Wild Ride (Let it Ride Book 2)

by Cynthia Rayne

  Ash set off in search of Steele, leaving Ace in the parking lot.

  ***

  Hours later, Ash stared at Steele’s apartment door, arm raised, ready to knock.

  The sun was setting in a blaze of pink and orange. Ash had spent most of the day trying to find him—calling him every hour or so, sending a dozen text messages, and she’d searched for him everywhere. When she’d driven by his place earlier, his motorcycle had been gone, but now it was pulled into the space in front of his apartment. She was glad she’d thought to check in before calling it a night.

  Ash should probably leave this alone, and call one of his brothers to check on him. But he was in pain right now. And while he didn’t know for sure if he’d lost Coyote, the possibility had to be weighing on his mind.

  Ash knocked on the door.

  “Fuck off.” The voice was muffled and slightly slurred.

  “Steele, it’s me.”

  Nothing.

  After a long pause, the door swung open, and Steele stood in the doorway in a pair of jeans with bare feet and a bandaged chest. He looked like hell—bloody, bruised, and beaten.

  She felt a twinge of guilt as she examined him. The skin around his left eye was swollen and tight-looking—it’d turned a reddish-purple color with an overlay of yellow. His lower lip puffed up. There were more bruises all over his torso.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure as shit don’t look it.”

  “Well, I am.” Steele bent his head, studying the floor. “They told you.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ash didn’t wait for an invitation; she slipped underneath his outstretched arm and rushed past him. With a curse, he shut the door behind her, but he didn’t argue.

  Ash took in her surroundings. They stood in his kitchen, but she could see through to other rooms. It was a typical bachelor pad—small with beige carpet, white walls, mismatched furniture, a sink full of dirty dishes, and a layer of dust coating everything.

  “You don’t need to do this. I’m not gonna do anything stupid.” Steele pulled a quart-sized Mason jar from the fridge and took a long sip. The liquid was clear, but she knew it wasn’t water.

  “Ain’t that my line?” she joked.

  It fell flat.

  His chin quivered for a moment, then his features smoothed. “You want some?” He held it out to her.

  “No, thanks. Do you need anything?”

  He took another long drink. His movements were slow and a bit unsteady. She wondered if he’d been driving around liquored up.

  “Didn’t know you cared.”

  It was her turn to examine the floor. “I…I don’t. We’re workin’ a job together, and this is a professional courtesy.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could put them back.

  He gave her a little half-smile. “I see.”

  “Where were you today?”

  Ash turned her back on him. She should’ve called Justice or Ace to handle this. She had no business playing Florence Nightingale.

  “Drivin’ around. Seein’ the sights.”

  It was a non-answer, but she left it alone.

  Ash stepped into the living room.

  “I like your place.”

  A couple of books sat on the corner of the scuffed coffee table. From the marked spines, she could see they’d been checked out from the public library. She’d never seen him with anything other than a textbook in school.

  Ash picked one up, perusing the back. It was a military biography. The due date was two months from now, which was a long check-out period. As a kid, she’d only been able to check books out for two weeks. He must know a friendly librarian.

  “You’re quite a reader.”

  “Nah, I like the pictures.” He walked through the living room and into the bedroom before flinging his battered body down onto the bed. Steele placed the Mason jar within reach on the nightstand.

  “Bullshit.” Ash grabbed another to see sticky notes placed on several pages.

  “Leave it alone.”

  Just to be ornery, Ash thumbed through the book. She grinned when she read a quote by General William Thornson, U.S. Army.

  There are only two kinds of people that understand Marines: Marines and the enemy. Everyone else has a second-hand opinion.

  “Why didn’t I know you’re a bookworm?”

  “Not a bookworm. I’m bored.” Steele rolled over on the bed, giving her his back.

  When they were kids, he’d teased her about spending all her free time with her nose in a book. He’d snatch them out of her hands and run away, forcing her to chase after him.

