HWY 550 (Rock Point Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  Whatever it was I intended to say to her flies right out the window. She looks like shit, with a nasty gash on the left side of her head just in her hairline, which must have bled good, judging from the state of her hair and shirt. And I suspect she may at least have a few other dents and dings, looking at the way she holds her body, but that sharp fire in her eyes goes a long way to silencing my inner caveman.

  “All right, Sprite,” I concede, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss in her palm. I can’t get at her lips, the EMT is in the way, or I would’ve taken those.

  Her mouth falls open as I sit down on the stretcher beside her, still holding onto her hand. “You don’t have anything to say?”

  “Scared the piss out of me, I’m good and riled you didn’t text me like you were supposed to, and I’m gonna wanna know what the fuck happened here, but other than that—no.”

  The EMT sits back to admire his stitch job on her head, before turning to me. “A hit to the head like this, she could have a concussion. I recommend she lets us take her into Mercy to get checked out.”

  “Amen,” Damian says, leaning into the back of the ambulance looking at me.

  “Why is everyone looking at him?” Luna stands up from the stretcher, looking like someone who’s just come through battle. “I’m right here.” She swings on Damian, stabbing a pointy finger at him. “If this happened to Jasper, or even Dylan, would you doubt their word even for a second?”

  “I would—” he starts.

  “You know what? Don’t even bother answering that. We both know you wouldn’t.” Gomez looks guilty. “I’ve had it up to here with the pats on the head and the there-there attitudes. Especially from people who should know better than to treat me like some fragile flower.”

  Fuck, I’m glad I decided to keep my trap shut. She doesn’t just swing a mean right hook, she can castrate a guy with a few words too.

  Taking her lead, I get up and climb down from the rig, holding onto her hand as she gets out after me.

  “Jesus, Luna. What happened?” I look up to find Keith Blackfoot stalking up. “The trooper says you ran a red light? What the hell were you thinking?”

  I feel her bristle beside me at the same time my shoulders straighten at the accusation in his voice.

  “Back off, Blackfoot,” I warn him, but it’s too late, Luna drops my hand and goes toe to toe with the much larger man.

  “Like I told whoever the hell that state trooper was: I had no brakes coming down Rock Point Drive—no resistance at all. Now I gave all my information, got myself checked out, and now I’m going home. You all can go fuck yourselves.” With that, she starts marching down the sidewalk and I have to hustle to catch up.

  “My truck is right over there,” I casually point out, slipping my palm against hers. It feels good when her fingers slip between mine and she holds on.

  I’m not a particularly sensitive guy, but I don’t doubt for a second she’d cut me off at the ankles if I gave her any reason to think I’m managing her. I thought about driving her home and staying there with her, blowing off the Mesa Riders back at my clubhouse, but I’ll not be the one to suggest that.

  Luna has her head turned, looking out the side window, as I drive off the parking lot, but I don’t miss the furtive brush of a hand over her cheek.

  LUNA

  Goddammit.

  Last thing I want is to be seen crying right after my tough guy routine back there, but I’m so flipping angry right now, I can’t seem to stop the flow.

  How ironic that the guy most likely to go all protective on me is the only one willing to trust my judgement. Or at least respects me enough to pretend, because I have no doubt he’s fighting his instincts to take over, even now. Instead, he gives me space to get myself together, something I’m well aware is an anomaly for Ouray, but I’m grateful for it in this moment.

  Christ, I thought that was it for me. If the truck hadn’t already been applying the brakes, I don’t think I would’ve walked away. It’s a small miracle I got off the way I did, going by the state of my poor Jeep. Fuck, I’m going to have to get a new car.

  “If we could stop at my place? I need a quick shower and to grab my things. I won’t be more than ten minutes, tops.”

  His hand lands on my knee, giving it a light squeeze. “You sure you’re up to it?”

  “Yup. I’m good.”

  “Okay, your call. There’s no real rush, so take your time.”

