Table of Contents ALSO BY MAX QUOTE ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE THIRTY-TWO THIRTY-THREE THIRTY-FOUR THIRTY-FIVE THIRTY-SIX THIRTY-SEVEN THIRTY-EIGHT THIRTY-NINE FORTY FORTY-ONE FORTY-TWO
EPILOGUE NOTE FROM MAX ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TORMENTED Copyright © 2016 Max Henry Published by Max Henry All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author ’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Max Henry is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author ’s work. Published: December 2016, by Max Henry
[email protected] Edited by: Hot Tree Editing Cover Image: Adobe Stock Cover Design: Sara Eirew Formatted by: Max Effect
ALSO BY MAX SIGN UP TO MAX’S NEWSLETTER FOR ALL NEW RELEASES: http://eepurl.com/6bb6f
FALLEN ACES MC SERIES Unrequited Unbreakable Tormented COMING SOON Existential Redundant Misguided BUTCHER BOYS SERIES Devil You Know Devil on Your Back Devil May Care Devil in the Detail Devil Smoke BANJAXED SERIES Pistol Loaded Recoil STANDALONE Malaise OTHERWORLD DESIRES (Paranormal) Battle to Become Methods for Mayhem
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you - Maya Angelou
ONE Sawyer They never hold still, no matter how many times you tell them to. “Please, man. I’ve got a wife, a baby on the way.” “And that’s my problem how?” I roll out the canvas knife holder, laying it out flat and wiggling my fingers over the selection. Hooch was skeptical about letting me return to work so soon after the shitfight with the old man, but when I damn near halved his whore count after two of the bitches thought it’d be a great idea to steal some of my stuff as “memorabilia,” he soon came around. “Don’t you have family?” the junkie pleads. “Nope,” I answer without hesitation. Relatives? Sure. Family? Not in the slightest. Only me . . . . Yeah. Only the fucking distant cousin that everyone tries to avoid at all costs. I’m not that distant . . . . No. When you’re in my fucking head, I guess you ain’t. “My woman. What’s she supposed to do?” “Find a guy who treats her half decent.” I slide my favorite knife from its sheath and turn it left and then right, laying the blade flat on my palm as I inspect its gleaming beauty. Perfect . . . . “What you doin’, man? What you got there?” The guy’s eyes go wide when I turn back to face him. Schmuck is tied to one of his porch chairs by the same rope he used to weigh down the body he shoddily attempted to hide in the lake. “Did it occur to you that the guy you shot had a fucking family?” I seethe. Irresponsible fuckers like him make me itchy in the palm. “No way, man. He didn’t look like the type to have anyone.” He’s lying to himself, trying to justify his crappy decision. “No?” I take a couple of steps across his back porch so I’m toe-to-toe with him. “So he doesn’t have a daughter? A son? A wife who can’t work because she’s disabled?” Amazing what a person can find out with a little time on their hands and an Internet connection. He attempts to lunge at me, making the chair jump. “You’re full of shit, you dick-suckin’ motherfucker.” The guy’s mood does a one-eighty from desperation to rage. “You’re just sayin’ those things to try and make me feel bad.” It’s fascinating the emotions a person will cycle through when they know there’s no escaping their fate. “Did it work?” He sneers at me, jerking his arms desperately in his bounds. “Truth is—as much as I’d love to be lyin’ to you—I’m givin’ you 100 percent fact, my friend. Ever occur to you that he might have had a reason for workin’ as late as he was?” The guy shrugs as he gives up the fight against his constraints. “Didn’t think about it.” “Didn’t seem odd,” I say, wrinkling my nose, “that your vic was out at midnight in a suit?” “Nope.” The chair creaks as our toy gangbanger leans forward. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
“Right now?” I gesture to my knives. “Fuckin’ everything.” His eyes roam over my selection of blades, his brow pinching as he clearly rolls his current predicament around in his mind, looking for an out. “What’s it goin’ to take?” He juts his chin in the air. “How much?” “You can’t buy me off.” So naïve. “You sure about that?” “Yeah.” I chuckle. “I am.” He flinches as I prod him in the shoulder with the tip of the knife. “Why would I want your filthy fuckin’ cash anyway?” He snorts. “As if you’re fuckin’ squeaky-clean, you freak.” “Maybe not, but I like to think I still have morals.” Even if you could count them twice on one hand . . . . Never said I had lots. “Look,” he levels, tipping his head forward so he stares out from under his brow. “I don’t know what magical world you fuckin’ operate in, but the business is dog eat dog, man. I start lettin’ my feelings get in the way, and some other asshole jumps in with the goods. I gotta finish what I start.” “He was a Good Samaritan. Just tryin’ to help a woman in distress.” “What he saw was none of his business. Should have kept on drivin’.” “He sees a dirty fuckin’ creep like you tryin’ to wrestle her in the back of a car, while she’s screamin’ and kickin’ at you, then that’s his goddamn business. It’s his fuckin’ business as a man with a conscience to do somethin’ about it.” “Curiosity killed the cat.” He leers as though he’s got me on this one. “Yeah? Well, pity this pussy’s about to get chewed up and spat out by the big bad wolf, ain’t it.” The guy’s nostrils flare, his glare downright murderous. Shame I’m the one with all the tools now, isn’t it? Such a shame . . . . “Where do you want me to start?” “On yourself, asshole.” He spits at my feet, a last show of defiance. “Come on now.” I reach out, running my palm around the side of his face to unsettle the asshole even more. “That’d defeat the purpose of me comin’ out to see you now, wouldn’t it?” “What about this then?” he says. “I tell you that I understand what you’ve said to me, and you let me go on the promise I won’t fuck up like that again?” “Fuck up how?” I ask dryly. “By kidnappin’ the girl, or gettin' caught doing it?” He crumples his chin as he shrugs. “Both?” I chuckle, shaking my head at the schmuck. How fucking stupid does he think I am? “Man, if you’d only fucked up this once, then maybe I’d consider it. But Jesus Christ, you’ve got a rap sheet of mistakes and stupid decisions almost longer than mine.” He swallows hard, fingers twitching in his bonds. The circulation should be getting weak about now, the pins and needles spreading up his arms. Pretty soon he won’t have sensation to his shoulders; a distinct numbness in his entire arm. Better hurry it up then . . . . Keep your pants on. “Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?” His voice cracks with sheer desperation. “Nope.” I stroke the hair from his forehead with the edge of the blade. “Tell me, how long you been in the skin trade?” His eyes close; he knows he’s screwed. “You know the answer, don’t you?” “Got told it was coming up your seven-year anniversary. That true?” He swallows, head bowed.
“Oh, buddy. You’ve seen your last sunrise. You get that, right?” “Who fuckin’ sent you?” he grinds out as I use the blade under his chin to bring his face up to mine. “Who told you where to find me?” I smirk; the corner of my mouth takes its sweet time to inch upward as I relish this moment and prepare for the split second he plays his part in the grand finale. My devil dims the lights and spreads his arms wide, eyes closed as he smiles blissfully. Holding my captive’s curious gaze, I answer. “Your fuckin’ wife did.” Asshole’s face drains of blood, his skin fading to a pasty white as he stares at me, unblinking. Encore! “Wh-what?” The guy’s brow pinches. “Uh-huh.” I chuckle for good measure. God, I love fuckin’ with them. “That pregnant wife you were just tellin’ me would be lost without you? She’s the one who raised the bounty on your ass, pal.” He swallows hard. “What’s the matter?” I ask, firming my grip on the knife and lining it up with his side. “That betrayal sting you right in the heart, did it?” He screams as I drive the blade in under his ribs, puncturing his lung, but missing the vital organ I want to beat for a little while longer yet. “She’s worried because her man said it would only be one time,” I explain. “And then when she asked you to stop, you started lyin’ to her. She says that guy you threw in the fuckin’ shallow end wasn’t your first.” I draw the blade out, wiping it clean on his jeans. “She’s kept a list of all the people you’ve topped in your delusional crusade to be the next overnight millionaire in the area.” I laugh, circling him while I decide where to strike next. “Only problem with that dream, asshole?” I lean in close for effect. “You gotta steal a lot of girls to make that much money at the bottom end of the hierarchy.” “Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, coughing a little given oxygen doesn’t come as easy anymore. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” I say, poking a finger in his wound and making him groan through gritted teeth. “You’re kind of special, you know that?” “How?” he cries, clearly skeptical. “I retired. Hung up my blades, unloaded my clip, and swore I’d be a better man. Think of it a sociopath’s rehab.” “You’re fuckin’ mad!” “Among other things.” No secret there. “But it gets boring being . . . nice.” He eyes me as I drag the other porch chair over and take a seat beside him. “Your wife.” “What about her?” “You seem okay with the fact she’s sent a hit out on you.” “Women, man.” He shrugs, and promptly winces in pain. I kick back with a sigh, letting my knife rest on my thigh. He eyes it like a fat kid with his first good look at candy after health camp. “You got anything you’d like to tell her?” I pull my phone out and scroll through to the note-taking app. “I think she knows it all.” “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You trust the ones you love, think your secrets are safe with them, and then whammo!” I launch forward and clap in his face. Guy damn near shits himself. “The people you thought would be with you until the end use it all against you.” “Bitch doesn’t know what’s good for her.” “Yeah?” I scoff. “How’s that?” “She gave up her fuckin’ meal ticket, didn’t she? Who does she think pays all the bills, puts food on
the table?” He pauses to catch his breath, shaking his head. “Dumb fuckin’ cunt.” “Oh, no,” I say. “She’s pretty darn smart.” “How?” He screws his nose up at my assertion. “Because she took all that information you gave her, all those murders, those shoddy deals, and that clever fuckin’ woman put the puzzle pieces together. And you know what she got?” He shrugs. “A fuckin’ morbid picture that showed her the one thing no expectant mother wants to see: danger for her baby. She’s worried that your selfish fuckin’ actions are going to get her and that kid killed.” “No, she’s got it wrong. I’d never let anyone get to our kid. Let me—” he splutters “—talk to her.” The blood pumps from his side faster the more agitated he gets. Stop playing . . . it’s time . . . . I shake my head and push out of the chair. “Sorry, friend. Your woman was pretty firm on her rules.” I make a mock sad face at the guy. “Didn’t want anything to do with how you went, just to know that you had.” “Fuck you,” he slurs, spitting blood with his words. “Fuck you, asshole.” I lift the knife to his jaw, ready to cut his tongue out from underneath when my phone vibrates on the porch rail. I glance over and lift a finger to the guy. “Hold that thought.” He coughs, spitting up more blood as I answer. “Go ahead.” “You busy?” King. “Depends what you count as busy, Pres.” I swing my gaze back to my new friend, smiling. “I’ll make it brief anyway.” The asshole on the chair moans amongst his cough, probably realizing just how screwed he is as the pool of blood at his feet grows from both the knife wound and his mouth. “Sure I’m not interrupting something?” King asks. “No. You’re fine.” Makes the climax that much better when we drag it out, anyway . . . . “I need you to head back to Lincoln.” I turn away and absently choose the next knife while we talk. “Why?” “I’ve called the officers together, and I want you there to tell them what you told Hooch. They need to know what your father ’s got planned. I think it’s time we put his future to the vote, don’t you?” “Long overdue, brother.” The grievances between my drug lord father and the Fallen Aces go back further than my history with the club. He’s been underhandedly trying to get the Aces on his payroll for years, but these boys don’t give in to blackmail lightly. “I’m counting on you bein’ onside with the Aces takin’ the lead in this,” King says. “If it puts that fucker six foot under, I’m in.” I jam the phone between my shoulder and ear. “Just one request.” “That?” “You let me finish him off. I’ll allow your boys to bring him to his knees, but I want to be the last face he sets his dyin’ eyes on.” “Deal. I know what it means to you, and I respect that. You think you can make it here in time for the meetin’?” My captive spits off to the side, panting as he stares out at me from under his brow. Impatient little bastard . . . . “Sure, I can make it. I’ll finish things here and head right on up.” King ends the call, and I set the phone back on the porch rail while I crack the joints in my neck. My heart beats a little faster, my smile a little wider as I turn back to my victim with renewed enthusiasm.
Fuck, I love the smell of blood and revenge in the morning. Me too . . . .
TWO Abbey I’ve never been allowed in here before; never stepped foot over the threshold, let alone brought fresh linens in. Housekeeping has always been Sonya’s thing, and me? Well, I’m usually elbow-deep in grease out in the garage with Fingers. I’ve earned my keep the best way I knew how over the past twelve years growing up in this club, keeping my head low and my hands busy getting in the tight spots the old mechanic’s arthritic fingers don’t reach anymore. But when Sonya’s God only knows where with her old man, and the washing stacks up, King needs somebody to help run the ship. And that person would be me. I set the stack of sheets down on the foot of the bed and breathe in the musky scent that always seems to accompany a man’s space. It’s been weeks since the club sent Sawyer home to face the music with his old man, but somehow the room still smells of him. Leather. Smoke. Aftershave. And brushed steel. A heady mix, if I ever did smell one. Heavy black drapes frame the barred window, and the walls are a chipped shade of gray. I wouldn’t expect anything more from a troubled soul such as his. Bright colors and homely furnishings wouldn’t fit his cruel and heartless demeanor. I wander over to the set of drawers and run my finger along the gouges in the surface that look as though somebody’s jammed a knife into it, repeatedly. I’ll never forget the day Sawyer arrived at the Lincoln clubhouse; young, newly patched in, and cocky as hell. He was sworn in to our Fort Worth chapter originally, but when his constant indiscretions became too much for them to handle, they packed him up north to us in Lincoln to try and straighten out. But Sawyer ’s daddy is Carlos Redmond, the southern states’ most feared drug lord and so, like the spoilt little brat he was, Sawyer thought the rules didn’t apply to him. He thought that, just like his father, he could rule the roost with fear. How wrong he was. The Aces don’t run from what they’re afraid of, they fight to control it. Damn, how they fought. Friday night drinks have been so quiet since Sawyer went home: nobody there to pick a pointless fight, nobody there for the whores to scrap over . . . no trouble at all. I scrub the toe of my boot into a grease stain in the rug, and look around the plain room. The surfaces are clear, no pictures on the walls. It’s eerily blank, hinting at hidden secrets. Only people who are ashamed of themselves refuse to display the things that make them who they are. I should know; my walls are blank too. I’m Abbey, the “crazy kid,” the “wild one.” I’m a curiosity for these boys; something to tease and make light of in their inebriated state. Sometimes when they’re sober too. And how could I blame them? No normal nineteen-year-old girl screams in fear when somebody she considers a friend places a hand to her flesh, no normal girl would lay out a grow man twice her size for ruffling her hair, and no normal girl wears long sleeves, or heavy leather cuffs year-round to hide her biggest shame. I’m broken and bent, and I don’t know how to be any other way . . . otherwise I would. God, I
would. Anything to be a little more mainstream, a little more mundane, a little prettier . . . . Just more. I circle the room with one hand running a lazy line along the wall as I take slow and measured steps over the timber floorboards. Sawyer ’s bed has a black lacquered headboard, carved at the corners, with a screaming skull etched into the center. I begged King to let me have it when he left, sure he’d never come back. I’ve been in love with the design since I caught a glimpse of it through his open door. But until now I never knew why King got so angry with me and always told me to let it go. I thought he was angry because I assumed Sawyer wouldn’t survive a final showdown with his father. But now, up close, I see why he didn’t want me to have it. Because it tells a tale. Oval-shaped dents adorn the surface, uneven as though caused by a fist . . . or a head? Whatever made the marks they’re a definite sign of someone in pain, someone tortured. What the fuck does he do in here? I tuck a leg up and perch on the edge of the bare mattress. Dust coats the side from sitting unused for almost a month. I reach out and brush it away, my palm stilling when I see what lies beneath. Reddish-brown stains. No denying what they are either. I turn my hand over; my fingers fist as I pull my sleeve back and reveal the neat white and pink scars that adorn my wrists. Does he do the same as me? Does he find the same relief? “What the fuck are you doin’ in here?” A cry escapes my lips as I slap a hand to my chest to calm my racing heart. Damn. He wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour yet. “Come on, kid. I asked you a question.” I lift my chin and turn my head to face the man himself. The legend. The handsome chaos that he is. “You sta-startled me.” He smirks. The curl of his lips is intoxicating. The beauty of an angel shrouded by the promise of a demon. Something damp stains his charcoal-colored T-shirt—no prizes for guessing what that is. “I sta-startled you?” he mocks. “You got a problem with talkin’ now too?” He strides into the room and drops the heavy duffle in his hand on the floor. It lands with a loud thud that makes me jump. His eyes narrow as his smirk deepens. “What’s the matter? Don’t like loud noises?” He stomps his boot hard, metal buckles clanking as I jolt where I sit. “You’re too easy to fuck with,” he says with a chuckle. This is how it’s been between us since he first laid eyes on me; he teases me relentlessly, and I try not to lash out and start a fight I won’t win. I’ve complained to King, and our previous president, Apex, about it, but what can they do? “It’s just how he is,” I’m told, as though that justifies the way he treats me. I’m fucking human too. I feel. Angry and jaded, I scowl at the asshole and stand, reaching for the sheets at the end of the bed. His hand slams down hard over top of mine. “You touch anything in here?” Breathe through it—he’s too big to take on. I look around at the clear surfaces, fighting to ignore the creepy-crawlies inching along under my skin where his hand touches mine, and wonder what the hell he means. “I didn’t touch a thing.” There’s nothing in here but the furniture. “Sure about that?” His thumb runs a lazy line up my forearm. “Didn’t take a little peek in the closet? Open a few drawers?” Should I have?
