saw one of you there that night," she said whispered. "I saw him, and I cried out. And he just turned and ran away."
"You don't understand."
"No, you don't understand. Kyle was good person, Joe. He wanted more out of life than what he got. He didn't deserve to die that way. But you didn't even care."
"I'm so sorry, Ruby.” She poked her head up above her knees, unable to help studying his face. “If I could bring Kyle back; if I could offer myself in his place, I'd do it in a second. I should have been the one killed. If I'd died, nobody would have missed me.” He stared off to the trees now, as if he’d momentarily become lost in memory of something Ruby could only guess at. “But Kyle," he said, turning back, "Kyle had you. He talked about you all the time, Ruby. How proud he was of you, and how much he loved you. And that's worth everything."
Ruby raised her head, but he looked down at the ground, frustrated, as if he feared he wasn't getting through to her. But she didn't hide her head again. She watched him flip his forelock of wheat-colored hair off his face, revealing a concerned, almost pained expression.
As much as she didn't want to admit it, there was nothing disingenuous in his rich amber eyes, the ones that almost matched color of the hills of the San Joaquin Valley surrounding them--ancient and wounded, but strong. There was nothing plotting or dishonest. He genuinely wanted to help her. He wanted her to be safe.
She wanted to trust her instincts that this young man wouldn't hurt her. In fact, she wanted to put the gun down. To drop it and crawl into his strong arms, nestle her head against his leather jacket that she knew he would have offered her if she'd asked. But how could she? How could she let him have that power over her?
"I think we can end this Ruby,” he murmured tentatively. “The whole thing. We can honor Kyle and stop anyone else from getting killed. But," he took a deep breath and looked skyward, as if for inspiration. "For that to work, you're going to have to trust me. Just for a little bit. Until I figure things out."
"Then prove I can trust you,” she said.
He touched his jacket pocket, as if there was something within, some kind of talisman he believed could do the trick. But whatever it was, he had chosen not to reveal it. "I wish I could."
She edged closer. He reached out tentatively again. In an instant she fell into his arms, almost clawing at the front of his jacket in a catlike manner. "I want to trust you, Joe. I really do,” she sobbed, her words muffled in the leather of his shoulder, heavy but supple. He said nothing, ventured no further, but held her close for a time as her sobs slowed to spasms, growing quieter as she melted into an exhausted quietness. Then his hand curled gently around her waist, tracing the barest outline of her body beneath her thick coat and sweater. As if curious to be let in and as if he had the audacity to believe she might let him.
And she had the sudden impulse to shed those layers, to give him access, literally, to the inside of her. To know how that smooth ivory skin of his would feel when there was nothing protecting her from his touch. Without thinking, she collapsed in further, as if he could be strong enough to bear all the weight she carried. His breath was soft on the side of her face, a little ragged, as if the exchange had taken more out of him than he was willing to let show.
She couldn't believe she was here, taking shelter in the arms of a young man that, this morning, had been nothing to her, a stranger. Less than a stranger, for he represented everything wrong with her world, everything she'd been trying to outrun. If he was so dangerous, if he was wicked to the core, she thought, then why, why did this feel so right?
She was silent for a long moment. "Don't," she whispered, a hiccup in her voice. "Don't let me down, Joseph Ryan. Don't you dare let me down. Promise me."
His full lips brushed her ear, fierce, intense, and honest. And he promised.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Is this what they're giving out as party favors now in the county lockup?" Sean Donovan asked, looking Ruby up and down like a trophy. "If it is, I might have to go out and bash in a few mailboxes."
"Nah," said Joe, brushing some of his hair aside to show him the scabbed-over gash on the side of his face. "Still the standard lovely parting gift."
Ruby, standing as close to the doorway as she could, had noticed the mark earlier, though she’d thought it was maybe just a trick of sunlight. But no, someone had aimed for him and connected, though perhaps not as strongly as they’d wished. It marred the side of his otherwise-perfect face. But now, Sean’s comment had filled in some of the blanks for her: he’d been in jail, at least briefly. And if so, for what? She was going to have to find out, even if it meant a frank question or two. He hadn't exactly lied to her, but he hadn't been entirely honest either when he'd told her, in their brief conversation between the gas station and Fresno, that he
'd gotten into a fight.
