by Bourne, Lena
“Is something wrong?” he asks, his smile not faltering, because I’m sure he’s as sure as I am that nothing could possibly be wrong. Yet it is.
I don’t answer his question, but wriggle from underneath him, sighing as his now soft cock slides from my pussy. It was a gentle caress, but felt like a vicious sundering.
He reaches for me, but I evade his arms and sit on the edge of the bed. Not discouraged, he sits beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulders.
“Is this because you want us to leave?” he asks in a whisper that I’m thankful for, because the walls in this place are paper-thin. “We will, just not yet.”
I glance at him, then focus on my hands, which I’m clutching together tightly in my lap. My knuckles are white edged with pink. “I can’t leave with you. And I can’t be with you either.”
“Because of Horse?” he asks in an outraged voice, too loud for my liking. “I’ll talk to him.”
I know he doesn’t actually mean “talk”. His tone betrays a much more violent plan in that regard.
“It’s not Horse,” I say then let my voice trail off, because I don’t know how to tell him the rest. Should I lie, tell him the problem’s with us not being compatible, tell him I don’t care for him that way? Or do I tell him the truth?
I glance back at him, and this time I can’t look away from his eyes. They’re still blue and moving like the sea, but a darkness has crept in. A storm is brewing. It’s not far away. And its beauty won’t let me go, won’t let me run.
What the fuck am I thinking?
I can’t risk this. I can’t bring a bunch of killers to my sister’s door. It’s bad enough I’m risking going there.
I’m leaving today. Last night, I stole enough money to get me home, some of it from the cash register and some from a couple of the Sinners’ wallets, while they were too drunk to care about anything. I won’t be taking a man with a target on his back with me to my sister’s doorstep, especially not now that she finally has hope again. She’s worth more than my gamble on a happiness that might never be. Our love is too young to bet on. I gambled when I stole that money from the Sinners. I lost. I won’t gamble again.
“Why then?” he asks, his voice hoarse like the moments of silence that followed my words lasted decades.
“Because of the danger you’re in,” I say, deciding I can’t lie, not to his face, not while I’m swimming in those warm, peaceful eyes of his. “Because you’re hunted, and you’ll be killed and…and…and I can’t risk that.”
My voice cracked and my hands are shaking, but none of that means I’m not firm in my decision.
“Ah, so you’ve heard my story?” he says in a dry, toneless voice that suggests he’d rather be anywhere else, talking about anything else. “I wanted to be the one to tell you about that. It’s nothing to worry about, I promise you.”
His words are forceful, certain, his roiling eyes full of storm waves. He’s sure he’s telling me the truth.
“I was at that fight in Vegas when the Devils freed Iceman,” I say quietly. I remembered it later, while I was waiting for him at the bar. “And I heard what they did to your club afterwards, in revenge. They were ruthless, vicious and efficient. If they know you’re alive, they’ll find you and kill you.”
He rolls his eyes and groans like I’m worrying about nothing. Like I’m just being hysterical and difficult.
“They won’t kill me,” he assures me, his face once again deadly serious and certain. “It’ll never come to that.”
“Yeah, right. I’m sure you think you’re safe. Your pride won’t let you believe anything else, will it?” I snap. “And maybe you even are safe while you’re here with the Sinners, but what about out on the open road? What about when it’s just you with no one to watch your back?”
I more or less hissed the last words at him, wanting to yell them, but knowing I must keep my voice down. That’s making me even angrier on top of everything else. I want to scream and shout at the injustice of this. At this unfairness, this pain, at having to let go of this man who’s everything I dreamed of and never hoped to find. His sea eyes are still promising me all the happiness I ever wanted. As is his sturdy, strong arm around my shoulders. I want to trust him. I want to lean on him. I want to ask for his protection the way I never wanted to with any other man. I want to let the love I feel for him grow beyond this tiny bud it is. I want it to blossom into a tree.
But I can’t.
Knowing that is enough to drive me insane if I dwell on it.
I’ve done too many things that felt good, but ended up a total disaster. I’m all out of credits on that. Like partying in Vegas after we stole that money from Horse instead of hauling ass out of town. They’d never find me again if I just left town for a little bit then laid low. For twenty thousand, how long would they even search for me? A month? No more than six months, I’m sure. If that long. But I wanted to party. I wanted to feel good. To celebrate. To test my luck.
Now I’m here. Having to send Ace away.
So much for doing what feels good.
He reaches over to stroke my cheek, but I fling myself away from his hand, standing up to escape the temptation of his touch. His eyes are enough of a temptation to change my mind all on their own. Why aren’t they angry? Why isn’t he? Why is he so damn calm? So sad?
I’m making the right choice here!
I wish it didn’t make me so angry and sad.
He stands up too and his arms twitch like he wants to hold me. I prevent it by taking a step back from him.
“What you’re afraid of isn’t a problem,” he tells me again. “I can’t explain it better right now, but I’m telling you the truth.”
I shake my head. “And I can’t tell you why I fear it so much. But I have my reasons and they’re very good ones. It is what it is, Ace. We’re done.”