Goose bumps ripple across my flesh. I try to pull away, but he holds firm. My heart kicks into overdrive and I close my eyes. I can do this. All I have to do is take it one step at a time. Inhale. Exhale. The secret to survival is as simple as taking the next breath. “Got an answer for me, girl?” “I’m sure,” I whisper. He jerks his hand away from mine as though the sheer thought of touching me for too long revolts him. The rejection stings, not because I expected more, but because I know how he feels. I can’t stand to be in my own skin either. Snatching the linen from the mattress, I walk to the foot of the bed, drop them on the floor, and grab the base sheet from the pile. He watches my every move as I shake it out and drape it over the mattress. My skin sears, the attention too much to process all at once after having his hand on mine. My hold on the fabric falters, spilling the sheet haphazardly over the side of the bed so that it slips to the floor under its own weight. His laughter echoes off the barren walls. My teeth pinch painfully into my bottom lip as I stave off the urge to turn and slap him, my need to fight desperate to break free. I’ve looked to this man for hidden answers for years, recognized the same battles in his eyes as I have in mine, and yet, like any idol, the reality never quite lives up to the dream. I hate him for it. He leans his right side against the wall as I shake the sheet out again, working corner by corner to tuck it under. By avoiding any more fumbles, I manage to also lose his interest. Sawyer turns away as I pick up the top sheet, and opens his bag. The repeated clank of heavy items being placed onto the bureau has my curiosity, but I keep focused on the bed, executing a perfect hospital fold just like Sonya taught me. He sniffs, running the back of his fingers under his nose as he eyes me leave the room to retrieve the blankets I left in the hall. No doubt our Forth Worth president, Hooch, has had him on the blow for the past few weeks to escape the memories of what he went through. Only a few know what went down inside the walls of Carlos’ estate, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out it was harsh after one look at the man who eyes me as I carry the blankets to the bed. Bruising on his cheek, fading bite marks on his neck, and stitches in his arms. Unless he gets overly kinky in the bedroom, it was one hell of a fight to be free. I lay the blankets out and turn the bed down, ready for him to slip into when he wants rest. My hand lingers on the cotton for a moment, the rage still pulsing under my skin. One, two, three . . . . I count my way to ten before I turn and finally pay full attention to what he’s doing. Watching me. “Do you need anything else?” I ask. He lifts a hand to his mouth and runs the pad of his thumb along his bottom lip. “Yeah. Send a bottle of Jack upstairs.” My cheeks flush, and I look to the floor. He’ll know. As if he doesn’t already know what his presence does to women. The man’s a walking, talking stick of testosterone. Over six foot of hardearned muscle, molded onto broad shoulders, leading to hard hands, and with the eyes of a Hollywood heartthrob to distract you from the damage all those other things can do. Not that you’d be enough of a woman for him. Not that I should want the man either. I hate him, and yet my body doesn’t seem to understand what that means—my flat-chested, tomboy body. I’m not even his type, so there’s no logical reason for me to worry. He likes his females older, more made-up, bustier, and in less clothing.
Just look at the only one who managed to snare him for any length of time: Ramona. She’s all subtle curves and delicate beauty. She’s a stunner, and it’s no secret how she caught his attention. Wasn’t with her intellect, anyway. “What’s the holdup?” Sawyer teases. “You need me to do something for you?” Move, Abbey. “I’m sorry. I-I’ll bring it right up.” “G-good,” he mocks, laughing as I storm out of the room. My hands shake wildly, my heart still beating rapidly behind my ribcage. I take the stairs two at a time, running not only from him, but also from the shame that yet again I’m not enough. All I want is to dive into that mind of his and see how he handles his demons day-to-day without falling apart like I do. All I want is to know how I can be just like him: confident, sure of who I am, and happy with it. Not what I am now: disgusted every time I look at the weak shell of a woman in the mirror. My past shouldn’t define me, but it sure as hell shaped me, and I hate the world for it. The only thing that’s ever changed over the years as I’ve grown up amongst this rough bunch is my deep-rooted desire to one day become a regular girl. Nowadays, young women try so damn hard to be something unique, something that stands out, the next big social media sensation. Every girl wants to be twice what she has the potential for, unhappy with what she’s been blessed with. But not me. Fuck fame. Fuck notoriety, if it comes with a helping of humiliation. I want to blend. I want to be a wallflower. So fucking invisible that people forget I was ever in the room to begin with. But I’ll never be any of that, because yet again I’m Abbey. The wild child. The street rat. The crazy kid.
THREE Sawyer Jesus Christ. I’ve been gone all of a fucking month from this hell, and somehow that kid has aged ten years since I last paid her any mind. She’s got no idea how fucking gorgeous she is. Still remember the first time I saw her: matted hair, wide eyes, dirty nails, and that feral snarl that always made me want to pick her up by the neck and snap it like a stray cat’s. Glad I didn’t. Why do you mock her, then . . .? You know why, asshole. Dana’s barely in the ground—rest her tortured fucking soul—and I’ve got shit to sort out with the mother of my child. Last thing I need is another lost puppy following me around looking for love. But puppies are so cute . . . . Yeah, and they shit on your floor and chew all your stuff. Everything has an ugly side, my man. And that puppy? She’s riddled with rot. Pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it? I knock the fucker in my head into submission with a quick heel of the hand and run the other palm down my face. I know the truth, no matter what bullshit I tell myself, and so does he. Abbey’s got as many issues as I do, if not more, and what good would that do anyone, mixing our mess together? She’s a good kid underneath all that knee-jerk survival bullshit. She just needs somebody with a pure heart to bring the confidence out in her, not some asshole like me who’d only use her weakness to boost his own fragile ego. You’ve never cared before . . . . Nope. But then again, I didn’t know Dana before, and that girl taught me a hell of a lot before she died about the kind of person I can be if I try. She proved I have a heart that bleeds red, that I’m capable of compassion. She proved that if I’m brave enough to admit I care, I’m capable of doing some pretty damn selfless things for those who matter to me. Which brings me to the reason why I’m here. King wants me to address the council members tomorrow, tell them the plans my father revealed while he held me captive. He wants to use the Fallen Aces as his puppet for expanded drug distribution, and even thought he could bribe me to take over the Fort Worth chapter in an underhanded coup until I showed him where my loyalty really lies. It wasn’t with blood. Problem is, I don’t know how King thinks I can walk in the meeting room tomorrow with no less than half a dozen guys I’ve royally screwed over in one way or another, and not walk out with a few grams of lead in my back. The payback would be justified, the repercussions of my actions long overdue. I’ve hurt a lot of people who’ve done nothing but sacrifice themselves to help me for little to no reward, and I’m big enough now to admit that doesn’t sit right with me. I told Dana I’d make things right, and this is the first step. If I’m going to change, there’s bound to be a hundred more times when I’ll need to walk into the fires I’ve created. Time to man up and face the music. As if you can change . . . . A fucker ’s got to try.
“I didn’t know if you wanted a glass,” Abbey says from my open doorway, snapping me out of my trance. “So I brought one up anyway.” I nod and then jerk my head toward the set of drawers so she knows where to set the drink down. She glides across the floor in her tight-as-sin leather pants, cropped baseball tee, and heavy military style boots. Her tits aren’t as large as I’m used to, but everything else ticks the boxes. Last I remember, the scared little mouse would get around in Apex’s old T-shirts, hiding behind the masses of fabric as some kind of safety blanket. Kid sure as hell was hiding one hell of a package under that shit. “Anything else?” I feel the corners of my mouth slowly inch upward as I narrow my gaze on her. She looks to the floor, her hands fisting before her. “Look at me, kid.” She frowns, squares her shoulders, and brings her chin up. “I’m not a kid, so stop calling me that.” I ignore her whiny complaint and ask, “What do you see when you look at me?” I love playing this game. Bitches usually trot out some lame fucking compliments meant to get me interested in their obsessive desires. Also usually ends up with them in my bed for the night. If this kid is as flustered around me as I think, she’s doing her best to pretend she’s not, then the next words out of her mouth should be— “Pain.” Ooo, she’s good . . . . Fuck up, asshole. My turn to frown. What chills me to the bone is that she isn’t talking about the obvious injuries still healing from the fight with my old man. Nope. This bitch looks me dead in the eye, burning a light right through to my soul. Do you think she can see me . . . ? Fuck. I hope not. Never seen you myself, but I can guarantee you’d be one ugly motherfucker. My devil flips me the middle finger. “That’ll be all.” I give her a dismissive wave toward the door. She frowns again and nods, hesitating before she strides out the door with the most tempting fucking scowl on her face, leaving a cloud of something floral and fucking addictive in her wake. What were you saying about lost puppies . . . ? Woof.
FOUR Abbey Ramona moves between the kitchen and the common room as though she’s the center of the fucking universe, as though the place would fall apart if it weren’t for her ability to boss everyone around. She’s a goddess, with long, crimson hair and flawless olive skin, and she knows it, using her feminine wiles to get what she wants. Half these over-sexed assholes would slit their throat if she asked them to. It’s sickening the way they covet her, and it’s also a no-brainer why she used to be the guys’ favorite whore before she threw in the towel to be Sawyer ’s ol’ lady. He moved her and their son, Mack, offsite to keep the other members from looking at her, pining over what they couldn’t have anymore. His jealous streak doing what it does best. I bet he doesn’t even know King called her in to help with catering for the visitors, today. I should be thankful that Ramona’s here, easing the burden. But I’m not, because I’m stuck behind the bar, cleaning glasses and stocking fridges with a front row seat to witness how Sawyer will react when he sees her. Am I jealous? Totally. Stalkerish? Maybe just a little. Unjustified? Completely. It’s not as though it’s any of my business what the two of them get up to. I’ve got no ownership over Sawyer; I’m just a starstruck fool who thinks he needs better than what she has to offer. But again, none of my business, right? “Under control?” Callum, our VP, asks as he leans on the bar. “I think so.” He catches my not-so-subtle scowl and follows its direction toward Ramona. “Problem?” “Nope,” I say jovially, popping my p. “None at all.” He eyes me suspiciously, before reaching over the bar to snag an open bottle of Jameson. “Hey.” I slap his hand off it. “Other people have to share that, you know. Use a damn tumbler.” He accepts the glassware I pass over and pours a drink, swirling the contents before he talks again. “What is it between you two anyway?” “Nothing.” Everything. I was barely into double digits when I got my first period. Scared the shit out of me, because nobody had explained how a woman’s body works. I came to the club a child, and never went to public school; Apex opted to homeschool me because of my obvious behavior problems after he picked me off the street, and growing up around a rough bunch like this? No surprise that nobody gave me “the talk.” So I asked the only people I thought would understand what was happening: the women who were always around—the whores. Little did I know that the official start to my womanhood would mean a change in attitude from them toward me. A couple of the girls—Ramona included—decided that if I’d hit that stage in puberty, then I better start behaving like the rest of the women around the club who weren’t promised to anyone. I needed to pay my rent with my legs wide and my opinions to myself. And when King put a stop to it by informing Apex what the girls were up to, well, that didn’t score me any brownie points at all.
“You stop in to see your niece today?” I ask. Callum nods, swiveling on his stool to watch a few of the younger members carry trestle tables in for the buffet they’ll put out later. “Thought I might as well see how my sister ’s doin’, considering none of us will probably get a break for the next while.” “It’s a big meeting tomorrow, right?” “Yep. Cali, Fort Worth, and us. King’s brought the whole club together.” “What about the satellite chapters?” Even though the Fallen Aces only has three clubhouses, there are at least a dozen smaller towns that operate informal get-togethers once a month between a handful of members. “On standby. It’s only officers at this stage.” He turns to face me, leaning both elbows on the counter. “Why the curiosity?” “I saw Sawyer upstairs when I was sorting out his room.” “Yeah?” “He looks pretty messed up.” Callum nods, taking a swig of his drink. “Yeah. Hooch said he barely made it out of that shithole alive.” “Why did he come back to us?” I ask, setting the dishcloth in my hand down. “I mean, the Aces traded him back there, so why would he come back to the people who betrayed him?” “He betrayed himself,” Callum answers sternly. “We did what was best for the club as a whole, and he knows that.” “What now, then?” He shrugs. “I guess we find out tomorrow.” I nod, picking up the cloth and going back to wiping down the surfaces. It baffles me how a man who’s brought so much strife on this club can be accepted back inside our walls so easily. If it weren’t for him, the Aces probably wouldn’t be on Carlos’ radar. At least not to this extent. Why is it we can have the literal spawn of the devil walking our halls, and everybody loves him without question? He’s a legend among the young members, a trophy for the whores, and a problem the officers seem to tolerate. And yet, here I am, minding my own business and not hurting a soul, and I get mocked, ridiculed, and cast out by the majority of the club members. Why? What the fuck is it about him that lets him literally get away with murder, while I can’t even shed a tear without being questioned for it? I want nothing more than to pick Sawyer ’s brain and find that piece that makes him acceptable to others so I can mirror it, have it too. He’s psychotic, unhinged, and a social outcast. And yet he appears happy. He’s comfortable in his ill-fitting skin, relaxed in his rocky ride. I want that. Knowing I’m broken isn’t enough. I want to love that I’m broken. I want him to tell me how he does it. Holding on to the hope he has the answer is the only thing that keeps me going some days; the thought there is an end to my self-loathing and misery. “You need anything?” our newest member to be patched in—Dog—asks as he slides to a stop beside Callum. “I’ve got to do a meat run for Ramona, so I’m heading out now.” Of course. I glance over at her as she laughs with an ol’ lady about something—always the apple of everyone’s eye. “Let it go,” Callum murmurs under his breath. I shoot him daggers, and smile at Dog. “Let me check.” King asked me all those years ago when he saw what was going on who had been pressuring me to sleep with the men. I should have called Ramona out, named her for the bully she was, but the naïve
little girl I was wanted nothing more than to be loved and accepted by everyone, so I kept quiet, hoping it would make her like me. Did anything but. And let’s just say I’m not so kind anymore. “Can you get a few cases of Bud,” I ask Dog, “and probably another half dozen bottles of Jack?” If Sawyer ’s in the mood to drink, he’ll clean up an extra two himself. “Sure thing.” He raps his knuckles on the bar and gives me a smile before heading off. I like the guy. He’s one of the few who doesn’t treat me as a freak. Yeah, he’s joined in taking the mickey out of me on more than one occasion, but he’s never asked me to do anything I didn’t want to. He’s a good sort—even if he does work his way through the property girls like they’re going to expire at the end of the month. “Cheers for the drink,” Callum says, setting the empty tumbler down on my side of the bar. He hesitates, looking me square in the eye. I don’t like it. “If you need help when it gets busy, round up Dog for a hand, okay?” “Sure.” He places his palm to the bar and gives me a tight-lipped smile before turning away and heading out the back. Ramona watches the whole interaction from across the common room, sweeping over as soon as I’m alone. “Abbey,” she word-vomits. “Do you need help getting organized?” She’s not asking to be kind. “No, thank you,” I answer with a tight jaw. “I’ve got this under control.” “You better,” she says with narrowed eyes. “We don’t need you running off in tears because somebody spilled their drink, now, do we?” “As if that’d happen,” I murmur. Although now she mentions it, the irrational fear that I might snap right when it’s busiest takes hold and squeezes my lungs. “Just remember, the men won’t be so patient with you if they run out of alcohol. Bad things can happen fast when everyone’s distracted at a gathering like this. Especially to a girl who’s teased them for far too long being the only one who’s off-limits.” She makes a show of looking me up and down, her nose wrinkled. “Of course. You would know what happens to girls who tease, wouldn’t you?” I say with a raised eyebrow, hinting at her past being used and abused as a club whore. She stares me down, and sighs. “What happens when King runs out of things for you to do, Abbey? Then what? You haven’t got a proper education. You sure as hell don’t have any job skills.” Her smug smirk grows. “Maybe you should give in. Accept it. If you want to stay here, then your future is lying on your back, taking what you’re given. Not as though anyone would want you as an ol’ lady, now, is it?” I lean both elbows on the bar and get in close. “Believe it or not, I have skills that they need around here. If something happened to Fingers, who do you think would be able to fix and maintain their bikes? Huh? Not all of us have to rely on the fact we’re a woman to be of any use to the club.” “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, don’t you,” she sneers. “You might have King wrapped around your crazy little finger, but the rest of us aren’t so blind. We see your pathetic act for what it is.” She steps away, hesitating and turning to say over her shoulder, “Don’t fuck things up tonight. It’s important to King that everything runs smoothly so the men are in the right frame of mind for their meeting tomorrow.” “Isn’t me you’ve got to worry about causing trouble tonight.” She storms off to point out where the trestle tables need to be set up, ripping into some poor prospect when he starts to unfold one in the wrong spot.
I look down at where my palms rest on the top of the bar, hands shaking. She’s got no fucking idea what goes on behind closed doors. An act. As though I’d put myself through this hell all in the name of keeping a spot in a fucking MC clubhouse. The sooner tonight is over and she fucks off back to the hole she crawled out of, the better.
FIVE Sawyer “Why’s she still here?” King regards my question, swirling his whiskey in his tumbler. “Why not?” “She’s legal age now, right?” I say. “You’re not blind; you can see what trouble she’ll cause if she’s kept off-limits.” “What do you propose? I make it open season for those fuckers out there?” “That’s not what I’m sayin’,” I level. “But seriously, brother. Take a look at the woman. She’s got a fit little body she keeps nice and tight, a round butt that’s askin’ for a whippin’, and a fuckin’ face that could launch a thousand ships. She puts half them centerfolds Fingers has stuck up in the garage to shame.” “I wouldn’t know,” King grinds out, “because I don’t look at her like that.” “Any man with blood in his veins can see it, whether he wants a piece or not. She’s goin’ to cause problems if you keep her here.” “Then we’ll deal with it,” he states. “Just like we have with you. Abbey’s family. Would you kick your family out because you couldn’t trust the people who were guests in your home?” Fair point. “Still think you’re setting yourself up for trouble, is all.” Only if you’re around . . . . King places his tumbler down and swivels in the chair to lean his elbows on the desk. “What’s it to you anyway?” Yes . . . do tell . . . . “Just pointin’ out issues where I see ’em.” “Bullshit. You got a thing for her? You goin’ to be the trouble you’re talkin’ about?” “No.” Yes. “Then let it go.” He studies me a moment from the corner of his eye, taking a mouthful of drink. “What else is the problem?” My fingers walk a path up and down the side of my boot propped on the opposite knee. “I can’t trust a few of the guys not to take tonight as an opportunity for revenge.” He nods, seeming to think it over. “I’ll talk to them.” “You think that’ll be enough?” He shrugs. “I hope so, but I can see why you’re worried.” “You traded me back to the old man knowin’ it might have meant death for me.” “Yeah, we did. But we also traded you back knowing that whatever fate had in store for you would be fair punishment. And apparently, fate smiles down on you.” I chuckle, fingering the arm of my chair. “You believe that hocus-pocus shit?” “Had too many unexplained close calls to think otherwise.” Maybe he’s right? Maybe I do have a guardian angel? Only one person I could think of who’d care enough to see me saved. She proved that . . . . Yeah, she did. God, I miss her.
