Loving Me, Trusting You (5 page)

“You know it wasn't personal, Mireya,” he says, and in his voice, I can tell he feels bad for me. That just pisses me off even more. I squeeze my fists tight and say nothing.

“Can we move on, please? You invited us down here for a reason, right?”

Austin sighs and shakes his head.

“I did. Frankly, I'm a little overwhelmed. Everything just happened so damn fast, I don't know what to do with myself. We ain't got a lot left to be honest with y'all. The last few … ventures Kimmi and I undertook didn't exactly go over successfully.”

“Well, what the shit does that mean?” Beck asks, slamming his drink on the counter and making the bartender jump. The man glowers at us, but with a green eyed glare from Beck, he finally moves away and focuses his attention on an old man that stumbles in and flops down on the seat farthest from us.

“It means that after we finish doing what we need to do here, we go straight to Fort Walton, recharge with some fresh supplies and lay low on the coast, somewhere that doesn't belong to anybody else. I don't think we need a turf war layered on top of all this shit,” Kimmi says with a sigh, brushing some of her bright red curls back from her face. “But before we go, I think we should check with Broken Dallas, the MC that owns Fort Walton. I don't want to step on any toes. Let's just let 'em know that we'll be in and out, no questions asked. That way, if Bested wants to stop by and pay us a visit, they'll have to go through them first.”

“Sounds good to me,” Beck says.

“Of course it does,” I growl at him from across the counter. “You're a blundering idiot that doesn't think things through. You want to
rob a bank
?” I hiss. “You think that's a good idea right now? The cops are going to be looking for somebody to pin those murders on. You don't think we should be worried about that?”

“I think,” Austin says, interrupting me before I can really get going. He doesn't want to hear what I have to say, that's for sure. Once I get started, I won't be able to stop. I think I'll just keep talking until the words turn to screams and then sobs. I've got a lot going on inside right now, most of which I don't understand. I feel conflicted and lost. I don't like it. I don't like it at all. “That the cops don't give a shit about some broken ass bikers. They'll call it a gang war and write it off like they always do. Nobody but us cares whether we live or die, and that's,” Austin says, rising to his feet as little Miss Perfect appears from the elevator and casts a shy smile his way. “Why I think avoiding Bested by Crows is more important than avoiding the cops. Let's just get to Fort Walton, get this money and have a little sand and surf.”

“You asked us down here for our opinions, right?” I ask him, spinning around on the chair as he steps back and wets his lips. He wanted a 'meeting', so he's going to get one. I don't care that Miss Amy walked into the room all saccharine sweet, the white fabric of the dress she's just changed into swirling about her delicate ankles as she pauses by the elevator banks and tosses Austin a smile. To his credit, the man pauses and turns to look at me, tall and sweaty, dirty from a hard day's ride. I want to feel something for him,
anything
for him, but I don't. I feel nothing but emptiness. I stare Austin's dark eyes down. “Well, I think coming back here is a fucking mistake. We're, what, rescuing another poor, Southern belle from her daddy's hard hand? That's not what we're about, Austin. Triple M is counting on you to take care of them, not get them hauled into a police station for questioning. We need to ride fast and lay low. I say we get the hell out of here and don't look back.”

Austin stares at me for a long moment and sighs, putting out a hand and squeezing my shoulder.

“You've got good points, Sawyer, but I have to do this.”

“For who?”

He looks me straight in the eye when he answers.

“For Amy.”

I grit my teeth solid, but don't try to stop him as he walks away.

“Why did he even call us down here, if he wasn't willing to listen?” I ask, grabbing my beer and draining it with one last eye roll towards the ceiling.
Hombres.
They think with their nuts first, their hearts second, and their brains never.

“Well,” Kimmi says, ever the Austin advocate. He could advise us to ride to hell and back and that girl would stand by his side and toot his horn for all the world to hear. “We need to choose a new Road Captain, somebody to scout out the road ahead of us, decide where we're going to refuel, where we're going to sleep.” Kimmi nurses her beer for a moment and brushes some hair behind her ear, sending her bright, ruby red earring swinging like a pendulum. Her green eyes are vibrant, like fresh cut grass, and I can smell her perfume from here. Such a doll, but a badass, too. I really do like her, even if she pisses me off. “I was going to wait for Austin to come back because this sounds fucking pompous as shit, but … what do you think about me being the Vice President?” She looks up and casts her eyes down the counter, focusing her pinprick pupils on me.