  She walked into the bedroom and stood, staring down at him.

  “What are you really doin’ here?” He burrowed into the pillow. Steele seemed to be fading fast.

  No clue.

  “Makin’ sure you don’t fall asleep on your back and choke on your own vomit.”

  “I can hold my liquor, and you’re a bad liar, Dusty. Always were. You hate my ever-livin’ guts.”

  She probably shouldn’t be here alone with him. Not when his defenses were lowered. Because her walls were down too. And he looked damn good in his rumpled bed.

  Ash sat on the corner of the bed, a safe distance away. Right now, she couldn’t seem to summon the familiar pain and anger. She wondered if the beating she’d given him, combined with sympathy for the Coyote situation, had started to heal the rift between them.

  “Tell me about the books.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Ah, fuck. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “Too bad, you’re drunk and defenseless, so this is the perfect time to talk. Tell me.”

  Steele rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Damnation, you ain’t gonna let this slide, huh?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m dyslexic. That’s why I sucked at school.”

  Ash gasped. “No one caught it?”

  He pulled a pillow over his head, refusing to look at her. “Nah,” he muttered beneath the fabric. “I hid it.”

  Clowning in class had been his specialty, and she’d lost count of how many detentions he’d gotten. Not to mention the many suspensions for being a “disruptive influence on other students” Because he’d been such a star athlete, she wondered if the teachers had been pressured to pass him.

  Ash snatched the pillow from him. “I’m so—”

  “Don’t.” He sat up in the bed. “Don’t fucking feel sorry for me. It’s no big deal. I squeaked through high school and made it into the military. I don’t need your pity.” He snagged the moonshine again and took another sip.

  Steele was too proud for his own good.

  “I don’t pity you, but I would’ve helped you.”

  Steele reminded her of a rough-and-tumble tomcat who used to hang around her neighborhood. She’d wanted a cat, but her dad was allergic, so she’d taken care of the stray and pretended it was hers. Ash had named the tabby Rocky because he was always scratched up from fighting. Rocky had a sleek brown, black, and white coat with fierce green eyes and a torn ear.

  The cat used to look into their basement windows at night—cold, hungry, and alone. She’d offered him plates of leftover chicken, canned tuna, and any other treat she could scrounge up. But he’d hissed and spit at her every time she got near, so she’d been forced to leave the food and watch from the window as the taciturn cat devoured every morsel.

  Ash used to bring Steele food too. When she packed a lunch, she’d “forget” and bring two sandwiches or an extra slice of cake. He’d always scarfed down the treats she’d brought him. Steele had never been malnourished, but there probably hadn’t been enough food in the house to satisfy a growing teenage boy.

  The cat had never let Ash pet him, even though she’d longed to stroke his fur. And Lord knew she wanted to stroke Steele too.

  Ash scooted closer to him on the bed but managed to keep her hands to herself. Being around him stirred up so many old memories, old feelings too.

&n
bsp; “I’m so sorry about Coyote.” Ash laid a hand on his arm and squeezed.

  He placed his hand over hers. “Thank you.”

  “You’re gonna find him. We’ll find him.”

  “Why aren’t you bein’ nasty to me?”

  “No fun when you can’t fight back.”

  Steele laughed, but it came out rusty and low. “Maybe I should let you beat the tar out of me more often.”

  Their gazes locked.

  She shivered. Right now, laying down beside him on the big bed seemed like a reasonable idea.

  Clearly, I’ve lost my mind.

  Ash ducked her head and forced the words out before she could take them back or do something even more stupid like kiss Steele. “I know you didn’t kill Abe. But I can’t…I’ll never get justice for him or my family, and it eats away at me.”

  If the military had put Abe’s murderers on trial, or if she’d been able to hunt them down on her own, she’d at least have closure. It wouldn’t bring Abe back, but it’d be something at least. But no one had been punished for killing Abe, and no one ever would.

  Somehow, she had to accept it and move on.

