Her hand trembled as she raised her head. She realized her sponge was dripping soapy water all over the floor and quickly transferred it back into the red pail to her left. She pushed up into a standing position, swiped a wet hand over her hair in distraction, and hurried over to the buzzer. She couldn’t dare hope.
Maybe Trace had done some thinking and come back. They still had so many things to talk about. There were a million things she wanted to tell him that she hadn’t been able to say. Her body heated up as she recalled what they’d done. Two days later and she might have regrets, but they weren’t about that.
She pressed down on the buzzer, releasing the door. Her heart jumped into her throat and she walked quickly to the door. She smoothed her hands down her t-shirt and jeans, ironing out wrinkles that didn’t exist. She’d put on minimal makeup to go to Alex’s soccer game, thank goodness.
When a knock sounded at the door, Sandra didn’t wait longer than a few seconds before she pulled it open. She wasn’t sure how she’d explain to Alex who the man in the apartment was. She didn’t know where to start. She and Trace had a lot to talk about and a hell of a long way to go before she wanted Alex to find out that Trace was his father.
Her heart fell to the bottom of her feet when she realized that it wasn’t Trace on the other side of the door.
The man standing there was dark haired, tall and broad, but he was all wrong. His hair was too short, cut short in the latest fashion by an actual barber who charged over a hundred dollars for a trim. The suit he wore was expensive, black, with a black dress shirt underneath. He’d even included a tie, since he couldn’t stand for the small details to be out of place. An expensive gold watch peeked out from under the sleeve of his suit jacket.
“Sandra.”
She shivered when he said her name. His voice was all wrong. His eyes were wrong. His features, hard, but cold, were wrong.
“Steven,” she breathed. “What are you doing here?” She glanced behind her to make sure Alex hadn’t come into the living room. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was just her. He had his headphones on and probably hadn’t even heard the buzzer.
Steven shifted from one foot to the other. It was subtle, but she’d been with him long enough to understand his nervous tells. Her eyes swept over his perfect, cold, hard façade. Why had she ever thought she enjoyed spending time with him? How had she let him into her home, her life, her body? He’d lied to her right from the start.
“I- I thought- I’ve called you a few times.”
“I know. I didn’t answer because I didn’t want to.”
Steven’s eyes were bright blue. They were expressive and were his second tell, since he never could keep his emotion from them. Or maybe he could, since she never knew he was lying to her. Or rather, he’d omitted some key details. Like the fact that he was pretty much a drug dealer.
“I’ve missed you,” he confessed. He was a good looking man, a man who could have anyone, but his face fell. “I- I know I shouldn’t have come, but I thought that we could talk. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you, it was just better than you didn’t know.”
Sandra’s hands flew to her hips. She was so tired of people telling her what was best for her like she couldn’t decide for herself. She’d had too much of it over the past few days. “Better that I didn’t know? I have a son, Steven. My first duty is to him, as his mother. You’re a criminal. You could have got me thrown in jail if you got caught and the police thought I had something to do with it. Who would look after Alex if I got thrown in jail for something I didn’t even do? Not to mention that it’s dangerous. You could have brought all sorts of unsavory people right to my door. If something happened to Alex because of something that I had done…”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” Steven stepped forward, but when she retreated, he stopped just inside the door. She could tell that he was genuinely sorry. At least, she thought he was. It could be an act too. “I wanted to- I was careful. I mean, to make sure that my business stays my business.”
“I’m sure whoever supplies you probably has people that can find out whatever they want to know, including find out who is close to you. That would have meant me and Alex. What if they decided that you needed some not so subtle encouragement? What if you had a disagreement and we were collateral damage?”
Steven sighed. “That never would have happened. The guy who supplies me isn’t unreasonable. He’s not some dangerous criminal. He’s a businessman, just like me.”
“Because you don’t make enough in your daily nine to five job,” she shot back sarcastically. “You don’t need to sell drugs. And what about the moral aspect of it? Doesn’t it hurt you to know that you’re ruining people’s lives?”
Steven put out his hands. “Look. I don’t deal that kind of shit. I only deal weed. That hasn’t ruined anyone’s life as far as I know. Lots of my clients can’t get a medical license and they use it as a medicinal way to treat their ailments. Sometimes it’s more effective than anything they can get from their doctor.”
“Oh, so you’re helping people. Right. I forgot you’re actually a saint.”
“I’m not a saint, Sandra.” Steven swallowed hard. He was back to shifting from one expensively clad foot to another. She was willing to bet those leather shoes cost more than she made in a month. “I- I just miss you. I needed you to know that I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
She put out a hand to brace herself. “I know,” she said slowly, because she did.
Steven might be an asshole sometimes. He might be an asshole to some people, but he was always nice to her. It was only when she found out, because he’d left his cell on her coffee table while he was having a shower, and some messages popped up on the unlocked screen that didn’t have a pass code, that he finally fessed up. She’d kicked him out of her apartment dripping wet in a towel, thrown his clothes out the door right along with him and told him she never wanted to see or hear from him again. It had been a few months and while it hadn’t softened her resolve, she did feel like she could send him on his way nicely.
