by Nicole James
It’s going to be terrifying not being able to call her when I need her. But I have to be strong, because as hard as this is on me, it’s a million times worse for her. I can’t even imagine being sent to prison, and for something you didn’t even do.
Santos flicks the television off. “You okay?”
When I don’t reply, I hear movement from the bed, and then feel his presence behind me.
“Good night’s rest will do you good.”
I glance back at the single bed.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, short cake. Get some sleep.”
“I don’t need someone to control my life.” My statement is out of the blue, and he pulls back.
“I’m not tryin’ to, babe. After what you’ve been through—”
I cut him off, rage at everything bursting forth from me. “What do you know about what I’ve been through? You know my name, not my story.”
“Babe, everyone knows your story. It’s been plastered all over the evening news.” There’s irritation in his voice now.
I don’t know where this attitude is coming from, but its bubbling up from inside me, and I have to let it out or I’ll explode. “There’s more to me than you will ever know. I’m proud to be who I am. I am smart. I am strong. I am enough. And if you don’t think so, go to hell.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Where the hell is this coming from?”
I turn back to the rain spattered glass and dash a traitorous tear from my cheek; I fold my arms, my defenses firmly up.
After a moment of silence, Santos strokes the back of a finger down my shoulder. “I remember how feisty you were as a child, except that one time you showed your vulnerability to me, other than that you were always this unattainable princess living in a castle.”
“And now what am I, an ice queen?” I stare out the window at the red taillights and flashing hazards of the motorists moving slowly and carefully along the interstate in the distance.
Behind me Santos chuckles softly. “I think I liked you better when you were stuck in a tree, clinging for dear life and needing me to rescue you.”
“You did it again today, didn’t you?”
“Saved you from a tree?”
“You rescued me.”
“I guess I did. Maybe I deserve a prize.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“Not even a kiss, dear wife.” There’s humor in his voice now, and I know he’s just trying to tease me out of my mood.
“You already got one of those this afternoon.”
“And it was lovely. You’re quite a prize, Kami Lee Jennings. And don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”
He uses my full name, my real father’s name. I’m a Jennings, not a Mansfield. At least I can cling to that much. But then I remember, I’m not a Jennings anymore. As of today, I’m Kami Lee Chaves.
I feel like I’ve been reborn into a second life, one that’s completely strange and unknown to me. I’m a different person than the girl I was before, and I realize I’ll never be that girl again. I’ll never have that life back, no matter how much I wish and pray. Like my mother told me, now all I can do is look forward and decide what kind of life I want, because looking back does me no good. That life is gone.
CHAPTER NINE
Saint—
Christ when did this girl grow into the beauty standing before me with her stiff backbone prepared to do battle with the whole world. I know what its like to feel that way, like the whole world is against you. Seems my whole life it’s been that way, one uphill battle after another.
I remember Kami as a child. Spoiled, but not because she wanted it that way, more likely because her mother gave her everything she could want trying to make up for the fact that Kami had lost her father. Maybe marrying that asshole Drake Mansfield had been all about trying to keep her daughter safe and provided for. Well how’d that turn out?
Money can’t buy happiness. It can’t make up for losing a father, nothing can.
Kami and I both lost our fathers. Her when she was just a young child. Me when I was at the critical age when a boy becomes a man. I wasn’t ready to lose him. I needed him.
And now, here I stand, married to this girl, this soon-to-be woman. Hell, she’s already got the goods to turn any man’s head. But there’s an innocence about her still, and I can’t let myself forget that. She’s vulnerable right now. And I’m all she’s got. I promised I’d take care of her, and that’s the least I can do.
I just can’t let this get in the way of getting my patch. I’ve wanted it too long, worked too hard, and there’s too much at stake.
I want to be a King so badly I can taste it. Wearing that patch means something. Once I have it on my back, I’ll never again feel like I’m not worthy, not good enough, because I’ll have proved I am to the baddest motherfucking MC in the land, and that’s saying something, just like that patch will say something about me.
I stare at Kami’s porcelain skin, so soft my hands crave to touch it. I can’t help the thought that snakes through my mind like a forbidden creature from the Garden of Eden, holding out an apple, tempting me to sin.
I wonder what a man would have to do to prove himself worthy of a woman like Kami. She’s a prize. I wasn’t lying when I told her that. She’s the kind of girl a guy would be proud to bring home to meet his mother, the kind I’d be proud to bring home. And she’s been dropped in my lap. But I have to remember this marriage isn’t real. She isn’t mine. It’s all just pretend. And no matter how badly I want to kiss her again—or lay her out on that bed, climb on top of her, and make my way slowly down every inch of her sexy body with my eager mouth—she’s off limits. And she always will be.
“Get some sleep.” I run a hand through my hair and stride across the room.
“Where are you going?”
“To take a shower.” A long cold one, I mutter to myself.
When I finally come back out, Kami’s in bed facing the window away from me. I move quietly, hoping she’s asleep. If she’s not, she’s doing a damn fine acting job, and it’s just as well.