“What do I give a shit? You're the one that has to tell the group that you got cherry picked by their new leader.” Gaine coughs and opens his mouth to interject, but Kimmi's already pursed her pink lips and started in on me.

“Who says we need a popular vote? He's the Pres. His word his law, and he wants me to be Vice. You have a problem with that, princess?” I order yet another beer, desperate for the alcohol to hit my system and do
something
to it. I've become immune to booze over the years. After all, we're bikers, we drink. That's what we do. Right now, I doubt anything less than a gallon of moonshine could knock me off this stool onto my ass.

“We going to pretend to be a real MC now? Maybe we should vote in a Treasurer and a Sergeant-at-arms? Have 1% stitched onto our jackets? No, no, I know. Let's all sit around and watch
Sons of Anarchy
and then bitch about how we're not following all the rules set down by a fucking TV program?” The beer comes up and I close my lips around it, sucking down the bitter hops in a few controlled contractions of my throat. When it comes, I keep going. “Or maybe we should chase down Bested by Crows and ask what we're doing wrong?” I look Kimmi right in the face, letting the anger swirl around me like a dark cloud. I don't mean to be this way. Somewhere inside of myself, I get that I'm difficult, but I can't stop the outbursts. I feel like a little girl trapped inside a woman's body. I have the idea of how I should act, but feel like I have no control. My fists clench at my sides tight and my nails dig into my palms, drawing the slightest sting of blood. It drips down to my knuckle and rolls to the floor with a silent splash I swear everybody around me can hear. “Don't try to mimic them, Kimmi. Don't let Austin try to mimic them. We are what we are, and we're better than everybody else. In a 'real' MC, you wouldn't be Vice. You wouldn't even be a member. Remember that next time you guys decide to make plans. We should be fighting everything they are and showing people that it goes beyond the bullshit, beyond the jackets and the emblems.” I touch a hand to my chest, and I have no idea where all of this is coming from. Maybe it's just been bottled up inside for so long, I don't know what to do with it anymore? “It's about the wind and the road and the sound of a purring engine. It's about being free and owning yourself, doing what's right for you and nobody else. That's it.”

And then before anybody can say a thing, before they can see the bit of wetness that's streaming down my face, I turn around and walk away, hips swaying, hair flowing behind me. I feel powerful and weak at the same time, like I'm a perfect conundrum, something to be feared and worshipped both.

I hit the glass doors of the lobby with both hands and emerge into liquid heat that washes over me like a wave, drenching my body in sweat, plastering my hair to my forehead.

“Fucking Southern summer shit,” I murmur. I hate the heat. I'll be honest. Growing up in Seville, in Spain, the weather was one of the things that I hated the most. Three hundred days a year it was sunny, bright and hot. At least fifty of those days were akin to living on the sun with soaring temperatures that made the city look like a ghost town. I don't miss it there, and I
hate
this. I like places that have a definition between the seasons, where you can see fall change to winter, winter to spring, spring to summer. There's a magic to that. Not like this long, oppressive blanket of stifling heat.

I growl under my breath and dig around in the pockets of my jacket for a smoke, pulling one out and placing it between my lips with trembling hands. The leather comes off next, peeled away from sticky skin and slung over my shoulder as I cross the street without checking either way. This is a one horse town, so to speak, one of those places where everything closes down after five o'clock.

“Sawyer, wait up.”

I don't wait. I keep going, ignoring Gaine's voice as I step up on the sidewalk and under the pale blue-white glow of the bar's single sign.

“Back off, Gaine. I used to think your obsession with me was cute. Now, it's just plain fucking creepy.” I kick open the heavy wooden door with my foot. Probably a little overdramatic, but it feels damn good. Inside, a couple of lazy drunks and a group of young kids stare at me with interest. This place must just worship the antique bike show every year because instead of the hopping joint it was a few weeks back, now it looks like a dive.

I move over to the bar with Gaine on my heels and toss my coat over a stool before sitting down and ordering yet another beer. I could get to my drunk with something else, but it wouldn't feel right. A good beer buzz is the only thing that sounds good to me right about now.

