Loving Me, Trusting You (9 page)

My hands move down and cup her ass, drawing her closer to the edge of the bed, so I can find my feet and use the power of my entire body to pleasure her. I stand up tall and let my head fall back, eyes drifting to the ceiling as Mireya hooks her ankles behind my back and holds on for dear life, letting me slam her into the bed over and over again, shaking the whole damn thing enough that I'm pretty fucking sure our downstairs neighbors are gettin' an earful.

“Fuck, Mireya,” I say because that's all I really can say. There are a whole host of other things that want to come out, but I keep 'em back because I have to. The last time I let loose, I told her I loved her and she pulled away from me like I was nuts. Now, I have a stupid ass heart tattoo on my shoulder and every damn day I get to look in the mirror and get reminded that she doesn't love me back.

“Fuck you, Gaine,” she growls as her back arches and her body spasms tight around me. She says that all the time because, well, she is Mireya friggin' Sawyer. “Fuck you to hell and back!” she screams as she claws at the bedding with her long, red nails, tears the comforter to shit and comes all over me, drenching me with her warm heat.
I seriously love this woman so fucking hard.
I pause for a moment, body pulsing, muscles flexing involuntarily. I want to spill my seed inside of her, but I hold back. We should be using a condom, and even though I know the damn pull out method is shit halfway out a bull's ass, it's better than nothing.

When Mireya releases me, I move back and she pushes herself up on shaky arms. I notice she won't meet my eyes this time, staring at any and everything else in the room as she stands up on quivering legs and flicks the switch on the lamp, plunging us into darkness punctuated only by breath and the beating of heavy hearts.

When she falls to her knees before me and takes my cock into her mouth, I wonder if things will ever change, if they'll ever be different, if Mireya will ever love me the way I love her.

As she slides that perfect mouth along my cock, teases my balls with her fingers and whispers curse words against my skin, I know that I don't rightly give a fuck. If I have to chase after her forever, then I'll do it. After all, what's the fun in catching something that's easy? It's all about the challenge, ain't it?

I come inside Mireya's mouth and I whisper the words in my head that I don't dare to say aloud.

I love you, Mireya fucking Sawyer.

I slept with Gaine even though I knew it was a bad idea. Something was different about last night. Something is different about
me
, and I don't fucking like it.
Damn you, Tray. Cock sucker. Fuck wad. Pendejo.
I run my hands down my face and stare at myself in the mirror. I wish the asshole had a grave, so I could go and dance on it, maybe spit at the dirt and swear a lot. Instead, his body's probably been swept up by the police, quickly cremated and forgotten about. Nobody pushes hard to find out who murdered a loser fucking criminal. Still, I know that it's his death that's doing this to me, making me act so strange, so …
vulnerable.
I shiver. Vulnerable is not a good place to be, not for anyone, especially not for a woman in a world of bikers.

I slide my red lipstick across my mouth and promise myself that the heavy makeup isn't a mask, that I don't use it to hide how I'm feeling inside. Might be a lie, but it makes me feel better. I pucker my lips and slide my finger into my mouth to remove any excess before grabbing my jacket and heading out the door.

With my fingers clamped around the handle I pause and glance back at Gaine.

He's still sleeping, lying out naked on his back with a damn hard-on. Staring at his sleeping face, his stubbled jaw, his fall of dark hair, I almost,
almost
feel a smile twitch my lips. At the last second I manage to push it back, muttering under my breath about the young, useless piece of ass that was crowding my bed last night.

When I get into the hallway, I see that Amy Cross is already waiting for me.

“I was just about to knock,” she says with a smile. I stare at her, and I don't bother to hide my distaste. She might think I hate her because Austin likes her better than me. While I'm not going to lie and say that I don't feel any animosity towards her for that, it isn't why I feel so angry when I look at her. Amy might not have had a perfect life, but she had an okay one, and she threw it away to come live this life. While I can't deny that the open road has its appeal, that wind in your face and metal between your thighs is its own sort of heaven, I can tell you that I wouldn't have given up a cushy existence to come out here completely unprepared and vulnerable. Amy Cross is like a sitting duck, waiting to be manipulated. If she were to be kidnapped by another gang, I don't even want to
think
about what would happen to her. So I'm pissed off. I'm pissed at her, at Austin, at the world. I'm just mad about freaking everything, so I take it out on everyone. It might not be right, but that's where I'm at for the time being.

“Where's Austin?” I snap at her, taking in her obviously new jeans, her crisp T-shirt. Somebody went clothing shopping this morning. I frown and try not to let my face go into an all out scowl. Once it gets there, it's hard to pull it back. Little Amy with the heart shaped face might not be able to handle my full wrath. She looks over her shoulder at the cracked door across the hall. Inside, I can hear Kimmi and Austin arguing about something in low voices.

Fucking bank robbers.

Jesus, who would have known?

“So what, I'm supposed to take you to this bar?” I quip, wrinkling my nose and checking the tire iron I shoved into the back of my jeans. I've got a knife in the front pocket and a hand covered in rings, just in case. I'm prepared for anything at anytime. Bested by Crows
will
be back, and they
will
be looking for me. If they catch me off guard, I
will
suffer, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Amy nods and tucks some hair behind her ear. I hate the way she always looks at the floor before meeting my gaze. I want to tell myself it's because she's so submissive, that she's afraid to look at me, but I don't think that's it at all. I think she's gathering herself, pulling her thoughts into an organized procession, so that she knows how to look, how to react. It's a good skill, one that I'm pretty fucking certain I don't have or will ever have.