The skinny blonde female bartender at Cat’s Bar, whom Ruby hadn’t noticed at first, jumped up to give Joe a brief hug and, she thought, a kiss on the cheek. Ruby wondered how close they were exactly.
Sean, for his part, wasn't at all the way Ruby had pictured him. Then again, Joe wasn't at all what she had pictured, either, when she had imagined a Steel Jockey. She'd never paused to think that Kyle may not have been unique among the Steel Jockeys--young, athletic, good-looking. She was coming to the realization that there were others like him, who had likely gravitated to the motorcycle club for the same reasons he had.
Sean was older than Joe, closer to his late twenties and the age Kyle would be if he had lived. He had even longer hair than Joe. Black and wavy, with cutting blue eyes and broad shoulders he had the habit of hunching as he stuck his hands in the pockets of his dark-washed jeans. He walked and spoke like everyone, including himself, knew he was the shit.
In that way, he reminded Ruby of Fox, and after what Joe had told her, she didn't know whether that was a good thing or not anymore. She knew she would have to keep one eye open whenever he was around. Joe was looking at Sean now. The other members of his chapter, who grouped around the bar, grunted as they hung on his every word. Even the bartender, who wore a black midriff-baring top under her pink hoodie, looked up from the shot glasses she was drying to periodically giggle at his jokes.
M.C. girls seemed to know their place, Ruby thought as she perched on the edge of chair that Joe had pulled out for her. She nervously observed how the neon signs bathed her skin in orange. They knew who was in charge. Another reason why she wouldn't fit in here, and she was already beginning to worry that the bartender, who’d introduced herself as Desiree, might be feeling resentful of her sudden presence. Clearly, she was used to being the only woman around here most of the time.
"So. Kyle Clarke's sister," Sean said. “I was beginning to think you were just a rumor. A story Joey Boy here made up to keep himself warm at night."
"Oh," Ruby laughed nervously. "Like a ghost?"
"Like an angel," said Sean, without even the trace of irony. Sean shook her hand, holding onto it for a second longer than anyone with purely innocent intentions would have. "Welcome to Cat’s.”
"Sean, I know being treated like a piece of meat is fairly standard for any girl who happens to stumble in here, but Ruby's been through hell and back and it's not even 9 p.m., so maybe you can give her the formatted-for-prime-time version of Late Night with Sean Donovan and let her get some sleep."
"Oh, come on, man. We--"
"Not later. Now." And when Sean stared back at him, Joe said. "In a bed. An empty bed," he added hastily.
Sean slowly raised his eyebrows, then slowly lowered them, looking from one new arrival to the other. "Something tells me it won't stay empty for long."
"Why, is this your version of room service?"
Ruby couldn't help but admire the cool, even-handed way Joe handled Sean. Joe had leaned back against the bar, casual but still wary, never letting Ruby too far out of his sight or out of his reach. And as much as Ruby hated to admit it, she was hesitant to stray too far away from him. After all, it was Joe with whom she had placed her trust in--not the handsome but shifty Sean Donovan or his belly-baring barmaid.
"Although I’m fresh out of pillow mints, I live to serve." Desiree’s face was surprisingly soft as she came around the front of the bar and placed a hand on Ruby's shoulder. She was heavily made-up, but Ruby recognized a tenderness behind all the armor. "You'll stay at my place." Recognizing the stricken look Ruby knew she must have been wearing as she pictured what the spare room at Cat’s biker bar might look like, Desiree reassured her. "Don't worry. I don't live here; I've got my own place next door. Alone. No boys allowed. There's body wash, toothpaste, shampoo, fuzzy pajamas, and cable TV. You know, civilization."
Ruby managed a smile, admittedly taking comfort in Desiree's sisterly embrace, which felt genuine enough. Joe, however, looked serious, his brow knitted. Normally, she would have hated having to defer to him, but the sense of potential danger that seemed to lurk everywhere in this world led her to believe that it was best to take her cues from the young man who seemed to know it intimately.