  His comment echoes his words from last night, and that easily, my mind is back there. The delicious memories all but drowning out the fear and anger I’ve been nursing.

  “I’d love to know where your head was right there,” he rumbles beside me, and the blush I’ve been cursed with since childhood heats my face.

  It’s clear I don’t need to answer, since his deep chuckle tells me he already knows.

  “Mind if I make some coffee?” he asks when we walk into my house.

  “Go ahead, make yourself at home. I wouldn’t mind a cup myself.”

  He catches me just as I’m about to head into my bedroom and pulls me flush against his chest. His arms circling me tight. “Need a second,” he whispers in my hair, and to be honest, the hug helps center me too.

  I’m not sure how long we stand like that, but eventually he tilts my head back with his hand, presses a soft kiss on my lips and gives me a firm smack on my ass with the other.

  “Go get your shit done.”

  I first pack whatever I think I need for a week in a large duffel. Then I strip out of my clothes in the bathroom, toss them in the hamper to deal with later, and make the mistake of looking in the mirror, only to groan at my reflection.

  My naturally curly blonde hair is plastered against the left side of my head, caked with blood from the cut. I probe the shaved patch above my ear where the stitches hold my scalp together. The effect is less than charming, especially coupled with the bruises I can already see forming along the left side of my face. My shoulder on that side also shows signs of the impact. Lovely.

  Just as I step out of the shower, I hear Ouray’s voice coming from the kitchen. He must be on the phone, I would’ve heard someone coming in. Opening the bathroom door a crack to let some of the steam out, I can actually catch the words as I quickly dry off.

  “I’m telling you, you’ll wanna check that car. Luna says she had no brakes—she had no goddamn brakes. Had fuck-all to do with hydroplaning.” A brief silence follows, and then he speaks up again. “Not in my job description, Gomez. That’d be yours. — Don’t matter if that piece of junk is twice as old, you willing to leave it to chance? Check the goddamn brake lines.”

  Brake lines?

  My hands still just as I’m pulling on the one and only suitable clean pair of jeans. My assumption had been the same as Damian’s obviously is: it’s an old car, shit breaks down. Add to that the fact I’m not that great at maintaining it, it’s been at least two years since it’s seen a mechanic. It’s not unreasonable to think wear and tear could’ve been the cause.

  Check the brake lines. Holy shit.

  I’ve been shot at before, been in fights, but oddly enough those incidents have little to do with me. This, though—this would be a personal attack. A whole fucking different kettle of fish.

  I finish dressing and sling my duffel over my shoulder. In the kitchen, Ouray is leaning his ass against the counter, a mug in his hand, eyeing me closely when I walk in.

  “I heard you on the phone,” I announce, dropping the bag by the front door before walking into the kitchen.

  Ouray hands me a second mug and shrugs. “Wasn’t trying to hide it. I just made sure it was looked into. If it was wear and tear, I’m thinking you’d’ve noticed something before.”

  “Oh.” I take a sip and groan out loud at the hit of caffeine. I’m going to need something to kill the throbbing in my head. I look around for the ibuprofen I keep on my windowsill, when Ouray produces the bottle, shakes a couple in his hand, and holds them out to me. “Get out of my
head,” I mumble, taking the pills and tossing them back with a swig of hot coffee.

  “Fat chance. I’m just starting to find my way around in there.”

  “Shut up.” I’m grinning as I toss back the rest of my coffee and set my cup in the sink. When I turn back, Ouray is fishing something out of the inside pocket of his vest. “What’s that?”

  “An old habit I haven’t been able to ditch yet,” he says, undoing a knot in a bandana that has a padlock attached to it.

  “You told me about those. Works like a sap, right?”

  “Yup.” He finally pulls the bandana free, tosses the lock on my windowsill and faces me. “Turn around, Sprite.”

  I turn my back and feel him twist a braid in my hair.

  “You know how to braid?”

  “Darlin’, I used to have hair longer’n yours.”

  “Really? Wish I’d have seen that.”