“Just me and you?” I ask and she opens her mouth to respond.

“Nah, sugar pie, you got me!”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling and glance over at Beck. He's strutting down the hallway like the piece of shit ginger fuck that he is, grinning from ear to ear and looking like the cat that got the cream.

“And Gaine if he's up for it.” I look over my shoulder and make sure the door is closed firmly behind me. I'd like to stay away from Gaine Kelley for the day if at all possible. I look back at Beck. His goatee is gone, shaved clean away for the first time in probably three years. His shirt is soaked in sweat and I'm pretty sure it's the same one he was wearing last night.

“He's asleep. Leave him the fuck alone.” Beck laughs at me and even elbows Amy who gets real wide-eyed and doe like. I glare at Austin's friend and it isn't difficult for me to remember why, despite his physical perfection, we've never slept together.
Ay, qué idiota!
“And why the hell are you hairless all of a sudden?” I gesture at my chin while Beck's grin grows to grotesque proportions, stretching across his sunburnt face like a disease.

“Ain't the only place I'm hairless now,” he says with another laugh.

“Oh.” That's all that comes out of Amy's mouth before I'm turning on my heel and marching down the hallway towards the elevators. The ache between my brows has grown into a massive migraine already, and it's not even eight o'clock yet. This day is not looking good.

“Hey, hold up, I gotta thank you for turning down that girl last night. What was her name? Cassie?”

“Crystal.” I spit the word out like a curse as I jam my thumb on the button for the elevator.

“Yeah, yeah, that was it. Anyhow, I gotta thank you for turning her down. Woo wee, that girl was crazy. Shaved every damn inch of my body from head to toe. Got off on it crazy hard, too.” Beck tries to show me the gleaming tats on his forearms, the reapers, skulls and tombstones shining like they were freshly inked. “Let's just say, I never had such a weird ass lay in all my life.”

The elevator doors slide open and I step inside, slumping against the railing with a sigh as I watch Amy covering her mouth and trying not to laugh. Beck notices and thumps her on the back hard enough that she stumbles.

“You like war stories there, sugar pie?” he asks, laughing his annoying ass off while the doors begin to slide closed. But not nearly fast enough. My stomach drops when I see Gaine come flying out of the hotel room, pants unzipped, boots in his hand. His hair is stuck up every which way and his eyes are sticky with sleep.

“Yo, wait up!” he calls, and I'm tempted to hit Beck in the nuts, so he'll drop his arm and let the doors slide closed. No such luck. Instead, Gaine comes sliding into the elevator in his socks, looking like a much more attractive version of Tom Cruise in
Risky Business.
“Shit, fuck,” he says, dropping his adopted Southern accent. “Why the hell did you sneak out like that?” he asks me as I do my best to keep our arms from touching. I don't know what's up with me, but when I look into Gaine's face, I feel something untwisting inside, falling away from my heart, leaving it bare and nervous. It's beating reminds me of the hooves of a herd of wild horses, pounding the earth and making my fingers quiver. I squeeze them tight around my arms, curling my nails into the leather of my jacket.
What's with the nerves all of a sudden? I'm too old for this love shit.

I get out a cigarette and put it between my lips, watching Gaine as he leans back and slips his boots on.

“I didn't sneak anywhere. I got up to take care of my shit. Who invited you anyway?” Gaine gives me a look while Beck chuckles in the background. The fucker thinks everything under the sun is funny. I wish he wasn't such a badass or I'd have beaten the crap out of him already.

“I did,” Amy chirps up like a stupid songbird or something. My hands clench tight as I wonder when the two of them had the chance to chat. “Well, not directly, but when we were having drinks the other day, I said he should come help me rescue Christy.” She smiles and puts her hand on Gaine's arm. Inside of me, something snaps and the cigarette drops out of my mouth, hitting my boot and bouncing across the elevator. I want to hit her, I won't lie. Instead, I clench my hands at my sides and glare so hard, I'm sure she can feel my gaze pummeling her perfect skin, incinerating her.

Amy's hand falls to her side as Gaine bends down and picks up the cigarette, handing it to me with a weird look on his face. His lips twitch a bit as he watches me, saying things with his eyes that he dare not speak aloud, especially not with company. I fold my arms across my chest and fall back with a grunt.

When the doors on the first floor open up, I'm the first one out, stomping across the lobby in knee-high leather boots and a scowl that could melt metal. People part when they see me coming and nobody complains. Behind me, Beck, Gaine and Amy struggle to keep up, following me out into the muggy afternoon and the silent roar of summer. There aren't many people, hardly any cars, but the sounds ambush me, crushing me with the buzz of insects and the whirring of air conditioning units.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Amy says from behind me. “There's Christy's car. She should be inside. I tried to get her to come to the hotel directly, but her uncle owns it so … ” I tune her out and don't respond, just roll my eyes and wonder who thought it was a good idea to meet at the twenty-four dive in the middle of this shitty town. It's not exactly inconspicuous. There isn't a single other car parked outside the crappy little building.

Gaine catches up to me and walks shoulder to shoulder with me as we make our way to the front doors and push them open together. Inside the bar, sitting alone on the cracked black leather of an old stool isn't Christy, the unassuming Southern belle. Instead, it's Will fucking Walker. swear on the very depths of my soul that it will be the last.