“You all right?” King asks. “Peachy, brother.” I push out of his office chair, shoving memories of my mother back in the box they belong in. “We done here?” “For now.” He stands also. “I’ve got some business to sort out off-site, so if you want to use my office to talk to Ramona like we discussed, you’re welcome to.” “Thanks.” He halts me as I turn to leave. “Sawyer.” “Yeah?” King rounds the desk, and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back. But I won’t lie, you’ve got a fuckin’ uphill battle ahead of you if you want to prove redemption.” “I know that.” “But I also want you to realize that you’ve got a chance at it. There’s a good guy in here”—he prods my chest—“when you don’t let your head take over.” Well, he’s no fun . . . . “All I can do is try, right?” “Right.” He gives me a slap on the back of the shoulder. “Now go do whatever the fuck it is you do to work out your tension, because you’re strung tight as a wire at the moment and I don’t need you breakin’ tonight.” He takes his leave first, heading across the common room to the garage as I step out of his office and look around. Grates for the meat are being placed over the fire pits out the back, and a couple of prospects are unfolding tables from where they’re stacked against the wall. Ramona backs into the kitchen, an armful of bags that look like they contain disposable plates stealing her focus, which means she doesn’t spot me. I cross to the bar and take a seat on one of the vacant stools. “Give it to me straight.” Abbey falters, coming close to dropping the bottle in her hands before she carefully sets it on a shelf. “You’re an asshole who keeps startling the hell out of me.” I stare at her back as she refuses to face me, surprised the earlier stammer has gone. She slowly turns, catches me looking, and frowns. “What? You said to give it to you straight.” “Not so scared now, mouse?” Her gaze drops, flicks back to mine, and then drops again. “Still nervous,” she admits, “but I’m also fucking livid at the moment, and when I’m angry there’s not as much room for being worried.” “Worried about what?” “Everything.” The heartache in her whispered answer even has my devil setting his drink aside to lean a little closer. “Someone pickin’ on you?” Her bitter laugh catches me off guard as she slides my straight whiskey over. “Apart from me,” I say, rolling my eyes. She drops her chin, staring at the counter where her hands fidget with the droplets of moisture left behind. “Take that as a yes?” Her head lifts as she sighs. “It wouldn’t be a day in this place if I wasn’t being ridiculed or bullied one way or another.” Abbey’s gaze holds mine, and for the first time since I left Dana bleeding out on the old man’s lawn, I wilt under the truth in her words. I picked on her. I ridiculed her. You can’t help what you are . . . . Maybe not. But I can aim for what I want to be. And an asshole that exploits people’s weaknesses
isn’t it. Not your fault she has so many . . . . Probably not hers either. “Yeah, just what I thought,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s below you to even consider apologizing to a weirdo like me.” She tries to leave, heading for the far end of the bar. I narrowly avoid spilling my drink as I launch across the counter and grab her wrist. “Wait.” Wrong move . . . . You don’t say. She squeals like a stuck pig and folds in on herself, slapping my hand away. “Stop fucking touching me!” Game on. I let go, and her eyes go wide as I step around the stool and join her on the far side of the bar. “Let’s get something straight,” I say, crowding her against the counter. “Ain’t no bitch around here who’s been able to tell me what to do, and that isn’t about to change now.” “Is that so?” “It is,” I reply, reaching for her face. She just needs someone to show her that the right attention isn’t something to be feared. And that’s you . . .? Abbey slams my hand down with the kind of force I wouldn’t have thought her capable of. “Touch me again,” she dares. “Touch me and see what I do when I get really uncomfortable.” Oh, I’ve heard what she does. Seen the aftermath. “I already know, Abbey-girl, and you don’t scare me one bit.” “Back up. Please.” “Or?” She closes her eyes, swallowing hard. “I can’t breathe very well.” “I have that effect on some people,” I tease. “I’m serious,” she whispers. “I need—” Oh, my . . . . Her eyes roll back and she crumples at my feet like a damn accordion. Shit. She wasn’t kidding. I give her a nudge with my boot, but the girl’s out cold. Well, well . . . the things we could do . . . . Fuck off, asshole. Past me might have taken advantage of this, but the new me is trying to ignore the fact I could touch her, photograph the evidence, and use it to fuck with her when she wakes up. I look around the common room—equal parts for help and to see if anyone noticed—but the young guys from earlier have disappeared, and Ramona’s still in the kitchen, at a guess. Just a little bit . . . she won’t know . . . . Maybe not, but I will. I’ll know. She doesn’t stir as I pick her up and hold her to my chest. Do I put her over on one of the sofas? What if she stays out to it and some of the assholes from down south roll in? Maybe King’s lot has clear ethics, but I know Hooch’s boys can get a bit dubious about consent. Don’t do it . . . . What choice do I have? I head for the stairs, hoisting Abbey a little higher so she’s not weighing so heavily on one of the stitched gashes on my forearm. I reach the head of the stairs just as the damn bitch decides to come out of her sleep, limbs and all. “What the hell?” she cries, tumbling to the floor as I fail to keep a grip on her flailing arms and legs.
“You passed out.” “So you thought you’d just pick me up and do what?” Angry tears crest her cheeks. “Put you in my bed, if you must know.” “Oh my God,” she moans. “You fucking pig!” “Not like that.” I run a palm over my face, exasperated. “I meant to keep you out of the way.” “Because I was an embarrassment?” She nods bitterly. “I get it. Silly Abbey can’t keep her shit together.” The tears fall harder. Dear Lord, make it stop . . . . “Don’t cry,” I say. “I can’t handle bitches when they cry.” Her face is a pure storm as she stands and straightens her skintight clothes. “So sorry to inconvenience you.” What is her deal? What the actual fuck is her problem? Her words, her behavior, and the look in her eyes: they all contradict. I’m confused as fuck with her, more than I usually am when it comes to females. I let my gaze drop to her round butt as she turns away to wipe her eyes, and the curiosity wins. “Why do you fuckin’ dress like that?” I blurt. “You don’t want to be touched, and yet you walk around the fuckin’ place like a candy in a wrapper, beggin’ to be licked.” Her eyes go wide, and her eyebrows peak. “Pardon?” “The leather pants, the cropped shirt showing your flat-as-hell stomach, for fuck’s sake. Why?” “I . . . .” She looks down at her clothes. “It makes me fit in.” “Jesus,” I mutter, turning away. “Everyone else jump off a cliff, would you do it too?” Show her what happens when she wants to fit in . . . . Show her what that kind of clothing invites . . . . Seriously, dude. Fuck off. “I’m just going to . . . .” She points down the stairs. “I need to go watch the bar.” I stay rigid as she edges around me and makes her way down the first few steps. “You need to change,” I manage to growl before she’s out of earshot. “Why?” She stops, staring back up at me. Such perfect lips . . . . You don’t say. “Because if you stay wearin’ that shit tonight, I can personally guarantee you’ll get in a whole heap of trouble that involves a lot more touchin’, in a lot more places.” She blushes, and then spins to dash down the last of the stairs before I have a chance to say anything more. This one is going to be so much fun to break . . . .
SIX Abbey Over the course of the afternoon, the sister chapters begin to filter into the club. Officers, ol’ ladies, and their kids crowd the common room, the noise level inching up as conversations strike between friends old and new. It’s a right family affair, this revenge business. Women aren’t supposed to be privy to the goings-on of the club, but the men aren’t all that great at keeping the conversation behind closed doors, so with a set of keen ears a girl can learn plenty about what’s going down between Carlos and our club. Lips have a habit of becoming even looser when there’s liquor involved, and I’m supplying that in spades. “You’re too good to us ugly sons o’ bitches,” Crackers, the Fort Worth VP, drawls as I pass him his favorite drink. “Got be good for something, right?” He raises his bottle in toast, and then spins to rejoin the rest of his crew. Hooch catches my eye from across the room, and I shy away, busying myself topping up the sodas for the kids. I know what he’ll want, and I don’t know if I can give that tonight. My head’s been a mess since Sawyer pulled whatever that was on me at the top of the stairs. For a guy who enjoys mocking the hell out of my shortcomings, he sure seemed pretty damn interested in everything else I’ve got to offer. I’m not so sure how I feel about that. After all, no matter how nice a man is, no matter how sweet they appear to be, underneath the layers is the same primal animal that just wants one thing out of women—somewhere to stick it when he feels the urge. And Sawyer? He’s the most primal man of them all. Probably thought he was in for an easy ride with me being out to it and all. Not as though I’d get a heart-to-heart anytime soon, now, is it. Especially not when he’s stalking across the room, zeroed in on Ramona like that. Bitch. She doesn’t deserve him. Yes, he put her through hell, but the woman was fucking another one of the brothers behind his back. How’s that for loyalty? I’m so focused on their interaction as he shepherds her through the kitchen door, away from prying eyes, that I don’t realize one of the prospects from Cali is calling my name until he reaches out and catches my arm. I jerk back with a hiss between my teeth and scowl at him. “Settle down, babe.” His smile is easy, his demeanor anything but. “How about a top-up?” He waggles his empty tumbler at me. The way he smirks after he’s said it. The casual way he has one elbow propped on the bar as he clearly checks the length of me out. The color of his hair. Fuck, even the way his ears fold in toward his head at the middle of the shell. Everything about him sends me screaming back fifteen years to a time I’d rather forget. “How about a top-up, Abbey?” Evan holds his glass out to me, jerking his chin toward the bottle of dark stuff on the side table. I take the cup in both hands and cross the room to where he wants me to go. But the bottle is big and I don’t know if I can pour his drink okay. Momma’s only just started letting me get my own juice, but only when the bottle is mostly empty.
I wish Momma were here. She’d be able to get his drink. She could pour it for me, and then I could carry it over to Evan so he’d be happy with me still. I like it when he’s happy with me. “Hurry up, girl. I’m getting mighty thirsty over here.” I set the cup down, take the lid off the dark drink he likes so much, and curl my nose at the smell as I tip the bottle over, using both my hands to be super careful. But I’m clumsy, and I can’t help it—the bottle tips too fast and his drink spills over the side. “What you fuckin’ doin’, Abbey?” He’s out of his chair, unbuckling his belt as he walks my way. I drop the bottle on the floor, drink splashing over my toes as I step back into the wall and lift my hands. “I’m sorry, Evan. I didn’t mean to make a mess.” “Jesus, girl. How many times do I have to tell your retarded fuckin’ ass to call me Daddy?” I don’t though. I don’t call him anything as he lashes that belt over me again and again. Because why would I when he ain’t my daddy and I hope he never really is? Momma told me my daddy is a brave man, that my daddy was a hero when he died. This man ain’t a hero. Hers or mine. He’s just plain old mean. “I don’t know what happened,” the prospect hollers as I come around. “One minute the slut is fuckin’ around gettin’ me a drink, and the next she’s just starin’ off into nothin’.” “You best be headin’ outside to cool off, son.” Hooch. “If I so much as hear you whisper anythin’ like that about Abbey again, I’ll personally rearrange your face.” “I—I’m . . . .” My voice is weak, and he doesn’t hear me as I try to get his attention. “Same goes for the rest of you,” Hooch warns, standing with his back to me as he blocks my view of the people crowded around the spectacle. “We have one fuckin’ rule that’s easy to follow around here, and that’s to respect our women. Now get,” he bellows. People scarper left and right, blending back into the masses going about their evening like nothing is amiss. I guess for them it isn’t. “I’m okay,” I finally manage to get out. Hooch spins, a frown pulling his brow in. “No, you ain’t.” He half turns, lifting his chin to see over the heads of the people milling by the bar. “Dog!” “Yeah?” comes back from the crowd, the attractive young blond pushing his way through people to reach us. “Cover the bar for a bit.” “Sure thing.” He gives me a sly wink as I let Hooch guide me from the area. We round the bar just in time for me to see Sawyer lead Ramona into King’s office. I dig my heels in, Hooch crashing into my back, my heart racing as she follows Sawyer and closes the door. “What you lookin’ at?” Hooch follows my line of sight, but finds nothing except the office door. “Nothing important,” I say on a sigh, passing him and heading for the back deck. He shadows me into the dim light, lifting a hand to acknowledge our Cali president, Tap, sitting off to our right as he sucks back a smoke. “What did you want me for?” I ask. “What do you think?” he deadpans. I could count the people who know some of my history on one hand, and Hooch, he has one of those fingers earmarked as his. A night of weakness, too much alcohol, and a sniff of the good coke he always carries, and I let him in on part of why I ran away to try my luck on the streets. “I’m fine. I just . . . I haven’t been sleeping too well.”
“Me either.” He reaches out, using a huge bear paw to gently sweep my hair free of my face. I stiffen, but allow it, because after all, it’s Hooch, a guy I trust to keep my best interests at heart, one of the few men who look out for me with no expectation of anything in return. The man I trusted enough to lose my virginity to in another drug-induced moment of weakness. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m being so selfish.” He’s just lost his father and sister to Sawyer ’s old man, and here I am bleeding on about nightmares. “You weren’t doin’ it on purpose.” Hooch avoids my concerned gaze. “Still.” “Still.” I tentatively place my hand over his. He turns his palm over and links his thick fingers around mine. It’s awkward, but needed. I can suffer for a while if it helps him heal. “I’m sorry I missed the funerals.” It had to have been hard on Hooch, losing close to his entire family in the same week. “You didn’t miss much,” he says quietly. “It was fuckin’ weird to be honest. Like havin’ a party without the guest of honor.” Neither body made it out of Carlos’ compound. Neither family member had a chance at being laid to rest properly. “I can’t even guess how that feels.” He gives my hand a light squeeze and then lets go, sucking in a huge breath as he shuts down and returns to the hard-ass joker everyone knows and loves. “You ready to tell me what’s keepin’ you awake at night, then?” I stare out over the backyard, steal a glance at Tap, and then settle my gaze on my boots as I scuff them in arcs on the timber decking. “I’ve been getting a lot of memories haunting me lately.” “Any reason why?” I shrug. “Just stuff that triggers them, like the same smell, same song, same words.” He studies my face for a second while Tap passes us to go back inside. Certain we’re out of earshot again, he continues. “Anything else settin’ you off? Anyone in particular upsettin’ you?” “Apart from that idiot newbie in there?” I huff. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He nods slowly, stepping away to take a seat on the top step of the stairs that lead down to the lawn. His huge hand pats the wood by his side. I obey and take a spot beside him. “You went out on that bender a few months back, and when you got back we honestly thought you’d found somethin’ out there on the road that helped you. You were . . . different when you returned from your road trip, Abbey.” “I know.” “So what changed?” “I realized that it would take more than a weeklong roadie to fix who I am.” I look to my hands where they hang between my knees. “Coming home just reminded me of everything I was trying to escape.” “You sayin’ that it’s this place that brings you down?” “I guess I am, a little.” He grumbles, staring out over the moonlit grass. “You’ve got a hell of a lotta people here who care a great deal about you, kid.” I nod, fidgeting with my nails. Wish everyone would stop calling me that. “And I know you have trouble trustin’ and opening up to people, but girl, if we can help share that load you carry around every day, you know we will.” “It’s not your burden, Hooch.”
“If it makes you upset, which in turn makes us feel bad, then yeah it is, love.” He leans away from me to pull a small tinderbox from his pocket. “You might think hidin’ your problems is what everyone wants you to do, but don’t you think if you actually shared some of your past with the people in there then they might not look at you so strange when you go . . . into your head?” “The way I see it, it’ll just give them one more reason to cut me out.” “I don’t think so,” he says on a sigh. “Half them fuckers have histories just as twisted as yours, Abbey. Like minds, and all that.” I sigh, leaning back to rest my weight on both palms. “Really?” “Really,” he says. “Take Jo-Jo, for example. Ever wonder how he got those scars on his wrists?” He carefully places a small pile of white powder in the indent of his forefinger and thumb, sets the tinderbox down, and inhales the dust with a satisfied groan. “I always assumed Jo-Jo’s injuries were self-inflicted.” I lean forward, eyeing my own scars. Hooch reaches out, taking my left wrist in his hand and running his thumb over the bumps. “Nope. He got them scars when somebody he trusted turned rat on him, and the cartel in his hometown thought they’d make an example of him.” I frown, watching Hooch’s thumb as he appears to soothe the healed flesh. “He got crucified, full on hammer and spike deal, in his town square.” “Jesus.” “Wasn’t there to save him that day.” He lets go of my arm, and repeats the process with his coke. “That shit will be the death of you if you don’t slow down.” “That’s the plan,” he states simply. I frown, shaking my head at the guy. Here he is giving me a lecture about trusting those who love you with your troubles, and yet he can’t follow his own advice. “You wanna talk more about it?” “Maybe later,” he says quietly. “I need to keep those idiots in there under control; make sure they don’t overdo it.” He turns to look at me, his hard, dark eyes searching for something he seems not to find. “You got room for me still?” Every time he visits he ends up in my bed. Sometimes we fuck. Sometimes we don’t. And tonight I get the feeling it’ll be one of the nights where all he’s after is company, which suits me just fine. He never tries to force things with me, letting me set my own pace as to how close I want to get. It’s like therapy for our guarded hearts. I get the relief that I don’t trust anyone else to give, and he gets a nostrings release that doesn’t complicate his newfound presidency, or his previous VP status. “I still got room,” I say. There’s never been anything more than a deep admiration as friends between us, but then again, I’ve also never been interested in anybody else on this level. Only, it’s not in a platonic way when it comes to Sawyer, and considering his entitled fucking attitude makes me want to punch him in the face, I can’t figure out why. Especially when he’s just carted his woman into the president’s office to do God only knows what with.
SEVEN Sawyer I needed to hold her, reassure myself that she’s okay and there’s at least one person in this fucked-up world I haven’t sentenced to death by association. And she let me. Ramona and I went into King’s office last night, and she climbed on my lap like old times and simply held me. Nothing else was said. Nothing needed to be. All I want to know, is that my boy will grow up with his mother by his side, not spending a lifetime planning how to best get revenge on the son of a bitch who killed her . . . like I have. That ain’t no way for anybody to live their life. But what Ramona never told me was that she’d moved on. I spent a week in my father ’s hell, three more recovering, and never once did anyone think to fucking say she’d given herself over to someone else. The friend of the guy I killed a couple of months back, of all people. A Butcher Boy; our newfound allies in the battle against my father ’s oppression. I’d always planned to give her up, to let her go, cut the leash and give Ramona the freedom she deserves from me. But knowing the decision’s been made for me? That somebody’s stolen her away before I had the chance to bring the idea up first? Yeah, not cool with that. What you going to do about it then . . . ? Not sure, old buddy. Not sure. Especially seeing as the guy told Hooch last night that he’d be watching me, waiting for me to slip up again, and when I did he’d be there to deal. I might be worried about it if the jerk wasn’t such a straight-and-narrow kind of fucker. Ty, his name is. And from what I’ve learnt, he’s the Butcher Boys’ pencil pusher. The logistics guy. No match for me at all. Still, never stopped you before . . . . I won’t lie—it amused me no end at the meeting today when the whole fucking table was giving him the side-eye. Good to know that after everything, my brothers still have my back. He’s going to be the one in charge of arranging how King’s plan goes down. This guy who’s taken my woman while I was safely tucked away out of town is going to decide how we take my father off his throne. But she’s not your woman . . . . No. She ain’t. Really must get used to that. I shouldn’t complain. He’s good for Ramona, and if she’s happy playing families with some rich guy who can take good care of her and provide for Mack, I’ve got to be man enough to admit defeat when it’s due. After all, what the hell can I offer my son? Life with a schizophrenic father who flips the switch to crazy on a regular basis? Who says you flip? Aren’t you always this way . . . ? That’s exactly the problem, isn’t it. Do I snap and lose control from time to time, or am I always mad? I can’t even tell the difference anymore. I’ll take care of you . . . . You always do.