“We haven’t even begun yet.” He laughs and it feels like jagged, rusty nails scratching at my heart.
He clears his throat uncomfortably like he realized how his words wounded me.
“But I want us to,” he corrects himself. “I’m falling in love with you.”
Of all the men in my life who’ve said those words to me, he is the only one I truly believe. But they’re just words.
“You’re wrong. We don’t know each other well enough for that,” I tell him coldly, my voice ice, because what I actually want to say is that I feel the same way. That I’ve already fallen all the way in love with him.
“I’m not wrong,” he says and chuckles. “I’m old enough to know what I know.”
I know it too!
“I want you to leave now,” I say instead.
I wish he’d get angry, I wish he’d yell at me and call me a bitch, anything like that would be better than this pleasant, soft look in his eyes that feels like a caress against my cheek.
“If that’s what you want,” he finally says, his voice betraying he wants nothing of the sort. But he picks up his jeans off the floor and starts getting dressed.
I’m just standing there, clutching my chest with my arms to keep from shaking, watching his nakedness, his perfect body, my rock, disappear beneath his clothes.
He turns back from the door once he reaches it, his hastily packed saddlebags dangling from his arm. “I’ll fix it, Stormi. I promise.”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to fix.”
But he didn’t stay to hear me say that. I said it to the closed door.
I made the right choice. The sensible choice. For probably the first time in my life. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much.
17
Ace
That’s just fucking perfect.
Now this mess is also gonna cost me the first woman I remember having actual feelings for beyond lust. If we’d been somewhere away from the clubhouse when she brought this up, I would’ve told her everything, and damn the consequences. So it’s good thing we weren’t, but still. As it is, I hinted very strongly that I’m not who I said I am,
but I don’t think she got it. I certainly hope no one was listening in with the goal of carrying tales to Griff or his sons.
As I left her room, the thudding of my boots against the wooden floorboards was the loudest sound I heard. There was no moaning, no groaning, no talking coming from any of the rooms I passed on my way to the courtyard, which is empty too. Hopefully, no one was there to overhear our conversation.
Out in the courtyard, I toss my saddlebags on the dusty ground at my feet, lean against the wall by the door that leads into the bar, and light a cigarette. The noonday sun is high, bright and scorching hot, but I’m gonna stand out here a little longer anyway. I hope that she’ll come after me, tell me she was overreacting, that she didn’t mean what she said, that she’s sorry. She won’t have far to go if I wait right here.
But she sounded so damn sure that she’s done with me!
Useless to dwell on that now.
A couple more days and then I’ll be able to talk to her freely. She’ll see things differently then. It can’t be much longer than that. And it’s gonna be a lot shorter if I actually get my ass in gear and find out what I’m here to find out.
Under the bright, hot sun, I can’t believe how close I came to blowing my whole cover here by telling her the truth. I can’t believe I’m still considering doing it the very first chance I get.
But she’s something else, someone special, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been. God knows I never found a woman like her before, and not for lack of searching. When you find a woman you love, you hold onto her, no matter what. That’s what my uncle taught me. And he showed me too, because he lived it. Him and my aunt both.
The door of the bar opens, nearly hitting me in the face, because I was just about to enter to get out of the heat and out of my own head about this Stormi thing.
“Good, you’re up. I was just about to come wake you,” Horse says. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” I ask.
“A meeting with the Knights,” he says. “Griff wants to smooth things over with their Prez before shit gets out of hand.”
“So, no war?” I ask with a mocking grin, which I’m sure isn’t a good idea, but he annoys me. And not just because he’s holding Stormi here like she’s their prisoner.
Before she broke it off with me, I had all sorts of plans of how to get her out of their clutches, including paying off her debt. I have enough saved up, and I might still do it, despite it all. She deserves it. No. That’s not it. I just want her to be happy. With or without me, I want that for her. I’m pretty sure that means I’m not only falling in love with her, but that I’m already in love.
Horse grimaces and shakes his head. “No. No war.”
He brushes past me on the way out of the bar, and I follow, literally feeling the absence of all else he could’ve said—would’ve said, if he trusted me. But I won’t worry about the accusations he made against me last night yet. He didn’t repeat them to his father, at least not in my hearing, so I won’t force the issue, not until it’s too obvious too ignore.
“Where are we going?” I ask without looking at him while I busy myself with reattaching the saddlebags to my bike.
“Just follow me,” he says tersely and drives off the lot.
I do it after I stuff one of my Glocks behind the waistband of my jeans.
Before I do anything else today, I wanted to call Cross and tell him all that’s happened since last night, but that’ll have to wait now. Hopefully Ink’s already informed him about the Knights situation.
Horse leads me by the shortest route out of town, then up and down two desert-like hills. On top of the second one, we find a decrepit looking side-of-the-road bar, which is our destination. It’s not even a building, but a container, and a sorry ass place to talk about not going to war. It looks more like a place where wars are started.
Several members of Road Knights MC are milling around outside. They’re bunched in a huddle to one side of the container, while another bunch of bikers, standing on the other side of the container, is made up of the Sinners. Walking between them and into the bar feels like passing through a force field, that’s how much tension there is between the two groups.
