by Nicole Reed
“Maybe he does, but I don’t think Mikey would want you to be alone. You look tired, Hold. Just go get some rest. You can take me home when you wake up.”
The emotional mess of the evening seemed to finally catch up to him. How much weight of the Hell’s Highwaymen world did this man burden himself with? She knew he was trying to do the right thing and take her home. And damn, if it didn’t endear him more to her. But what if Carrie tried to come by, or even Ward? Shyla could make sure they gave him some peace and left him alone for a short while to collect himself.
“Shyla…” Hold said, sad eyes staring directly at her, tearing her soul into a million pieces.
Her heart stuttered at the loneliness that gazed upon her. “I’ll hold the fort down. Bitch-slap Carrie if she tries to come by,” Shyla said, cracking a smile while trying to make a joke. “For now just go get some sleep. You can sort out this mess in the morning.”
He stood, shaking his head, but thankfully started down the hallway. Hold stopped to glance back at her. “The only girl who was ever my friend destroyed me… and I don’t know if I can handle that shit again.”
The defeated sound of his voice rocked Shyla to her very core. There was something so raw and honest about what he admitted.
She nodded her head toward him. “Then we’ll both be cautious.”
Her answer must’ve been acceptable because he nodded before turning away. The sound of a door opening and closing was the last she heard from him that night. For hours, Shyla stared at the gun that rested on the tabletop before leaning over to pick it up. She was thankful that no one had shown up and in the wee hours of the morning, she exhaustedly fell asleep sitting straight up in an uncomfortable chair.
The sound of a large engine shutting off woke Hold from a deep sleep. He immediately sprang out of his bed, his mind disjointed. His hand automatically reached for his Glock, which happened to not be on his night table where it usually resided. Hold moved to stand before the bedroom window. His fingers deftly lifted the edge of the plastic window blinds so he could peek outside. The blinding morning light caused him to squint his eyes until they adjusted. Hold watched Mikey slide out of the cab of his truck.
Hold let out the air he’d held nervously inside at the welcome sight. Thank fuck sake Mikey came back in one piece. He opened the door to his bedroom to go let him in the house.
The scene that greeted him in the living room brought back every memory from last night. Fuck me! Shyla lay sleeping, curled to her side in one of his chairs. Her head rested peacefully on her clasped hands like a small child. She appeared so young and innocent, clean from the world that tarnished him and Mikey.
Last night he’d attacked her mouth, wanting to desperately lose himself in anything or anyone, needing to erase the pain that threatened to fuck him up worse than when Hels left. But the more he kissed her, the more this aching need began to grow inside of him and change into something entirely new. And for the first time in years he didn’t see Hels’ face, or wish he were touching her body. He wanted only Shyla. She told him last night that she didn’t stop because of Mikey, but because of him.
Shit! Mikey! Hold knew he would be knocking on his door any second and the sound would wake her. He shuffled his feet over to the door and flipped the deadbolt.
“Fucking bitch Carrie! What happened last night, man?” Mikey asked, barging through Hold’s door like he owned the place. He came to a sudden stop when he noticed who slept in Hold’s chair.
Hold saw exactly what Mike did—what Hold didn’t notice before letting him inside his home. Her short miniskirt must’ve rode up while she slept, revealing shapely bare legs. He would’ve sworn she was butt-ass naked but there was a scrap of denim at her waist. The braless top she wore had lifted, exposing her entire side, and bottom half of her rounded tit. Hold had to shut his eyes and mentally bargain with his dick to stay down.
“What the hell, Hold?” Mikey’s questioning gaze zeroed in on Hold.
Hold knew that look. The ass-kicking stare that usually precipitated Mikey leveling your dumbass out. His gaze scanned the entire room. Mike grimaced when he noticed the gun haphazardly lying beside a sleeping Shyla. It didn’t take a genius to realize the shards of wood on the carpet from the furniture Hold destroyed fanned Mikey’s temper. Hold shook his head, glancing down to see his lack of attire didn’t help the situation. Last night he’d completely undressed before sliding on a pair of old faded sweats and crawling into bed.