I crawl under the covers and stare at the ceiling with an arm under my head. I try to think about the club, but all I can think about is the curve of her hip under the blanket. The urge to turn and spoon her is overwhelming. I curse silently and turn to face the door. My dick doesn’t seem to care about the twenty-minute cold shower I just gave it. It wants action, and I don’t blame it.
If I’m in bed with a woman, it’s for one reason only. Usually, they get gone the minute I’m finished with them. Not that there have been that many. Hell, who has time when you’re living the life of a prospect, always at the beck and call of the club, and there’s always some patch who needs something. Day and night, they blow up my phone for all sorts of bullshit reasons… someone’s old lady is craving ice cream, or somebody has run out of beer. I’ve taken it all in stride, because my desire to be a King far outweighs my aggravation level with the bullshit they throw at me.
So, what the fuck am I doing married to this girl and bringing her back with me? Have I lost my friggin’ mind? The club hears what I’ve done; I may lose any chance at that patch.
CHAPTER TEN
Kami—
I wake up and for a moment I’m unsure where I am. It only lasts a split second. But for that split second every morning I blessedly forget that everything is destroyed.
Then it all comes flooding back like a tsunami, the scandal, the humiliation, the trial, and my mother’s prison sentence. And now this morning I have another thing to add to it. This morning is the first morning I wake up married.
I stare down at the ring on my finger. My grandmother’s.
I twist to look over my shoulder, expecting to find my groom, my husband, but that side of the bed is empty. It’s absolutely quiet.
I scramble up and look in the bathroom, but its empty. I scan the room. The keycard is gone off the dresser. The denim shirt he’d slung over the chair last night is gone, and
so are his jeans and boots. I search the room, the small closet and even the bathroom again looking for his backpack but it’s gone, too.
I fall to my ass on the mattress, stunned still.
He’s left me. He’s left me in a hotel room in the middle of nowhere.
Oh my God. What am I going to do?
I turn my head slowly, as if in a trance, and stare at the window. Then, like a sleepwalker, I move to it and pull the curtain aside. It’s a bright sunny day. The only reminders of the storm are the puddles in the parking lot. I search the vehicles, looking for Santos’ pickup. I crane to see the back lot, my forehead pressed to the glass, but I can’t see it. I drop to the bed and stare at the hotel phone on the nightstand. I don’t even know who to call. How do I call home and put this on my mother the day before she has to go to prison? All my friends have deserted me. There’s not one who’ll come and get me. My mother’s attorney maybe?
It’s Sunday, and I only have her office number.
I jump up and pace. I’ve got that money mother gave me. Or do I? I dash to my bag to see if he’s taken that, too. I dig to the bottom, but its still there, buried under my clothes in the pearl inlaid jewelry box. I sigh in relief. Perhaps I can stay in this room until Monday, until I can figure out what to do.
I’m only seventeen. Will the desk clerk allow it?
Will I have to tell him my sad pitiful humiliating story? Sorry, my groom left me on our wedding night. Can you do a girl a solid and let me stay until Monday when my mother’s attorney can come pick me up? No, I can’t call my mother; she’s on her way to prison.
I huff out a laugh, even though I feel stricken inside. I should have seen this coming. Why didn’t I see this coming? Did I really think I could trust him?
I check the time on my phone. 8 a.m. Check out’s at 11 a.m., so I’ve got three hours.
I hear a keycard insert in the door and I panic thinking it’s the maid. The door swings open and Santos enters juggling two coffees and a bag.
“Good, you’re up. You hungry?”
I stare at him. “You came back.”
“Yeah. I got us donuts from the gas station down the road.” He pauses, my words apparently sinking in. “Did you think I left you?”
“I woke up and you were gone. Even your bag is gone. What was I supposed to think?”
“So, the only possible explanation was that I abandoned you?”
I stare at him.
“Kami, why the hell would I go through marrying you, if I was going to dump you the first chance I got?”
I shrug helplessly, tears welling up. “I don’t know.”
He sets the coffee and bag down. “Come here.”
I move to him woodenly, and he gathers me in his arms. I sag against him, relief flooding through me. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do.”
He strokes a hand down my sleep-tangled curls. “I won’t leave you, Kami. Promise.”
I nod against his chest.
“You’re hair is pretty. You should never comb it.”
I push out of his arms, a trembling smile on my lips. “So where’s your bag?”
“I carried it down to the truck. I’d have loaded yours up already, too, but I knew you still needed it.” He grabs a coffee and holds it out. “I guessed and loaded it up with French vanilla creamer.”
I take it. “Thanks.”
“Are you a Boston Cream or a Glazed girl?”
I dig in the bag he holds out and pull out the Boston Cream. “What makes you so disgustingly cheerful this morning?”
“Just lookin’ forward to gettin’ back on the road, I guess.”
“Or maybe marriage agrees with you,” I tease.
