“He was as kind and gentlemanly as usual,” I say to which Mireya smirks.
“So, not much at all, right?” she asks, and I do my best to smile back since I'm fairly certain it was a joke. “Austin is … strange. I think he's spent so much of his life running that when it comes time to stand still, he doesn't know what to do anymore. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you.” Mireya grits her teeth and then takes a few, deep breaths. I watch in wonder as she visibly relaxes herself. “He's never taken to any woman the way he's taken to you. I'm sure he'll say it back. Just give him time.”
“Thank you, Mireya,” I say and her smile gets just this much more real, more genuine. What she doesn't know is that I'm only thanking her for her words, not so much for the meaning, because I'm not so sure that she's right. I feel like something is starting to slip inside of Austin, and if I don't find it soon, he may very well find himself in a crisis of character.
Chapter 8
Austin
Melissa looks ten years younger – I kid you not. I swear, some of the lines in her face have disappeared, and she's back to her old self, hanging on Tax and swinging her blonde hair around like she doesn't have a care in the world. I hope she takes her vows of holy matrimony more seriously this time than she did the first round. Not that I suppose I can truly hold it against her. Kent Diamond wasn't the nicest man to have ever graced this here fine earth.
“Thank you for allowing us free passage through your territory,” Tax says formally, holding out his hand for me to shake. I reach out and grab it firmly, giving him a nod as I step back into line with Beck. Right now, it's just me, him, and three other Triple M'ers. I left everybody else at the hotel with instructions not to show up before eleven. We got shit to take care of here first.
Don't think about Amy, I warn myself as my mind starts to wander again. How could I not though? She said she loved your pathetic fucking ass last night and what did you do besides shit your damn pants in fear? Fuck almighty. I really am a stupid Goddamn man.
“Thank you for letting us get the opportunity to spend time with your sister. Tease is an incredible person,” I say, hoping that Beck doesn't make any rude ass comments. I give him a sidelong glance, but he doesn't return it, keeping his attention fully focused on Tax's face. Surprisingly, he doesn't even bother to look over at Melissa. The man returns his stare, green eyes blazing in the hot glare of the sun. I feel like there's something they both know that I don't. It's makin' me uncomfortable.
“If you ever hurt her, I will kill you. You have my word.” Tax doesn't look at me when he says this, but I get the idea that the entire group is implicated in his statement. He blinks his eyes a few times and touches a hand to his red hair, sweeping some strands away from his face. “Now, where the fuck are our little friends?”
I turn around and survey the empty street, but it's dead as a desert out here, and I ain't got any answers for him.
“They heard your name and they ran like little bitches, scurryin' off into the sunset.” Beck grins, flashing his white teeth as he turns and looks at the small group behind us. I've never been all that good with makin' my rounds in the group, but I take note of the faces and try to place names. Joel, Bishop, and Bryan. All three of them joined Triple M after me, but they've still been around a long while. I try to pony up a slight smile. This President shit is one of the hardest damn things I've ever done.
“If they're not here,” Tax says, glancing back at his boys. “Then we're just going to have to find them.” I watch as he pulls out a phone and disappears into the mass of bikes at his back, weaving between metal frames with ease. His men stare at us with neutral expressions, but I get the distinct impression that were we to lift a single fuckin' finger towards them, they'd shoot us all dead. I took a big gamble by coming out here to meet them, but at least for now, it looks like it's going to pay off.
Melissa gives us a tight smile and follows after Tax. I watch her go and then turn around and move towards the house. When Tax is done doing whatever he's doing, I'm sure he'll send someone to come get me. Might as well take a moment to look inside while I wait. My Triple M'ers follow after me, waiting on the walkway as I unlock the door and move inside. The house is hotter than a submarine in the center of the sun, and I ain't got patience for that. Air conditioning just moved to the top of my list.
“Hey Boss,” Beck drawls, moving up beside me. He trails after me as I head to the back door and slide it open, lighting a cigarette and glancing over my shoulder at him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I shrug and look back at the other guys, giving them a nod that I hope means leave us the hell alone for a second. I step outside and Beck follows.