  “And you know I had a hand in it.”

  “Yes, but I’ve laid all the responsibility at your feet, and I…I shouldn’t have. I’m s—”

  “Don’t apologize to me. Not ever.” Steele clutched her hand. “I wanted your anger, your hatred. I wanted you to take it out on me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I deserve it.”

  “Steele….”

  “And because you looked so…empty.”

  “Empty?”

  “When I saw you at the funeral, you’re weren’t…there anymore.” Steele circled a hand around his own face to illustrate.

  “I was grieving.”

  Steele shook his head. “No, it was too hollow for grief. It wasn’t sadness or pain. I think you were hiding.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself but didn’t deny his words.

  “Ash…do you….”

  “What?”

  “Do you think you could ever…?” He glanced away. “Could you ever think about forgiving me?”

  Ash considered his words. The anger had lessened, but she wasn’t quite there yet.

  “I know you’re sorry and if you could change what happened, you would.”

  He nodded.

  She pulled her hand back and moved away from him. Ash sucked in a deep breath. “I think…damn. We shouldn’t be talking about this right now. You’ve been through enough for one day.”

  “Please say it.”

  Ash closed her eyes. “I think the Coyote situation is similar. It sounds like you made the same mistake—like you didn’t learn your lesson the first time. Part of being with a unit is having your brother’s back, no matter what.”

  Steele swallowed thickly.

  “If it came down to it, would you sacrifice yourself to save someone else? Put their needs above your own?”

  He hung his head. “I’ve always put myself before others. If I hadn’t been tryin’ to get laid, Abe wouldn’t have died alone. And if I hadn’t been screwing around, Coyote would still be here. I’m a fuck-up, always have been.” He touched the gauze on his chest, rubbing the wound. “I wasn’t payin’ attention the night the Raptors snatched him. I was on my phone, textin’ a chick, wishin’ I hadn’t volunteered for guard duty, and half-assin’ it. I should’ve watched my flank.”

  “You didn’t know the Raptors would attack.” Damn, she shouldn’t have brought it up. No sense in kickin’ a man when he’s already down.

  “It’s no excuse to slack off.”

  Steele handed her the jar, and she took a sip this time. It blazed down her throat. “That’s strong.” Ash gave it back and forced herself to stand up and walk away from temptation.

  He pointed to the closet. “Take my football career for example.”

  The closet door stood open, and she spied his old letterman jacket hanging to one side. The booster club had purchased his football uniforms and the jacket—after Ash confided in the coach about Steele’s financial situation. Steele’s mother couldn’t swing the cost, and he’d been such a stellar athlete, the school didn’t want to let a little bitty thing like the cost of a uniform stand in his way. She hadn’t told Steele she’d betrayed his confidence. Steele never accepted help—he considered it charity. But the booster moms had made it a present, so he couldn’t refuse.

  “You still have your old jacket.”

  “Yeah. A little souvenir from what my life coulda been.”

  She drifted over. While she watched him play from the bleachers, she’d fantasized about him driving her home after one of the games. He’d place the jacket over her shoulders to keep her warm, and then he’d kiss her goodnight on the front porch.

  Ash pushed open the closet door to get a closer look. Her fingers itched to feel the supple leather of the white sleeves. The rest of the jacket was green wool with a chenille P on the breast pocket. White and green—Poteet Pirate colors.

  “Can I put on?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but the words popped out.

  When she glanced over her shoulder, Steele was watching her. He licked his lips. “Go ahead. You cold?”

  “Um, yeah.” Big lie. Right now, she felt warm—hot even.

  Turning away, Ash slipped the coat over her shoulders, and her eyes fell closed. The smell of old leather washed over her. The jacket was too large, and the sleeves were too long, but she loved the fit. It felt better than she’d imagined. Reality hardly ever surpassed fantasy.

  Ash did a little twirl. “What do you think?”

  “Looks good on you.”

