This is not ringin’ a bell.
She drops her head back and closes her eyes. “I’m expecting that Bill will tell Steve and I tonight that we’re lead agents. We’ll have to get a room at an extended stay. Petty’s Mill to Hazleton is a two-hour commute, both ways. This is gonna be a one-month full court press. All hands on deck. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
Six years ago, right after Carson was born, she took a class to get her real estate license, and overnight, she started talkin’ like she’s selling time-shares.
“You’re gonna be out of town for a while?”
“Yes. At the end of next month.” She starts to sigh in aggravation, but she catches herself. “Which means Parker and Carson are going to have to stay with you. Are you going to be up for that?”
I’m clenching my jaw so tight, my molars ache. I force myself to take a deep breath. “Yup.”
She waits like she’s expecting me to say something else. “We can work out the details later.”
“All right.”
“I haven’t mentioned it to the boys yet. Carson’s going to be upset. You know he’s a mama’s boy. He’s going to need support with the transition.”
“Okay.” I have no fuckin’ clue what that means.
Her face is turning pink. She’s gettin’ frustrated, but I don’t know what she wants me to say.
“This is a great opportunity for Steve and me. We have a chance to take it to the next level. A five-figure month.”
She looks at me, expectant.
I shove my hands in my pockets and nod.
She needs something from me, but that was the story of our marriage. I don’t know what she wants. I did all the things my pops did. Mowed the lawn, kept her gas tank topped off, worked my ass off so she could buy whatever she wanted. Enlisted in the National Guard so she could move out of the townhouse my folks helped us buy and get a house with a yard.
My mom was a happy woman. Pops and her both passed when the kids were babies, less than a month apart, and I don’t remember either sayin’ a harsh word about the other.
Get Sharon started, she can go on all night about me. At least she could when we were married. I’d piss her off, and she’d spend hours on the phone, whisperin’ to her friends, bitchin’ me out to one lady after the next.
She taps a pristine white sneaker on the driveway.
Shit. What do I say?
“Congrats.”
She throws her hands up and blows out her cheeks. Guess that wasn’t what she was lookin’ for.
“We can talk it through later,” she says. “You’re dropping the kids off at school Monday, right?”
“You said I should bring ‘em here Sunday night.”
“Fine,” she huffs. Without a word to the boys, she turns on her heel and flounces into the house.
Parker and Carson are both starin’ out the truck windows at her. Carson’s bottom lip is wobbling. Damn. He’s so big; sometimes I forget he’s only seven. And he is a mama’s boy.
I hop into the truck and give ‘em a smile. “How about we stop for pizza?”
The mood instantly lifts. I crank the tunes, and Carson starts tellin’ me about how he shimmied all the way up the flagpole at school before the principal caught him.
I wonder if the guys have found Goldilocks.
My heart still kicks up a notch at the thought, but there’s a taint to the excitement now.
In case I forgot, life ain’t a fairy tale. Goldilocks don’t sneak in your room to rock your world.
More likely than not, the princess is sick of you, and you ain’t the prince. You’re the fuckin’ dancing candlestick.
“Hey, Dad. Can we ride dirt bikes tomorrow?” Parker pipes up from the back seat.
That’s my boy. “Hell, yeah.”
Life ain’t so bad, either. I got my boys in the back, Rocky on Blu-ray, and a fresh memory to keep me warm when I pass out alone in my bed later tonight. In the meantime, we’ll drop by the clubhouse, and the boys can play their video games while I go for round two on my little mouse hunt.
I spend the rest of the drive tryin’ not to think about what I’ll do when I catch her.
3
FAY-LEE
I didn’t go back to the clubhouse last night. I could hear the bass beat all the way at my makeshift camp, and smell the smoke from the bonfire, but something told me not to press my luck.
So I got shitfaced under a pine tree to keep warm. Even drunk, I was bored as shit. No phone. No TV. I curled up to conserve heat and renamed the constellations after characters from In the Arms of Love, my favorite soap.
