He turns his attention to Summer, a scowl permanently etched on his face. He's not happy. I'm not either.
"Tinkerbell, time for an adventure," I beam at her with false flippancy hoping that's what I'm showing her. She needs to think this is a pleasure trip, I want her to believe this will be the first of so many memories we're going to make together.
I even fool myself. A small moment of indulgence that life is normal, that there are no bad guys, that her father is not some psychotic fuck that didn't prostitute his daughter, that our hands aren't so filthy with blood, our minds aren't full of screams and images of horrors. That we're fucking normal.
Summer flings her arms around my neck and presses her body flush against mine. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! If I were anyone else, I'd tell her everything, my resolve would crack wide open, I'd spill my damn guts. I want to tell her no one's getting her, not ever again, I'd promise we're going to keep her safe. I'd promise her with my last breath that not a goddamn soul would ever touch her, her or Rock. Not even the Grim Reaper. Hawk.
Squeezing me tighter, she whispers in my ear, "I need you not to do anything stupid, Snake. I need you. Rock needs you. Promise me." Her arms tighten.
A vice grip clamps around my throat choking back the lies. And the truth. She knows, I don’t know how, but she knows.
I hold her tight. Rock is immobile, watching every emotion flash across my face. He can see it, but she can't. What I see reflected back at me rips me apart. I'm sure I'm seeing the same things he is.
Despair.
Fury.
Fucking determination.
Bringing my mouth to her ear, I whisper, “Tinkerbell, I don’t do stupid.” I squeeze her tight one more time before I pull back. “Let’s hit the road, the party can’t start without us.” I should win an Emmy for my performance, as much as it hurts.
“Come on, princess, Gringo’s waiting,” Rock says as he guides her into the Charger.
He throws me one more glare before he walks around the front and gets in the driver’s seat. I pull on my helmet, mount my bike, and rev the engine. When he starts the car, I lead the way to pick up Gringo.
It’s business as usual in Riverbend, one patrol car riding through town making his usual stops, the mailman stuffing the boxes full of bills and junk mail. Home. I don’t know when it happened, but this place became home. Comfortable and familiar. We pull up in front of Summer’s coffee shop and I see Gwendolyn behind the counter and Mrs. Merriweather at her usual table. Bull’s in there too, Gringo’s waiting by the door. Possession flares through me. They’re family and I’d do anything to protect them.
As Gringo walks out, I sit on my bike and watch Summer and Rock in the car. He’s shaking his head no; she’s nodding hers yes with determination. No doubt she wants to go in and check on things. Fortunately, Gringo’s already in the car and Rock’s pulling away. I steal one more glance through the window. Mrs. Merriweather waves at me and smiles big. I wave back and dip my head in acknowledgement. Thank God she can’t see me through the face mask along with the truth. She’d call my ass out so fast, my head would spin.
As we head out, I turn to take one more look and snapshot it, just in case.
CHAPTER 7
Raven
It's not often I'm in a place like this, but when I am, I don't like it. There's too much room, too much space. I prefer to keep my back against the wall and my eyes on everyone around. There is such a thing as hiding in plain sight, I've mastered the technique. I had to hide from the monsters.
The monsters in the dark are everywhere. I've met them. The thing is, the monsters have become braver and bolder, claiming the spotlight for their heinous acts, glorifying in their atrocities, basking in the glow of pomp and recognition. Fear is their sustenance, and the greater the fear, the more powerful they become. Fame is a tool for them. They use it to achieve strength and power, the more fucked up they are, the better. And the more people know about them, the more powerful they become.
I prefer the road the less traveled, Robert Frost was a smart man. Anonymity is a cloak I wear not just for protection, but for an advantage. If no one knows me, I don't exist. And if I don't exist, I don't matter. For all intents and purposes, I'm not here. Silent but deadly. I prefer it that way. They see me, but they don't know me, therefore, I'm insignificant.
How wonderfully wrong they are.
