Loving Me, Trusting You

by C. M. Stunich

  “Sweetie, if you have to ask that question, maybe you should go? After all, this world is one sick and fucked up dirty place. I've been hurt bad by it before, and I can promise you that it'll show no mercy.” I hit the oily pavement and move across the brightly lit lot like a jaguar hunting prey. Gaine's already waiting for me, cigarette dangling from his lips while he stares with glittering eyes. I like the power I have over him. I admit it. I like that he wants me, craves me.

  Without a single word passing between us, Gaine grabs his cig between two fingers and flings it to the cement, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me to him, kissing me hard and possessing me with his lips. We've been here, done this before. He's said things to me before, things that I can never forgive. I love you.

  But he can't. Nobody can. At this point in my life, there is nothing here to love but a sharp edged bitch who doesn't remember how to feel. Numb. That's all I am anymore. Just numb.

  I feel Gaine's body, hard and angular, the perfect opposite to my soft curves, my breasts. He crushes me against him as I tangle my fingers in his dark hair and pull, drawing a groan from his lips and a pleasant grinding against my hips when his cock responds to my call.

  “Don't be selfish now,” I whisper against his mouth, drawing back and glancing over my shoulder. Against all the odds, Crystal is standing behind me with her coat gaping open, staring at us both with a heated expression. She made a stupid mistake coming down here. There's a very, very good chance and a high likelihood that had we been a part of any other MC, that bad things might've happened. I should be warning her off, telling her how lucky she is to have that boring life she hates, but I can't do it. The animal inside of me is raging out of control, a lioness unleashed on the hunt. I can't control myself anymore. I've never really been able to control myself. On the outside, it seems like I am, but inside, I'm screaming. “Come here,” I tell the girl, beckoning with my fingers for her to approach. She's steady on her high heels, running her tongue across her lower lip.

  “How old are you, babe?” Gaine asks, narrowing his dark eyes suspiciously. When he looks at me, they shine like jewels forged from the deepest recesses of the earth, something old and condensed and burning with molten heat. When he looks at her, they may as well be flint. They're cold, unfeeling. I wonder how far I can push him?

  “Twenty-two,” she says, and I can almost see Gaine's face fall. He wanted a way out, some way to say no to me without bearing the brunt of my anger. He's trapped now. I laugh and press a kiss to his ear, teasing the little wisps of hair that tickle his neck. I twirl them around my finger and absorb the liquid heat from his fingertips. If I focus too hard on that feeling, that intensity, I'll get swept in and sucked away. Estoy ardiendo.

  “Twenty-fucking-two,” I whisper into Gaine's ear. Just six years younger than me and a whole world away. I step back and put my hand against his broad chest, splaying my fingers against his rapidly beating heart. With a simple push, I get him right where I want him, sitting on the edge of his bike. Without any prompting from me, Crystal moves forward and wraps her hands around Gaine's neck, dropping the shy girl routine completely. Her teeth nibble his lip and he kisses her back, mildly, like he's kissin' his damn grandma or something.

  “Oh come on, Gaine Kelley,” I tell him, sliding Crystal's trench from her shoulders and tossing it over the back of Gaine's bike along with my jacket. “Don't tell me you've never been in a ménage à trois before. Show me some of that New York City slick, baby.” I run my hands over Crystal's hips and reach down to the hard bulge of denim between Gaine's legs. His belt buckle comes undone next and then his zipper.

  He starts to kiss her for real then, reaching up and taking hold of her hips, right above my hands, squeezing with calloused fingers and gripping tight. My lips touch Crystal's neck, taste the tangy bite of perfume while my nostrils fill with the sweet scent of shampoo. She smells like a dozen other girls I've shared with Austin over the years, like some I've had all to myself. I prefer men, but I haven't been very discriminate. I should've been, maybe, should've tried to find something in myself to value, to ration out rather than give away, but I never could follow the healing process to that natural conclusion. After … what happened to me with Walker and everything, I think I wanted to make sex not such a big deal. So I've had a lot of it. Too much maybe.

  But that doesn't matter right now. Right now, there's just three hot bodies and a whole sea of hormones, teasing us, bringing us to life, filling the air with pheromones that are nearly irresistible.