A few of the older members without families to rush home to still hang about in the common room nursing hangovers as I make my way across the floor. Most of the visitors left late afternoon, the meeting a flying visit, but not Hooch. Can’t say that made me too happy. I mean, the guy’s great and all that, but when I heard who he bunked with last night . . . . Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why I haven’t seen Abbey all day: girl is guilty as sin. She’s just lucky I’ve been preoccupied with the meeting. I did as King asked and addressed my brothers. Understandably, they weren’t too happy to hear that my old man plans to use the Fallen Aces as the fall guy for his drug operation. He wants these people wheeling and dealing like puppets on a string. If King gets his way, it’ll never happen. Stranger things have . . . . The Aces haven’t dealt in drugs for the fifty or so years they’ve been in operation, and my pick is King ain’t the kind of guy to see that changed long-term. He may need what the old man’s got to offer to drag this club’s finances out of the shit, but he hates my father enough that he’d never enter into a long-term deal with him—call it remnants of his time fucking Dad’s wife in an affair that went south. Sly old dog . . . . But hey, if it leads to us ultimately walking into my father ’s property with the sole purpose of taking him out, I’m in. Fuck knows I couldn’t do it on my own—tried, failed, repeated history. I hesitate just past the bar as the memory of the scuffle on the old man’s lawn plays fresh in my mind. The devil camped out upstairs runs his bony fingers over the image, frustrated also that it didn’t turn out like we’d always dreamed. He sits back with a sigh as I spin around and march over to the abandoned bar, swipe a half-empty bottle of Jack, and seat my ass on the only free sofa. “You were a mistake at the start, and it seems you’ll be a mistake at the end.” “I’m not a mistake, old man. I’m just not you.” My father wanted a prince to ascend to his throne when he passes. He wanted a clone, a kid he could shape and mold to his own image. And all he got was a psychotic son so messed up by witnessing his mother ’s murder that he became obsessed with taking control of what he had none over at the time: death. But you enjoy it so . . . . The power, the control over the very thing everybody on this earth has in common: the desire to stay alive. Sure. Who wouldn’t? Primal instinct doesn’t care what neighborhood you grew up in. It doesn’t care who you know, or your reasons for being where you are. It just wants you to take that next breath, whether you deserve it or not. Do you . . . ? I throw my head back, bottle to my lips, and let the searing liquid burn a path down my throat. Part of me feels better for taking that first step to letting Ramona go. Another loose end from my past tied up—as best I can, when my son will always keep us together to some degree. But the victory over my abusive past is bittersweet when I think of the woman who sparked the change in me: Dana. I swore she’d be mine, and that I’d drag her from hell and make her my queen. But the more the days pass by, the more life goes on same as it always has, the more I find myself thinking she was only ever meant to be that: a spark to ignite the fire. A sacrificial lamb . . . . However you want to put it. What we had couldn’t have been more than lust. Shit, we only had a couple of days together. Is that long enough to know love? The answer to that is upstairs . . . .
Fuck. He’s right, for a change. As if I’m ever wrong . . . . She looked at me yesterday like she needed me. The hope in Abbey’s eyes said she thought that I could help her, not that she wanted to fix me like so many others do. I’d say I don’t care, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it, when it’s all my thoughts have come around to over and over all goddamn day. What makes you think you could be saved, anyway . . .? I don’t know that I can. All I know is that when I find the one, the woman who feels the same distress in her soul as I do, that somehow her shattered heart will melt into mine and make me whole again. That her missing pieces will match what I have left, and between the two of us we can pretend to be something we’ll never be: normal. Then hunt her . . . . I don’t want to. Why not . . .? Because if I screw up—which I always do—a soul as fragile as hers would shatter in my hands. I’d ruin her. I’d fucking well kill her. She’s not strong enough to handle me and all the complications that come with that kind of familiarity. So . . .? So, I’d rather leave her to her own hell. Let her destroy herself instead of accelerating the process. Sure, I’ve fucked up in the past and used people for my own gain, but why should my shortcomings be the measure of who I am? Perhaps the glass is half-full rather than half-empty? It’s all a case of perspective. To mend the damaged parts of me, I’m going to need a strong woman. And Abbey? Yeah, well we all know how strong she isn’t. Going after someone as impaired as her to feel the hero isn’t anything but selfishness on my part. And when have you ever been selfless . . .? Never too late to start something new, good buddy. But where does this leave me . . .? I shrug, physically answering the voice in my head as I take another pull of the hard stuff. Will he stay? Or by killing off the bad habits I’ve accumulated over the years, will I kill him too? Who would know? Would you even miss me . . .? A month ago, I would have said no. But now? Now, what . . .? You’re a part of me, as much as I don’t want you to know I realize that. Killing you would be like . . . I don’t know. I can’t say killing family, because isn’t that what I’m gearing up to do? My devil claps excitedly, anticipating the best . . . or worst, depending on who you are in the situation. “Hey, Sawyer!” a young prospect hollers from the door to the yard. “What’s with the noise, kid?” I ask, slowly extracting myself from the comfy cushions. “You better get your ass outside, man.” “What the fuck for?” It’s late. I’m tired. And unless my goddamn father is standing out there with a bull’s-eye on his chest, I couldn’t care less. “Ramona. She’s fucking stumbled in the gate with your kid in her arms, man. She looks pretty shook up.” Or maybe I could. And all the hens come home to roost . . . . The leftover Jack spills out over the bar, the bottle tipping in my haste to set it down. I shove the kid
out of the way, jogging out to the dirt yard to find King a couple of yards ahead of me, coming from the garage. Mighty, and that asshole Ramona’s fucking, Ty, crowd around her. She’s silent, in nothing but her damn sleepwear, and my boy is shivering in her arms . . . at close to midnight. “Everything was fine when I left this morning,” the cocksucker Ty says. “You were there this morning?” I holler. Here I am giving myself shit for being too hard on her for thinking of dating another guy before we’ve wrapped shit up between us, and he’s already making house with her. “Daddy!” Mack wriggles to get free of his momma. “Mack, buddy. Are you okay?” I shoulder the Harvard asshole out of the way and bend down to pull Mack to my side. He shivers in my hold as Ramona states the fucking obvious. “He’s too cold.” Bundling him in my jacket, I pull him close to my legs for warmth as I look her over. She’s got a few cuts and scrapes, but nothing too serious. Whatever happened though, it shook her up pretty fucking bad, and that’s saying something for a woman who’s put up with my shit over the years. “What happened, sugar?” A blanket is passed in, and her pussy boyfriend wraps it over her shoulders. “He was just a . . . message,” she barely manages to whisper. Ty bundles her up as she succumbs to exhaustion, and carries her inside while I try to figure out who “he” is. I reach down and place my hand on the back of Mack’s neck, finding comfort in the warmth that builds now he’s wrapped up and protected from the cold night air. King steps beside me and frowns as the door to the clubhouse closes after Ramona. “I ain’t got a fuckin’ clue what she’s on about, brother, but I’ll find out and let you know.” He glances down at Mack, and rests a hand on his shoulder. “You just take care of this one.” He heads toward the clubhouse, leaving me with Mack, who now peers up from where his head rests on my hip. “Mommy was brave, Dad.” I crouch down and wrap my arms under his, hoisting him up, jacket and all. “I bet she was.” He nestles into my shoulder, watching our path as I walk us toward warmth and security. “Now, son, how about you tell me what happened.” *** “Step away!” Callum hollers as I shove Dog to the floor and make a beeline for my bike. “Now isn’t the time to go off half-cocked, man.” “Who’s going off half-cocked?” I yell, my neck straining with the force. “I’m completely ready to take that fucker down.” As am I . . . . Callum didn’t have to fucking hold his son while the kid cried. He didn’t have to reassure a goddamn child that he wasn’t responsible, and nothing he could have done would have changed the outcome. And he didn’t have to look at the confusion and heartbreak in his kid’s eyes while the boy tried to work out what he did wrong to make his grandfather send men with guns to shoot the shit out of their house. My old man, my fucking father, put the frights up the wrong fucking family tonight. He overstepped one boundary too many in his crusade to hit me where it hurts. And now he’ll be the one crying, begging for respite . . . .
“Open the fuckin’ door.” I straddle the bike and move to kick the stand up, but Mighty drags me off over the tail. I swing wildly with my left hand at the big bastard, but he takes what hits I manage to land with a grunt, struggling to keep hold. I break free, shoving him backward into a couple of bikes before trying again to get mine going. I manage as far as turning the engine over before a two-pronged attack from Callum and Mighty has me under the biggest son of a bitch’s weight while Callum kicks my stand back out. “Just let me go,” I holler at the two of them. “He’s fuckin’ dead. That air-wastin’ motherfucker is dead!” “Not tonight,” Callum grinds out, setting my bike’s weight on the stand and switching it off. Mighty shifts position on top of me, doing everything he can to weigh me down with his forearm while he readies himself to stand. I bide my time, anger causing my limbs to twitch with unspent energy, and wait until he’s at his weakest, when his weight shifts between kneeling and standing. He goes down like a ton of bricks, Callum leaping backward to avoid being knocked over in the aftermath. “Dog,” I shout to the kid as he stands near the door to the common room, clearly unsure what to do. “Open the roller.” His eyes flick to the control by the internal door, and he swallows. Don’t say it, little boy . . . don’t invite trouble . . . . “No.” He juts his chin out defiantly. The other two idiots alternate between watching me and checking what Dog’s going to do. “I’m goin’ to get King.” “Like fuck you are.” Callum’s hands shoot up, Mighty uttering a quiet “Easy now” as I point my piece at the kid. “Open the door, Dog.” He frowns and hits the switch with a sigh. The roller starts its ascent. “Anybody moves and I swear to fuckin’ God I’ll take him out.” It’s low, it’s filthy, and it’s totally unfair for the kid who’s just doing his job, but needs must. I keep my gun trained on Dog as I inch toward my bike. With a great deal of effort, I manage to remount, kick the stand up, and start the engine, all while keeping the barrel firmly pointed in his direction. Go, before they stop you again . . . . “Nobody fuckin’ try anythin’ stupid,” I say, waving my gun between the three of them. “You’re the only one making stupid decisions right now, brother,” Callum mutters. “Why would that be?” I ask, tucking my gun back in my waistband. He frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “How you planning on gettin’ into your old man’s place, huh? You barely made it out past his security. Don’t you think he might have a few more men nowadays?” “A risk I’ll take.” I gun the engine to drown out his reply, and pull out of rank toward the exit. The three of them stand stock-still in my mirrors as I cross onto the dirt. Positive I’ve got my exit sorted, I wind open the throttle and aim for the open gate. They never leave the gate open . . . especially on a night like tonight . . . . The devil’s words ring true too late. My front wheel tangles on the chain they’ve hastily strung low between the posts at the exact same moment that King steps out of the shadows and swings a crude makeshift bat into my chest, knocking me off the falling bike and taking the wind from me. “Sorry, buddy, but you ain’t goin’ anywhere tonight.” He leans over and offers his hand. My bike still revs where it’s ended up, dented, scratched, and useless on the driveway. Do it . . . . I meet his gaze, my friend, my brother-in-arms, my president, and reach for his hand. Our fingers
lock, and he pulls hard to try and haul me up, yet I pull back twice as rough and yank him off balance. King hits the dirt shoulder first, cursing loudly as Mighty and Callum run across from the garage. Dog trails behind, probably still nervous that I’ll shoot his sorry ass. We may yet . . . . I push to my feet, hands fisted at my sides as I shake my head at the cowards. “None of you fuckers goin’ to admit you’d do the same?” I yell. “He came after my fuckin’ family, my son.” “We get that,” Callum says, hands raised to try and placate me. It infuriates me further. “But we’re also thinkin’ of you, brother. Mack needs both his parents breathin’, not you going off on a fuckin’ solo crusade that’s bound to get you killed.” King jerks his head, his expression pained. “Fuck, man, just think about what you’re doin’.” “I am,” I growl. “And right fuckin’ now I’m goin’ inside to get the truck keys. You might have fucked my bike, assholes, but you ain’t stoppin’ me that easy.” I lunge forward, striding for the clubhouse, and almost miss the small nod Callum gives Mighty. The big son of a bitch brings his right arm around as I pass him by, producing a steel bar from behind his leg that he slams into the back of my knees. I hit the ground, cursing him out as my legs tingle, weak and next to useless. And you call them your friends . . . . Still better than my enemies, though, aren’t they? “Give it up, Sawyer.” One foot up, bend at the knee, and push. I can do this. Whack. “Jesus Christ, give a man a break,” I half laugh, half say. Knuckles pushed into the dirt, brace that leg, and go. Whack. I draw in a deep breath, having managed to stay on my feet this time, and slowly turn to look at Mighty standing there with the goddamn bar over his shoulder. He raises both eyebrows and shrugs as though saying, “What do you expect?” A bit more respect . . . and a healthy dose of fear. But they don’t fear me anymore, these bastards. I’m no scarier than a misbehaving toddler, which is exactly what they’re treating me like. “Get inside, Sawyer,” King instructs. “Get fucked,” I grit between my teeth. Shoulders back and head held high, I turn and opt for plan C—walking out of here. One of the assholes moves, the scuff of his boots on the dirt giving it away. I break into a run, laughing maniacally as I’m crash-tackled to the ground yet again by that unrelenting fucker, Mighty. “You ever thought about tryin’ out for a sports team, man?” He grins down at me, and wrestles my hand to my side. I buck, thrash, and bite so hard that I draw blood, but he’s not put off easy. Level up, son . . . end this ridiculous show . . . . I give in, submit to my devil’s whim, and let go of the ropes tethering me to the shore of sanity. The flash of concern in Mighty’s eyes as I flip the switch fuels me. As does the worry in Callum’s voice as he hollers something to Dog. But I pay no mind. Fists fly, I make ten yards, and then I’m brought to ground again. The process repeats over and over, Mighty growing tired the longer I keep up the fight. I’m close, so fucking close to making it off this compound and walking, hitching, or goddamn
running to my old man’s house if I have to, when a sharp prick in my leg has me frowning with confusion. “What did you . . .?” Fuzzy. Those fuckers go fuzzy as hell, blending into one, spreading out to four, and settling on the clearly defined outline of two. Mighty and . . . be easier if the fucker wasn’t so blurry . . . there it is . . . Dog. With a motherfuckin’ syringe jammed in my thigh. “Nighty-night, big boy.”
EIGHT Abbey He’s a damn angel when he sleeps. So at peace, so untroubled, so . . . normal looking. “What did you do to him?” King scrubs a hand over his face as he looks down at Sawyer passed out on the sofa. “Gave him a heavy dose of ketamine.” “You fucking tranquilized him?” I exclaim. He looks at me with nothing short of guilt. “What else could we do? Let him go start a fuckin’ war we’re not ready for? Or get his ass killed? You think Ramona and Mack need that as well after what happened tonight?” “Fuck Ramona,” I mutter under my breath, kneeling down beside Sawyer. “You been checking his vitals?” Too much and they run the risk of sending him into a heart attack. “When he got brought in,” King says. “You think you could be a doll and watch him for a while though?” Hooch picks the perfect time to join the spectacle, coming to a stop beside King and turning his mouth down in the corners as he raises his eyebrows. “Ho-lee hell. You really took him down, huh?” “It’s not a joke,” I snap. “They could have fucking killed him.” King stares at the ground, a firm frown in place. I know he wouldn’t have done it on purpose, that this wouldn’t have been his first choice, and he’s right. Sawyer striding into Carlos’ estate like a bull in a china shop, shooting up anything that walks and talks, creating all-out havoc, wouldn’t have been in anyone’s best interests. “I’ll hang out here,” I say calmly. “You go do what you need to, King. I’ll let you know if I get any trouble.” “What are you doin’, Abbey?” Hooch asks, looking between King and me. “She’s keepin’ an eye on Sawyer, checking he doesn’t accidentally OD.” Hooch shakes his head vehemently. “No way.” “Why not?” King asks the question burning in my mind. “You know what the risks are, right?” Hooch asks. “Hallucinations, out-of-body experiences, psychosis—as though he doesn’t have enough of that—and general violence when he comes down.” “I’m well versed on what the drug does,” I tell him. “And I’m pretty fucking experienced in the come down, too.” He stares at me, as does King. Oops. Just let another slice of my history slip. “Evan?” “What the fuck is it now, Abbey?” “Your friend woke up, and she’s being sick on Momma’s bed.” “Aw, shit.” “Sort it out between yourselves,” King says, checking his phone. “But somebody needs to keep an eye on him. I’ll message you a number to call if you need a doctor, Abbey.” Hooch watches King go, waiting until he’s through the garage door before he settles on the armchair opposite where I kneel. I lift Sawyer ’s arm from where it rests over the edge of the sofa and
feel for his pulse. It’s quick, but nothing to be concerned about. “He’s going to wake up in the next hour,” Hooch says. “K doesn’t last that long.” “I know.” “Why do you like him so much, Abbey?” He settles back in the seat, no ounce of malice in his question as he crosses one ankle to the opposite knee. I shrug, looking over Sawyer ’s sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and long eyelashes. “When I look at him, I feel as though I’m looking in a mirror.” Hooch snorts. “Right. Last I checked you didn’t have a double-digit body count to your name. Hell, any for that matter.” “I do.” He twitches a frown. “What?” “I said I do have a body count. Two.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as I gently tuck Sawyer ’s arm beside his big body. “You’ve killed, Abbey?” His voice rises an octave, giving away just how unbelievable he thinks the possibility is. “There’s a lot about me nobody knows,” I answer, settling with my ribs to the sofa, legs kicked out to the side. “There were a lot of things I was made to do before I was old enough to understand the consequences.” “Talk to me.” “I don’t want to.” “You need to.” I lift my gaze to his, trying to get him to see sense in this. Uncovering the past does nothing to assist the future. If I’m to move forward, be the woman I want to be, and not the one I was forced into being, then I’ve got to leave the pain and regret where it belongs: behind me. “I want to live a normal life,” I say. “Get married, have kids, hold down a steady paying job, and worry about how I’m going to pay the utilities just like everyone else.” “What’s stopping you?” He reclines into the seat again. “Me. Who I am stops me.” “Why?” “Would you love me?” He takes a moment too long to answer, and my vague hopes crash. “You don’t let anyone love you, Abbey, so no, I probably couldn’t be bothered with the constant battle.” “And there’s my point,” I whisper. He studies my face as Sawyer rolls beside me. I coax pretty boy’s chin up to keep his airway clear, and get comfortable again. “It doesn’t mean we don’t care,” he offers quietly. “But I think if you’re lookin’ to that guy there for answers,” he says, holding a hand toward Sawyer, “you’re looking in the wrong place.” “Because he’s crazy?” “Especially because he’s crazy.” I reach out, gently wiping some stray dirt from the shell of his ear. “What if that’s the key, though? Maybe it takes an unstable mind to understand one?” “And maybe it’ll just ruin you further, give you some new bad habits to add to your collection.” He stands suddenly, sighing as he looks down at the two of us. “Either come and get me, or get one of the boys when Sawyer wakes up. He’s goin’ to be a handful, and I don’t want him hurtin’ you.” “He won’t,” I say, admiring my sleeping beauty. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because if he was truly that evil, he would have taken advantage of my weakness a long time ago.”