Checking my watch, I see I'm in luck. There's still a little time before I have to meet Batman, an old friend of mine whose real name is Joey. Strange name, right? He's one of those people that was raised with the belief that you had to make a name for yourself, establish a reputation, and your name would say exactly what you are. That's where his name comes from. His claim to fame was breaking legs with a bat, especially the knees. Barbaric, I know, but his family is steeped in this kind of mindset, a tradition if you will, like his cousin, Fingers, and his father Frankie Blades, (do you really need me to explain those to you?) Batman, (I call him Joey), has got his fingers, pun intended, in many pots, the more profitable, the better. I'm supposed to meet Joey in his room. He's going to get me one of my own in return for a favor he owes me. Perfect because technically according to the hotel records, I’m not here. Favors are like money, the more you've got saved, the richer you are. Joey's still got a balance I'm very pleased with. I hope he won't demand wiping it clean by helping me unload the shipment I took from the guy I rolled the other night. Honestly, I'd let him, the shit is hot and I don't want my name connected with it at all.
Joey was the only person I thought of who could help me with this. I knew his family connections with the mob would help diffuse the demand for retribution from the MC club, Steel Brothers, the club the shipment belonged to. The tricky part is going to be getting paid for it. I didn't take that shit for nothing.
Not only am I trying to shift the heat from me to them, but I'm going to ask them to compensate me for it.
I've got a huge set of balls, I know.
I use the time I’ve got to explore the facility, checking out the ground level, the layout, where all the restrooms are, which rooms the event is going to be held in, all the emergency exits, the floor plans of the guest room levels, I even walked the garage when I parked.
If you’ve got to hide, it’s best to know where you’re going.
The hotel is crowded. There’s a mix of business men and people who’ve already arrived for the Ink & Arms expo. I glide through the bodies, some in suits, others in jeans and leathers, until I’m at the Starbucks counter as the barista asks the guy with the platinum blonde hair in front of me if he’d like a double shot.
“Not now, doll, but I’ll be back if I do.”
Oh, please, I roll my eyes.
Her face turns a crimson red. “I’ll be off at eleven,” she looks up at him and smiles flashing perfectly straight teeth that her parents spent a small fortune on.
“You are adorable, sunshine,” he replies as he pulls some money from his billfold
The weight from the duffel strap is digging into my shoulder, my feet are screaming at me to give them some relief from these boots, and this girl is taking her sweet ass time flirting with this guy. I let out a huff as I shuffle from one foot to the other impatiently.
He turns his head and glances at me over his shoulder.
My eyes meet his. Not out of curiosity or interest, not initially. But because you’ve got to look everything in the eye, danger, opportunity, sex, everything. Meet it head on. What I see in those baby blues is raw blatant honesty. It’s just a flash, not even a second, but it was there. Cold fury, destruction, a promise that he will kill you, no questions asked. I have no doubt he’d enjoy every moment of it. I want to grin at him because I recognize that need for destruction. I was infected with it a lifetime ago. Instantly it’s gone replaced by the mask I presume he was giving to the no-clue-having barista. The mask of an angel worn by a demon. A smile lifts his lips, it’s seductive and like his eyes is full of promises.
“Here,” the li
ttle twit is saying from behind the counter.
Before he turns back to her, he gives me a wink.
What the fuck?
He’s trying to confuse me, make me think I didn’t see what I did in his face.
Stupid man.
“What’s this?” he asks her. He’s still holding his money.
“My phone number. Use it, I’d like to show you things someone like you probably doesn’t usually see.”
Are you serious? Just because he’s full of tattoos you think he doesn’t get sweet little good girl pussy? WRONG.
He laughs, it’s not condescending or insulting. It’s perfect. For someone like her.
He’s good. This guy’s got more personalities than Sybil, and she had thirteen.
“Thank you, I’m honored,” he’s saying.
“Oh, please, kill me now,” I mumble with another eye roll.
The barista glares at me from around Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
“You’re welcome, I thought you might like some different company,” she’s saying to him as she stares at me.