  “Go Pirates,” Ash whispered. “What were you saying earlier? What happened with your football career?” As far as she knew, he’d never been offered a scholarship.

  Before he spoke, he tucked into the moonshine again. “Our senior year, the coach got wind of a scout comin’ to our last game of the year. The guy wanted to see me in action.” Steele laid back on the bed and turned over on one side, facing her.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “So I practiced my ass off, ran drills every night after school…only to blow it the night before the game. I went to this party down by the creek. I should’ve been gettin’ sleep, preparin’ for the game. Instead, I drank myself unconscious, fucked two girls, and spent the next mornin’ pukin’ my guts out.”

  “I remember that game. You didn’t play so hot.”

  The Pirates had gotten their asses handed to them on the field. Football in Texas was a big deal, and Steele had pissed off the whole damn town. They heckled him for months afterward—until he’d gone to basic training and come back a Marine. The only thing Texans respected more than a great football player was a man in uniform.

  Steele snorted. “I played like a junior varsity douchebag. My mom was countin’ on me. She wanted me to get a scholarship, play for Texas A & M, and then get drafted to the NFL. I was supposed to take care of her, give her everythin’ my dad never did.”

  “You were eighteen years old, just a kid.”

  “It shows a pattern.”

  Ash couldn’t argue with the logic, but she didn’t wanna send him into a shame spiral either.

  “Come on, give yourself a break.”

  “I should’ve played for the Dallas Cowboys and bought my mom a big ol’ house anywhere she damn well pleased.”

  “You bought her a house in Poteet.” Ash had driven by it the last time she’d been home. It might not be a mansion, but his mother was living her golden years in comfort, thanks to her son.

  “It’s not enough,” he mumbled. Steele’s eyes were shut.

  Ash took the Mason jar from him and set it back on the nightstand. Then she hit the switch on the lamp. “You’ve had a long day. I bet you could use some sleep.”

  “Don’t wanna.” But he didn’t make a move to turn on the lights.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Abo
ut what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  After a few moments, Steele’s rhythmic snoring filled the room.

  Ash perched on the end of the bed and watched him sleep. She wished they could go back somehow—a girl with a crush on the handsome football hero. Back then, everything had seemed so simple.

  What if we’re overthinking it? What if we scratched the itch?

  Wait, woah, bad idea.

  Oh, yeah, she needed to get out of there before she did something stupid like crawl into bed beside him. Ash hesitated before she draped the jacket over the bed and fled the scene.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hours later, Steele slowly drifted into consciousness.

  He cracked an eye open and peered at the far window. The graying light told him it was early in the morning.

  What was I thinkin’?

  Steele grimaced. His mouth was dry and tasted terrible, like he’d spent the night licking the floorboards in one of Perdition’s crash rooms. He ran a palm along his tongue, as if he could scrape the gross off it. A cursory scan of the room revealed he was at his shitty apartment, not the clubhouse, so the wood-licking thing had to be a bad reaction to moonshine.

  “Never again.”

  But he knew history would repeat itself. Steele was a fun guy in the club—he drank, partied, and fucked strange women. No one expected anything more of him.

  Steele staggered into the bathroom and took a scalding hot shower. After a good scrub and a vigorous teeth brushing, he felt almost human again. He padded back into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of clean drawers.

  He spotted the letterman jacket sprawled on the end of his bed and froze. So it hadn’t been a dream—Ash had come over last night. He recalled most of their interaction, even if the memory was foggy.

  Steele also remembered how the Raptor prospect had gotten away from them. Ash had been reckless—playing a game of chicken with fate.

  It was Saturday morning, and Steele couldn’t track the Raptors until tomorrow night, if Vick was right about their timeline. That meant twenty-four hours of waiting and worry.

  Well, he could do something about Ash.

  One way or the other, she’d walk out of his life tomorrow. Either he could let it go, or he could man up and make the most of their time together—maybe lay a few demons to rest.