by Bella Jewel
“Fuckin’ great show tonight. Never tire of hearin’ that voice.”
My cheeks burn, and I smile. “Thank you. And thank you for coming. It’s grounding to see a familiar face in the sea of unfamiliar faces.”
“Any time. Nice spot you got here. No hotel tonight?”
I shake my head. “I’m tired of how sterile they are. They aren’t homely. Sometimes, being away from home, I like to break it up and stay in these kinds of places, just so I don’t feel so cold all the time, you know?”
He nods, pursing his lips for a second before looking over to me. “Feel you. I get sick of stayin’ in motel rooms myself.”
“How come you don’t go back to your club?”
I blurt the question out without thinking that maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it. After all, he doesn’t know me. His eyes flash with a familiar pain, the same one from last night, and he says, “Just bad memories. I needed a break.”
He doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t push. Instead, I change the subject and ask him, “Tell me about your club then. What’s it like being a biker?”
He chuckles and leans back, crossing his booted feet and crossing his big arms. “It’s always excitin’, I guess. But that isn’t why you’re part of it. It’s a brotherhood, a family, a bond unlike any you’ll find anywhere else.”
“But don’t you do illegal and dangerous things?”
Probably not the right question to ask him. But still, I’m curious. I’ve seen all the television shows and movies, like half the population of the world has, and in most of them they portray bikers are being these cold, scary killers. I know of course that isn’t real life, but part of it had to be created from some truth. Even if it is only a little.
“Can’t talk about club business with you, darlin’, but yeah it does get dangerous sometimes. That’s just part of this world. It’s also one of the best parts. It’s good knowin’ you have a group of people that’ll always have your back. And the freedom of not answerin’ to the rest of the world is pretty fuckin’ great.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, crossing my legs beneath me. “That would be nice.”
Maverick’s eyes go to my tanned legs and the short cotton pants I’m wearing and flash. His jaw tics and he meets my eyes again, and I swear I can feel the intensity burning in them.
“I’ve, ah, watched a few episodes of Son’s of Anarchy,” I admit, trying to stop my voice from shaking. “Is that what it’s like?”
He chuckles. “That’s a fictional version, but some parts, yeah I guess it’s similar.”
I frown. “Do you really call your girlfriends or wives ‘Old ladies’?”
His grin gets big. Dimples. Sigh. “Yeah, but it’s a term of endearment, believe it or not.”
I scrunch up my nose. “It is?”
“Yeah. They hold the highest respect. Nobody speaks down to or disrespects anyone’s Old Lady. Ever. Unless you want your face pushed in by her old fella’s boot.”
I nod, impressed, and smile a little at the thought. “Do you have an Old Lady?”
He raises his brows. “Darlin’, I’m no cheater. Wouldn’t be sittin’ here lookin’ at your legs and wonderin’ how they’d feel wrapped around my hips if I had an Old Lady.”
I flush and squirm, completely shocked by his words. “O-O-Oh,” I stammer. “Right. Well.” Shit, what do I say? “Have you ever had an Old Lady?”
Dumb question. Of course he hasn’t. Or he’d still have her.
His face drops, and a darkness clouds his eyes. A darkness that speaks of deep pain and regret.
Oh. My.
He has had an Old Lady, but from the pain in his face, he doesn’t any longer. My heart aches, and curiosity burns inside me. What happened to her? Is she dead? Is she alive? Did she leave him and break his heart? Does he have any kids? So many questions. So many I can’t ask because now is clearly not the time to push.
“I did, but I don’t wanna discuss it.”
His voice is rough and ragged.
My heart swells with pain for him.
“I understand,” I say. “Do you have any family in the club?”
“My brother is the President.”
“Oh, wow,” I say, intrigued. “Are you two close?”
“Close as brothers can be.”
I smile. “That’s so nice.”
“You got any siblings?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s just me. My parents never had any more after me. I’m not really sure why.”
“Your parents still alive?” he asks, turning slightly toward me.
“Yeah, they are, but ... I don’t speak to them as much as I should.”
“Why not?”
I grin. “So many questions.”
He winks at me. And my heart does more stupid things in my chest.
“I guess ... I don’t know ... I got famous and, well, I resented them a little. I distanced myself. I kind of blamed them for putting me in the spotlight. They pushed.”
“You didn’t want to sing?” he asks, rubbing the stubble on his chin and making me want to run my fingers over it.
“No, I did. I loved singing. It just wasn’t really the path I wanted to take. I wanted to take over their ranch and spend my days running it and breeding horses. A stupid dream, but a dream all the same.”
“It isn’t stupid. Nothin’ wrong with knowin’ what you want. You could still do that, couldn’t you?”
I shake my head. “I own the ranch now; I bought it off them when they decided to move closer to town. I pay people to run and live on it. When I go home, I stay at a little cottage down the back we used to have for guests. I love being there. It’s my home. It’s my passion. But I don’t get time for it. Even when I’m not touring I’m recording albums or writing songs. There is always something to be done. My life never stops.”