  Gaine grunts as I free him from his boxers, stroking the smoothness of his shaft, the hot, sweaty heat of his skin. His moans fill her mouth as my breasts press against the thin bones in her shoulders. Crystal's not like me. In all the places I'm round, she's flat and trim. Her hips are small, her breasts smaller. She's delicate, like a doll. If we'd have been born in different places, I don't think she would've survived, not my life anyway.

  My hands move away from Gaine's cock, and Crystal's take my place, stroking and teasing, drawing his male essence up like a magician casting a spell. I tickle my fingers down her body until I find the hem of her dress, drawing it up and exposing her bronzed ass, perfect from lazing around in the summer sun.

  “Ride him for me,” I whisper in her ear, watching over her shoulder as Gaine's eyes open and find mine. He's hot and flustered, three shades of red in his cheeks and forehead. I have to admit, Gaine's is the only face besides Austin's that I can remember the expression on after sex. Hot, flushed, sweaty, wide-eyed and openmouthed. “Ride him hard, Crystal.” I grab the sides of her thong with my fingers and drag it down to her ankles as she leans forward and nips at Gaine's ears with a chuckle.

  The fucker doesn't look like a red-blooded man with a passion. Instead, he sits there with his eyes on mine and his lips downturned.

  “We're not here to do your friggin' taxes, Gaine,” I whisper up at him as Crystal strokes him with a light, fluttery touch of nails and kisses at his throat. “Show some respect, and fuck the girl while I watch.”

  It all happens in a split second. One minute, there I am crouched behind Crystal, pulling her panties over her heels, and the next, she's stumbling back and landing on her ass on the oil soaked pavement while Gaine zips up his jeans with a growl.

  “No.”

  That's it. A single word. And I'm supposed to get what he means from that and that alone. I fucking hate men. Talking doesn't disintegrate dicks, you know? It's okay to actually say what's going on inside those thick skulls of yours.

  “No, what?” I snarl back at him, rising to my feet and tossing Crystal's thong to the cement near my boots. “I don't know what that means, Gaine.” I flip hair over my shoulder and shiver as it brushes along my neck. I'm so hot it hurts inside. But broken, too. I feel like a volcano ready to explode with all of this molten heat filling the hole inside me. I think I'm trembling as Gaine takes a step closer to me, but I'm not sure.

  “Kiss me,” he says, and I don't like the tone in his voice. I look into his dark eyes, shimmering like metal under the hot sun, reflecting back all of that faraway energy, that untouchable power that only grazes us gently, hinting at its presence but never overpowering. I swallow and cross my arms over my chest. When his hands come down and his fingers touch my waist, diving in through the rips of my T-shirt and making love to my skin with each soft stroke, I shove him back.

  “What the fuck?” asks Crystal, who's struggling to get to her feet, swaying like she's drunk even though I know she's not. I could see how Gaine might have that effect on someone. I take in the square set of his jaw, the way the skin on his cheeks tightens like he's bitin' his tongue or something. “What's going on?”

  “I want to kiss you, Mireya Sawyer, and nobody else.”

  “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!” I scream, letting my head fall back and my eyes flicker shut. I can't take the strain. Gaine might not know he's putting any on me, but he is. He's loading me to the breaking point and I can't take it anymore. He wa
nts me. Fine. But I don't want him, not like that. I'm not ready to bind myself to somebody else's soul. I don't know if I'll ever be. Sometimes I even consider hopping on the back of my bike and just heading off into the world alone. I think things could be better that way.

  I drop my chin to my chest and narrow my eyes. This is how I defend myself, how I've always defended myself – with anger.

  I take a step back.

  “You're twenty-three years old for fuck's sake, Gaine. You don't know shit about shit. Act your age and have a good time. Stop brooding around waiting for me because you're going to waiting a hell of a long time.” I poke his chest for emphasis, feeling cruel, like a wicked stepmother pointing her finger at the young hero. My fingertip brushes his chest, shocking me with a burst of static electricity that lifts the hairs on the back of my neck.

