As they breached the threshold of the complex, her hopes died. No one would come for her. No one would see her. This man, whoever he was, would take off with her in tow. Her face would plaster the news channel and she'd be found dead in a field. Tears burned hotter at her eyes.
“Head toward the blue sedan.” The sudden words made Miranda jolt. Terror oozed down her spine, but her legs listened to the orders. “That's a good girl.”
Those last words broke through the ice in her head. Miranda's eyebrows lowered. If she was going to die either way, why listen to him? Hell, if he shot her outside the apartment building, she'd be able to get help! Someone would hear the gunshot and call 911. Conviction solidified in her head.
The flap of her flip-flops smacked across her ears. A plan sparked to life in her mind.
Miranda wiggled her toes, adjusting the sandal just right for–
She let out a shriek and tumbled forward, tripping on the ragged sandal. The left side of her body jerked backward. The man's hold on her elbow nearly yanked her arm out of her socket. He grunted, but Miranda couldn't tell if it was out of effort or displeasure.
It didn't matter. Her fingers clasped her prize.
“Get back up,” he growled.
Miranda rose, slowly, to her feet. The rock weighed down her palm and excitement riveted along her bones. She could barely breathe as adrenaline pumped through her. This was her chance.
As soon as the stranger placed the muzzle of the gun to her back, she spun to her left. The man snarled an exclamation, but she couldn't hear it over the pumping of blood in her ears. She brought the rock up, using the momentum of her spin and slamming it toward the side of the man's head.
A satisfying crunch echoed through the air and the man howled. His grip only tightened, though. Miranda gasped as he slowly turned to face her. The sunglasses, shattered on one side, fell away from his features. Blood dribbled from a small gash on his temple. His blue glare caught her, fury and livid rage burning through Miranda's skull.
Her heart sank as the man's right arm shifted. This was it. Her chest clamped hard against her thrumming heart and terrified shivers coursed across her limbs.
“Hey!” A voice rang out, over the roar of a hog. The stranger's head snapped to the newest interference. Miranda's heart recognized the voice and hope filled her thoughts.
Tyler saw only red as he hurtled toward Miranda's would-be captor. He stopped mere inches away, but the man didn't even flinch. The two stared each other down, heat and pressure building up between them. Tyler's eyes drifted to Miranda, taking stock of her limbs.
The stranger squeezed on her elbow, eliciting a whimper from her lips. There would be round bruises on her arm in the morning. Well, if she survived that long. Tyler's glare flickered back to the bald man's eyes, murder painted across his face.
“Tyler Ferguson, as I live and breathe.”
“Not for long.” The growl came from deep inside Tyler's chest, coated in vitriol and bile. His heart throbbed in his chest. His sweat-slicked palms stuck to his hog's handlebars.
“Witty as ever,” replied Miranda's captor with a chuckle. “Well, this saves me a bit of trouble.”
“What do you want?” Tyler's knuckles whitened against his handlebars. He barely contained the urge to rev his engine and run this asshole over. But, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't hurt Miranda in the process.
“It's not about what I want,” laughed the man. Miranda glared at him from the corner of her eye. Vaguely, the pieces were starting to fit into place. Tyler did something, someone wanted his attention, they knew about his past with Miranda. Emotions dueled in her mind at this revelation. The bald man shook her arm, his bruising grip rubbed painfully against her flesh. “This is about what Pete wants.”
“Why the hell do you need her, then?” Tyler's rage piqued higher, watching Miranda shaken like a rag doll.
“Well, I needed to convince you, of course.”
Tyler snarled, “Convince me of what?”
“Don't play dumb. Pete wants you back.” The amusement faded from his face.
Miranda suppressed her shiver while her mind marveled at the change in demeanor and temperature. Yet, curiosity nipped at her ears. Who was Pete and why did he want Tyler? What did Tyler do? Fear and excitement thundered through her thoughts, resonating in her chest.
Her captor's lips twisted into a scowl. “You need to explain yourself. You and Jack.”
“I don't need to explain jackshit.” Tyler wrinkled his nose. Despite the urge to glance at Miranda, to gauge her reaction, he swallowed the desire. She was smart. She'd figure something was afoot and that it involved his less-than-legal lifestyle. After her vehemence at the hospital and Naomi's place, Tyler wasn't sure if he wanted to see complete disgust.
“That's not what I heard,” replied the bald man in a singsong tone. He shook Miranda again for emphasis and to remind Tyler of the stakes.
Tyler's lips thinned as he leveled a glare at the other man. Baldie was trying his patience. If he didn't have a gun, and if he didn't hold Miranda hostage, he'd be long dead. Without the situation he wished for, Tyler couldn't find any other tactic other than stalling. Someone was bound to return home and see the hostage situation. “Yeah, and what did you hear?”
“You lied about Pete, spread a rumor and let it fester,” Baldie shook Miranda savagely. She gasped, unable to stop his manhandling. His fingers felt like they were leaving imprints on her very bones. “Meanwhile, you banged about memory lane with this dirty little whore.”