NINE Sawyer Jesus Christ, my head. I open my eyes, blink a few times, and try to remember what the hell happened. All I can see is the hazy image of my bike lying wrecked. Did I come off? In a manner of speaking . . . . Damn it. Whatever the hell happened, it wasn’t enough to knock that asshole out of my head. Come on now . . . you’ve got a present waiting for you. A what? My whole body aches as though I’ve been run over. Shit. Maybe I did come off and get in an accident? Do you really think you’re that bad of a rider . . .? He has a point; I have excellent history, so dropping my bike doesn’t sound all that likely. “How you feeling?” I turn my head toward the soft voice behind me, rolling my body over on the sofa so that I face her. Abbey. “Rough.” “I bet.” She reaches out, and fuck me dead, willingly picks up my wrist to feel my pulse. Yeah, it’s quick, sweetheart, but not for the reasons you might think. “What happened?” I ask her. She frowns, tipping her head to one side. “You don’t recall?” I shake mine. “Huh,” she says simply. “Well?” I tuck my left elbow back and push to sit up, yet almost end up on top of her. Not that it would be a bad thing . . . . Back off. “Careful.” She coaxes me back onto the sofa, dusting her hands on her knees after she’s done. “You’ll be a bit wobbly.” “Why do I feel like I’ve had a huge fuckin’ night out with Hooch?” I rub my head, trying to remember anything other than the bike. “There’s no soft way to say this, so I’ll just spit it out.” I ease onto my side to listen to her as she starts to explain, but hold a hand up to stop her, my eyes going wide. “What?” she whispers. “Look.” I point behind her. “Are you seeing it?” “Uh, the wall?” she asks dryly. “The motherfuckin’ March Hare, man. Look at him!” Jesus, I love that crazy bunny. “Okay,” she says, pushing my shoulders to make me lie down. “Time to take it easy for a while.” “Shh,” I whisper. “You’ll scare him away.” How can she not be excited about seeing the March fucking Hare? I loved that story as a kid, the crazy world Alice fell into that made complete and utter sense to all those who lived there. I wanted to live there. “In a nutshell, you had a big dose of ketamine, and you’ll feel a little out of it for a while yet.” “Ketamine?” I’ve never wanted to do that shit. Why try a drug that fucks with your psyche when
your own is bad enough to begin with? “Yeah.” She huffs, looking around. “Stay there.” I eye her long legs as she rises and walks away, her tan skin begging to be stroked right where the frayed edge of her cut-offs rides her ass. My pulse pounds thick in my temple as I lie back and stare up at the vaulted ceiling above me. The Cheshire Cat appears in a cloud of magical blue mist, hovering a few feet above my head. I reach out to touch him, but he vanishes, only to reappear on my goddamn toes. You’ve really lost it now. My devil collapses over his desk, head in his arms. “You’re so cool,” I whisper to the cat, unable to contain my excitement. His trademark smile spreads, and his body fades away. I clap my hands rapidly, laughing at the fucking mystery of it all. How does he do it? “He’s a show-off,” a clipped voice to my right announces. “Never did like the fellow.” I turn my head slowly, huge fucking smile on my face, and laugh in disbelief when I find the Mad Hatter leaning over the back of the sofa. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding.” “I’ve lost something,” he announces, adjusting his oversized hat. “It’s small, furry, and very noisy. Never shuts up.” His eyes go wide, the pupils stretching and shrinking. “Have you seen it?” “No,” I say. “Nowhere.” “Nowhere, what?” Abbey asks. Poof. They’re all gone. “Great,” I moan. “You scared them away.” “Who?” she asks with one eyebrow cocked. Hooch stands behind her, arms folded. “Doesn’t matter.” “How much did they give him?” Hooch asks. “Who’s they?” I ask at the same time Abbey says, “Too much.” “I’ll take over from here.” Hooch stands tall as he sighs, resting both hands on his head. “You go give Fingers a hand with that mess he’s got to sort out, yeah?’” Abbey nods, giving me one last look before she leaves . . . and smiles. Yep, I’m definitely high if I think that crazed woman would want to smile at me. She steps back, and crosses behind Hooch to head for the garage. No. Don’t go . . . . “Right then, big boy,” Hooch says, moving into my line of sight so I can’t see her anymore. “Let’s detox.” *** Knock a man out for a while, and the whole world goes to the dogs. The rage from last night returns tenfold when Hooch recounts what the hell happened to send me so far off the rails they thought it would be best to sedate me. Only this time I have the clarity to realize that going in without a plan and without support is assisted suicide. “We’re not lettin’ him get away with what he’s done,” Hooch reassures me as he stares out over the backyard. “We’re just makin’ sure we don’t rush things.” “I know.” I scrub a hand over the back of my head. “I’ve been waitin’ twenty-odd years, so what’s a few more months, right?” “Pretty much it.” He slaps me on the shoulder and then drops onto the seat beside me. “You good now, though?”
I close my eyes and frown. “Apart from feelin’ like I’ve run a goddamn gladiator course or somethin’, yeah, I’m good.” “Aching is part of the side effects.” “You don’t say.” I lift my phone from my lap and show him the Google page detailing info on ketamine. “What the hell was King doin’ with that shit lying around, anyway?” “Jo-Jo uses it.” “Explains why he’s so messed up then,” I say dryly. “Pot, kettle.” I chuckle as my gaze drifts across to where Mack is laid out on his stomach on the grass, playing some game with plastic army men. “That rich boy gonna pull through?” The Butcher Boy Ramona shacked up with went and got himself shot while on the way back to the clubhouse with King and Tap last night. Talk about a busy one all round. Something about a whore and a pimp, and some questionable behavior. Maybe he isn’t so different to you . . . . Probably not. She did always like mothering the broken ones. “Yeah, I think he’ll heal up just fine,” Hooch answers. “How’s she doin’ though?” I bumped into Ramona at the top of the stairs going off her rocker—after only just hearing what was unfolding myself—ranting shit about making Mack see what this life entails. Except she didn’t scare the kid with the truth of the matter downstairs—Ty bleeding over our goddamn pool table—she scared the hell out of Mack with her crazed ramblings. So I did what any self-respecting father would do: I told her to fuck off and get her shit together, and then took Mack for the rest of the day so she’s got time to do just that. “She’s shaken up. There’s been a lot goin’ down over the last couple of days, so you can’t really blame her.” “You two squared your shit away, though?” “Yeah. We talked early this morning, before all that ruckus with Ty.” “No more Sawyer and Ramona then, huh?” He leans back, nodding at the thought. “Had to happen sooner or later.” I confided in him, after he hauled my ass to safety. Told the guy what it was his sister had done for me. What Dana opened my eyes to; the way I treated Ramona was one of those things. I’ve never pretended to be a good man. Fuck, I ain’t even a half-decent guy. But the emotional abuse, the manipulation, and the games I played with her? Mack saw it all. And I don’t want my son to be just like me. I want him to be a real man. Sure of who he is, and with a heart full of nothing but love. “I’ve been thinkin’,” I say. “Here we go.” He rolls his motherfucking eyes at me. I let it slide. “Until this plan of King’s to steal the distribution from my father runs its course, my old man is just gonna keep on comin’, keep on fuckin’ with me.” “No surprises there,” Hooch drawls. “Stayin’ close to Mack. . . it’s selfish.” Hooch frowns, twisting in his seat slightly so he can face me better. “How is wantin’ to be a part of your boy’s life selfish?” “Because as long as I’m around, trouble ain’t far behind.” “You sayin’ you think it’s best if you left then?” I sigh, jamming both hands in my pockets as I slouch down in my seat. “In a nutshell.” Nutshell. My devil laughs. That’s priceless . . . Nut=me. Shell=you. Fantastic . . . .
With a quick heel of my hand straight to the temple, I manage to shake him up enough to shut his piehole. “You talked to Mona about it?” “Ain’t none of her business, what I want to do.” “Who’s going to tell Mack then? Or were you just plannin’ on skippin’ out of town without saying a thing?” I roll my head to the side and level his gaze. “I may be an asshole, Hooch, but I’m not that cold.” He shrugs. “Just puttin’ it out there.” The dense clomp of heavy boots on the timber decking has both our heads turning to see who’s joined us. Now we’re talking . . . . “You boys thirsty?” Abbey asks. “I was just fixing myself a drink, so thought I’d be polite and ask.” Hooch places his order. I just stare. She’s a fucking sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure. Long legs going on for miles before they reach her tight leather booty shorts. And one of those old T-shirts of Apex’s she’s always worn, but unlike when she was young, the side is tied into a knot at her hip, giving me a peek at her stomach. I lift my gaze to find her watching me. “What about you?” “Love a Coke,” I say, narrowing my gaze on her. “No alcohol?” Bitch smirks. “Not for a while, I think.” “You need anything else, you just holler for me, okay?” Her teeth rake over her cherry red bottom lip before she turns and walks away. I can feel Hooch’s eyes on me, but fuck him and his opinions; I watch that ass as it leaves anyway. Something’s flipped in that girl since I lost my shit, and damned if I know what it is. Nobody can simply turn a light on when they’re as dark as we are. She’s testing me—has to be. Especially with that fucking clothing and makeup. Can’t tell me she needs to get that prettied up just to hang around in a place like this. Only the property girls get dressed up nice, makeup and all, every day. Unless . . . . Don’t say it, fucker. Maybe she is . . . . Abbey wouldn’t be that stupid. Each to their own . . . . She wouldn’t be turning tricks for these boys—not when she shies at the touch so easily. “She fuckin’ anyone?” I blurt before my internal filter can get its shit together. Hooch laughs, pulling his fucking tinderbox out of his pocket. “Not right now, man.” He’s beaten you to it . . . . Fuck off he has. I eyeball Hooch as he lines a bump up in the crook of his hand. Look at him . . . that smirk . . . the light in his eye . . . he’s tasted the candy . . . . “You fucked her?” I ask, a darn sight less friendly. His hackles go up as he stiffens his shoulders, wiping under his nose while he squares my gaze. “Wouldn’t tell you if I had.” “Jesus, you fuckin’ dog. You have.” “That’s between her and me.” I slam both arms over my chest, sliding down in the seat and widening my legs. My expression mirrors the storm inside as I sulk like the spoilt fucking kid I am. He’s played with my toy first; taken it out of its wrapper and touched all the pretty pieces before I can.
Asshole . . . . Can’t blame him though, really. Thought you didn’t want her anyway . . .? Thought she was too weak for you . . .? Yeah, well, I changed my mind.
TEN Abbey “Pass me the wire brush, would you?” “Sure.” I pick the tool up from the mess that is always Fingers’ worktable and hand it over. He sighs, running his worn fingers over the weld where he’s fixed the dent in Sawyer ’s tank. He’s been tinkering with it for the last two days, ever since pretty boy got knocked off, frustrated that he’s having trouble getting it to patch evenly. “Did the new exhaust arrive?” He looks up from his work, gesturing to the pile of boxes and bags lumped at the end of the table. “Came in yesterday.” His eyes soften, and he smiles. “I forgot to tell you, didn’t I?” The guy’s pushing seventy—the Fallen Aces’ mechanic for close to thirty years—and these days his memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be, unless you’re talking about fixing bikes. The guy will forget where he left his glasses, but ask him how to recondition a motor and he’ll break it down stepby-step without missing a beat. “You want me to put it on, then?” “If you’ve got a spare moment.” I’ve got nothing but time. He curses under his breath at a spot of crumbing weld while I tear open the couriered box. Sawyer ’s exhaust is after-market, powder-coated black with a specific sweep to it that means it’s kept clear of the rider ’s legs before it dumps mid-back wheel. I pull it free of the packaging, and then pause, the itchy feeling I get when I’m being watched spreading over my flesh. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms my suspicions: Fingers stands toying with the wire brush as though he tries to find the right words. “What’s up?” I ask, doing my best to sound casual and unaffected. “I spoke to King a few days ago.” His finger taps on the pointy ends of the wires. “About you.” I almost choke. “Yeah?” “I thought if you were keen, we could enroll you in a proper course.” I frown, not sure what he’s trying to get at. “Let’s face it,” he says with a crooked smile. “There’ll come a time when somebody needs to take over this workshop, and it’s sure lookin’ like you’ll be the one to do it.” I snort. “A woman in charge of their bikes? They get twitchy enough with me helping you out.” He tips his head to the side. “Eh, I don’t think it’s that bad.” I roll my eyes as I turn away, mentally biting my tongue from saying any more on the topic. I know it’s one of the things we disagree on because he has no problem with me being here, and so he can’t understand why anyone else would. “What do you think?” he asks, stepping up beside me to place the brush in the mess. I shrug. “I’d like to know more, but I always assumed you’d teach me.” “I could, but I’d be teachin’ you what I’ve learnt through trial and error. I want you to know the right way to do everythin’, not just some method an old fool like me has come up with.” “Seems to work okay, though?” “For now.” He nods. “Think about it, anyway.” I give him a smile and lift Sawyer ’s new exhaust out of the box. “Okay.” He returns to his work on the tank as I settle down beside pretty boy’s Harley and get to work.
Fingers has a point, and if I’m truthful with myself all I ever want is to continue the work I do here with him. Ramona’s warning comes to mind, as does my rebuttal that this is why I’ll stick around, that this is why the Fallen Aces need me. Maybe this is it? My calling? The thing that finally makes me fit in and blend? What more perfect place could there be for me here than hiding out of view in the garage? Fingers switches the radio on after a while, and the time flies as I strip off the old scratched and dented pipes and clean the mounts off before attaching the new ones. As always, I end up with grease on my hands despite the fact I’m not currently doing a damn thing that involves it, and plenty of exhaust dust on my legs from the old pipes. Which is why it’s a no-brainer that I try to hide behind the machine when I spot Sawyer come through the door—I’ve got to be a hell of a hot mess. “How’s it comin’ along?” he asks Fingers. “Almost ready for you.” The old man runs his palm over the now smooth join. “Just needs paint, and then you’re all set.” “What about the rest? All fixed too?” “Yeah. Abbey’s been givin’ me a hand.” I close my eyes, hoping Sawyer takes that as past tense, not present. “How’s it lookin’, darlin’?” Fingers asks, throwing me under the bus. “Almost done,” I call back, giving the last of the nuts a tighten before checking them all over in turn. Thud, thud, thud. I cringe with every fall of his boots on the concrete. Leather creaks above me, and I daren’t look up. “Full of surprises, aren’t you?” “It’s no secret I help Fingers out,” I mumble. “No, it ain’t.” I peek out from under my brow and catch his smirk as he leans over the bike to look down at me. “But I always assumed you just sorted bolts, or wiped off the wrenches, you know?” “No. I don’t know.” It’s one of my biggest pet hates, asshole men who assume that girls couldn’t possibly be as technically minded as males. He straightens up, arms folded, and watches as I collect my tools and walk them back to the shadow board. “Did you want something?” I ask, aware he’s just standing there, doing nothing but eyeing my every move. Fingers glances up from what he’s doing, checking everything’s okay like he has hundreds of times before over the years. “Can we talk?” Sawyer asks quietly, leaning in close enough for me to catch a whiff of his heady scent. I breathe deep, and then answer. “No.” He pulls back, a frown bringing his brows together. “Why not?” “Because we don’t ‘talk,’ Sawyer. You mock me, I get angry, and then you wander off feeling better about yourself.” His gaze drops to the floor. “I just . . . I can’t be bothered with it right now.” Not when my anxiety’s already peaking at the thought of having to share a classroom with a group of complete strangers if I agree to Fingers’ plan. “I’m not goin’ to pick on you,” Sawyer says, lifting his chin. “I swear.” “I’ve heard that before,” I whisper, internally cursing my body for having subconsciously leant closer to his. Fingers sets his tools down, wiping his hands off on his overalls as Sawyer looks around at him.
“Can we go somewhere private?” The quiet resonance of his words stirs an unfamiliar emotion deep in my gut. “I’d feel more comfortable staying here.” His eyes harden as he rakes his top teeth over his bottom lip. “I don’t have secrets from Fingers,” I explain. Only things I haven’t told him yet. Sawyer grumbles, a primal growl that originates deep in his wide chest. “Forget it.” He scowls at the two of us like a child scorned, and then storms out of the garage. “What was that about?” Fingers asks, coming to stand beside me. “Fucked if I’d know.” But I don’t trust a single thing about it.