  “What in the hell is going on here? I came down here for a good time. I don't want to deal with any fucking drama.” Crystal's mumbling under her breath, snatching her panties from the ground and stuffing them in the pocket of her trench as she tosses it over her shoulders. Neither Gaine nor I pay her any attention.

  “Mireya,” he says, taking a step forward, making me feel like I'm the young, immature one, like he's got the wisdom of fucking ages shoved up his tight, firm ass. His fingers encircle my wrist, strong but not forceful, burning me with the pain he carries around for me. I don't know why he does it, why he cares so much, but ever since he joined Triple M, he's had his eyes on me. Everybody knows it, and maybe I'm the only one who doesn't know why. “I don't want to fuck that girl or any other girl for that matter. You're the only one I'm interested in. You're the only woman I'd let on the back of my bike, the only girl I want wrapped around me in the bed or out of it.” He pauses as Crystal chucks a box of matches at the side of his head. They hit him in the temple, but he doesn't flinch, just stands there as they bounce off and clatter to the pavement. I flip the bitch off.

  “Have fun with your old lady, asshole,” she says as she storms off in a flurry of flowers and a swish of hair.

  “Don't feed me lines, Gaine. You know that shit doesn't work on me.” I pull my wrist away, even as my body begs me to step closer, to let him hold me, to trust him the way I've never trusted anyone else. I don't need a man to take care of me. I can take care of myself.

  I spin away and start towards the doors to the hotel, listening as his footsteps sound behind me, following close enough to make me sweat but far enough away that when I turn around, he's out of range. I clench my fists at my sides and stare him down, focus on those gray-brown eyes and that desperate frown, the single piercing in his eyebrow and the broken heart tattoo on his shoulder. Neither of us needs to talk about that either. I know why he got it and when. It's me. I broke his heart and I continue to hold a piece, whether I want it or not.

  “I'm going to say this one time and one time only, Gaine Kelley. The day I surrender my heart to you is the day the earth crumbles into the sea. That organ is blackened and long dead. The woman you think you're in love with died the day the girl she used to be was betrayed one too many times. Back off and let me wither away in peace.”

  This time, when I turn to go, he doesn't follow, and I make it all the way up to the hotel room before the tears hit like a flood, sliding down my cheeks the same moment my knees hit the carpet and my hair hangs down around my face. My stomach clenches in painful spasms as I sob, letting salty pain hit the floor in miniature puddles of agony and despair. My fingers clench tight, scraping across the rough fibers until they're red and painful.

  Tray Walker.

  I loved a man once, gave him my heart and he stole everything from me. And now … now …

  “He's dead,” I whisper the words aloud, just to make them real, just so I can remember pulling the blade across his throat. And then my elbows collapse and my forehead hits the ground as I cry so hard I can't breathe, hurt so much I can't think, regret so much I can't believe that things will ever get better. And I cry because I'm upset for all the wrong reasons. I'm upset that Tray didn't get what was coming to him, that he didn't suffer half as much as I have.

  I hold myself there for awhile, both terrified and hopeful that Gaine will come up and find me in the most compromising position I've ever been in, feeling both vulnerable and tender in all the wrong places.

  But he doesn't come, and after God only knows how long, I force myself up, little by little. It's almost painful to rise to my knees, to sniffle back the tears, to wipe my hand across my face and force my lips down into their near permanent frown.

  For too long, I've been subsisting on anger and hate and frustration, coasting through life on fumes. I want to change, but can I? I touch my fingers to my cheeks, feel the wetness and the heat. I want revenge, not just for me, but for anybody that's suffered like I suffered.

  I want revenge, but the question is: will it bring me peace?

  Guess there's only one way to find out.

  When Mireya walks away and leaves me alone in the parking lot, I just about flip shit and end up cracking my helmet when I kick it against a cement pillar. I run my hand through my hair and sit on the edge of my bike with my forehead against my palm, elbow resting on my knee.

  “You alright there, cowboy?” Beck asks, voice echoing from across the room. I don't look up at him and simply shake my head. He won't get it. Beck doesn't operate the same way I do. He's not a one woman kind of man. I can't even imagine him getting his panties into a wad over a girl, not even Melissa Diamond who I see is nowhere in sight.