Annoyance sliced through Miranda's thoughts. The stranger was a windbag and what he said only further disconcerted her already frazzled thoughts. Through all the shaking and squeezing, her captor had slightly shifted her in front of him. It was probably a subconscious movement. She was nothing more than a human shield to keep Tyler at bay.
No one told him Miranda didn't agree. She kicked her right foot back and her heel caught the man in the groin. He hissed in air, sounding like a boiling teakettle. Almost instantly, his grip on her elbow released as he went to cradle his damaged goods. She jerked her arm back, and slammed her knuckles against his jaw. Despite her skewed aim, Baldie's injury played in her favor. He toppled under the sudden force she had slammed against his face. Miranda turned and raced toward Tyler. A grin cocked at his lips as if to say 'that's my girl.'
As soon as her leg swung over the chopper, Tyler revved the engine. He peeled out of the parking lot, leaving behind the gasping would-be captor sprawled on the sidewalk. He screamed curses and obscenities after them as he staggered to his feet.
Whatever he said didn't matter. The growl of the motorcycle drowned him out. Miranda's shoulders eased, safety coaxing her to relax.
She hugged herself closer to Tyler. His palm pressed against her hands in a comforting gesture. Relief flooded his thoughts and body. But, he couldn't risk letting his guard down. Baldie would pursue and there were few places they could run. He couldn't go back to Naomi's place. As long as she remained insignificant, she was safe. It was too late for Miranda.
Her thoughts tripped and tangled over themselves as Tyler weaved through the town. She had no clue where he was going. Brief recollections played through her mind's eye and words tickled her thoughts. What was going on with Tyler? Who was Pete? Why was she in danger now?
Her heart shivered at the sudden realization. Whatever Tyler had done, she was now tangled up in it. Her fingers crooked against his shirt, pulling herself closer to his back. Shock and relief numbed her. Coupled with the excitement of the day, exhausted clawed at her eyes. Whatever the case, she decided as she closed her eyes, she was happy Tyler came after her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Miranda opened her eyes, bright green numbers flared before her vision. She groaned and rolled over. There was something wrong with her bed. The sheets were all wrong and she didn't feel the crocheted blanket her grandmother made her. She squinted into the dark. Except, it wasn't dark. Overhead, the room's light flickered
.
Miranda's eyes widened as 'not my room' registered in her head. She bolted upright in the bed. Snatches of the previous hours floated into her head. Fear gripped her heart. She was in a small, dirty motel room. The yellowed wallpaper peeled off the wall and the carpet was threadbare, at best. Had she been kidnapped?
Her memories finally filled out. No, no. The last thing she remembered was fleeing on a motorcycle with Tyler. She forced her groggy mind to focus. Against the far wall, adjacent to her bed, there was a door the same yellowy color of the wallpaper. Tentatively, she called out to the foreign room, “Hello?”
“I'm here.” The voice came from her right. She turned, finding Tyler sitting on the other bed. Dark bags hung under his eyes and a somber air hung over his head.
Relief fluttered through her. At least she wasn't kidnapped while zonked out on the motorcycle. But one curiosity slammed into her thoughts. “Who was that guy?”
“I have no clue,” muttered Tyler as he shook his head. His heart swelled with pleasant heat, seeing her up and alert. He worried when she slumped against his back that the brute harmed her internally. There had been no signs, but his concerns nipped at his mind, delaying sleep until it was too early to go to bed. In the space of those hours, he pondered long and hard about their situation. The answer seemed less than happy, but it guaranteed Miranda's safety. Still, Tyler was hesitant to breach the subject just yet.
“What was he talking about?” She pressed forward. She wanted answers, not evasiveness. “Who's Pete? Did you do something to him?”
“I can't tell you, Mir.” Again, Tyler shook his head. Exhaustion was catching up to him. He didn't want to get into this subject with her.
Miranda's eyebrows dipped angrily. Faint memories licked across her mind when he would avoid telling her about his latest 'bending' of the law. Her fingers dug into the motel blankets. “Why not?”
Something hardened in his gaze. “Because, I don't want to involve you any further.”
“Well, if threats are going to be made on my life–”
“Which is why, tomorrow,” growled Tyler as he got to his feet, “you are going to your family and explaining why you need to leave.”
“What?” It was more of a gasp than a question. Total shock shook her thoughts. Why would he suggest her family? Tyler and her family held a mutual abhorrence of each other. Bile crawled up her throat, coating her tongue with a sour-tasting fear.
“Leave. Go to Canada or Rome or something.” Tyler paced down the length of the bed. His hands moved in agitated animation. A part of him didn't want her to go anywhere. He could keep her safe. He could protect her! But that was a risk he wasn't ready to take yet. “Take an extended vacation. Get away from here.”
Her brain sputtered smoke and clanked. She still couldn't make sense of Tyler's demand. “Why?”
“Because your life is in danger!”
“What did you do, Tyler?”
“If I tell you, you'll be further involved.” He breathed, stilling his agitation. It wasn't right to take his feelings out on her. It was his fault, after all. He came back to Legacy, he initiated everything with Miranda, he stayed the weekend. His own inability to sever his feelings for Miranda would only bring death to her. “I can't do that.”