“What is it, Evans?” I ask him as I smoke my cigarette and try to calm the uncertainty inside my gut. I don't like feeling like this. It took me a little while to explain it, to understand the fear that's roiling there like a summer storm, but I get it now. What if I'm not good enough? The question keeps coming up in my mind, playin' on repeat, and I can't shake the feeling that the answer is, you aren't. You aren't ready to be President, Sparks. You aren't ready to lead these people. Look at what you gone and done so far? You got ten of your members murdered. They're dead, Austin, and they ain't never coming back.
And then there's Amy. Oh, Christ on a fucking cracker. Amy.
I don't know how to be a partner. I've never been with a single woman like this before. This is the only time in my damn life I've ever been monogamous, and it's the first time anyone's ever said I love you to me when I've actually wanted to say it back. So what do I do now? How do I get through this when all I feel like I'm doing is failing?
“I want to tell you somethin'.” Beck holds up his hands. “It's good news though, so no worryin'.” He pauses to clear his throat and adjust his stupid T-shirt. Another tight one, like he's in a fucking rock band or something. He tries not to smile, but the expression cracks through his face like we was born with it. I bet he came out of his momma, grinnin' away like an idiot. “Tease is pregnant.”
I drop my cigarette to the grass and watch as Beck's red brows rise up in surprise.
“It ain't a ghost, Sparks. Don't look so damn scared.” He crushes the smoldering cig out with his boot before it catches the brown grass on fire. “This is a good thing. Good timing, too.” Beck gestures up at the clubhouse. “We get to all co-exist like a happy fuckin' family.” My throat goes dry, and I end up sitting down on one of the old lawn chairs. I don't know why I'm freaking out so damn much. To be honest, if my friend is happy, then I'm happy. But … shit. It might not be my baby – God knows what I'd do if it were – but it feels like another load of responsibility has just been heaped up on my shoulders, and I'm staggering under the weight.
“I'm real happy for you, Beck,” I tell him, trying to get across some genuine feeling in my tone. Something other than fear, that is. My friend puts his big hands on his hips and stares me down. I do my best not to meet his gaze.
“Austin Sparks, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you'd just been shot straight through the chest. Come on now, this is something to celebrate. If I'd have known you were going to freak out, I woulda waited for a better moment.”
“I'm alright. Really, I'm happy for you, Beck. I just … this whole thing with Broken Dallas is startin' to get on my nerves.” I force myself to my feet, and give my friend a hug. The last thing I want to do right now is ruin his moment. “You tell Gaine or Kimmi yet?” Beck shrugs and lights up a cigarette of his own.
“Kimmi, yeah. Not Gaine.” He grins wider. “You see, I got a peckin' order for y'all that I like to stick to. Besides,” Beck glances up at the house, “Gaine'll get all gushy and excited on me. I want to save that shit for last.” He moves towards the stairs and I follow, just in time to intercept a man from Seventy-seven Brothers. Is it a bad sign that I'm almost relieved to go back to dealing with this shit? Violence is one thing, but babies? Shit. I don't know anything about that.
The man doesn't say anything, just gestur
es for us to follow him back outside where Tax is waiting. When he turns around to look at us, I see that he's frowning deeply.
“Couldn't find 'em?” I ask before he gets a chance to speak.
“Actually,” Tax says, removing a pistol from the holster at his side. “We did. And it's time to intact retribution for crimes committed.”
Chapter 9
Amy
When we arrive at the house, I climb off my bike – yes, yes, yes, I rode it here all by myself – and head inside to start work. Yesterday was girls' day off; tomorrow is boys' day off. Today, we all work together. Except for Austin, Beck, and a few of the others. I try not to think too hard about the message Kimmi received before we got here. They're chasing after Broken Dallas. My stomach turns, and I clutch a hand to my mouth. I think I'm going to be sick.
“Are you alright?” Tease asks me, tilting her head to the side and studying me with narrowed green eyes. Her red hair frames her porcelain skin like rubies. Where I'm your plain, average, American white girl, Tease is not. She's one of those women that once you catch sight of them, you can't look away. She's pretty in a different way than Mireya but just as fierce. “Because you don't look it.”