"I'll be right here," he told Ruby, and before she knew what was happening, he had reached down to slide his hand into hers. She knew her hand was warm, as it usually was due to her good circulation, but Joe's fingers curling around hers were cold. She had to fight the desire to tighten her grip on him, to massage the frost out of his fingers. But he released the squeeze almost as quickly, and Ruby’s heart was back to normal almost before she realized it had quickened. "All night. If you need me for anything--"
"Joe, it’s okay," said Ruby. "We'll figure this out. You should get some rest, too." But she suspected he wouldn't. As she walked away, she noticed his rich amber eyes were bright, vigilant, and longing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Joe had given Ruby her purse back--cell phone, gun and all--in a show of good faith. In Desiree’s bathroom, Ruby scrubbed herself robotically with a shea butter wash, trying to keep weight off her ankle and quickly toweled off. She remembered the restroom at the service station--scraping up the caked mud off her boots and swiping an alcohol wipe across her face to remove the dirty streaks and then pulling a comb out of her purse and working it through the truly epic knots the wind had introduced to her curly chestnut tresses. Joe had let her lean on his shoulder, curling his arm around her waist. He then bought a bag of ice for her twisted ankle and a cup of hot coffee from the gas station, waiting on guard as she sat at the sole table inside the station and finished it off.
Cat’s Bar and Desiree's boxy little house on the same property were a few miles off the freeway, nestled back in a copse of trees along a lonely county highway. A string of Christmas lights decorated the door but, otherwise, there was no sign of anything calling attention to it, save from the impressive line of Harleys lined up like soldiers in gleaming black uniforms.
Everything about Desiree's house was in miniature, from the tiny shower stall to the galley kitchen, where Desiree made her a grilled-cheese-and-tomato-sandwich and a cup of vanilla tea. Desiree made sure to spike it with a dash of Bailey's, though Ruby had objected at first. She showed her how to work the flat-screen TV and DVD player, which took up more than half the living room, then disappeared back next door, scrawling the number for the bar on a post-it note in case she needed anything. Desiree’s favorite mode of decoration was family portraits. Her siblings at prom, countless reunions and backyard picnics, her parents and even grandparents as children, posing for studio portraits. Desiree and two grinning girlfriends on a white-sand beach in Mexico, margaritas in hand. It all gave Ruby a lump in her throat. This is what life is supposed to be like, she thought.
Her mind wandered to Joe. She still knew little about him, but she suspected the decor wherever he lived looked quite different from this. Would it have been so bad, she thought, if Joe had come next door to sleep nearby her, or at least in the next room? She should have insisted he come with her; insisted that she felt safer with him. But no, she scolded herself. Better not to give him the impression that she needed him; she'd already made herself far too vulnerable in that muddy field.
But still, she couldn't help remembering the way he'd looked at her as he leaned against the bar; in fact, she wanted to remember it. It comforted her. She didn't find it intense or frightening, not like the way Fox looked at her sometimes. It was curious, almost beguiled, with a subtle curiosity that seemed to want to follow her out of the room, to be near her for even a moment more.
In fact, her mind had a million reasons to race, but she knew she needed sleep. She dreaded the second the comforting glow of the TV switched off, even if all that was on was late-night infomercials and Food Network reruns. She fumbled for the switch on the lamp beside the sofa.
Outside, motors roared, reminding her where she was--were the bikers leaving, or were mor
e arriving? She hugged Desiree's borrowed pajamas against her, wishing they were made of Kevlar, for how small and unprotected she felt there. Restless, she leaped out of bed and methodically checked the locks on all the doors and the windows; not that it would help her much if someone got a hold of Desiree's keys. She slid back into the sofa bed and pulled the covers up over her nose, trying not to think about the fact that she was alone in a strange house, in a strange place, miles probably from the nearest town, whatever it was.
She glanced at her cell phone's glowing LED and on a whim, snatched it up from the end table, her fingers dancing toward Fox's number. But she dropped it and was immediately ashamed of herself. What good could calling Fox do now, aside from prove to Joe that a promise from Ruby Clarke was worth nothing?
Vicious: Steel Jockeys MC Page 7