“Is that motherfucker loaded?” Mikey asked, reaching for the gun that didn’t even have the safety on.
The ache in his bare chest magnified by the second. Hold wasn’t sure which regret caused it, but he had about a million at this single instant. Knowing she felt scared enough to sleep with a loaded gun almost unraveled the shit out of him. He absently rubbed his left pec. What had he done?
“Brother, it isn’t what you think,” he said, giving Mikey a sideways glance.
“What the fuck is it then? Because the girl that I’ve been tryin’ my damndest to hook up with is half-naked in your house with a Glock, locked and loaded,” Mikey said, pointing a finger angrily at Shyla, then at Hold.
“Man, if I was tryin’ to bang your girl she wouldn’t be half-naked sleepin’ in a chair. That I can fuckin’ promise you,” Hold stated, sliding down to half sit, half lie on the couch. The confusion inside of him almost brought him to his knees.
The tempting vision of her sleeping across from him was too much. Hold gripped his fingers into the faded brown leather cushion and closed his eyes to hide the truth from Mike. He wanted to fuck Shyla so badly. The sight of her burned beneath his eyelids, imprinting on his brain. It was taking an act of God to keep from reaching over and scooping her out of the chair, before marching her back to his bedroom and making good on all of Mike’s worries.
The situation only went from bad to worse when she let out a sexy, high-pitched moan in her sleep. Their eyes zeroed in directly on Shyla. She turned to stretch before them both, her nipples beading underneath the thin shirt that barely covered her breasts. Her smooth thighs spread wide open—a perfect place for him to rest between. There was no hiding the massive hard-on that tented his sweatpants.
Mikey was just as affected as Hold, but that didn’t stop the growl under Mike’s breath at seeing how much Hold appreciated the view.
“I said I didn’t fuck your girl, not that I was a goddamn saint,” Hold said, throwing his arms up with an apologetic smile.
Hold watched Mikey storm down his hallway, then let his eyes covet the beautiful glimpse of heaven before him. Shyla slept like the dead, but it didn’t lessen how damn pretty she was. Hold knew this was one headache his ass didn’t need.
The big guy hulked back with Hold’s bedspread. Mikey gently covered her, tucking in the edges around her luscious body, obstructing Hold’s view. A piercing jealousy more intense than anything Hold had ever felt rocked his entire world. He wanted Mike’s hands far away from his girl. His girl? Motherfucking shit!
“You fucktard,” Mikey said, leaning back against the wall next to Shyla’s chair. Staking his claim. “You couldn’t have covered her?”
He couldn’t answer him. Hold wanted Mike out of his house. This shit did not need to be happening. For his sanity, he needed Shyla to get the fuck out too, but the moment he thought it, he squashed it. She sure as shit wasn’t leaving with Mikey looking like that.
“So Sandman filled me in on Ward gettin’ sucked off by Carrie. But what I really want to know is how the fuck Shyla ended up in your house the morning after with a goddamn gun? Not to mention you walking around freeballin’ in your sweats like it’s no big deal,” Mikey quietly asked. The menace in his voice was not for show—his friend was pissed.
Hold brought his hands up to scrub his face. “I lost my shit last night, Mike. We both know Ward’s game. I fuckin’ underhanded him, telling him I already sent guys to check out the deal with the meth. I’m sure it pissed him off and this was his payback.
Not that I give one fuck what that little slut did. It was only the who, you know? I couldn’t decide whether to kill him or get on my bike and ride it out. The bike won and before I knew it, she was on the back,” he said, nodding over to Shyla. “She said she didn’t want me to be alone.”
“Is there a problem here, Hold? Something I should know?” Mikey asked, glaring at Hold.
The laugh that escaped him was more out of frustration than anything. “Yeah. You’re the lucky bastard.”
Hold couldn’t ignore the truth of his words. He wanted to beat the shit out of Mikey or break another piece of furniture. Neither could help fill this emptiness living inside of him, but something told him that Shyla might—and it scared him like nothing else. Hold had to get her the hell out of here.