A lot of people think there aren’t any soaps on anymore, but that’s not true. There’s five of them still running, but In the Arms of Love is my favorite. It’s set in Manhattan. That’s what gave me the idea of heading that way.
I’m not naïve. I’m not trying to make it on Broadway or anything. I can’t sing worth shit. I just figured I want the opposite of Dalton, Kentucky. It doesn’t get more different than New York City, so I imagine.
Honestly, I didn’t have much of a plan when I left. After the shed incident, I left as soon as I could.
Pure spite fueled me for the first few days, even though I was so physically weak after the hospital that I couldn’t manage to walk more than a few miles a day at first. I finally cooled down halfway through West Virginia.
Wish I could summon up that rage again now. It’s mid-morning, but I’m still numb with cold. The flannel helps, but when the wind gusts up, it has a wicked bite. I wrap the shirt tighter, hold the collar to my nose, and inhale. Whiskey and motor oil.
My cheeks burn. I can’t believe I did that—what he asked me to do. I’m no virgin. Rylan Dorset sweet-talked me out of my V-card the summer after ninth grade. But I have four sisters with nine kids and no husbands between them. Men lost their shine for me about the same time as my youngest sister brought home her third baby.
I know better than to fall for male bullshit. Most men leave you worse than they found you, that’s the long and short of it. It’s like the opposite of taking only pictures, leaving only footprints. They take only whatever they want, leave when you need them most.
I’m sure there’re good men out there. In real life, Luke Lamore from In the Arms of Love helps rehome pets when their elderly owners pass. Still. It’s beyond foolish to sit around waitin’ for a man to rescue you.
I should go for a walk, get the blood flowing. It’s a damn miracle I didn’t freeze to death when I passed out last night. The blanket didn’t do much. Too thin. I stand, flick off the pine needles stickin’ to my thighs, and head in a direction away from the clubhouse, deeper into the woods.
The quiet is strange. I’ve never been alone before in my life. I can appreciate the beauty, but it creeps me the fuck out.
Truth is, I might be getting a little homesick. Not for the people. Screw them. But for a place to be where all I’ve got are my old, familiar problems.
In retrospect, I might have gone off half-cocked. What happened with the shed was an accident after all.
A suffocating feeling seizes my chest. I wiggle my fingers, reassure myself. My nails have grown back. I’m alive. No permanent harm done.
I stomp my feet, jog a few feet, shake out my arms. Fight through the residual panic.
Anyway, home wasn’t perfect—not by far—but at least I had a room, even if I had to share, and we had electric most months. I had a bed, and when the heat got turned off, nieces and nephews would always end up crawling in for body heat, and it’d be cozy, if crowded and stinky.
I can’t believe Chaos just took off, no word. I should have kept an eye on him. A name like that—I can’t say I wasn’t warned. He seemed pretty steady, though. Didn’t drink much. Spent a lot of time texting on his phone.
I head off uphill, toward the low mountain rising in the distance. There are tons of trails back here, mostly narrow ruts for dirt bikes. I kick up the pace, and my heart starts pumping. My joints loo
sen as I limber up.
It’s a beautiful day. Perfect blue sky. Wispy white clouds. Red and yellow and orange leaves rustling overhead.
Will I even like living in a big city? Is it true you can’t see the stars ‘cause of all the streetlights? That would suck.
A stiff breeze carries a faint whining buzz, coming from up ahead. Someone’s out riding the trails. They’re far away, though, heading toward the mountain.
I stick to a trail that curves and winds. I hop stones to cross a creek, and pick it up again on the other side.
If I hate New York, there’s no saying I have to stay there. Love Another Day films in Burbank, California. I could try my luck there. It’d be warmer, that’s for damn sure. The world is your oyster as Gram used to say. I’ll get more enthusiastic for the adventure once I get somewhere.
My spirits are rising with my body temperature as I round a bend in the trail.
I gasp.
Holy shit.
There in a forest green flannel and dark jeans is the shaggy dude from the bedroom, kneeling beside a dirt bike lying on its side.