He chokes on his coffee. “Nope. Pretty sure that’s not it, brat. Pretty sure that’ll never be it.”
I grin, and he scoops a dollop of chocolate frosting off my donut and dabs it on my nose.
I arch a brow and slug him in the arm. “Now who’s the brat?”
“You. Still you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kami—
A billboard comes into view. It’s hot pink background and the gorgeous blonde on it, catch my eye.
Centerfolds
The Busiest Club in the South.
Fully Xposed. Exit now. Come SEE us!
Daily Drink Specials. Girls. Girls. Girls!
Santos puts his blinker on, and I tease, “I hope you’re not going to that strip club.”
He grins. “No. We’re almost home. Town’s just up ahead.”
Home—his maybe, but not mine. Except, now it will be home. I’m still struggling to get used to that fact.
We exit the interstate at a truck stop and head down a two-lane highway.
I glance over at Santos. He’s got one wrist resting on the top of the steering wheel, the other propped on the door frame, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but I know different. I see the tension around his mouth and the way his fingers have been rubbing along his jaw and chin, over and over. I look back at the road, and a sign comes into view.
Uprising, GA - population 4012.
Which makes me lucky number thirteen. Great.
A couple of gas stations come into view as we enter the outskirts. I spot a small grocery store, a cemetery and Catholic Church. We get further into town and pass a smoothie place, an automotive repair shop, a diner and a bar called Mooney’s Pub.
“That place looks cute.” I tap the glass.
“You’re not old enough to drink.”
“But I bet they serve food, too.” I turn. “Have you been there?”
“Yeah.”
He keeps driving along the main street that runs along a set of railroad tracks. Eventually we turn down another country road headed out of town again. He slows at a drive barely visible from the road. There’s a canopy of trees and then a house comes into view. Its hidden back from the road like a place out of time. It’s a rundown cottage surrounded by a sagging picket fence. There are some overgrown rosebushes out front and an out of control yard.
Santos circles around to the back and parks in a gravel section. The backyard looks like it had once been cute with a stone birdbath, benches and a winding brick path leading through some overgrown plants and shrubs.
I peer through the windshield at the dingy white house with its cute gingerbread trim in faded blue. “You live here?”
“I rent it. Cheapest thing I could find that wasn’t an apartment. I can’t stand living on top of other people.”
“I hope you got a deal.”
“I did. Sorry if it’s not up to your standards.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to; it’s written all over your face.”
I lift my chin. “I think it’s adorable. It has charm. It just needs…”
“A ton of work.”
“I was going to say it just needs some love.”
“Guess so.”
We climb out, and I look around. “Really, Santos.” I make a tsking sound. “And your father was a landscaper! How can you walk past all this and not at least mow the lawn?”
“Club runs you ragged when you’re a prospect. I barely have time to do more than fall into bed some nights. That is, if I even make it back here.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means I spend a lot of nights crashing at the clubhouse.”
I come around the front of the truck while he lifts my bags down from the bed and sets them in a line. I notice a gleaming black motorcycle parked near the backdoor. “Is that your bike?”
“Yep.”
“Can we go for a ride?”
“Now? We just got off the road.”
“Later then?”
“I guess so. If I have time.”
“Why? What do you have to do?”
“Gotta be at the clubhouse, and no you’re not going with me, so don’t ask.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Unpack, I guess.”
>
I pick up my rolling bag. “Lead the way.”
He rolls his eyes, grabs my box and follows me to the back porch. Setting it down, he unlocks the back door and pushes it open. “Go on in. I’ll get your other bag.”
“Thanks.” I step inside. It’s barely cooler than the outside. There’s a kitchen off the back with a small table set in a bay window complete with a built in bench seat in the alcove, covered with old worn cushions.
The refrigerator looks ancient, seriously ancient, like maybe 1950. I can’t resist yanking the handle to see what a biker bachelor has in his fridge. As I expected its not much besides bottles of beer and hot sauce.
I close it and check out the rest of the house.
It’s small so there’s not much. A living room with a wood-burning fireplace at the front. I walk down a short hall to a bathroom with an actual claw-foot tub. It has to be original. There’s also a small shower stall in the corner. The floor is a cute black and white pattern that surprisingly looks clean.
I wander to the last door and push it open. The bedroom, and unless I missed a door, the only one. There’s an old wrought-iron bed with chipped white paint, and mismatched nightstands. The mattress looks like it sags, and the bedding is nothing to write home about.
I can’t help wondering the last time he washed the sheets. And who’s been in this bed with him? Am I sleeping in here or is he? Or does he think we’re sharing?
I wonder if he even has a washer and dryer or if he takes his stuff to a Laundromat. I’ve got my fingertips on the comforter when he comes through the door with my bags. I turn and look over my shoulder.
His eyes fall to the bed.
“Is there another room?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“So…”
“Don’t worry. Like I said, I’m not here a lot. When I am, I’ll take the couch.”
I look back at the bed and wonder if I want to wash these or spend some of Gram’s dress money on new ones.