“Do you think- uh- could I take you out to dinner sometime?”
She shook her head immediately and exhaled sharply. God. She knew she shouldn’t have let her guard down even for a second. “No. I haven’t changed my mind. You’re still- doing what you’re doing and I- Steven… I just don’t feel it anymore.” Right. Because I bumped into Al- Trace, and I remember what feeling something actually means. “I’m sorry.”
“I could stop. I could talk to Anders and get out. He’s not unreasonable, like I said. It’s not a life sentence. If I want to stop selling, I can stop selling.”
“It’s not that. Not really. It was the dishonesty. I can’t trust you.” I can’t trust myself or my own feelings. It was painfully obvious that she couldn’t trust her wayward, traitorous heart.
“You can trust me. I promise. It would be different this time. I would never lie to you. We could take it slow.”
“I can’t.”
“You could- we could just see each other- with- no strings attached then. I would buy you whatever you want. Pay for you to have a new place, like I always offered. I wouldn’t mind. You could send Alex to a better school. Save for him to go to college.”
Sandra’s hands balled into fists, which she carefully hid at the sides of her legs where Steven wouldn’t see it. “No. Steven, really I can’t.”
His offer was generous and she could tell he didn’t mean for it to be insulting. Many other women would definitely have taken him up on his offer. They probably had in the past. He didn’t mean to sound like a condescending asshole bribing her with nice things for sex.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”
Really, she could see how much it cost him to put that out there. He actually felt something for her. She could see it in the way his brow furrowed, the creases at his eyes deepened, the way his lips
thinned out and his ice blue eyes glistened. Those broad shoulders slumped a little. He really was a handsome man.
She hadn’t been attracted to him like that, not at first. He’d worn her down, over months of coming into the diner to have lunch and quite a few days, breakfast as well. He might be a hot shot businessmen, but there weren’t many good places to get breakfast or lunch downtown where his office was. Of course, after he met her and decided he wasn’t going to stop until she relented and went on a date with him, it hadn’t exactly been about the food.
It was all Trace’s fault that she could never be in a normal relationship again. Even before he’d come back into her life and walked out of it just as fast, she was ruined for other men. He’d taken her heart and shattered it. He held it captive. She was, and always would be, his.
“I’ll just- go. I- I’m sorry that I disturbed you. I shouldn’t have come. I knew you didn’t want to talk to me or you would have answered your phone. I won’t bother you again.”
“Steven…” she couldn’t let him walk out the door like that. Broken, dejected, hurt by her refusal to even listen to him after they’d spent more than half a year dating. He’d always been good to her. He’d given her all of himself, even when she held back.
He stopped and turned to her hopefully. She cursed herself for putting that hope there. He looked sad, pathetic, wishful. Was that how she looked when she begged Trace not to leave her again? She squared her shoulders.
“I’m sorry too. I really do wish you the best.”
He offered her a watered down version of a smile and let himself out the door. He closed it solidly behind him.
Sandra slid the lock in place and sagged against the door.
She was done. She was done with begging. Done with men. She’d always been better on her own anyway. She and Alex. They’d be a team of two. She was done. Done with lying to herself, done with the memories. She’d uproot that seed in her heart and throw water on the fire that burned there for Trace. She wasn’t ever going to look like Steven did in that moment. Never again. She was never going to be vulnerable. One man owned her heart and she hated him for it. She hated him for owning her and leaving her, for deciding for her. Deep down, she hated herself for not being enough.
She was done with that too.
She’d put up walls, keep herself safe, learn how to heal her heart and move on.
After a decade, it was about fucking time.
Chapter 11
TRACE
Trace wasn’t a right time, right place guy. He didn’t attribute much in his life to luck.
He was too skilled for that. When he cornered the prick, Steven, outside Sandra’s apartment building, hauling him roughly away from his car and into the shadowy side of the apartment which bordered Sandra’s, he knew exactly where the fucker was. He’d trailed him all day. He followed him from his house to his downtown office. From his office to lunch. From lunch back to the office. From the office back to his modern piece of shit house in an upscale neighborhood. He thought about grabbing the bastard in his own place, since it would have been the most ironic way to have their conversation, but something held him back.
He was fucking glad he’d waited. His hand around Steven’s throat, the guy’s wide, fear filled eyes, his trembling muscles, his flapping fish like mouth straining for air, the shaking in his muscles, it was all just so damn satisfying.
“Shut up,” Trace hissed, though the weasel was smart enough not to make a sound other than his raspy, fear filled breaths. “We can do this one of two ways. The first is the easy way. The second I rip you limb from limb and put a fucking bullet in your head. You choose.”
It turned out that fear and intimidation were great motivators. There was no way he’d carry out on his threat, though the thought of this piece of shit ever laying a hand on Sandra made him want to put a bullet in the fucker’s kneecaps. The treat of torture and death were sometimes just as good as the real deal.
“Okay,” Steven whimpered. Trace was actually surprised the guy didn’t piss himself on the spot. “Okay, I’ll do whatever you want.”