My back is killing me from the heavy duffle bag I’m carrying, but I don’t feel any of it now.
“Honey,” I can’t stop myself, “this guy eats little cream puffs like you for breakfast. So many his teeth are probably killing him. Don’t flatter yourself.” She asked for it.
Her eyes scan him up and down. He’s turned sideways now with his arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face, his gaze going back and forth from her to me. You'd have to be dead not to notice him. He screams bad, but it promises to be a hell of a crash and burn. Tall, slender but built, platinum blonde hair, short on the sides, long on top, and tatted from his throat probably all the way down his long legs. And a face to make your heart stop. If there was even a flicker of emotion in my dead soul, I'd climb him like a fucking tree. He’s enjoying this, the asshole.
“Well, if his selection from the other varieties is,” she eyes me from top to bottom, “obvious, then I’m not surprised.”
Poor little girl needs a new toy. You’re going to be sorry.
“Yes, it is, because cream puffs are cheap. Everyone gets a taste.”
Her face turns red and contorts into rage.
“Bitch, who are you calling cheap?”
He turns his back on me and positions himself between she and I cutting my next words off before I could answer her honestly. Obviously you, cream puff.
“Here you go, doll. Thank you.” He slams the money down on the counter, picks up the tray holding three cups with one inked covered hand, pulls my duffel from my shoulder and shifts it to his, and is guiding me away from the counter before I could step around him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snap as I try to take back my bag.
“Preventing that from going somewhere neither one of us wants it to go. Keep moving,” he states authoritatively.
I dig my heels into the thick hotel carpet, literally, but he gives me another firm nudge. I have two choices, refuse to budge and escalate the scene he's trying to avoid, or keep moving.
I decide on the momentary lesser of two evils.
“Then she shouldn’t try screwing the customers.”
“I agree, but she is. And that’s none of our business.”
This man who I have no idea is has led me to a table in the corner near the exit that goes to the hotel pool and I find myself standing in front of a couple, a man, this one with dark hair and just as many tats, equally as dangerous and handsome, and a woman. She, on the other hand, is the epitome of blueblood. This just keeps getting better and better. The dark haired man quirks an eyebrow at his friend beside me but doesn’t say a word.
“Sit,” Mr. Hyde tells me as he nudges me again on the small of my back where his hand is pressed.
“I’m not trained,” I grumble as I try to shake him off.
The couple’s gaze goes from my abductor to me, then back again. Neither of them has said anything. My eyes shift to my bag still slung over his shoulder.
He's still got my duffel. How in the hell did I let that happen?
“Apparently, but that’s easily rectified,” Wrong. “Now sit down and fucking relax,” he states firmly.
I glance back to the barista. She’s glaring at me but hasn’t moved. I decide my best choice right now is to take this man’s advice and sit the fuck down and shut my big uncontrollable mouth. So much for being invisible. I plop my ass down on the thick cushion. Mr. Hyde pulls out the chair next to me, sets my duffel on the floor on the other side of him, and makes himself comfortable as he passes out the beverages.
What does he think he's doing?
"Can you put my bag here?"
I try not to ask like I want to cut his arm off for taking it, because I do.
He cocks his head and lifts an eyebrow at me with a sly smirk on that too gorgeous face of his. Dick.
"It is mine," I attempt not to snarl.
He flashes me that pretty boy smile, a contradiction to the tatted up bad ass he is.
"That it is. I'm taking care of it for you. There's no room over there, in case you haven't noticed."
I swing my head to peer at the other side of my chair. Crap. The space is too narrow for my bag should anyone need to get through the doors.
"Fine," I'm probably scowling.
The smug-ass looks completely amused.
The girl across from me speaks first.
“Hi, I’m Summer. This is Rock, and you’ve already met Snake,” she extends her hand to me.