  “Elastic?”

  “Probably,” I answer, digging through my junk drawer and coming up with one.

  “Got some old pictures at the clubhouse. I’ll show ya. Stand still,” he orders when I want to turn around. “I ain’t done yet.”

  With gentle hands, he covers my hair with the bandana, tying the three points behind my head.

  “Now you can turn.” I do as he asks as he tugs a little at the fabric, taking great care to make sure my stitches are covered. “There. Now you look like old lady material.”

  I never thought such an archaic and misogynistic term would fill me with warmth, but apparently from this man’s mouth it does. “Thanks.”

  “Got no problem with you looking after you, but every so often you’re gonna have to let me do the looking after.”

  CHAPTER 16

  OURAY

  “Holy shit, how many cars do you have?”

  “Just two and a couple of bikes.”

  Luna walks into the garage, running her hand over the black on black Traverse I bought just last year. My old truck started looking pretty ratty, although the engine’s still fine. But there are times when showing up on my bike, or in an old pickup, doesn’t quite cut it when I don’t want people to be distracted by what they think I represent. People are still narrow-minded as shit, and I had a good business deal go sour early last year, when I rode up on my bike.

  It used to be I’d flip my finger at people like that, but with age I’ve learned that some people will never change. These days I’ll drive the Traverse when I think my bike might hamper what I want to get done. I’ve been accused of going soft on the lifestyle, but when it comes to the welfare of my club, or the kids, I don’t give a single shit about creed or convictions.

  “Hop up,” I offer, opening the door. “Damn thing even has ass warmers in the seats.”

  “Won’t need that today,” she says, a prim look on her face. “I’m pretty sure my ass is still wearing your fingerprints.” I chuckle at her reference to our early morning gymnastics.

  Last night had been a bust at the clubhouse. By the time we got there, a few of the guys were already passed out on the furniture. Red, the Mesa’s president, and his old lady were going at it in my fucking bedroom. Apparently they weren’t alone, as I discovered when I went looking for Yuma to give him a piece of my fucking mind, since he’s the only one with access. I caught the bastard coming out of my bedroom, buck-fucking-naked, to pilfer the stash of good scotch I keep in my desk.

  My bed, my office, and my fucking scotch are off limits, and the only reason that asswipe has a key is because the gun locker is in there. After tearing a strip off him, I collected Luna and took her home.

  This morning I have to live up to my promise to take her shopping. Not exactly a fun exercise, but a necessary evil since I’ve got a few things I was going to get her for our trip anyway. Necessities in my books, although I’m sure she’ll put up a stink before we’re done.

  “Got a preference where you want to go?” I ask her when I get behind the wheel and back out of the garage.

  “Bella gave me the names of a couple of places downtown. It might be easier to park and walk?”

  “Sounds good.” Sounds a fuckofalot better than hanging around some mall. “I got one stop I wanna get over with first.”

  “I’m not in a rush.”

  She’s clueless until we walk into the Harley-Davidson store and I make a beeline for women’s apparel. “Really, Ouray?” She holds up a skimpy tank saying ‘Best Tits In Town.’

  “Perfect for ya,” I tease, grabbing a pair of leathers off another rack. “But first try these on.”

  “Why do I need those?”

  “For protection. We’re gonna spend a lot of time on the road, Sprite.” There’s a stubborn set to her chin, so before she can launch into the protests I know are coming, I add, “Need to know you’re as safe as I can make ya.” This clearly was the right thing to say, because instantly her face softens.

  I haven’t exactly been successful at hiding my reaction to the bruises on her. The big black marks all along the left side of her body and face she woke up with this morning almost had me rush her to Mercy Hospital, but she promised me she was fine.

  “Sure,” she concedes, with a little smile.

  “Boots too,” I add quickly, since she’s in a compliant mood. That earns me an eye roll.

  “Whatever.”

