by Sybil Bartel
I did not have time to counter.
A large vehicle came speeding down the road toward the property.
Daddy’s SUV came barreling down the road and skidded to a stop right in front of Rooney’s trailer.
Panic froze me in my tracks, and I whispered, “Shit.”
Tarq yanked me down behind a patch of palmettos. His gun drawn, he moved in front of me just like he did in the trailer, but this time he aimed his gun.
Sparing me a glance, he put a finger to his lips.
Everything suddenly too real, fear choked my throat and I nodded.
The driver, front passenger, and one of the back doors of the SUV all opened at once.
Gun drawn, Daddy’s driver strode toward the steps of the trailer.
Holding a gun himself, but not aiming it, Daddy followed his driver, and the third man followed him. But instead of stepping inside the trailer, Daddy stopped and looked right in our direction.
Already on my belly, my stomach still went south. I was sure Daddy couldn’t see me, but our eyes met just the same, and in that moment, I didn’t see my father.
I saw Stone Hawkins for who he really was.
A ruthless man who would sell his daughter and kill without remorse.
I glanced at the man lying next to me.
Perfectly still, his aim on the president of the Lone Coasters MC, Tarquin’s finger rested on the trigger.
One shot.
One bullet and my daddy would be dead.
A pang of feelings I didn’t think I’d feel hit my chest, and my heart broke. It broke for all the times the cruel man standing on that dilapidated trailer step had been an actual daddy to me—the Harley rides, the ice creams, the shoulder pats, the smiles. I remembered all of it, all at once.
But what I didn’t remember was hugs, bedtime stories, or late night tuck-ins after nightmares. I didn’t remember being driven to or picked up from school or sitting across a dining table over a meal with him and Mama. I didn’t remember strong arms holding me if I fell, and I didn’t remember a steady voice when I needed reason.
Because none of that had ever happened.
I wasn’t a daughter to Stone Hawkins.
I was never anything to him but a pawn.
A pretty piece he maneuvered and groomed so he could one day use me to make a move to his advantage.
I didn’t even know if the man ever loved me.
But the man lying down in the dirt beside me, ready to pull the trigger, I knew how he felt about me.
Tarquin Scott may never tell me he loved me, but he showed it.
He’d been showing it.
Ever since he said I would be his wife.
And that right there was more than the man who’d raised me had ever given me.
My breath in my throat, my heart pounding in fear, all I had to do was whisper one word.
Shoot.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
And in the next breath, the split-second opportunity to make all of this go away vanished as swiftly as it’d appeared.
Daddy stepped into the trailer and the man behind him followed.
“Now,” Tarquin whispered, grabbing my arm and quickly getting up.
Scrambling to my feet, holding the jeans I’d stolen from Rooney for Tarq, I kept bent at the waist.
My man pushed me forward with a single command. “Hurry.”
We ran into the dense overgrowth and slash pines.
Palmettos whipping at my arms, spiderwebs hitting my face, I didn’t stop.
I kept moving, and Tarquin kept right behind me, protecting my back.
A few paces in, a distinctive sound cracked through the forest.
Two gunshots.
A quick double tap, the sound hardly muffled by an ancient trailer shell.
My body froze, and I looked back.
The light from the trailer window barely visible through the now dense overgrowth of wild Florida woods left untamed, I heard, more than saw, the rusty metal door swing open and three men walk out.
Then, just like on a lake, voices carried through the trees.
“Which way, boss?”
“North,” Daddy clipped as he and the two other men got in the SUV. “They’re heading to Kentucky on a white Road King.”
The SUV’s doors slammed shut, and the engine whined as the driver backed out too fast in reverse.
Rooney was dead.
The only friend I’d ever had, shot twice and killed after getting stabbed and pistol-whipped… because of me.
Rooney was dead because of me.
Tears welled and slid down my cheeks as a strong hand wrapped around my arm.
Then a deep voice quietly spoke in my ear. “Let us go.”
She did not speak.
For several kilometers, we pushed our way through scrub brush, palmettos and young saplings. When the threat was no longer at our backs, I took the lead. Yet she still did not utter a word as we hiked back to the other motorcycle.
I could feel her grief the same as I could taste my own thirst. With every inhale, we breathed in mulching vegetation and rot, but with every step she succumbed further to her sorrow.
When we cleared the trees and our motorcycle lay ahead under a pile of cut fronds, I stopped and turned to her.
“The addict’s death was not your fault.” She had asked me not to kill him. I knew she was mourning his death.
The clothing still in her arms, she looked around as if seeing the surrounding land for the first time. Her lips parted, and her voice came out haunted. “I never thought I was a bad person. Not like my daddy. I always knew he wasn’t no saint, but I never thought I was like him… not till tonight anyway.”
“You did not pull the trigger,” I reminded her.
Her eyes, wet with tears, met mine. “Didn’t I?”
“No.”
“Just like that?” Guilt and regret laced her tone. “None of us woulda been here if it weren’t for me.”
“I would not be alive if it were not for you.”