She’s not fazed by her friend bringing a strange woman to their little party, said stranger teetering on psychotic. Her smile is friendly and welcoming. Her boyfriend Rock and the guy named Snake, the one who obviously likes to play with the cream puff variety, are bad boys to the core.
But I can tell they’re so much more.
My gaze flits from one to the other assessing them as I weigh my options.
I can play nice and kill some time while cream puff finds another distraction, or I can snatch my shit and attract even more attention. All eyes are on me.
I reach out and take her hand in mine and shake it. “I’m Raven. Sorry to crash your party.”
“Don’t apologize, it’ll be good to know another female here. These two brutes seem to want to keep me under lock and key.”
I eye both men. Their equally quiet as they sit back, their coffees now in front of them, not denying Summer’s statement. Interesting.
“What happened?” Mr. Tall Dark and Inked, Rock, asks.
“The girl wanted me to fuck her,” Snake replies casually.
Both Summer’s and Rock’s eyes shoot to me.
“Not me!” I snort.
Snake laughs. “Cream puff back there, that was what you called her, wasn’t it, angel?” he shoots me a sly grin.
All eyes are back on me.
Where's a hole I can crawl into when I need one?
My jaw clenches and my hands curl into fists. I want to punch him in his self-satisfied face.
“Yes, that’s what I called her, the cheap little ho,” I practically snarl.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so angry? I push out a heavy breath. She insulted me, that’s it. I’m tired, I let it get to me. That’s all it was.
Summer laughs. Why? I have no clue, but it succeeds in diffusing some of my…anger?
“I’m used to that,” she says. “God, I still have to listen to all of the whispers from a group of housewives and how they want to have these boys.” Now that’s different. “I can’t blame them. They are amazing, all of them.” Her eyes shift from me to something behind me.
Immediately I stiffen and glance over my shoulder as my hand slides into my boot. A Latin man is approaching our table, another tatted bad boy with an air of destruction.
This place is full inked men for the Ink & Arms expo, but there's something different about these men. And the girl with them.
“That’s Gringo, a friend of o
urs,” Summer says softly.
Still on guard, my hand hasn’t left its place at my leg.
“Relax,” Snake’s face is at the side of my head, his mouth close to my ear, his breath sending a shock of heat through me. It unnerves me more, but not in a threatening way. It sends me further into unfamiliar territory. That bothers me. “We’re not the bad guys.”
I move away from him and search his eyes looking for a glimpse of what I saw before. I don't find it, not even a trace, just calm and control. Slowly, I lift my hand from reaching for the blade. I trust him, I don’t know why, but I do. At least for now.
“So are you here for the Ink & Arms expo?” I ask trying to make conversation. That’s what you’re supposed to do, make small talk when you meet someone new, right?
“Yes, Rock owns a tattoo shop, the guys all work together,” she answers.
Tattoo artists, huh? Right…
“What’s up?” Rock asks the new guy, the one they said is Gringo.
He’s behind me, I can’t see him, and that makes me uncomfortable all over again. I shift in my seat so I can get a glimpse of him out of my peripheral vision.
“Dude, come around, meet our new guest,” Snake tells him, but his eyes are on me.
Snake’s watching me, reading me, and not one of my muscles flinch without him noticing. I have never felt so exposed by anyone before. He’s stripping me bare, exposing all of my secrets. Secrets I buried so long ago, I can’t even find. No one's done that, really looked at me, but I don’t want to hide. It’s a feeling so foreign, I barely even recognize it. For all that I saw in that small fraction of a second when he looked at me over his shoulder, I know he’s not the bad guy. For once. For right now. Even if I wanted to hide, I don’t think I’d be able to, not from him. Not from those eyes.
Surprisingly, I’m grateful for his awareness of my discomfort.
What’s wrong with me? I don't care what anyone thinks. Ever.
The man moves quietly from behind me and finally comes into my line of vision. His eyes on me are as intent as mine are on him. He’s just as handsome as these two, and just as lethal looking. But there’s an underlying current within him, a darkness that simmers just below the surface.
Breathe Page 6