Anger flared through Miranda's thoughts. He had already left twice. Why the hell did he return if it'd put her in danger? Did he care for her so little? Was he that reckless? The pain throbbed through her heart and pulsated down her nerves. Tears bit at the back of her eyes as she wondered how much – or how little – she mattered to him. “Then why did you even come back!”
“Because, I thought…” Tyler glared at Miranda as his words trailed off. He heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, turning on his foot to stalk away from the bed. Whatever inner battle waged in his head soon settled. When he faced her, again, a scowl cut across his jaw. “I was going to ask you to help me, but it doesn't matter. It's too dangerous.”
“So, let me get this straight,” snarled Miranda as her irritation propelled her to her feet. She advanced on Tyler, her index finger jabbing into his chest. “You came back here to get my help. However, your presence is enough to put me in danger. And now you decide it's too dangerous? What did you even need my help with? I'm not special.”
“That's not true, Mir. You are perf…” He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening and his face flushing. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he leaned away from her. The wall between them reaffixed itself. “Your job makes you useful.”
Miranda's eyebrows ticked up as she crossed her arms. “Why is that?”
He tore his gaze away, running a hand through his mussed hair. The fight in him burned, but dimmed under the weight of tiredness. She wouldn't let this go until he answered her. She had that look to her eye. And Tyler didn't want to fight any more. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it puts you in danger, Mir?” His eyebrows furrowed, but worry pinched across his features. He didn't want to tell her. Risking her life wasn't worth it. But he didn't want her fighting him forever. If he just let it all out, let it all go, she'd go running for the hills. That was the best for her.
“Yes!”
A beat of silence fell. Tyler stared at her, his jaw twitching. She waited for him to begin his explanation. Curiosity wavered in her head, ready to feast on his revelation. Uncertainty puckered her thoughts. What if it was too much for her? Once Tyler told her, it couldn't be taken back.
“I'm part of a motorcycle club, the Backsteel Bandits,” started Tyler, as his gaze averted from her. He picked his words carefully and his tone took on a leveled, precise pitch. “The junkyard and repair garage I work for are owned by the president.” Miranda's eyes widened as Tyler continued to unravel the twisted web of his situation. “Jack does the books. He found a discrepancy in the numbers and showed me. Everything points to our president.”
The picture started to focus. Miranda swallowed as she guessed, “Pete?”
“Yeah,” Tyler nodded, but couldn't meet her gaze. As he relayed his story, he realized how rash and shortsighted they were. “We gave copies of the issues to senior members before we took off for a vacation.”
“But now Pete realizes what happened.”
“Until we 'make it right,' he's gunning for Jack and me.” Tyler finished, his gaze still trained at an adjacent wall.
“How can you make it right?”
“No clue. Say we made it up, that we wanted Pete out, hope he's in a forgiving mood.” He couldn't find the courage to look at her. He didn't want to see fear or uncertainty or derision on her features. Tyler waited for her to turn and run, counting the seconds until he heard the door slam open and her footfalls drift into the night. “Or just repay with our lives.”
Silence slammed down between them, expelling the air from Miranda's lungs. Tyler bent rules, sometimes laws. He got into fights. Never before, though, had she sincerely feared for his life. Her mind wobbled around the concept, before it finally sank in. One thing didn't make sense in her mind, tough. She shook her head, clearing the terror from her head. “So, what can I do to help?”
“Your family owns a lot of banks across the country.”
Her heart sank. The family's connection to their banks, that's all he wanted from her. With her mouth dry, she rasped, “Yeah?”
“You have the ability to log into all those accounts.” Tyler's stomach clenched as the words left his lips. That wasn't his only reason for coming back to Legacy. He wanted to see her, but he couldn't very well admit that. Not when she needed to leave him behind for her own safety. Let her believe he only wanted her administrative power. Maybe that'd spur her to leave the country. “I know all of Pete's info, I thought maybe…”
“So, basically, you want me to violate his right to privacy.”
“That or Pete violates your right to life,” he retorted. Tyler heaved an agitated sigh. “It doesn't matter. You're leaving, that's it.”
Miranda'
s throat tightened as she took a step away from him. Her gaze fell to the floor, to her bare feet. So, that's why Tyler returned to Legacy. Her heart twisted with that unhappy thought. It made sense, though. Could she blame him for taking advantage of her position when his life was on the line? No, she couldn't.
Her whole body shook as emotions dueled for superiority. The biggest thing that hooked across her thoughts was Tyler's dire situation. He could die. The very thought made her stomach churn. From the way it sounded, Pete wouldn't make it quick and painless either. Even then, the very thought made her blood ice over.
“I'm sorry, Mir.” Tyler's soft words coaxed her eyes to him. He stood with his head hung and hands uselessly at his sides. Sadness swelled in his thoughts, coating every available synapse, and he realized he felt this way before – when Miranda's friends and family took him aside. A lump clawed up into his throat as an overwhelming desire to touch her, to feel her, under his palms slammed into his thoughts. He didn't want to lose her, again.
Wrecked by the Bad Boy: The Sick MC Page 35