“So that makes it all okay? I killed my only friend tonight, but since I saved you, my soul’s redeemed? It all works out? Even Steven?”
I did not know about her soul, nor who she was referring to. “Life is for the living.”
“Well, tell that to Rooney.”
I was angered that she continued to speak his name. He had shown her no loyalty. “He was not living. He was squandering his freedom on drugs, and he was not bothering to procreate life.” There was no way to glorify his wasted existence.
Her face contorted with anger. “Is that the measure of a man’s worth? How many babies he brings into this world? Because if that’s your measure, then you better get off your high horse. You ain’t no better than Rooney in that regard, unless you were lyin’ to me in the first place and you do have little Tarquins runnin’ around River Ranch, wonderin’ where their daddy is.” Her emotions in a tailspin, she choked on a sob in the dark. “Did you? Did you lie to me?” Tears ran down her face.
My chest constricted, and anger surged. I did not want to see her shed tears for that addict, nor did I want to see her cry. And I definitely did not want to have my past brought to task for actions I could neither change nor be accountable for after the fact.
My jaw ticked, and I gave her the only truth I knew. “I have not ever used the term friend. I do not know its meaning from personal experience. I am not schooled nor practiced by life’s experiences, but I do know that if I had the gift of your friendship, I would have never thrown it away with a phone call to the man hunting you down to sell you. That is the measure of a man. His integrity.”
Sniffling, she rubbed the sleeve of her jacket under her nose. “Well, maybe you call it integrity, but what I saw back there in that trailer? I called that fear. Rooney was afraid of my daddy. More afraid of my daddy and what he’d do to him if he found out he’d helped us than he was afraid of us. So he made a decision between the gun staring him down and t
he gun that could stare him down. And I don’t fault him for that.”
“Then what do you fault him for?” Because I could not understand how she could call a man like that a friend and not see his shortcomings.
She blinked, and then she looked at me like I was losing my mind. “He’s dead.”
I was aware. “I heard the shots, same as you.”
“You don’t talk ill of the dead!”
Frustrated, I raised my voice like she had. “Why not?”
She threw a hand up. “Because you just don’t.”
“That is not an answer.” Truth knew no bounds like death or emotion.
“Because it’s mean, okay? It’s just plain mean!”
I had no response to that.
She let out a small cry. “And now I’m just like my daddy.”
I had not met her father, but I could guarantee she was not like him. “Would you have a child and sell that child for gain?” I did not wait for her answer because I already knew it. “You would not. You are not like him.” Just as I was not like River Stephens.
She swiped at her face, but the fight had left her. “You mean that or are you just sayin’ it to make me stop cryin’?”
“I do not say words I do not mean.”
“You said there was nothin’ you disliked about me.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Is that still true?”
“Yes.” I did not hold it against her that she had feelings for the addict. I recognized that she had been living an isolated existence that not even the women on compound had to endure. I did not fault her for the addict’s shortcomings.
Her voice quieted. “What if I said I almost told you to pull the trigger back there, when Daddy was standing on Rooney’s front step?”
Hating the anguish in her eyes, I cupped her face. “I would have taken the shot and thought nothing less of you.”
“I’m scared,” she whispered. “I’m scared of Daddy finding you, of Rush’s MC finding us, of how I feel about you, of what I’ve become, of your past comin’ after you if they find out you’re alive, of all of it, but I can’t change any of it.”
“You are an honorable woman, we are safe right now, and I will not let anything happen to you.” Those issues I could address now. Her emotions I could not control. And as for the last fear she mentioned, I needed to come clean.
Glancing behind us, then at the buried motorcycle, I brought my gaze back to hers.
For a long moment, I studied her pretty face.
Then I told her the single resolve that had kept me alive in the swamp before she found me. “One day, I am going to kill River Stephens.”
Tarquin’s intense gaze cut from the pile of dead palm fronds covering the bike to me.
For three whole heartbeats, he stared at me.
Then he let words out like a confession.
“One day, I am going to kill River Stephens.”
Chill bumps crawled up my spine and raced across my neck.
Then shock I didn’t know I could feel after a day like today spread through my mind like fear. Biting my tongue, I spoke with a careful tone. “Because he tried to kill you and threw you out?” Murder for revenge suddenly felt a whole lot different than pulling the trigger in self-defense. A whole lot different and a whole lot bad.
“Because River Stephens is a madman.”
Inhaling, I grasped at reason.
I couldn’t argue with his justification, but I could see a big logistical problem with it. “What’ll happen to all those people at River Ranch if he suddenly up and dies?” I couldn’t imagine three hundred people like Tarquin abruptly thrust into society all on their own.
His nostrils flared with an inhale. “I do not care.”
It hit me so hard and fast, a freight train couldn’t have had this much impact if it’d barreled into me on the spot.
Me and Tarquin Scott were the same.
The exact same.