Trace didn’t ease his hold on the guy’s throat. He let off just enough pressure so the bastard could breathe and talk. That was it. If he tried to scream or run, Trace wasn’t above laying him out cold. He’d wake up with one hell of a headache, but he’d still be alive. He might not like where he woke up though.
“Right. I know you work for John Anders. I know you deal weed like the petty piece of shit you are.”
Steven’s mouth flopped open, but Trace shook him hard. The expensive suit jacket pressed up against the rough siding and peeling paint of the piece of shit building. Ruining tailored, obscenely costly, clothing also provided an extreme amount of satisfaction. What did this prick ever think he had to offer Sandy?
“Yes, yes, I deal for him,” Steven agreed when Trace let up on the choke-hold.
“Good.” Trace put his face right next to Steven’s. He let him smell his breath. When he spoke, he was sure to send a fine spray of spittle all over the guy’s pretty boy features. He’d like to smash one of those sharp cheekbones in, mar the guy’s too straight nose, but that would defeat the purpose of his visit. Maybe he’d do it later, as a parting gift. The thought made his mouth water in a completely inappropriate way. His free hand curled into a fist, thirsty for use. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know. If you don’t know the answers, you’ll get them some way or other. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” Steven stammered. His eyes flooded with tears which spilled over and dripped down his cheeks. Trace rolled his eyes. Please. Seeing a grown man cry was too much. He wasn’t that fucking scary. All he’d done was drag the bastard away from his car and shove him up against a wall. He didn’t even have a knife. So what if he was a scary motherfucker? Did that really warrant tears?
“Good.” Trace removed his hand from Steven’s throat and ran his finger down the guy’s baby soft cheeks. What. The. Fuck. What the fuck did Sandy ever see in this guy? He was way too pretty. Way too soft. Way too smooth. His hands were probably buttery soft. Trace couldn’t tell what the guy’s true color actually was, since he was currently a pale shade of white, but he was willing to bet that Steven was the kind of man who didn’t see much sun unless it was on vacation on some expensive beach or during his weekly fucking tennis lesson. No, maybe not tennis. Maybe the guy ran every morning, even in the winter. Seemed like the type.
“I- I’ll get you what you want. I promise. Just please don’t hurt me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s a matter of perspective,” Trace said sharply. “But you’re right. For now you have some use to me, so I’ll leave you in one piece. Make one wrong fucking move though and you’re done. Do you understand me?”
“Yes!”
“Great. That’s my man.” Trace patted Steven on the shoulder, hard, so that he lurched to the side. “Just to be clear, I happen to be a part of a little club.” He turned slowly so Steven could get a good look at the back of his jacket. When he swiveled back around, the scent of piss in the air was unmistakable. The guy’s suit was black and the dark of night hid the wet spot Trace knew was blooming on the front. You have got to be fucking kidding me. For a moment he seriously doubted Steven’s ability to get him any kind of information, but desperation made men wild and unpredictable. It gave the spineless a new backbone.
“What- what do you want me to do?”
“It seems that we have a rat in our midst. My club, not Anders. I want you to find out who that rat is. Don’t worry. I just need a name.”
“How- how am I supposed to get that?”
Trace grinned. He knew he probably looked as scary as Tommy did when the guy fucking smiled. Bone chilling was an accurate description. “You’ll find a way. Anders stole something from us. A large shipment of cocaine. I’m sure you can use your wily ways to figure out who tipped him off. I only need a name and I’ll take it from there. You have three days.”
&nbs
p; “Three days?” Steven gaped. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
“That’s right. Should be plenty of time. You look like a smart motherfucker. I honestly think you’ll need less time.”
“How- how will I- get in- contact with you if I find out?”
“If?” Trace pressed up against Steven and the guy cowered, trembling back into the building until they were so close they were like one entity. “There isn’t an if in that equation. When, is more apt.
“When I find out,” Steven corrected.
Trace patted his buttery soft cheek again. “Smart man. You learn fast. I knew I could count on you.” He gripped Steven’s jaw and pressed hard, pursing his cheeks like a horrible version of the way little old ladies pinched young children’s cheeks. “I’ll come to you. Sunday night. Steven. I’ll be waiting at your back door. If you choose not to open up or if you even think about running, I promise you, you won’t make the city limits. I’m not known to be a merciful man, my dear, so don’t fucking press me. Got it?” He released Steven’s face and the guy nodded emphatically. “Oh and one other thing. Stay the fuck away from Sandra and her son if you know what’s good for you. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to have anything further to do with you. Please respect her wishes.”
“I- I will. I promise.”
Trace gave Steven’s cheek one last pat. “Good. I’m glad we had this talk. I know I can count on you.” He winked and stalked off. He took four long paces before he turned and blew a kiss over his shoulder. Steven visibly shuddered.
Trace disappeared into the shadows. He’d parked his bike seven blocks away. He slipped through the unlit alleys and backyards to get to it. He made sure he was unseen.
He had an idea. An exchange, of sorts.
He wanted to tell Sandra. He wanted to go to her and beg her to listen. To tell her that he was so fucking sorry for everything. That he’d made mistakes, the worst kind, but that he was done with that. He had a way to earn what he never thought possible before.
A trade. The rat for his freedom.
Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series Page 58