  “Fine,” I growl. “Just sittin' here with a heart split in two and a pair of the bluest balls you ever did see.” Beck laughs at me which doesn't help. I raise my face to glare at him, and all it does is make him piss his damn pants.

  “You poor kid, you,” he guffaws, slappin' his damn knee. “You've got it worse than Austin Sparks.” I stand up and grab my damaged helmet, tossing it onto the back of my bike as I start to move away. Beck doesn't let me get far, jogging to catch up with me and putting a hand on my shoulder.

  “Listen, Kelley,” he says, and something in his voice makes me stop. When I turn to glance at him, I don't see that mischievous bullshit rolling around in his face. He actually looks, for a single heartbeat in time, serious. “Mireya has to heal on her own. You can't just come in and sweep her off her damn feet. You didn't fall in love with a princess, so you can't play prince. Mireya Sawyer's a fuckin' knight, armor, spear and all. Let her fight her own battles. All you need to do is show her what path to ride down.”

  “Ain't no damn fairytale, Beck,” I say, although I wish it was. I wouldn't mind a good old fashioned happy ending for Mireya and me. Beck scratches at his goatee with chipped fingernails and knuckles emblazoned with the worst word there is. Hopeless. I like it best when I can only see the right one. Hope's an important part of life, you know?

  “I know, asshole. It's just a saying for Christ's sake. What I'm trying to say is, that woman could start a fight in an empty house. Just let her be, and try not to smother her for God's sake. Give her a little lovin' and a lot of space.”

  “I've been giving her space for years, Beck.” I try to bring up a timeline in my head and find that my stomach's in knots. Seven years I've been with Triple M. From the second I saw her face, I was head over heels. Took me three years to get her to even look at me, and when she did, she didn't see in me what I always saw in her.

  “You're pussy whipped without the damn pussy, ain't ya?” Beck asks, and when he starts laughing again, I leave him behind, heading into the lobby and up the stairs. I think about what Beck said, but it doesn't feel like a revelation. I've been leaving Mireya to her own devices for a long while now. I thought maybe with Austin out of the picture, things might be different, but I have a bad feeling that they're not going to be, that things will stay the same until I make them different.

  So I march down the hallway to the door, unlock it and find that she's thrown the chain.

  “Mireya!” I yell into
the crack. I can see the ends of the beds, but not much else. “Let me in.” I wait patiently for a moment, but don't get any response. I listen for the sound of the shower, but don't hear much of anything. “Mireya!” I slam my fist on the door and nearly sock a punch to Austin's jaw when he materializes behind me.

  “You're goin' to wake the whole damn floor,” he says to me as I spin around and find him and Amy standing behind me. They're both smiling, both wrapped up in each other. I hope to high hell that the man has got his shit together and told the girl how he feels. Seems obvious enough, but sometimes it's just nice to hear that stuff said.

  “I can't get into my own room,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest and examining the dress Amy's got on. It's a swishy, silky floral thing, not something you'd see any of the Triple M women wearing on a regular basis. I smile. “Think I've just been kicked to the curb for the night.”

  “Oh, please, would you get over yourself?” Mireya growls out from behind me, shutting the door and unhooking the chain. When she flings it open, the three of us are treated to quite a show.

  Mireya Sawyer's half friggin' naked.

  “Oh my,” Amy says with a bit of a giggle. She clamps her hand over her mouth quick but not quick enough. Mireya narrows her slanted eyes at the girl and plants a hand on her outthrust hip. Long, bronze legs peek out at us from inside a silken robe and my body reacts instantly, muscles clenching tight, pants gettin' tighter. My dick responds to Mireya like its been commanded by those full breasts, that taught belly, those rounded hips. The only fucking thing she's wearing is a pair of black and purple lacy panties and some sort of top that's got see through bits on the side and not a whole lot of fabric anywhere else.

  I lean forward and put my hand against the door frame, trying to stay calm and push back the overwhelming wave of heat I feel between us. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe she doesn't feel anything at all?

  I notice that Mireya's eyes take in Austin, watching to see if he's looking at her the same way he used to. I don't know what she sees, but all I can tell is that he feels sorry for her. God, I sure as shit hope she doesn't pick up on that.