I grew up around bikers. My daddy was the president of their club. He ruled those bikers like River Stephens ruled those River Ranch folks, and now my daddy and his bikers were coming after me like River Stephens and his people had gone after Tarq. I didn’t have no loyalty from Daddy when it’d really counted, same as Tarquin had no loyalty from River or his people.
For all intents and purposes, River Stephens was Tarquin’s daddy, and he’d sold him out for a flower. My daddy had sold me out for an alliance.
I didn’t know which was worse.
They were both wrong.
And both of them were bad men.
I’d thought about telling Tarquin to pull the trigger when he’d had a clear shot at the man who’d made me. Was I gonna condemn Tarquin for wanting to kill the man who’d had him beaten, stabbed, and tossed out like yesterday’s trash?
No, I wasn’t.
But I didn’t want to lose us because of that madman River Stephens or because of my daddy.
“If you get caught, it’ll ruin your life.” And mine, but I didn’t say that.
“I will not get caught,” he stated with complete confidence.
It suddenly dawned on me. “Is that why you wanna become an Army Ranger? So you can learn how to fight?”
“I know how to fight.”
I didn’t argue, because he was right. Instead, I kept quiet and waited. There was more to it than he was letting on, but I knew enough about him to know that asking wouldn’t get me answers. The only way I would find out what was in his head was if he decided to tell me.
So I stood there.
The cicadas sang their nightly song. The stiff palmetto fronds clapped against each other in the slight breeze. The scent of pine and moldy, dead leaves filled the air, and my man held my cheek and stared past me.
Then his almost colorless blue-eyed gaze met me in the moonlight, and his deep voice filled the space around us. But it wasn’t melodic. He didn’t talk like the slick humidity coating the palmettos in a layer of moisture. And he didn’t speak like he was the hot sun beating down on your back, making you feel his presence long after he’d gone.
No, Tarquin Scott spoke like he was the dirt beneath your feet. Dark, rich, and heavy, his voice coated everything around you and grounded you to the very earth you were standing on. You felt his pull in every one of your leg muscles as if he were holding you down like gravity.
Because that was what Tarquin Scott was—deep, dark, soil of the earth gravity.
“There was a brother on compound,” he quietly stated with no more or no less emotion than a summer breeze in the Glades. “He had been in the military. Army Ranger.” His throat moved with a swallow. His eyes scanned the woods. “When my birth mother was killed, after I buried her, he came to me and told me an address. He said to memorize it. I did not question him. Strong, silent, he was the best shot on compound. Every female sought his attention. His eyes were haunted, but his actions were just, and I respected him.” Tarquin glanced at me. “I did as he said.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I nodded.
His gaze drifted again as his thumb absently stroked my cheek. “That night he told me to never forget the address. Then he did not speak of it again. For many turns around the sun, I did not question the significance. I merely repeated the address in my own thoughts. I did it so often, the street name and number became more sacred than scripture.” His chest rose with an inhale. “When I had been beaten for the last time and my flesh pierced with metal, the pain was so great, I wanted to succumb to it. But then I heard his voice, and he placed his knife in my hand. He said, “Of their own accord, Rangers lead the way. Do not be weak, Tarquin. Remember the address.”
I put two and two together. “The address is for an Army recruiter’s office.”
He nodded once. “I do not want to learn how to fight.”
Alarm whispered across my consciousness. “You don’t?”
“No.” His lethal gaze met mine. “I want to learn how to kill.”
Oh dear Lord of mercy. “You already know how to do that,” I
whispered.
“Not well enough to defeat River Stephens.”
“And after?” I dared to ask. “After you… defeat him?”
“I live.”
“How?” Would he have peace then?
“With you.”
Sweet Jesus, my breath caught in my lungs, but I kept on. “Peacefully?”
He nodded once.
“Will that be enough?” Would I be enough?
He did not hesitate. “Yes.”
My anxiety came down a notch, but I needed more. I needed answers, and suddenly I needed a plan. Something to look forward to. Something to work toward. Something to focus on other than this day and this night. “And after the Army? What will you do?”
“Anything not involving digging.”
I glanced at the bike hidden under the branches and furiously thought. Because I wasn’t the only one who needed a plan. He did too. He needed something to focus on, something more than righting the wrongs of his past. He needed a future to look forward to as well. “You like riding. You could be a mechanic. Work on bikes?”
His tone darkened with warning. “Are you finished?”
“I…” The rest of my response caught on the sudden dryness in my throat, and oh my stars, he was intimidating. And beautiful. And more man than any one male I had ever met. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The darkened warning in his tone, his eyes, it turned into something else. Something I hadn’t seen since owls were above our heads and he was inside me.
“Do not ever attempt to tend to me again.” His tender hold on my cheek became a firm grasp of my chin. “I do not need it, and I do not desire it.”
My skin tingled, my core pulsed like a starved animal, and my body ached for him as my voice shook. “Then what do you desire?”
“You. Only you.”
His mouth slammed over mine.
For the first time in my life, I tasted true need.
The black motorcycle was at the bottom of a pond.
Our long hike through the dark was behind us.
The cabin stood before us.