He studies me for a while. “Sorry to hear that. Everyone should be able to follow the path they are passionate about.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” I say softly, “I’m grateful for my career. It changed my life. It allowed me to own my ranch. It affords me the lifestyle I have, and I do love to sing, I always did. But this life, all the time, the constant rushing around, not being able to just walk down a street without being noticed, it’s exhausting. The demand is huge.”
“I can imagine, it isn’t somethin’ I’d do well with. I don’t like people.”
I giggle. “For someone who doesn’t like people, you stand front and center at my shows surrounded by them.”
His eyes lock on mine. “Your voice, you—it takes me to a good place, sweetheart. A place where I feel good inside. It’s captivatin’. So, I don’t like those people around me, but I don’t give a fuck because, honestly, all I can hear is you.”
Dammit.
That’s so god damned nice.
My chest aches.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice low. “That really means a lot to me.”
He flashes me another smile then stands, slapping his hands on his knees as he does. “Love to stay, but I have somewhere to be. Was nice talkin’ to you, Scarlett.”
The way he just said my name made my heart lodge right up there in my throat.
That feeling. God. So good.
“Thanks for coming and talking to me, and of course coming to my show.”
He winks at me, then puts one booted foot forward and sweeps down, pressing a rough kiss to my forehead. His stubble scratches my skin, but he smells incredible, and my body freezes in the intensity of it all. I close my eyes and try to take in how his lips feel there against my skin, the way his scent invades my senses, the way my body goes into overdrive and my skin prickles.
Yes.
“Night,” he murmurs, then steps back.
I swallow and look up at him. “Goodnight, Maverick.”
He grins.
Then he launches his big body over the railing and disappears into the night.
And my heart stays right there, firmly lodged in my t
hroat.
Yes.
Incredible.
-8-
MAVERICK
I’m here again. Fuck knows it takes a lot of patience. But hearing her voice, it drags me into this packed stadium every time she plays just so I can relish in how it makes me feel for one day longer. Tonight, she’s on stage, wearing a pair of tight-as-fuck jeans with a black sparkly top that shows off way too much cleavage. The urge to jump on the stage, throw her over my shoulder, and haul her out of prying eyes is almost too much to control. Her blond hair is down, flowing in fucking sweet little ringlets, and that voice.
Always that fucking angel voice.
The show is nearly finished, and right now she’s standing there, lights shining down on her beautiful body, eyes closed, swaying side to side and she sings into the microphone she’s holding with two hands up to her mouth. No matter how hard this career is on her, or how lonely she feels sometimes, when she’s on that stage she lets passion shine through. It’s written right there for the world to see, to feel, to experience. She lets them into her soul. She makes sure they become part of her world.
She’s incredible.
After her song is done, she opens her eyes and gazes out to the crowd, her eyes scanning over me and a small smile playing around her lips. “This next song is one of ya’ll’s favorite songs. I know you’re gonna know it ...”
The crowd starts screaming as the band beings to play what is obviously a favorite of theirs.
“I wrote this song back when I was ...”
Her eyes catch something in the crowd, and she stops mid-sentence, staring with a haunted expression. At what, I don’t know. I turn around, but I can’t see anything but screaming people. By the time I look back to the stage she’s pale as a ghost and the microphone slips from her fingers. Someone rushes out onto the stage, some lady, and tries to talk with her, but she says nothing. The lady stares at whatever she’s looking at, shakes her head like she’s confused, and keeps trying to talk to Scarlett. But she’s gone. Whatever she saw has taken her somewhere else.
The woman pulls her off stage.
The crowd loses it. Screaming.
I turn and start shoving the fuck out of this crowd of people. I get shoved and sworn at, women try to grab me, but I make a beeline for the exit. Something is wrong. I’m going to find out what it is. Security is tight so there is no way in fuck I’ll get close enough to talk with her. Why the fuck didn’t I take her number when I had the chance? I’m a fucking idiot.
When I finally get past all the people and outside, I take a deep breath of fresh air. I can’t get to her here, that’s for damned sure. I can get to her when she gets home, though. So, with long strides, I walk back to my bike, throw a leg over, and head toward the house she’s staying at. It takes me over twenty minutes to get there, and I park my bike up down the road and walk toward the house. There are security guards and cars out the front.
Fuck.
No way I can get in while they’re all standing there like that. They’ll see me. I find a nearby building and just lean against it casually, pulling out a smoke and lighting it up, putting one booted foot up behind me on the wall. Casually, I keep an eye on the chaos happening out front of the house right now. What the fuck happened? Why is security suddenly on high alert? What has gotten them so wound up? Who the fuck did she see in there?
My heart races and my fingers clench.
Is someone trying to hurt her?
Over my dead fucking body.
A black car pulls up another half an hour later, and I see two massive men escort Scarlett inside the house. I’m going to have to wait even longer, but at least I know she’s safe. I stand, puffing through cigarettes, anxiety gripping me for another half an hour. Finally, security at the front leaves and I am able to get around toward her room. Carefully, I go, watching for any sign that I might be seen.