He surges to his feet, and his eyes go wide.
I freeze in the middle of the trail.
“Don’t run,” he says, raising his palms. “We just want to talk to you.”
We? Oh, hell no.
I bolt into the underbrush.
“Hey!” he barks.
His footsteps thud in the dirt behind me, and I pump my arms, lift my knees high. Thorns tear at my skin; vines wrap around my ankles. I trip, biting my cheek. The terrain’s uneven, all ditches and slopes. Felled branches and brambles block my way.
They’re on to me. They know I’ve been sneaking in. I’m dead.
I clamber up a bank, skirting a massive, mossy trunk, forcing a path through. Prickles catch my shirt, tangle in my hair.
Leaves crunch as he tears through the woods behind me.
I push harder. He’s so big. There’s got to be a narrow gap I can slip through, a thicket I can wriggle into and hide, where he can’t follow. A hollow log. Something.
My lungs burn.
We just want to talk to you.
That’s never the truth. Not from the cops. Not from outlaw bikers who catch you trespassing on their property. I lengthen my stride, landing funny on my ankle. There’s a sharp twinge, but I’m not stopping. I limp on, favoring the other leg, and then there’s a clearing ahead.
A creek with wide, pebbled banks runs through it.
“Baby. Stop!”
I pump my arms. Sticks crack and boots pound behind me. I’m not goin’ down easy. I’m—
Flying through the air, twisting, limbs flying, wrapped in impossibly strong arms. I land with jolt on top of a huge, hard man. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs.
Before I can blink, he’s flipped us so I’m underneath him, smooth stones pressing into my back. The creek babbles a few feet from my head.
He’s panting, smiling ear-to-ear, his bright black eyes crinkling at the corners. His beard scratches my upper chest. During the chase, the flannel I stole from him flew open.
“Caught you,” he says.
I don’t know what to do. This can’t be good. Why’s he smiling?
Well, when in Rome? I offer him a tentative grin in return. “Want to go again?” I pant between gasps.
He laughs, low and gravelly. It vibrates against my belly. He’s lying on top of me, but he’s keeping most of his weight off. My legs are pressed together, his knees bracketing my thighs, my hands braced against his chest. He could do whatever he wants. He’s double my size.
My heart skips, and heat flows to my pussy. Dumb body. I should be fighting. Struggling. Instead, I gently press my fingers into his pecs, test the muscle. He’s as solid as a rock.
The woods are silent except for the wind in the treetops and a goose honking high overhead. I spread my fingers. His heart thumps against my palm. He doesn’t stop me. He lets me explore. I run my hands up and over his shoulders.
“Come on. It’ll be fun.” I try a flirty smile. His lip curls. He has really nice teeth.
“You don’t stand a chance. You’re slow as shit.” He smooths my hair from my face, plucking stickers and leaves free.
I stay real still. His fingers skim down my jaw.
“Then why are you out of breath?” I ask.
“Out of practice.”
“Bet you couldn’t catch me if we went again.”
He chuckles. “I know better than to take that bet.” He runs a calloused thumb across my lower lip, rubbing at my scar. “How’d you get this?”
“I’ll tell you if you let me up.”
He shifts between my legs. I can feel his hard cock against my lower belly. I suck in a breath and tuck my arms back tight to my chest. His mouth turns down.
“Ain’t gonna hurt you, baby.”
“You tackled me to the ground.”
“You’re all right.” His brow creases. He pushes up on his arms, biceps flexing, and scans my body. “Shit. You tore your legs to hell.”
“I didn’t do it. It was the sticker bushes.”
He’s got my boot by the laces, and he’s tugging my leg up so he can get a closer look. He rises to his knees, readjusting himself until he’s between my legs. He’s really big. I’m still pinned underneath him, his massive thighs bracing mine apart.
My heart races, as fast as when I was running.
I’m scared. But also, I’m not. He’s not moving fast, pushing and pushing, like men do when they’re trying to get somethin’.