I run my fingers over the mangled top of the bar, tracing scratches with my nails and pretending that Gaine didn't slide onto the stool next to mine.

“You feel any better after that outburst?” he asks, and I glance up at him, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Here's the thing about Gaine Kelley: no matter how hard I try, how loud I yell, how fierce I get, he never goes away. For years, I've been trying to swat the asshole off like a fly in the hot summer sun and still, he persists. To tell you the truth, I can better understand why Austin
doesn't
want me than I can understand why Gaine
does.
I don't know what man would want to take on a woman with the emotional scars I have, to deal with someone who has a temper even
she
doesn't fully understand. Something is seriously wrong with me, and yet, Gaine acts like I'm a fucking goddess. At first, I thought it was youth and inexperience. Now, I just think he's nuts.
Loco hijo de puta.

“Sure, Gaine. I've had a revelation and am going to become a saint!” I hold my hands in the air and shake them around. “Praise the Blessed Virgin.
Gloria a Dios!
” I drop my fists back to the bar and wrap my fingers around the pale yellow label. When I glance at it, I don't recognize the brand. Probably something local, homegrown, and tasteless. The night I danced on this bar, that I filmed Austin and Amy together, I had no idea how much my life was going to change in such a short time. I'd gotten used to the way things were. I
liked
them that way, and now? I feel more alone than ever.

Kelley drums his fingers on the counter and watches me with eyes that glitter like the night sky. They're so dark that in the right light, his pupils melt into his irises and make him look otherworldly. I won't deny that it's sexy. Gaine is as attractive as they come, but I'm not in the mood to be swept off my feet by a man, especially not one that's five years my junior.

“Are you done yet?” he asks me and his voice slips out of that Southern sultry drawl and into a bit of New York. Oh yeah. He thinks I don't know where he comes from, but I do. We can hide from our pasts, but eventually, they'll catch up with us. It's best to keep a net waiting just in case. “Because I'd like to have an actual conversation with you.”

“This is the mood I'm in tonight, Gaine. If you don't like it, leave. You don't owe me anything.” I finish my drink and start in on the next. The bartender here is good. I don't like having to ask.

I stare at the dirty mirror above the rows of bottles and try to imagine that there's another world in there, one that doesn't fuck you at every turn, where people care and shit smells like roses.
Hah. Fat chance.

“No, but I owe you everything, Mireya,” Gaine whispers, bending close. The bartender sets a beer down next to his wrist, the one with the koi fish tattoos. I hate the damn things, but I guess I can't complain. I've got a tramp stamp on my back, right above my ass crack. It's a winged pig. You know that phrase,
when pigs fly
? Sounded like a good idea after a night of tequila shots. I do my best to keep it hidden at all times.

“How's that, Gaine?” I ask, turning my head slightly as the doors to the bar swing open and in walk Beck and Melissa. God. What a train wreck that girl is. If I thought I was messed up, Mel has completely lost it. She doesn't even look like the same woman. She's not wearing any makeup and her clothes are as plain as can be, just a white tee and a pair of dirty jeans. Her hair is loose and stringy and her lips are stuck in a permanent frown. I mean, I never thought she actually liked Kent, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe she did love the asshole?

Beck waves at us and grins, but I turn away without acknowledging him. Gaine gives him a nod of his chin and spins back to face me.

“Because I like you, Sawyer.” He tries to smile, but I don't return the favor. Instead, I focus on his pinched nose, his rough lips, the speckle of stubble across his jaw and throat. Usually, Gaine keeps himself nice and clean and smooth. It's one of the things I like about him. I wish I could tell him, ask him to shave it all off, so I can run my fingers down his throat, but we don't have that kind of relationship, he and I. He'd like that, sure he would, and that's what this is all about. I don't know why he's chosen now to pursue me at full speed, but he has and it's already getting old.

“And I like you, too, Gaine. As a
friend.
Don't be as clueless about me as I was about Austin. We're friends, and we have fun together. That's that.” I notice I've knocked out another beer.
When did that happen?
The soft, yellow lighting in the room is starting to blur at the edges and the dirty wood floors don't seem so trashed. I smile and push aside my empty bottle to make room for another.