Shyla wasn’t sure how much longer she could fake sleeping before her silent tears gave her away. She turned her face toward the cushion of the chair, letting the moisture seep into the fabric, and hide the evidence of the depth of her feelings. The moment she unconsciously began to stretch the soreness from her body, Shyla had woken. Sleeping in the chair hadn’t been the greatest idea she’d ever had.
Instantly, before she even opened her eyes, Shyla knew she wasn’t alone. The tension around her was at massive levels. Memories from last night and where she’d spent it gave her a good idea of who it was, the only surprise being a strange growl coming from Mikey. The next minute she knew it was him who carefully covered her with a blanket that smelled too much like Hold.
She found herself secretly listening to their conversation. Shyla knew she’d missed a good portion of it, but common sense told her that Mikey was pissed off that she was here. Who the hell knew what Hold was thinking? She sure didn’t. Something inside of her said to leave, but she wasn’t sure how to reveal herself, especially with the embarrassing realization of her state of undress.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean, Hold?” Mikey asked, his voice lowered.
Shyla knew he was trying not to wake her. The guttural tone gave away the hurt and anger Mikey evidently felt at the situation. What had she done? Hold didn’t need this shit on top of everything else. She knew there was internal stuff going on within the club: there were all the secret meetings with Badger and Hound, and no one could miss the hostility between Ward and Hold. There was no father and son love lost in that relationship.
“Just what I said, Mike. Treat her good.” Hold’s voice gave nothing away.
The curiosity of Hold’s suspected actions almost killed her. She lifted her head and blinked her eyes wide open at Hold. He was staring straight at her. Nothing could have prepared Shyla for what she saw. His raw, exposed need was like a sucker punch to the gut, sucking the wind painfully from her chest. And in a split second it was gone from his features. A familiar mask slipped once again into place. It shattered her already tattered heart into a million pieces.
“Mornin’,” Hold said, his eyes devoid of anything but hell and damnation. He sadly wore them well.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice scratchy from sleep. “I didn’t fall asleep until early this morning. I guess I need to be getting home.”
Shyla pretended like she had been abruptly awoken. The covers thankfully hid the efforts to straighten her wayward clothes. Her eyes flew upward to meet Mikey’s. He didn’t try to hide the hurt that plainly welled in them.
“I can take you,” he said with a sad smile on his handsome face.
She couldn’t help the apologetic smile she gave him. “Hey, Mikey. Thanks,” she said, noticing him wince.
Mike’s gaze appeared tired, his facial hair bushier than normal. Waves of fatigue radiated off of him. Shyla nodded before turning back to Hold, noticing the toll of the night’s revelations. Dark circles ringed the azure of his eyes, causing them to appear slightly sunken. Black facial hair had sprouted overnight covering his chiseled jaw. It matched the shaved hair on his head.
Did she really know the hard man sitting opposite from her? This Hold was the person who’d protected at any cost those he said he’d loved, including beating them until they bled. It didn’t line up with the man who would also sacrifice his happiness to let that same person go. Who was Hold? And why did the thought of leaving with Mikey feel like she was betraying him?
“Sounds good, man. I’ve got some shit I need to handle,” Hold said, glancing his hard eyes from her to Mikey.
“Not without me, Hold. There’s something we have to talk ‘bout first. Family shit. I’ll drop her off and be back,” Mikey said, pushing away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “You ready?”
Mikey spoke directly to her. Shyla nodded and arose from the chair, setting the blanket back down. She carefully tiptoed around the carnage of wood on the floor.
“If I come back and your ass ain’t here, I’m gonna find you and beat you down,” Mikey said to Hold before marching out of the house. He left Shyla several paces behind him.
She watched him swagger to the passenger side of his truck to open the door for her.
“Go. Give him a chance,” Hold whispered directly behind her, too low for Mikey to have heard.
She came to a complete standstill and her eyes shut at the command. His voice elicited chill bumps, rippling across her sensitive skin and Shyla’s stomach violently clenched with a carnal hunger. Hold was close enough that she could feel his body heat soak into her backside. There’s so much she wanted to say to him, but she knew he’d reject every word that left her mouth, his mind made up for the both of them.
“If that’s what you want,” she said, not bothering to glance back as the blood running through her veins turned to ice.