No one’s behind the bar counter, which takes up most of the length of the place along the far wall. Piston and three Sinners are leaning on the counter and seven Knights are positioned at different points in the room, forming a half-circle around a lanky, skinny man of about sixty who’s sitting at a table in the center of the room. The guy standing behind his right shoulder looks like an older version of Ink, but with far less hair. He’s gotta be Ink’s brother, and the guy sitting is most likely the Knights’ President.
“Where the fuck’s Griff?” the old guy barks at Horse as we enter.
Horse shrugs at him. “He should be here soon. He left before we did.”
The math’s not adding up in my head. Why would Griff leave for this meeting before me and Horse, two of his enforcers? And why did they just let me sleep instead of telling me about this plan? My gut’s telling me to be wary, and I’ve learned to trust it, since it’s saved me more times than I can count. The times I didn’t listen to it, those were the times when I almost died.
“I’ll go see if he’s on his way,” I say and turn to leave the room, but Horse grabs my arm to halt me.
“No need, he’s coming,” he tells me, glaring at me pointedly. It’s the searching gaze of someone trying to read the face of a traitor.
“How about you call up your daddy, Horse,” Ink’s brother says. “We appreciate that he sent you and Piston to warm his seat at this meeting, but you have about ten more minutes before we lose patience and make you answer for what you did last night.”
From the corner of my eye, I clearly see Piston flinch. Horse snaps his head to look at Ink’s brother, with utter terror on his face, such as he’ll never be able to explain away. It’s gone in the next moment, but not before it was noted by all. Several of the present Knights chuckled at his stark display of fear.
“He’ll be here,” he assures them.
“And I gotta take a piss before he gets here,” I say loudly.
I can hear bikes in the distance, I’m pretty sure they all do, and it’s gotta be Griff and his escort, but that feeling that I better get the fuck out of this room is growing stronger with each breath I take, and I’m gonna listen to it. The thing about intuition is that you better react to it the second it pops up and not think too hard about it.
Horse looks at me with a tight expression on his face like he’s gonna argue, but even he’s not dumb enough to prevent a man from taking a piss.
The sunlight practically pierces my eyes as I step back outside. There’s an outhouse-type building attached to one of the narrow sides of the container, but I can already smell old piss and shit wafting from it, so I’m not getting any nearer to it than this. To the left of the parking lot, there’s a large, tall thicket-type bush of the kind that grows in desert areas, and it’ll suit my purposes. Even before I reach it I know I’m not the first who decided to piss there instead of the outhouse. It reeks of piss, old and new, the heat making it more and more unbearable the nearer I get to it. But it’ll hide me from sight of the bar and that’s my main objective here.
Once I reach it, my twisted luck yet again doesn’t disappoint. The area behind the thicket offers a clear view of the other road that leads up to this spot, the one that’s hidden from the windows of the bar by a slight rise in the land and this dried up bush.
No less than five police cruisers are coming towards the bar, along with thee black SUVs with tinted windows. Like a dog that doesn’t bark, they have no flashing lights on, no sirens—an unmistakable sign that they mean business. They’re coming for us, and they know exactly where to look for us. And they’re almost here. The sound I figured must be Griff arriving is actually a police chopper.
“The fucking pigs are here!” someone in the huddle of the Knights yells, saving
me the trouble of raising the alarm and giving away my position, which is now flat on my stomach in the dirt that reeks of piss between two of the bushes that make up this thicket. I got my gun on me, and my knife, but only a fucking idiot with a death wish would try to fight his way out of this.
More police cars and black SUVs, which have got to be the feds, are coming up the other road now too.
What the fuck is happening? Is it possible that none of the Sinners is the snitch? Is this just a fluke? Why would the snitch sic the cops on this meeting?
All those are questions I can’t even begin to answer. I failed Cross in this job miserably.
I squeeze deeper into the thicket, suffering a few deep rents in my forearms for my trouble. They’re all bleeding now, and I’m not even sure why I bothered to hide deeper. In a minute this whole place will be swarming with pigs. No way they’re not gonna find me back here. I can’t run either. The land in all directions is open and barren, and if they see me running, they’ll shoot first and ask questions never.
I crawl back out from the thicket, walk to the side of it and peer at the bar. The bikers around the bar all have their hands up. The Knights’ president is standing in the doorway, scowling at the uniformed cops that have surrounded the place by now.
“Come out with your hands up!” a man in a black suit and wearing dark sunglasses yells. He’s gotta be a fed. They all dress like fucking mafia bosses from movies. “Now! Or we’ll shoot.”
The Knights’ president scowls at them, spits in the dirt and says something to his men still inside the bar. Then he raises his hands above his head, and walks all the way outside, followed by Ink’s brother and the rest of the Knights and Sinners. Piston and Horse come out last, their hands up, an almost identical look of pleasure on their faces. Great, I’ll just fucking tell Cross they’re the snitches, because I thought they looked pleased when the cops showed up. Fucking shit! How could I fuck this up so bad?
“Load them up!” the suit who appears to be in charge orders, and some of the cops fan out to do his bidding. “Search the area! Make sure you get them all.”