ELEVEN Sawyer Her hands. On my bike. Fixing it. Jesus. Sexiest fucking thing I’ve seen in a while. I lean both palms on the edge of my drawers and hang my head to steady my breathing. All I can think about is how it would feel to slam her up against the nearest flat surface and forget all about fucking talking. That fire inside her, it burns bright, and damn it all if I don’t want to bear the scars from getting too close. She’s a distraction . . . we need to focus on Daddy dearest’s demise . . . . I know. But walking away doesn’t seem to work. Each time I see her, my curiosity over her burrows a little deeper. What’s more distracting, huh? The desire, or the aftermath? Do I spend every waking moment wondering how it’d feel to snare her, or do I take what I want without a fucking care in the world for what she wants, clear my head, and move on? I look around at the room at what I’ve managed to pack so far. I’ve made the decision; I’m moving to Cali. Staying here creates too many complications, and she’d be one of them. Although Abbey’s not my first reason for placing distance between myself, and the mess I created here at Lincoln, she’s sure as hell a sound reason why I’m doing the right thing. I kill the things I love by association. I’m a plague: to Ramona, to my son, to fucking Dana, and to my club. I’ll never be simply Sawyer. I’m always going to be Carlos Redmond’s son, and that title carries a hefty price tag. Be damned if I’m adding Abbey to the list of things I’ve ruined out of selfless desire. I want her, to own her, to keep her as mine and nobody else’s, and that shit ain’t fair. I can’t be that man anymore. And she needs to know it. She needs to know why she has to watch herself around me. Because Lord knows I can’t control myself. “What was that all about?” Abbey strides into my bedroom, not seeming to care a fuck that I’ve gone back to packing all my shit into boxes. I set down the pile of clothes in my hands and turn to face her, arms folded. “Pardon?” “That.” She jabs an angry hand down to the floor, indicating the garage below us. “You want to talk to me, but it can’t be said in front of Fingers?” “No, it couldn’t,” I snap. Easy now . . . you’ll startle the prey . . . . “Why not?” She mirrors my stance, one eyebrow raised. “Because. . . .” Why do I even have to explain myself? Because it’s what you do when you don’t want people to be upset with you . . . . Fuck’s sake. “Because it’s not appropriate to say in front of the guy who’s acted like your fuckin’ surrogate father all these years.” Her brow pinches. “So you were just there to mock me again? Didn’t quite get enough the other day?” “No,” I exclaim. Fuck it. Why do women have to be so damn difficult, always reading between the
lines for shit that ain’t there? “I didn’t want to do that at all.” I soften my voice, falling back to sit on the edge of the stripped bed. “Why are you packing?” Her eyes drift all over the room, settling on the duffle I scared the hell out of her with. “I’m headin’ to Cali.” “For good?” Her right hand moves to her left shoulder, making a protective shield over her heart. “At this stage . . . I don’t know. A year or two? However long it takes to settle things with my old man.” I steal a side glance at her. “Not that it’s anything to you.” She sighs, her lips thinning into a tight smile. “You know that would never happen.” “So then I stay away longer.” I shrug. “I can’t stay here and risk Mack and Ramona again.” Her eyes darken, and she turns away, muttering something under her breath. “What did you say?” Dark hair fans out over her shoulder as she swings her head back my way. “Nothing.” “No. You said somethin’ just now. What was it?” “It’s not important.” Like hell it isn’t . . . . One step ahead of you, good buddy. I get up, growing increasingly pissed off with her as she frowns, shutting me out. “Woman, you come into my room and then lie to me when I ask you what you said.” I crowd her, shoving my chin into my chest just to be able to see her so close in front of me. “That shit don’t fly here.” She twitches, her foot moving ever so slightly backward. She’s staging to run. I reach around her, forcing Abbey to crane her head back to avoid connecting with my chest, and swing the door shut. “Now, Abbey-girl. Tell me what you said.” “I said,” she hisses, “‘Who gives a fuck about Ramona?’ Satisfied?” “Very.” Intrigued, even . . . . “Now tell me why you said it.” “Because,” she says through gritted teeth, “I don’t like her.” “Why? What the fuck she ever done to you?” “More than her fake ass would have told you.” “Try me,” I growl. Her eyes narrow, her expression hard. “No.” “Jesus, would you stop sayin’ that?” I step away and pace to the end of the bed before I lose my shit and throttle her. Gosh darn, that would be some fun though, wouldn’t it . . .? “It’s my right to say no when I want to, Sawyer.” “But all the time?” I ask, fisting a hand in my short hair. “Every second word out of your mouth is ‘no.’” “Because you’re asking me for things I can’t give!” she cries. “And besides, of all people in this godforsaken building, why would I choose you to share my secrets with?” “Because I’m most likely to understand you.” Careful . . . you’re starting to give a fuck . . . dangerous thing, that is . . . . Fuck off. Abbey turns for the door, and I lunge across the room to beat her to it. Her hand lands on the doorknob, but I reach over her head and place my weight against the door. It closes with a thud. “I want to leave.”
“Why,” I whisper beside her ear. “Because things are gettin’ too hard?” “No. Because they’re hard enough without adding to it by talking about topics that aren’t necessary.” She guards that heart well . . . . You don’t say. “Why do you think talking about what’s botherin’ you isn’t necessary?” I ask, pushing off the door. She turns slowly, refusing to look me in the eye as she stares down at my boots. “Because tell me what it helps by bringing it up all over again.” She lifts her chin and the honesty in her eyes cuts me. “Why put yourself through pain when it won’t change the past, and it won’t help the future?” “Because burying your secrets is denyin’ who you are.” “Maybe I want to deny who I am,” she says. “Maybe I don’t want to be reminded of what I was made to be.” “And what’s that?” I inch closer, relishing the way her body searches out mine. “A failure as a human. A joke.” Girl really has issues . . . . Don’t we all though? Aren’t we all a little broken inside? Perhaps some of us have hairline fractures, compared to the cracks and gaping holes left in others, but deep down we’re all a little damaged. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” “That’s the problem.” She laughs bitterly. “I didn’t hear it, I know it. Nobody’s ever directly said those things to me . . . well, until recently.” “Who told you that you were a joke?” I ask, burning to lift a hand to stroke the hair from her downturned face. “Give me names.” She huffs out her nose, fidgeting with her hands. “You wouldn’t care enough to change anything, even if I told you, so why bother starting trouble?” Abbey steps away, running her fingers over an open box. “I’ve done fine dealing with it on my own for this long, Sawyer. I don’t need your help now.” “Seems to me like you do.” Why else would she still be so fucked-up after ten-plus years living with a club that’s raised her and cared for her? “I don’t need to be protected, and I don’t need to be babied. I wish everyone would stop treating me like I’m about to break.” “They treat you like that,” I argue, “because you do break. Maybe you don’t want to admit it, Abbey, but you are fragile. You’ve been kicked around so much that there’s barely anythin’ left holding you together. But you know what? That’s okay. Because it just shows how you were built to last.” Her lips twitch up in the corners, the barest hint of a smile. I think you did it, old chum . . . I think you cracked her . . . . The tears fall. Slow, fat, droplets at first, carving their way over her golden skin, soon thinning out to a steady stream as she tries to hide her true feelings. “Let it out,” I say, stepping toward her turned back. “I hate dealin’ with women when they cry, but you know what I’ve learnt watchin’ you lot do it over the years?” “What?” she asks. “That you women need to do it. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like you females need to break right down and hit bottom before you can get your shit together and come back at it stronger than before.” She turns to face me, smiling as she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hands. “Maybe that’s what your problem is, Abbey—you’ve never allowed yourself to fall apart before.” “I’ve cried plenty,” she argues.
“Not in the right way, though. Am I right?” Her dark eyes search mine, a frown pulling at her brow. A hiccup escapes, and she stifles a sob with the back of her hand. I grab hold of her wrist, boundaries be damned, and shove her leather cuff out of the way before she can fight me off. “Tell me what this is.” Her glassy eyes glue to the small scars, shock and terror on her face. But not at what I’m seeing, at the fact I am seeing it. “You know what that is,” she whispers with more venom than I expected. “Don’t ask silly questions unless you want a silly answer.” “You still do this?” The evidence is there in the color of the lines, but I need to hear her say it. “Yes.” “Jesus, Abbey.” She’s more like you than you gave her credit for . . . . And it scares the ever-loving hell out of me. “It helps,” she protests when I refuse to let go. “How?” “Because it numbs everything inside when I make it hurt on the outside.” Just. Like. You . . . . I shake my head, gently pulling her cuff back into place. She wrenches her wrist from my grasp and cradles her arm to her chest. “Don’t tell anyone, please. Hooch knows, but he’s the only one. Even King doesn’t know I do it.” You can’t do anything to this one, my devil whispers. You can’t ruin what’s already destroyed . . . . “How do you do it?” she asks quietly. “How do you not let your differences get to you?” “They do,” I admit. She tips her head to the side, clearly confused. “But you seem so comfortable with yourself.” “Seem,” I echo, emphasizing the key word in what she said. “I was happy with who I was, but now . . . why the fuck am I even tellin’ you this?” “Because we all need to unload sometimes,” she murmurs toward the floor. “Except you, right?” “Right.” I shake my head, coaxing her chin up. “Wrong.” She swallows, eyes fixed to mine, and all I can see in her dark irises is hope: that I won’t hurt her, that she can trust me. I look away, dropping my hand as I step back. “You can leave now, if you like.” I can’t promise her any of those things, so why lead her on? “I was beaten,” she whispers, fidgeting with her cuff. “I was drugged to sleep, ordered around like a slave, and rented out to his sick fucking friends by the hour . . . all before I turned six years old.” My fists ache from the pressure on my knuckles, my nostrils flaring as I try to keep my voice level and calm. “What’s his name?” “Irrelevant.” She draws a deep breath and stands taller. “It’s in the past. I got away, that’s all that matters.” “Bullshit it is.” She stiffens as I close the space between us, her body arching back when I come toeto-toe. “That’s why it matters,” I say, pointing my index finger directly at her chest. “That reaction right there is why it still fucking matters what his name is.” “What you going to do?” she asks with a hint of disbelief. “Punish him? He’s probably dead or in prison by now, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I don’t want him sharing one more second of my life ever again.”
“What’s his name, Abbey?” She rolls her eyes and looks to the side. “Evan.” Did she say . . .? Calm down. How many Evans are there in this world? “Surname?” She shrugs. “I was too young to remember.” Not that it matters anyway. Her full name, his, and the area Apex found her in should be enough to go off. I sigh and look her over. She stares at the floor, dejected, and almost seeming disappointed that she caved and told me what she has. Fuck it. She opened up and shared, so now I will too. It’s only fair. “You said you want to know how I used to be happy. How I used to let everything flow off me like water off a duck’s back.” She nods. “I was happy, because I didn’t give a fuck,” I tell her. “When you don’t care two cents what the world thinks of you, it’s a lot easier to be yourself.” “How can you not care what people say?” “Because,” I explain, “they’re tellin’ the truth. Rumors and stories are easy to ignore when none of it is made up.” She swallows, turning slightly so she can rest her back against the set of drawers. “You really took six bullets, then?” I turn and lift my shirt so she can see the scars on my back and side. “Oh.” “I took my first life at thirteen, not fourteen—that one’s a little off—but they’re right, I don’t have a bad singin’ voice when your time is up.” She smirks, ducking her chin to hide it. “You don’t smile much, do you? It makes you uncomfortable.” “A little bit.” “You feel any better though?” The lost look on her face as the light drains right out of her eyes, guts me. I step forward, testing her limits, and place a hand to the back of her neck, soothing her jaw with my thumb. “Little bits at a time, yeah?” She twitches a smile. “Yeah.” I lean in and place a kiss to her forehead, before letting go and stepping back completely. “Now how about you let me finish packing?” Because if this continues the way it is, then she’ll never be rid of me. She nods and pushes off the drawers to walk to the bed. “Are you taking this with you?” Her hand lifts to point out the headboard. “Nope. Too much hassle.” “Can I have it?” Her eyes widen with hope. Mine narrow with confusion. “Why?” “Because I love it. The design’s so cool.” “I had it custom-made.” She bops on the spot, hands clasped, as though asking “Well?” I shrug. “Guess you can have it.” “Awesome.” She skips over, hesitates, and then places a chaste kiss to my cheek before leaving the room. Morose to ecstatic in 5.1 seconds. Girl really does know how to switch her hurt off when she needs
to. Which is why she’s right . . . she doesn’t need your help at all.
TWELVE Abbey Goddamn, that man is beautiful. If he weren’t such an arrogant asshole, I might be crushing hard on the guy. But looks only get you so far, and for me, that’d be about one week in before I’d had enough of his self-righteous attitude and was ready to throw him to the dogs. I let myself be so overcome by his blatant sexuality as he whispered in my ear, filled my senses with everything about him, that I took down my guard and spilled. Something about the moment felt right, it felt warranted that I at least let him know why I’m the way I am. I don’t choose to be a bitch for nothing, to shut everyone out and hold back my secrets just for kicks. There are valid reasons why I keep my history exactly that, reasons that benefit more than just myself. “What’s got you lookin’ like you sucked on a lemon?” Fingers asks as I storm back into the garage and get situated in my safe spot. “That jackass upstairs has,” I grumble. “Sawyer?” “Who else comes to mind when I say jackass?” He chuckles. “I could think of a few, but yeah, he comes first.” He sets the spanner in his hand down and walks the few feet to where I’m perched on his worktable. “What did he do?” “Nothing really. It’s more what he said.” “He pickin’ on you again, girl? Because if he is, I’ll go and have a word myself.” I smile lopsidedly at Fingers. He’s crooked in the spine, and years of manual labor have taken their toll on his cracked and weathered skin. He’d be no match for Sawyer, but the fact that his heart is in the right place and he’d think of even giving it a try . . . I love the old man for it. “I’m gonna miss you,” I say on a sigh. He grins. “Where am I goin’?” The man’s a terrible liar. He’s sick. I know it. I can see it in his rapid decline in health. He tries to pretend his sight is okay—even with glasses—but I can tell he’s losing vision in his right eye. All that talk of training me up to replace him only confirmed what I’ve suspected for a while now. “How long?” I ask. He reaches out, placing a wrinkled hand on my leg. “That’s not for you to worry about, sweetheart.” Fuck him. He can’t shut me out when it matters most. My chin dimples as I fight the tears. I love this old idiot so badly. He was my father when I had none, reading to me at night by the workshop light. He took me to my first carnival, and even though the guy is terrified of heights, rode with me on the roller coaster when I was too young to go unattended. Every damn time I lost it as a kid and started scratching and biting at the people who posed a threat, he was the one who would calmly walk in and take my hand. I trust him with everything, would give him everything, life itself if it were possible. “You can’t keep me out of this,” I say with an unsteady voice. “I’m all you’ve got.” He shakes his head with a smile. “Rubbish. I’ve got all these men here.” He waves his free hand dismissively at the clubhouse. “But they don’t love you like I do.” He swallows, and for a moment I almost think I’ll see him shed a tear. But he stiffens that upper lip
and nods tightly. “I’ve had enough of talkin’ about it, Abbey. How about you get back to what we started with? What did Sawyer say?” I stare him straight in the eye for a moment, knowing there’s no beating the old guy when he’s made up his mind, and then draw a deep breath. “He said I should let go and cry it out.” “Cry what out?” His brow pinches. “Everything. He thinks I keep too many secrets; that I try to be too brave. That I’m weaker than I want to think.” Fingers ducks his head to one shoulder. “He might be right, you know.” He pulls his hand away and fidgets with a socket set. “You’ve only told me a little about where you came from, darlin’, but I get the sense there’s a lot more you haven’t got to yet.” “I told him about Evan.” Fingers’ brow pinches. “What’d he do?” “Looked as though he wanted to choke the life out of someone.” “He took it well then?” “As well as I’d expect.” We look at one another and laugh. Fingers leans on the table with a sigh. “I’m not sure of his intentions, girl, but maybe a listenin’ ear ain’t such a bad thing.” “I don’t want to talk about it again, though. Talking doesn’t change a thing.” “It cleanses this,” he says, pointing to my head. “And this.” His finger redirects to over my heart. “Even if I do tell him more, where do I start? When all of it is as disgusting as the rest, where do I begin?” “With whatever comes easiest.” He pats my knee and then crosses back to where he’d been working as he says, “I wouldn’t force it though, Abbey. I know you’ll talk when you’re ready, and that’s what he needs to understand as well. If he’s goin’ to be the one to hear you out, then that’s fine, but the man has to respect what he’s bein’ given.” *** “I want to know one thing,” I ask later that afternoon as I approach where Sawyer sits on the back deck with Bronx, one of the Butcher Boys. “Give us a minute, would you?” he asks his company. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome stands and nods to me as he passes by. I watch Bronx walk over to the new pool table indoors, and then duck around Sawyer to take the vacant seat. “Who knows everything about you?” I ask. “What you gettin’ at, Abbey?” “Is there somebody who knows every part of who you are, everything that happened when you were a kid, everything that goes on in that head of yours?” He eyes me quietly, and then turns his attention out over the yard as he takes a drink. “Some people know a few things, others know the rest, but nobody knows all of it.” “Why?” “Because it’s too much to take on all at once.” He sighs, running a hand over his thigh. “I know what it does to me day in and day out, so why the fuck would I inflict that on somebody else?” I nod, my gaze hard as I study his profile. “You just answered your own damn question.” “What question?” He frowns, settling his icy-blue gaze on mine. “Why I won’t let it all go and talk about what kills me in here.” I slam a fist to my chest. “Because why drag somebody else into my hell?”