“It hurt much?” He plucks a splinter from my ankle. It stings.
I shake my head.
His lips are pressed in a tight line, his eyes hooded. He’s got so much hair and beard, if you don’t look close, you miss the expressions flitting across his face. Like now. Fun is over. He’s gone serious.
“We got to get back to the clubhouse, clean these up.”
Okay, now I’m scared again. This guy seems to have a soft spot for me, but Heavy and the others? Women are nothing but pussy to that kind of men. I know that.
I paste on my sweetest, most innocent smile. “Or you could let me go. Pretend you never saw me. I’ll disappear. I won’t cause any more trouble.”
He gently lowers my leg and rests his huge hands on my hips. My breath catches. His thumbs touch and fingers wrap almost all the way around my waist.
I feel very small.
“I ain’t lettin’ you go.”
Shivers dart down my spine.
“If you take me back there, they’ll hurt me.” I wish I was playin’ him, but the pit in my stomach says it’s the truth.
“No, they won’t. They just want to ask you some questions. They been lookin’ for you.”
I’ve watched every detective show there is, walking the floor with colicky babies. That is a line of bullshit.
“I won’t tell anyone that you let me go.” I don’t think this man would care if I tattled, but I’ll try anything. Is there a rock around here? I could bash him in the head like on TV.
“You lookin’ for something to hit me with?” He grins. Damn but he does have really white, even teeth. They come as a shock on a man as hairy and rough around the edges as him.
“Nope. I wouldn’t.”
He tightens his grip on my middle. Not so much that it hurts, but my hands fly to his forearms. They’re hard as steel. I couldn’t budge this man an inch if I tried.
“Don’t lie to me.” There’s a warning in his tone. Little zings skitter across my bare skin.
“Maybe.” Why is my voice breathless?
I recognize that this situation is deadly serious. Steel Bones knows I’ve been squatting, and I guess they’ve been hunting me down.
So why does this feel like he and I are playing a game?
I should claw at his eyes. Fight for my life.
But my pussy’s getting wet. That’s stupid, stupid, stupid.
I squirm. His grasp doesn’t give, not even a littl
e.
“What are you gonna do to me?” My voice is a whisper. I curl my fingers around his forearms, test the skin with my nails.
It’s like yesterday in the room. Longing swirls in my belly, halfway between an itch and a craving. I don’t get this way with guys. I can see to my own needs, and I appreciate a well-made man as much as the next girl, but nothing they do moves me much.
Except this man.
Everything he does makes my body do tricks. My tummy flips, my tits ache, my pussy throbs, tender against the seam of my shorts.
“Baby, you gotta stop lookin’ at me like that,” he growls.
“Why?” What is he going to do to me if I keep it up? My heartbeat kicks up a notch. I shouldn’t ask. I don’t want to know, right?
But I also really, really do.
There’s a shout in the distance. His gaze hardens, and suddenly, he’s all business.
“Up you go.” He pops to his feet, hauling me up after him, enveloping my hand in his huge paw. I tug. He squeezes tighter. “Come on.”
He pulls me back the way we came. When I drag my feet, he doesn’t give an inch, but he stays in the lead, blocking the sticker bushes, swinging me over fallen logs.
“When we get to the boys, you don’t say nothin’. Don’t try to run.”
The boys?
The whine of engines grows louder as we near the trail.
He stops, and I nearly slam into his back.
“You hear me?” he asks over his shoulder.
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He jerks me forward, and as we step out of the underbrush, two little boys on dirt bikes come flying toward us. They skid to a stop, sending up clods of dirt.
Show-offs.
“Hey, where’d you go? We saw your bike—” The older one stops mid-sentence when I step out from behind his dad.
“Hey, lady.” The younger one waves in recognition. “Where’s your bike?”
“What happened to your leg?” The older one’s nose is wrinkled up.
I look down. There’s a smear of blood down my calf. Gross.
A bullfrog honks.
Leaves rustle.
I look up.
All three of them are staring at my leg, waiting for me to answer the question.
Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel Page 4