  Her comment is dismissive but still she willingly grabs the chaps and disappears into a dressing room. I head in the opposite direction, quickly grab a few things and toss them on the sales counter. “Start packing these up,” I tell the woman behind the cash register before following Luna to the back. “They fit?”

  “Gimme a minute,” she mutters from behind the curtain. “I can’t figure out if I have them on the right way. Something’s missing.”

  “Show me.” Before she can protest, I slip inside the small cubicle with her. “Damn, woman,” falls from my mouth when I catch a glimpse of an ass cheek in the mirror and I automatically reach out to grab me a handful. “Not complainin’, don’t get me wrong, but those are supposed to go on over jeans.”

  “I know that, but the jeans are Bella’s and don’t want to accidentally damage them with all these damn buckles.” She twists out of the handhold I have on her butt and starts undoing them.

  “Come here,” I tell her, pulling her in my arms. My eyes are focused over her head on the full-length mirror behind her, displaying a perfect glimpse of her creamy firm globes peeking out of her next to nothing panties. Framed by black leather, it makes for a mouthwatering view. “They look like a good fit.”

  Her head snaps up and she tosses a glance over her shoulder. “Perv,” she hisses, shoving hard at my chest.

  “I’m gettin’ hard standing in the middle of the goddamn Harley store looking atcha, baby.” I grin when her eyes do a quick scan of my crotch. “We’re gettin’ those chaps, and I’m giving you fair warning...” I lean in close to her ear before whispering, “...I’ll have you bent over, wearing nothing but those leathers, watching my cock sliding in and out of you.” A little hitch in her breath tells me she’s liking that idea. I have to adjust myself and get the hell out of the dressing room before I live out my fantasy right here, right now.

  The boots are next and quickly decided on. Thank fuck, Luna doesn’t waste time when she’s shopping, and she doesn’t even argue much when I pull out my wallet. Maybe twenty minutes from the time we walked in, we’re back outside. I toss the large bag with our purchases in the back of the Traverse and climb behind the wheel.

  “Those boots are kick-ass,” she grins from the passenger seat. “I’m getting a few inches lift out of those, and I bet I could do some serious damage in a pinch.”

  “I’m sure you could. Now that we’ve got your inner badass taken care of, want to hit up those girly boutiques?”

  “Not particularly,” she says, wincing. “But we probably should. Let’s get this over with.”

  We end up hitting three stores. Luna buys a fuckload of clothes, mostly tees and jeans, but on
my urging tries on a little dress that looks more like a silky nightie. She balks when I want to buy it for her, but when I point out how badass she would look wearing that dress with her leather jacket and brand new biker boots, she caves.

  We hit the Wendy’s drive-thru on our way out of town, and head back to my house where I haul in her purchases.

  “Let’s eat first,” I suggest when she starts digging through the bags I dropped on the couch. Other than a piece of toast and some coffee before we took off this morning, neither of us have had much.

  “What’s this?” she asks when she sits down at the counter and spots the spare keys and garage door opener I put beside her burger.

  “Keys are for the house and the SUV. Like I said,” I explain when I see the look on her face. “I rarely ever use it, and you need some wheels until you get sorted. The house key is just in case something happens.”

  “Doesn’t someone in the club have a key for emergencies?”

  “Momma does, but I don’t want you to have to go ask if you need it. Use it, don’t use it, it don’t matter, I just want you to have it.”

  She doesn’t answer, but she does take a massive bite out of her crispy chicken sandwich, so I consider the matter closed. I count myself lucky she hasn’t yet taken a strip off me.

  But that changes when—lunch eaten—she goes and rummages through her bags of purchases.

  “What the fuck?” She pulls out the two shirts I had them pack. One is a Harley one, but that’s not what she’s upset at. “You actually expect me to wear this?” she asks, holding up the offensive scrap of fabric and I don’t bother hiding my grin.

  “Nothin’ but the truth, darlin’. Those babies are definitely the best tits in town.”

  LUNA

  I look over at Cody, who is sitting stiffly beside me in the passenger seat of the Traverse.