He casually sets his tumbler down on the deck beside his feet, and then leans on one arm so his face is inches from mine. “Baby, I’m already in hell. You can’t drag someone down who’s already livin’ on the bottom.” I’ve got nothing. He’s made a fair point, but it doesn’t change a thing. I still don’t feel the need to shed my skin and show the depth of what ugliness hides beneath. “Maybe I wouldn’t drag you any lower,” I say quietly, “but I’d sure weigh you down so you had no chance to find your own way back to the surface. I’ve already told you too much.” He leans back, a sexy one-sided smirk in place as he runs a thumb over his lips. “You don’t get it, do you?” “What?” “I don’t want to float up to the sunshine on the surface. I like it on the bottom, lurking in the dark.” “Why?” I ask incredulously. “Why the hell would you choose to live in that kind of mental hell?” “Because I never feel as at home as I do when I’m using my God-given gift.” “Which is?” “Makin’ even the toughest asshole regret the stupid shit he’s done.” He places both palms to his neck and stretches out his shoulders. “I’m a killer, Abbey, a fuckin’ good one. And you know why? Because the things that make an ordinary man cringe don’t even faze me. Somethin’ upstairs is broken.” He pauses. “And it’s that inability to feel bad for what I’ve done that sets me apart.” I sigh, flopping back into my chair also. “Even so, it doesn’t change my mind, Sawyer.” “Because there’s something else holdin’ you back,” he says dryly. “How do you mean?” I turn my head slightly to study him. “Your concern for my welfare is cute, Abbey, but it ain’t the reason you don’t want to tell me any more than you already did.” He turns his head, his eyes hard as they meet mine. Damn, he’s good. “Are you sure your gift isn’t reading people?” “It comes a close second,” he teases. “So what is it? What’s your reservation?” I look over at him as he stares out at the back fence. He’s classically handsome, with that strong bodybuilder-style edge. Muscles or not, he’d be a good-looking guy, but with all that added bulk, that added power, it makes him what he is, even before you hear the stories. He exudes control, arrogance, and a certain entitledness in his attitude. He believes he has a right to everything he wants, and so, he gets it. Usually. “I guess . . .” I sigh, letting my gaze drift over his bare arms as he fists his hands on his thighs; it causes his biceps and forearms to twitch and flex. “I guess I don’t understand why you want any of this.” “This?” Flex. Twitch. “Closeness . . . with me.” He grumbles, laying his hands flat on his legs as though the fidgeting annoyed him. “You think my interest in you isn’t legit?” “Is it?” I ask. “I mean, you’ve never cared before, so why now?” His chin lifts slightly as he swallows hard. “I don’t know why ‘now,’ but I do know why.” He glances down to his lap before turning in his chair to face me. “Do you see what’s goin’ on here?” His thick finger waves between us. “We’re talking?” “More than that. We’re comfortable talking. We’re just sittin’ here in each other ’s company, chewin’ the fat, and neither one of us is bein’ an asshole to the other or tryin’ to get away.”
I look down at the casual way I have my legs, one tucked up on the seat, and pay close attention to what my body tells me. It says he’s right. My heart rate is slow and measured, my palms aren’t slick with sweat, and there isn’t a single muscle in my body that feels tense, on edge, or ready to run. I’m comfortable with him. Relaxed. At ease. “You feel it, Abbey-girl?” he asks, sliding off the seat so he kneels before me. My previously calm heart picks up the pace, but for once it’s not from fear or anxiety. “I do.” “That,” he says with conviction, “the feeling of bein’ where you’re supposed to be, is the reason why.” “I still can’t do it,” I say. “I can’t unload everything I’ve kept shoved down on you like it’s easy to, because it’s not. And no matter how much you ‘get’ me, or how at ease you make me feel, it still doesn’t change one thing.” “What?” He reaches out slowly, my gaze tracking his hand until I lose sight of it as he slides it under my jaw and just holds me. No rubbing, not even a slight squeeze. He just places it against my flesh as though I’m a wild animal he’s trying to earn the trust of. In a way, I guess I am. “It still doesn’t change the fact that dredging up the past doesn’t help my future.” He shakes his head slowly, mouth turned up on one side. “But it does.” A fire ignites in his eyes, and for a second I come to believe that it’s not him, but the devil in his head that looks back at me. I draw steady deep breaths, reminding myself of how calm I felt mere moments before as his thumb tracks over my cheek. My lips suddenly feel dry, and I wet them with the tip of my tongue. Sawyer ’s gaze falls to the movement, and something flips. His previously lax hand goes rigid, almost painful as he takes hold of my neck, his thumb at the pressure point of my jaw. My heart races, my muscles on fire. “I don’t know how to take it slow,” he says, as though it’s an apology for what he does next. The back of my head slams into the chair as he lunges forward, his massive weight crushing me the same as his mouth does mine. I can’t deal. It’s too much. There’s too much of him on me and I feel as though I’m going to implode. But deep down inside, somewhere in the empty chambers of my heart, I know this is what I need. I’ve avoided the triggers to my past, escaped the things that’ll spiral me back ten or even fifteen years for too long. It’s time I faced those demons head-on and showed them I’m not afraid to fight any longer. He widens his mouth, accepting my tongue as I tilt my head and deepen the kiss. His free hand shoves painfully behind my back, and with a jerk, he slides me down the chair so my body is even more aligned with his. There’s no denying how I affect him, not when the evidence is painfully pressed into my thigh. “You say one thing with your mouth,” he whispers, laying a gentle kiss on my nose, “but your body tells me the truth.” “My body is a liar,” I say, placing both palms against his chest awkwardly. “Nope.” He chuckles, arching his back to he can press his forehead to mine. “Your body knows the truth. It’s your head and your heart that are at war.” “You can’t fix me.” “I don’t want to.” He grinds his hips against me, and like the harlot I am, I moan.
“What do you want then?” I tilt my head to the side so he can press a kiss to my neck. I shiver when his tongue traces a path to my ear instead. “I want your jagged edges to match mine. I want to combine our dark and ugly hearts into something unbreakable.” “I’ll never be your match.” “Why not?” “Because I don’t want to accept that this is who I am, yet you already have.” “Because I know there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He drags his bottom lip over mine, sucking it between his teeth to hold the flesh captive as he talks. “Let go.” My most intimate parts ache, my nipples hard. I know what my body wants—I simply refuse to give in. Because if I agree to what he’s telling me, that he really does accept me as I am, then I have nothing left to hate. Nothing left to be resentful for. And without that, what am I? Who’s left? I don’t know who I am without my anger. “I can’t,” I say, pushing with my hands. “I can’t start this.” “You started it a long time ago, Abbey.” His grip hardens. “Let me go.” “No.” “I’m fucking warning you, asshole.” “Show me you don’t want this.” He leans back, one arm still looped around my waist from where he shifted me down the seat. “If this is as wrong as you say, then your body won’t lie.” “You can’t play on my base reactions, Sawyer.” He reaches down and grasps the waist of my shorts so hard the snap pops. I grab at his hand, trying to push him away. “Stop it.” “Not listening to your words, Abbey-girl, ’cause we all know what bullshit they are.” His wrist swivels, and with a flat hand, he plunges his fingers inside my panties. My breaths come quick and fast, my head pounds. He holds me at the edge of the cliff, leaning me over so I can see how far I have to fall. And I want him to do it; I want him to let go. I groan, biting my bottom lip to stifle the traitorous sounds coming from my mouth as his fingers find the seam of my folds, and push deeper. He doesn’t have to say a thing—I know what my body tells him. “Told you that you were lyin’,” he says as he withdraws his hand. I swallow hard as he licks his fingers clean, and then slides his arm out from around me to stand tall. I sag into the chair, feeling so damn small beneath his towering frame. “You want more?” he asks with an amused grin as I try to gather my shit. I let my hooded gaze do the talking. Jesus, my body’s a whore. “Then talk.” He folds his arms over his chest, the erection in his jeans glaringly obvious from my current position. “Tell me everything, every fear, every nightmare, and I’ll reward you so fuckin’ good you’ll be makin’ shit up just to get more.” Fingers’ words ring in my ears as I straighten in the seat and re-snap my shorts. “The man has to respect what he’s bein’ given.” And right now, he’s being anything but respectful. I push myself out of the chair, forcing him to step back to maintain his challenging stance. His eyes darken, his brow pinching as I stare him down. “I won’t let you blackmail me into getting your way, Sawyer.” He scowls as I step away, hesitating to look him over as he stands with his legs wide, arms thick over his chest, and a look on his face like he can’t decide if he wants to devour me, kill me, or do
both. “I made a promise to myself a long time ago to never let anyone take advantage of me again, and I’m not about to break it now. Even if my body did tell you the truth.”
THIRTEEN Sawyer Rejection never did really fly with me. Her shoulders hunch as she walks into the clubhouse, cool, calm, and collected. And yet here I stand, anything but. The frustration boils inside until I literally shake from the pent-up energy. Thank fuck I’m leaving in the morning with the Cali boys. Told you she’d be trouble . . . . Bullshit, you did. Fucking encouraged me to try and crack her, and now here we are, huh? How do you like that? Well, when asking politely doesn’t get what you want, then you know what to do . . . . Not again. I’m not that man anymore, and be fucked if one goddamn puzzle I can’t figure out is going to change that. Maybe it’s for the best? Maybe this is just fate’s way of redirecting me to what’s really important now: Mack. That kid’s entering the most critical part of his life: the years that shape the man. And maybe it’ll hurt for a while that I’m not going to be around as much as I should, but it’s for the best. Keep telling yourself that . . . . What would you know? Asshole. More than you realize . . . . I let out a growl at the smarmy fucker in my head as I bash the heels of my hands into my temples. One day. Just one day without the asshole in there, pushing and pulling the levers, steering me in the wrong direction. It’s only wrong to you . . . . “Shut up!” I roar, eyes jammed shut with the force of my words. It only takes seconds before Hooch shows his face. “What’s up, brother?” “Another day in fuckin’ paradise,” I announce sarcastically, arms thrown wide. He chuckles, stepping out into the mild morning sun. “What you doin’ for the day?” “Hadn’t decided.” I know what I’d rather be doing, but the other half of that equation isn’t quite so keen. “You want me to send your shit over to LA for you?” “Fuck.” I hadn’t even thought about the few things I’d acquired in the weeks I’d been at Fort Worth. “Yeah, that’d be good, man.” “No sweat.” He eyes me cautiously, and then pulls up a free chair. “So.” “So,” I echo. “You think runnin’ across the country will really get him off your back?” I sigh, dropping into the seat Abbey was in. “Fuck knows.” “How do you feel about King’s plan?” He wants to steal the distribution out from under my father ’s nose. Thinks that the revenue will get the club out of the financial shit nobody knew it was in. Reckons that for this one time he can drop the club’s morals and get involved in the drug trade, all in the name of keeping the Fallen Aces running into the future. “He’s playin’ with fire,” I answer. “It sounds easy enough in theory, but he of all people should know what it’s like to wrestle something my old man wants out of his tyrannical grasp.” Shit—it took
King almost ten years just to get my father ’s ex-wife, and King’s baby mama, out of the line of fire. For now anyway. “It’s risky,” Hooch agrees, “but do you see another way?” “Not really.” “Neither.” He sighs, pulling out his pack of smokes. “Way I see it, either your old man gets his way with us all, or we end up on a Korean barbeque when they find out we can’t pay our debts. Might as well fight the devil we know, right?” He’s so hopeful . . . . Yeah, well hope is the only thing a man who’s lost as much as he did has left to hang on to. “Logic aside,” I say. “How do you feel about it all? Whole thing’s gonna fall on your doorstep.” My old man’s property is closest to the Fort Worth compound. “Hasn’t it always?” He smirks, bringing the lighter to his cigarette. “A few months ago, I would have told King where to stick his fuckin’ idea of bringin’ an imminent war to the table. But now?” He stares off into nothing while he sucks on the stick. “Now, your old man made it personal.” “I tried, brother. I really did.” He nods, swallowing hard. “I know.” “Fuckin’ kick myself every day for stoppin’.” “What’s supposed to happen, will happen. Ain’t nothing you can do to stop it when your time’s up.” “It should have been me.” Dana died for no real fucking reason, other than yet another way my father could fuck with my head. He’s always taken what’s mine, the things I loved and cherished. Why would he stop now? Hooch sighs, tuning the smoke between his fingers. “As much as I’d love to agree because it would mean I’d have my sister back, she wouldn’t be as much use as you will be when the time comes to knock that fucker off his pedestal.” He takes a lazy drag, letting the smoke pool out around his nose. “I never asked you what exactly went down between you and Dana, brother.” Don’t do it now . . . . “But I’m goin’ to assume it was enough that you got the best of her selfless heart.” I don’t answer him. What can I say? She gave me more than anyone had in such a short time, enough to change the course of my life, but clearly not enough to be any help when it comes to understanding the other sex any better. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and cup my hands over my mouth. “How much do you know about Abbey’s childhood?” Hooch narrows his gaze on me. “How the fuck did the conversation go straight from my sister to Abbey?” I shrug, but he’s not stupid. “She’s not to be fucked around with because your cock’s feelin’ lonely,” he snaps. “You need to get your sick fascination with ruinin’ people for the fuckin’ fun of it under control.” “Who said I wanted to ruin her?” I ask, dropping my hands between my knees and fisting them to save from hitting something—him. “Isn’t that what you do?” “You think it’s what I did to Dana?” “I fuckin’ hope not.” “I didn’t.” I hang my head and sigh. “I don’t know what it is, man. I can’t stop thinkin’ about her is all.” “It’s natural to want to know what you’re not allowed to. That’s what makes secrets so damn interesting; everyone wants what they can’t have.” “I’ve always got what I wanted one way or another, though.”
“But not her, right?” “She told me the name of the asshole who abused her.” Hooch stares at me, probably quietly surprised. “And then she told me to leave her alone.” “So do it,” he says with a little too much protectiveness in his voice for my liking. “I will,” I cede. “I’m goin’ to Cali, she’s stayin’ here, so don’t despair,” I say sarcastically, “your fuck buddy will be safe from the big bad wolf.” “She ain’t my fuck buddy,” he grates out. “You can get that idea out of your head.” “So it wouldn’t bother you if I stood up right now, marched my ass upstairs, and fucked her until she couldn’t walk straight.” He’s out of the chair with more speed than I gave him credit for. Thought so. I leap to my feet also, hands raised and ready to go. “Come on then, tell me why I should leave her alone,” I taunt, chin held high. He lashes out with his right, grazing my jaw. I stick a left under his rib cage. “Tell me,” I holler. “Everyone wants me to stay away from her: King, you, even fuckin’ her. Why?” “Because you’d just ruin—” “Bullshit! Don’t fuckin’ say I’d ruin her, because you know it ain’t true.” You know it is . . . . He drops his fists, straightening up although he’s still very much on guard. “She’s had a rough life.” “Haven’t we fuckin’ all?” I cry, stepping back as I throw my hands up in frustration. “Hers . . .” He shakes his head and sighs. “She needs to find a person who’s goin’ to be the best of everything for her. I don’t know how much exactly she told you, but that girl’s known nothing but heartache, abuse, and betrayal. She needs the opposite.” “What are you sayin’? That you think I’d just use her and break her heart?” “Isn’t that what you do?” he snaps. “Fuck you.” Truth hurts . . . . And fuck you too. “Just leave her alone. Stop thinking about her, stop harrasin’ her. Just leave Abbey be.” “I can’t.” “Why?” he cries. “What the fuck do I have to say to make you get it?” “Get what?” I shout. “Have you looked at her lately? She’s fuckin’ miserable.” “She’s always been miserable!” “So what?” I ask, shoving him hard with a hand to his shoulder. “That makes it okay?” He shoves back, tipping me off-balance. I stick a foot out behind to steady myself. “It doesn’t make it okay, no,” he yells. “But it also doesn’t make it right for you to take advantage of that.” “Why do you all think the worst?” I pick the shitty plastic chair beside me up with one hand and hurl it across the lawn. “Fuck you all. Maybe I wanted to be the fuckin’ one to make her smile.” I send the other chair to join its buddy. “Maybe I wanted to know that who I am, all the fucked-up and unbalanced parts of me, didn’t bother somebody for a change. Ever think that? Ever cross your mind that for once, I might have seen the motherfuckin’ possibility that someone would love me for who I am, goddamn insanity and all?” I slam a hand hard into my head to cement my point. He stands somberly, watching me fall apart and share more than I ever have about the one thing I can’t seem to control: love.
I’ve got death on a tight leash, suffering and misery whittled down to a fine art, but the one thing I long for more than anything always seems to slip through my bloody grasp. I get it, and then I sabotage it. Because you don’t deserve it . . . . Or maybe you sabotage it. Hooch steps forward and grabs me by both wrists as I launch into an attack on the asshole in my head, slamming the heels of my hands into my temples and forehead, over and over. “Stop it, brother.” “No,” I groan. “I want him out.” “It’s not helping.” “Nothin’ helps,” I complain. “Nothing makes him go the fuck away. I just wanna be left alone. I want him to leave.” No you don’t. The asshole breaks into song. You and me, we will be, together for eternity . . . . I look up to Hooch as his arms strain and he fights to stop me self-destructing. “Make it go away.” “Okay, brother. Okay.”
FOURTEEN Abbey One week later The garage is dark when I walk in, eerily quiet, and still heavily smelling of charred wood, burnt oil, and the acrid stench of singed leather. Mild night air breezes through the large space where the warped and useless roller door has been torn down, a replacement expected some time next week. Four of our men stand out in the yard, sentries for any sign of a secondary attack. Pretty boy left for Cali a week ago, determined to keep trouble from our door. Seems as though his old man didn’t get the message. Nobody was there to raise the alarm when Carlos decided to launch a friendly reminder of who’s in charge on the club. The gate isn’t manned in the early hours of the morning, and the only person still awake was King, holed up in his office in the heart of the building. It was only when the air brakes on the truck let off that somebody finally woke up and looked out their window to see what was going on. By the time Carlos’ thugs had launched the first Molotov cocktails over the gates, using the truck body as a platform, barely half the upstairs had been evacuated. Fire caught the stack of used tires out front, and the resulting blaze spread fast through the garage once the flames slipped under the door. The only thing that saved the majority of the living quarters overhead was the sprinkler system King had installed a while back. A handful of bedrooms were damaged beyond use, the rest needing simply to dry out before anyone could think of inhabiting them again. I roam my gaze over the damage left behind and suck in a sharp breath as the extent of the damage hits home. Fingers hasn’t been able to bring himself to look yet, afraid of what he’ll find. I finally saw the old man cry, and damn it all if I wish he’d never had a reason to. This is his life, our space, and now it’s a mess of blackened and melted memories. I slip in between the undamaged motorcycles at the back, my bare feet silent as I run my fingers over the tacky leather and dull paintwork of King’s bike. A solid day cleaning and servicing those that escaped the worst of the fire, and they should be good as new. As for the rest . . . . I sigh as I take in the tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of destruction. A couple of the prospect’s bikes are reduced to nothing but a charred frame, the motorcycles just beyond possibly salvageable with a healthy dose of new parts. These machines have been my life in so many ways: the transportation to a new start as a child, the projects that kept my young teenage mind occupied as I struggled to transition to womanhood, and the very thing that brought together this group of people who, as much as I still feel an outsider, are my family. King’s promised vengeance, swearing that the fear our people live under won’t last another year. “Whatever it takes,” he’d yelled as he stood in the middle of our shocked and shaken members. And I believe him. I trust our president with my whole heart and I stand behind whatever plan he has to remove Carlos once and for all. A plan that no doubt involves Sawyer. I wheel Fingers’ work stool out from under the table and take a seat while I contemplate what this means for pretty boy. Will he come back? A selfish, unjustified part of me hopes that he does, that this carnage wasn’t for nothing.