I reach the little deck coming off her room and peer over the railing. She’s not in there. Fuck. I clench my fists again and wait. I can hear voices inside, some shouted, some hushed, some upset. Another ten minutes pass before, finally, I hear her door slam. I peer up again to see her locking it then spinning around in rage and pressing her hands over her face, her body shaking.
She’s crying.
Fuck no.
I’ll kill whatever motherfucker made her cry.
I launch over the railing, walking to the glass doors and pounding on them. She jerks, her hands dropping down quickly, and she stares at me with that tear-streaked face. “Open up,” I mouth at her. She walks over and, with shaky fingers, she unlocks the door. The minute I step in, I put my hands on her shoulders, shaking her just a little. “What happened? Are you hurt? What the fuck went down back there?”
She looks up at me, makes a little squeaking sound, and then starts crying again.
Fuck me if it doesn’t break my damn heart.
She falls forward and face plants into my chest. I hesitate for a second, because I’ve never been good with this comfort shit, and eventually wrap her up in my arms, putting my chin on the top of her head. “Take a big breath. Need to calm down, yeah?”
She hiccups and starts crying harder.
“Scarlett, calm down so you can tell me what’s goin’ on and I can go break some motherfucker’s neck.”
She goes silent for a second and then starts hysterically giggling. Fuck me. She’s losing it. I take her by the shoulders and push her back, looking down at her. She looks up at me, all big puppy-dog brown eyes, tear-streaked face, a little snot running out of her nose, big puffy lips, and fuck me, she still looks like a god damned angel. Even ugly crying. And hysterically giggling. All at the same time.
“Take a deep breath,” I order, my voice hard but not cruel.
She takes a shaky breath, still looking up at me.
“And another, keep going until you feel calmer.”
She does, in and out, her chest rising and falling, until finally she settles enough for me to speak with her.
“Want to tell me what happened in there tonight? What got you so wound up you’re cryin’ like this?”
“I ...” she croaks. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Firstly,” she tells me, “you’re a biker and you just said you’d break his neck ...”
His.
It’s about a man.
Now I most certainly will break the little fucker’s neck.
My jaw tics but, thankfully, she is glancing down at her feet so she misses it. I need to know what caused that reaction in her tonight. I need to know who frightened her. Someone did. That much I’m sure of. Now I need to know who and where the hell I can find him. My fingers twitch at the thought, but I keep a calm composure and reach for her, gently taking her chin in my hand and tilting her head back. She gasps a little, those pretty pink lips parting, and her eyes meet mine.
“I’m not here to hurt you or make your life harder. You don’t know me well yet, so I understand your hesitation, but you can trust me. I’d never do a fuckin’ thing to put you in harm’s way. I want to know what made you so damned scared out there you froze like you had just seen a ghost walk on stage and start singin’ your song.”
She blinks, and looks away even though I’m holding her face.
“Eyes back to me,” I order. “Now.”
She swings her eyes back to me.
“Talk to me. Please.”
She exhales, and holds my gaze. “Do you promise me I can trust you?”
“Promise.”
“And promise you won’t do anything with what I tell you?”
I frown. “Depends.”
“On what?” she asks.
“On the extent of it. If someone has hurt you, I can’t promise you I won’t go and rip that little weasel limb from fuckin’ limb.”
She smiles again. “I’m detecting a big hint of aggression inside you, Maverick.”
“Plenty in there for the wrong people, darlin’. Now spill.
”
She sighs. “Okay. If you let my chin go, we’ll sit down, and I’ll tell you everything.”
I let her chin go.
And we sit down.
And she tells me everything.
~*~*~*~
SCARLETT
“He was my ex.”
I don’t really know where to start, so I just dive in for the most obvious choice. The one that pretty much explains most of it and covers a whole lot of ground. I watch Maverick’s face for any clues of what he’s thinking but he doesn’t make a twitch. He just watches me, eyes intense, and nods for me to go on.
I know I shouldn’t really be telling him any of this. I’m not supposed to talk with anyone about it, for my own safety but, honestly, I’m tired of having no one to talk to. Seeing him in the crowd tonight, after well over a year of nothing, just standing there, staring at me with that cold, evil grin on his face, it took the breath clean out of my lungs. Fear gripped me, and I could see nothing, feel nothing, do nothing. He raised a hand, wiggled his fingers in a terrifying wave, and disappeared.
Susan didn’t believe me.
That makes me so ... so ... bitterly disappointed. Especially considering she didn’t believe me the last time and it nearly got me killed. I know she has reason to doubt. They checked with security right away. Nobody saw him come in, and nobody saw him come out. Nothing on the cameras. What they don’t understand is that Treyton Jay Wilder is a smart fucking man and he has a way around everything. Everything.
I did have moments after he first disappeared where I swore he was watching me and used to freak out, but I had reason to. I was scared all the time. Afraid he would come back. That he’d hurt me somehow. Susan thinks this is another one of those times—she thinks I imagined what I saw. She’s wrong. I haven’t had one of those moments for so long. It was him tonight. I’m certain of it.