I start to mumble that I'm fine, but my stomach turns again, and I end up in the downstairs bathroom, puking in a most unladylike manner. Lucky for me, I also get an audience to view my shame.
“What's wrong?” Kimmi asks, crowding her red head in next to Tease's. “Did you eat the scrambled eggs this morning? I ate the scrambled eggs, and I'm not feeling too hot myself. I think they were undercooked.”
“Could I please have a moment?” I ask, trying not to sound exasperated. Another wave of nausea hits me as I grip the rim of the dirty toilet seat. We took down the hideous ceiling tiles in this room yesterday, and the whole thing is covered in dust and grit. Just thinking of it makes me throw up again.
“Do you need me to get you anything?” Christy asks as I sit back and wipe my mouth with some spare toilet paper. I look up into her blue eyes, taking solace in the cool calmness of them. She's most at home here in the soon-to-be clubhouse I've noticed. Christy might be 'afraid' of motorcycles, but she's certainly not afraid of home renovations. I saw her dive into the kitchen demo with a ferocity that was nearly frightening.
“Some water, if you could, please?” I ask, leaning against the wall and crossing one arm over my belly. When Christy returns with my drink, I grab her hand and pull her down to sit beside me, making certain that the toilet is flushed and the seat down first, thank you very much. “I think I'll sit for awhile,” I tell her as she settles in with her back against the corner vanity. It's a tiny, dinky thing with a brass faucet and an avocado green countertop that most likely was put in at least a decade before I was even born. “Keep me company?” Christy nods and scoops her hair up, putting the blonde strands into a ponytail with a band she's got around her wrist. Her neck looks long and pale, like a swan's. “We don't get to spend as much time together as I'd like,” I admit, and she smiles.
“You're busy,” she says and then blushes. “Crap.” Christy's delicate hands fly up to her mouth and her eyes go wide. She draws them away slowly. “Shit,” she whispers, and her smile returns with a vengeance. I grin back.
“Damn it,” I growl, leaning a bit closer. But not too close. Some teeth brushing might be in order before that happens.
“Bitch,” she says a little louder.
“Hell. Bastard. Tits. Ass.” I wave my hands around and then cup them over my mouth. “Fuck!” I scream, letting the word echo around the enclosed space.
“Pussy, taint, cunt,” Christy shouts back, and we descend into fits of laughter. It's a bit childish, but you try living your whole life with the threat of soap in your mouth and see how you do. Honestly, my mother would put whole bars of Dove down my throat and make me sit with them for an hour. Then, of course, my father would come home and it wouldn't be enough. I'd get the belt and be sent to bed without dinner. For saying shit. It only ever happened twice, but I wasn't eager to repeat it. This newfound freedom we've discovered is quite exhilarating.
“Now, what on earth is going on in here?” Kimmi asks, sliding into view. Her emerald earrings sway with her movement. Most of us – including Mireya – put on jeans and T-shirts for the renovation work. Not Kimmi. She shows up in the same sorts of outfits she always wears: high heeled boots, tight leather pants, and usually a corset or bedazzled tank top of some sort. Today she's got on a green top that matches her earrings, with little silver beads sewn into it. Her pants are black, tight, and made of leather as per usual, but today she's switched it up a bit with some purple sequined heels. I guess if you can rob banks and outrun the cops in stilettos, you can certainly knock down a wall or two.
I pretend not to notice as Christy's eyes take her all in, and a blush rises on her cheeks.
“I distinctly heard the word pussy, so I had to make sure there wasn't a party I was missing out on.” Kimmi winks her long eyelashes, honing her gaze on Christy with laser focus. I clear my throat and glance at the ugly diamond patterned wallpaper near my face. “Hey, Christy, I was thinking that if you wanted, we could take my bike out tonight, and I could give you some tips on riding.” My friend's eyes go wide and she switches her gaze over to me. I pretend to be interested in the wallpaper. “It's a nice night for it, so … ”
“I'll think about it,” Christy chirps, standing up so quickly that she stumbles and ends up in Kimmi's arms, sort of like something you'd see in a romantic comedy. I pick at the peeling wallpaper with my nails, and force back another wave of nausea. It would not do to go vomiting during my friend's special moment. The two of them are caught, looking into one another's eyes. First love is a beautiful, beautiful thing, isn't it? I wonder if Christy knows she's got a crush yet.