Her anger made her strong. It allowed her to walk to the truck, head held high, and get in without giving Hold any idea of how much he’d hurt her. It kept her from crying at the sensation of loss eating at her soul as she stared out of the windshield when the truck slowly drove away. It made her voice harden with the first question Mikey fired at her, blocking the sobs that lodged in her chest.
“You and Hold. Am I missin’ somethin’?” Mikey asked, not concealing his anger.
Shyla crossed her legss, fighting for a sense of control she didn’t feel at the moment. With a sigh she dared a peek over her shoulder. Mikey stared out at the road in front of them, his jaw squarely set. If he only knew how much he’d missed, how the last three weeks had made all the difference. Hold’s last request made her want to hit something. Hit him. Who was he to tell her to go, to think he could order her heart?
“It was an emotional night,” Shyla said, refusing to lie to him. She silently prayed he wouldn’t delve further into what happened at Hold’s house. “I watched what happened with his dad and Carrie. It was horrible, Mikey. I couldn’t let him leave like that, not alone, and he wouldn’t go with Badger.”
“You know, Hold’s got a good heart. Hell, to tell the truth, the poor bastard can’t catch a fuckin’ break. But damned if I don’t hate him right now,” Mikey said, swinging his head to glare at her. “And I don’t need another reason to hate him.”
She didn’t know how to answer that and thankfully he didn’t give her the time.
“If I was to ask you out tonight would you say yes, or am I too late?”
Mikey was a really, really incredible guy. Any other time it wouldn’t even be a question, only an easy answer. “I’d say yes,” she said, completely ignoring the tiny pang in her heart, “but it’s just…” Shyla forced an apologetic smile toward his stoic gaze.
“Fuck, I knew it,” he bitterly said, altering the mood between them. It’s amazing how fast hurt turns to anger. His fist hit the steering wheel several times as he drove down the road.
Shyla watched him intently stare out the windshield. Mikey didn’t say anything for long, agonizing minutes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the empty silence.
“Really? Did you fuck him?” he asked, swinging his head to glare at her.
She adamantly shook her head from side
to side. “No. Hold was hurting.”
“Hurting, huh? I’m sure he was,” he said sarcastically, pulling his truck to a stop behind Hard Ink.
She was relieved to see her apartment. However, Shyla had completely forgotten she’d left her car at the clubhouse last night. After the morning’s debacle, she wasn’t going to spend another minute in this truck. She couldn’t stand the thought that she was hurting Mike, and Hold’s rejection stung her heart. Her aunt could give her a ride to pick up the car later.
“Thanks for the ride home,” she murmured, reaching her hand out to clasp the door handle.
“Shyla,” Mikey called after her.
Shyla twisted her body as her feet reached the ground. “Yeah?” she answered, noticing that he seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say.
“Look, I get it. Chicks are always wantin’ to get with Hold.”
“I-It’s not—” she stammered, but stopped when he interrupted her.
“Save it. Listen, on the level, whatever it is that you think is goin’ to happen with him, it ain’t,” he said, staring straight-faced at her. “He’s got bigger shit comin’ down. This ain’t me bein’ a dick; it’s me bein’ a friend. Don’t get mixed up in it.”
Mikey leaned over the passenger seat to grasp the door. She backed up several inches not knowing his intentions. “It won’t be good for him or for you,” he said, shutting the door and squealing the truck’s tires as he left.
The message was delivered: there’s only one way this ends. She clearly knew it as she stood in the early morning sunrays. The heat already rose from the cement, baking the stone beneath her tired feet. Someone was going to get hurt in this sordid triangle and she’d bet all her worldly goods on who it would be. Her.
“Thanks for the ride,” Shyla said, patting Badger’s arm as she slid off his motorcycle.
He cut the engine. The noisy roar had become almost a comfort to Shyla since she moved here. She loved the distinct sound of a Harley motor, the rumble-like popping sound, and the vibration soothing her bones. Shyla couldn’t explain it other than maybe somewhere deep down it connected her with her dad. That reason would also explain her fascination with the MC. Or it could be the idea of a family. Even a fucked-up broken one was better than none.