“I'll ask again later,” Kimmi says, letting go of Christy and taking a step back. She glances sidelong down the hallway, and a crooked smile lights her pink tinged lips. “Maybe after lunch?” And then she winks at Christy and disappears. My friend brushes her hands on her new jeans (possibly the first pair she's ever owned) and walks out of the bathroom with her head held high, just in time for me to grab another private moment to puke.
When I come out, most of the work is in full swing. There are a few Triple M'ers smoking cigarettes and drinking beer in the backyard, but I know they'll get around to it. Never in my life have a met such a hardworking group of people. I smile and resist the urge to go fetch my book out of my saddlebags. The day before yesterday, Austin caught me sneaking a chapter in the upstairs bathroom and made fun of me all day. One of these days, I'm going to convince him to read a book. I've already manged to rope Mireya, Kimmi, and even Melissa into trying one of my Sali Bend novels. It's just a matter of time.
I head up the stairs, running my hand along the freshly painted banister. It gleams a pearly white in the early afternoon sun. I give it a friendly pat and pause on the landing, trying to remember which of the rooms are already painted. I catch Christy in the third room on my right, a roller in hand, and join her. Not to be rude or anything, but some of these bikers have a sloppy hand when it comes to painting, so Christy and I have taken over. And besides, we're a little less capable of picking up a set of cabinets and moving them single-handedly. Some of the folks here have biceps the size of my thigh for goodness sake.
I pick up a paint brush and dip it into the can, enjoying the smooth texture of the wet paint. The color we've chosen for this room is a frosty green, like mint chocolate chip ice cream. Supposedly, this is going to be Gaine and Mireya's room.
“Amy, is there anything you want to tell me?” Christy asks which I know is code for there's something I want to tell you, so please, give me something in return. It's much easier to spill a secret when someone's already given you one. I smile at her and move over to the window, carefully painting the spots around the white trim. My stomach is still a tad uneasy, but I don't think too hard about it.
“Like what?” I ask, s
truggling to keep my eyes on the paint job and off the deserted neighborhood out the window. This window faces West, and I can only imagine that there are going to be some spectacular sunsets to be seen from this vantage point. I pause, spotting movement in the bushes a couple of houses down. Cat? I wonder. Or maybe dog? I'd like to get a dog eventually. A small one. One that I can take on my bike with me. I smile as I get a more modern version of Dorothy and Toto in my head. How silly is that?
“You know, just whatever,” she says, trying desperately to sound nonchalant. I sweep the brush down the wall and turn around, splattering a tiny bit of paint on the brown paper covering the floor. Christy is blushing, redness spreading down her neck and across her bare shoulders. I let my lips twitch into a smile as I re-dip my brush and turn back towards the window to paint. My guess is that she's going to admit she has a thing for Kimmi. I expect us to break down into a giggling fit of girlishness.
I certainly don't expect the gunshot.
One moment, I'm painting the wall and humming Do You Believe in Magic by The Lovin' Spoonful, and the next, the brush is clattering to the floor and I'm clutching my arm. The window in front of me drops into pieces, falling like rain to my feet. I realize that it probably shattered before I was shot, but things are so blurry in my mind that this is how I remember it later.
I scream, and press my fingers so tight to the wound that redness oozes between them, sliding down my skin in hot heat and splattering on the floor next to my paint dribbles.
“Amy!” Christy screeches as I stumble to the side and slam my back into the partially wet wall.
“Get down!” I shout at my friend. “On the floor!” I slide down as Christy drops her roller and falls to her knees. Literally, seconds later, there are sounds of shouting outside and in. Some of the girls appear in the doorway, ducking low and skittering across the floor towards me.
Craving Me, Desiring You Page 4