He left the day after I rejected him, choosing not to say another word to me in the final hours before he rode out with Tap and his crew. It stung, but it’s what I chose, so why am I upset by it? He did exactly what I asked him to: not take advantage of me. I guess deep down I expected him to fight back, is all. But his departure, and his silence only cemented what I suspected all along: that he wasn’t that serious about us being a thing. If he wanted me that badly, he would have taken the time to build on what we started, not forced me to rush into it. He would have stuck around, hung out some more, and done exactly what he said to begin with: shared little bits at a time. He would have let me open up naturally, slowly, and at a pace I could manage. But he didn’t. He showed his true colors and demanded that I tell him everything, all the rotten and dead parts of myself that I’ve denied for so long. I told him the truth in his room, but I barely covered the half of it. How much is enough for him? Does he want every fucking detail of what Evan’s friends did with me? Every sordid point that details how my mother let her love for a manipulative man override her instincts to protect me, protect us? Does he want me to recount the exact way I got away? What happened for me to finally be able to run, only to not know if my mother is now dead or alive? I swipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, heaving a deep breath as I push off the stool. I’ve heard plenty that sharing your feelings, explaining your triggers, and exploring your fears is therapeutic. But I can’t see the sense in that theory. If you have a sore, you let it heal. You don’t pick at it until it’s a festering mess that reminds you of its existence every time you move. You leave it alone, let it go away on its own. Surely the pain of abuse and neglect is the same? Then again, maybe not? After all, here I am, twelve years after I ran from that mangled mess, still stewing over the things I can’t change. Perhaps ignoring how I feel has been neglect of my own? Worst of all, maybe Sawyer was right? I do need to let it all go and cry, break down in the right way. I rise and loop my way through the bikes until I end up back at the internal door. With a flick of the switch, I bathe the garage in white light; what’s left of the fluorescent lights hum and buzz as they warm up. I’ve always come here when my mind’s been torn, and every time I’ve walked out with a clear decision on what to do next. Only this time it feels different, as I pick up a rag and start cleaning King’s bike like I have a thousand times before. When I haven’t been able to think about anything but my interactions with Sawyer for the last week, what does that tell me? There’s something there, something a part of me clearly longs to explore. But again, he left. He rode out the gate without saying a word. What does that say about how he truly feels about me? If he can pursue me with such ferocity, and then switch it off, was I just a game? Sport to keep him occupied? I guess what Hooch and King tell me is right: I need to avoid the risks a man like Sawyer brings and focus on finding a guy who’s reliable. Somebody who respects me, wants me, and would be patient with me. I know it’s right. My head tells me that’s what I’d be told if I asked anyone around here for advice. But with the comfort of the familiar comes an ache for the unknown. I feel as though, hidden by the lies I’ve told myself since I started a new life with Fallen Aces, is a woman who knows better than what she’s been taught. Not from experience. Not with fact. But from pure gut instinct. I almost listen to that intuition, throw away everything Apex, King, Hooch, and Sonya have tried to teach me over the years about moving on from my past and do what I feel is right. But another part of me yawns and nods its groggy head at what my gut tells me: my heart.
I’ve never trusted that fucker. A heart can be broken. A heart can attach you irrevocably to something or someone that was never yours to keep. And a heart can make you act foolishly, impulsively, and dangerously. A heart is only good for the blood it pumps through your veins. Not for decision-making, and certainly not on this level. So why is it I can’t ignore what my heart tries to say? Because what you think is right is what you’ve been taught, not what you’ve learnt. Don’t let other people tell you how to live your life. I guess that’s it. I pushed Sawyer away, rejected his theories, because even though he showed such clear interest in me for who I am, even though I’m clearly attracted to him, fascinated by him, he’s not what I’ve been taught to think I need. I’ve been told over and over, had it drilled into me over the years, that to settle my mind, to make me happy, I need to find a life partner who’s the opposite of me. I need a normal, safe man. Somebody approachable, outgoing, and whose influence will hopefully rub off and instill good habits in me. The more I think on it, though, the more the thought seems ludicrous. I’m about as far from the white picket fence type girl a guy could get. The thought of domesticated bliss—school runs, baking, housework, and social clubs—makes me want to vomit. But it must be right. It has to be? Why else would so many people all tell me the same thing? Stop thinking about my past, look forward, and act happy. That’s what I was told is the cure, so why would Sawyer and his demands to do the exact opposite of all that, be the right thing to do? I’m so damn confused. Do I go with my head, believe what I’ve been taught? Or do I go with my heart and learn something new? I guess when it comes down to it, whose judgment am I going to trust more? That of a bunch of people who seem to have a handle on life? Or my own, skewed and inexperienced as it is? Nope. As always I have to trust what I’ve been told repeatedly. That a man as unstable and unpredictable as Sawyer could never be good to me. That my heart is so scarred from the past it doesn’t understand what it needs. That I’m best to leave Sawyer in Cali and forget that any of what went down between us even happened. Because underneath it all, his heart probably doesn’t understand what it really wants either.
FIFTEEN Sawyer Some fucker has the music turned all the way up out in the bar area, the deep bass tones reverberating off the four walls off my room and assailing my hangover with deathly precision. I roll my head to the right and stare at the door, willing my lax body to get its shit together and go sort the inconsiderate punk out. Fuck, for all I know it’s Tap who’s turned the tunes up just to fuck with me. It’s the kind of shit he’s been doing every time I fall off the wagon—which is daily. Do-gooder bastard thinks I need to lay off the drink and drugs. Mr. Upstanding Citizen tells me that a clear head is my best bet at moving on from the mess I left behind and being a better man. What would he know . . .? Exactly. Never should have told that asshole why I wanted to move into his chapter. Never should have confided my weakness in him. I heave a sigh and roll onto my side, using my elbow to prop myself up. A flash of something brown and leather in my periphery catches my attention. I swing my legs off the side of the bed and rub my head with one hand while I reach out to snag it off the floor with my other. A wallet. And not mine. Do you not remember . . .? Remember what, asshole? Where we went last night . . .? I stayed in. Had the last of the coke Hooch gave me when I left Lincoln, and did what I did every other night this past week and a bit: lay about feeling sorry for myself. Right? My devil chuckles. Damn. Thumbing the wallet open, I slide the plastic driver ’s license out and frown. The guy who stares back at me isn’t familiar. I’ve got no idea who he is, even less when I check out the name. The wallet contains next to fuck all else: a loyalty card for some coffee house, a credit card, and thirty-five cents in change. I set it down on the bed, and find myself staring at it the whole time I pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. With the mystery clutched in my hand, I head out to the hub of the clubhouse, ready to punch a hole through the fucking sound system’s speakers. Turns out I don’t need to. As suspected, Tap leans against the low cupboards that house the stereo. He leans down and slides the volume dial around to nil as I approach. “Well, I’m awake, asshole.” He smirks, arms folded. “Good.” Bastard reaches out and clips me one upside the head before I have time to react. “How’s the hangover?” “Better if you weren’t hittin’ me,” I whine, rubbing the sore spot. “What’s that?” He jerks his chin at the wallet. I shrug, handing it over. “You know whose this is? I found it on my floor.” He checks out the ID and shakes his head. “Sorry, brother. Mystery to me.” “Huh.” “Hand it over to Mick and see what he can dig up for you.” He passes it back.
I stare at the wallet a beat before pocketing it. “Did I tell you where I was goin’ last night?” He shakes his head. “Didn’t even realize you were gone until one of the property girls came stompin’ up to me demandin’ to know where you were.” I chuckle; well aware what kind of trick I probably played on her. The whores thought all their Christmases had come at once when I showed up with my things in tow. I’ve only been over this way a handful of times before now, and a few of the lovely ladies wanted a taste of the action they hear so much about from their Lincoln counterparts. Only thing is, unless it fixes bikes, has a wicked temper, and a name that starts with ‘A’, I’m not interested. So I’ve been sending the girls on wild goose chases about the compound, giving them bullshit clues about where I might be. It’s hilarious. Best free fucking entertainment I’ve had for a long time. “You need to stop wastin’ their time,” Tap chastises. “If you ain’t interested, just tell them, would you?” “Yeah, alright.” I fold my arms over my chest and widen my stance. “What did you want me out of bed for, anyway?” He jerks his head toward the bar. “Got news from Lincoln.” “What kind?” I didn’t do my usual and check my Facebook feed before I headed downstairs, too preoccupied with that damn wallet. “Your father ’s kind.” I drop onto a stool as he prepares us a drink, and groan. “What’s the old bastard done now?” More death threats to his ex-wife—King’s woman? Sent the cops over on some bogus tip-off again? Nothing would surprise me. “Set fire to the place.” Then again . . . . Well . . . . “Everyone okay?” Namely Abbey. Tap nods, setting water down in front of me while he holds a whiskey in his other hand. I scowl at the asshole and receive a lifted brow in response. “How bad was the damage?” “Garage came close to being gutted. Few bedrooms were written off. But nothing structural. It’s all fixable.” “Fuck.” “Yep.” “Fingers will be torn up about it, I bet.” “He got Abbey to give him an inventory on what needs replacing—couldn’t face the mess himself.” “Damn.” I swallow, reaching out to fidget with the bottle of water. “She okay? I mean, she was always in there with him and that.” Silence has me turning to look at Tap. Smug prick smiles at me. “What?” “Call her up, if you’re worried.” I snort. “Yeah, no thanks.” “She might like to hear from you.” “When my old man trashed her safe place?” I shake my head. “Don’t think so.” Besides, she made it pretty damn clear what she thought of my advances before I left. So damn clear that I’m starting to think she was right, and I misjudged my own intentions. Maybe I did want to take advantage of her? Maybe it wasn’t that I found some kind of solace in her disturbed mind, but that I thought if I broke in, infected her thought patterns she’d become as obsessed
with me as I am with her. But why? Why do I want the timid little kid who until now mutually shared my hate? You just worked it out for yourself, you smart, smart man . . . . Okay, easy on the sarcasm, asshole. You’re saying I want her because she doesn’t want me? My devil slow claps my observation. “Something troublin’ you?” Tap asks as he lifts his glass to his lips. I fidget with the label on my bottle and frown. “Can I ask you somethin’?” “Sure.” “I mean, if I ask you somethin’ can you promise not to say anything to anyone about it?” He eyes me skeptically. “Okay.” What’s the matter? My devil taunts. Cat got your tongue . . .? I beat a hand to my temple and then spill. “I don’t think I know what love really is.” Tap chokes on his drink. “Sorry, man. I just . . . I didn’t expect that to be the kind of thing you were thinkin’ about.” I bring both hands to my ears, elbows propped on the bar so that I effectively hide my face from him. Talking about these things is always hard, and exactly for that reason—people don’t see me as capable of anything but bein’ one crazy-ass motherfucker. “I guess,” Tap answers. “Love is when you care more about the other person’s wellbeing than your own. It’s when you put their needs before yours without a second thought.” He frowns, appearing pained at the idea. Interesting . . . And equally as gutting. Because as much as I care about what happened to Abbey, until now I’ve still put my own intentions first. I pushed her to open up faster than she wanted to because I wanted to know. I forced myself on her because I wanted that intimacy, to know how she felt, what her taste was like. I mocked her flaws to make me laugh. I didn’t do anything because it was what she wanted or needed. I did it all for me. How can that be love? How can that be anything other than my predisposition to be a selfish, thoughtless asshole? I guess Dana didn’t change me quite as much as I’d hoped. I guess there isn’t any chance at making a better man out of me. May as well stick to what I know, keep going it alone, and forget all about anything but doing what I’m good at. Making people hurt.
SIXTEEN Abbey Four weeks later The warm spring sun heats my shoulders as I lean against the outside of the Fallen Aces LA clubhouse. The sun is an unrelenting motherfucker this time of year, almost as though it loves to leap out of that box it’s kept itself in all winter and remind you what you were missing. Everybody bitches about the cold weather, saying they can’t wait for it to be warm again, but nobody ever really means it. Who the fuck likes to be hot? Summer is a pressure cooker designed to bring out the worst in people, push them to their limits—mentally and physically. I could relay a hundred relationships that I’ve seen deteriorate over the warmer months. Which means it makes sense why King would choose spring to gear up toward a war he should have fought years ago. “Nobody will suspect you,” he’d said, handing me the keys to the beaten-up truck the club shares, and four hundred dollars for gas and food. He meant for me to stop a little over halfway and spend some cash resting up in a motel—after all, the trip from Lincoln to LA is roughly twenty-two hours on a good day. But I pumped the extra bills into a twelve-pack of energy drinks and lead-footed it here. After all, the sooner this shit is over with, the better. I hate being the messenger; they always end up shot. Especially when the person I have to deliver to is the one man I want to avoid. Right on cue. The rumble of an approaching bike vibrates through my chest. I close my eyes, head tipped back to the sky, and breathe in that glorious fucking sound. Once upon a time I hated the throaty resonance of a Harley, but that was before I learned that even the devil was once an angel who could be trusted. And here comes his goddamn child. The security gate slides open with stealthy precision. I adjust my bra, giving my modest cleavage a boost. My tank top has a slash that runs directly over my chest, leaving the fabric to fold over and reveal the goods. The thought of being touched by him, let alone ogled has my skin abuzz with nerves. But needs must, and if you want to catch the prey, sometimes you need to offer the right sort of honey. Which for Sawyer happens to be a hot piece of ass. And as he so clearly pointed out a few weeks back, especially my ass. Sent me because I fly under the radar pfft. King’s going to have some explaining to do when I get back. Giving my glossed lips a last smack, I settle one of my booted feet against the wall and watch as pretty boy backs his bike in the enormous open garage across the yard. The converted shed rivals a fucking airplane hangar, at least fifty feet long with hoists and all the necessary workshop essentials lining one wall. Lincoln may be the mother chapter for the Aces, but LA has that California edge to it —always keeping up with the Joneses. Sawyer dismounts, eyes trained on me as he pulls the key from the ignition. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he left Lincoln to try and ease the shit his father was dishing out on Ramona and Mack. It might have shifted the heat off them, but the rest of us still suffer.
His massive paws pocket the metal, and he starts toward me, slow and measured. That’s it, big boy. Come to Mama. The rattle of his buckles and chains as he walks reminds me of the old-time westerns Apex would sometimes watch with me when I was still a mute youngster under their feet; the thud, thud, thud of his boots on the dirt as ominous as his appearance. They don’t call him the smiling assassin behind his back for nothing. He’ll win you over with a well-chosen compliment, and turn the gun on you in the next breath. And considering he only did the first half to me before he left, I’m still waiting to find that barrel against my temple. Let’s play. “He sent you, then? Interesting.” The low resonance of his words ends on a lion’s purr. I tip my head back to look into his bruised face—evidence he’s still working, still collecting for the reaper—as he blocks out the sun with his size. He’s over six foot of bulk, which means my five-footthree petite stature fits snugly into his shadow. And as much as I’ve tried to tell myself my memory is a goddamn liar, it still comforts me. “Apparently, I fly below the radar.” His eyes roam lazily over me, settling on the full sleeve I had tattooed a few weeks back; a giant fuck you to my fear of being touched. My breath hitches, betraying the confidence I was trying for, as he reaches out and hooks a thick finger in the leg of my cut-offs. Breathe through it. Breathe. You got through it without giving in before, you can do it again. “Still gettin’ around with your ass hangin’ out, Abbey-girl?” “Did you think I only did it for you?” I mock. “How long has it been, anyway?” I chuckle, shifting my gaze back to his disturbingly beautiful face. He expects me to know how many weeks he’s been in Cali and blurt it out, giving away the fact I’m still painfully aware of him. Yeah, I know how long it’s been, but I ain’t playing that game . . . yet. “No idea,” I answer, dealing the nonchalant card as I shrug my shoulders. “Time flies when you’re having fun.” His eyes darken as he reaches out and places both his meaty paws on my ass cheeks. I force a smile as his fingers skim the hem of my cut-offs where it slices a line over the firm globes. I close my eyes briefly as memories of how good it felt last time his hands were on me come in thick and fast. His touch trails up my back, dipping in at my waist and pushing the hem of my tank up, exposing my flat stomach, as he brings his palms to rest below the swell of my breasts. Just a few more minutes and he’ll be done. You can do it. My fight or flight is going haywire. I need to get away, to place distance between us, but at the same time I’m disgusted by how easy it seems to keep my feet in place. Anyone else, and they’d be cradling a broken wrist for this, my go-to defense when unwanted hands get too close. But this isn’t just anyone—it’s Sawyer, and it seems that my body still doesn’t know how to lie. I want it. But I shouldn’t. He still wants me. And I should hate that. But I’m waiting to see what he does next. Too much at once, Abbey. “Still tellin’ the truth, I see,” he teases, swiping his thumbs over my pert nipples before letting go and stepping back. The sun lances across my face, forcing me to look down to save my eyes watering up. “You want
to know why he sent me yet?” I draw a deep, equalizing breath. “Because you begged him to come?” God, he’s always been such an arrogant bastard. “Hardly.” He juts his chin forward, and his tongue peeks out, running along the ridge of his teeth. “What then?” “War is on, pretty boy.” I smile. “It’s time to take daddy down.”
SEVENTEEN Sawyer The bitch does it on purpose, I’m fucking sure of it. Her hips pop to the left, the line of her cut-offs shifting as she leans her elbows on the top of the rough-cut bar and talks to Tap. His gaze lifts over her tanned shoulder, and he hardens those dark eyes on me, letting me know I need to shut it down. Never did listen, did you . . .? Fucker. I don’t need that masochistic asshole in my head getting mixed up in things this time. Look how that turned out before, for fuck’s sake. Always think you know best, you self-sabotaging— Settle down. Wouldn’t want you spooking the prey this early on . . . . Abbey reaches out for her drink, eyes on me, and wraps those long, slender fingers around the tumbler. She’s on the scotch. Interesting. Would have pegged her for one of those sugary premix girls. Never seen her with a drink in her hand before now. Do we get to play . . .? I shake my head clear and push off the wall I was leaning against with a grunt. Casting my gaze around the room I locate Tap now on the far side talking with two of the younger members. He’s been on a drive of late, looking for new blood to sponsor. Makes me think he knew a bit more about King’s choice to go to war than he let on. There’s no need to look at Abbey to know she watches as I cross the room. Her awareness is like fire, burning into me when we’re near. Asked her if she knew how long it had been since we’d last talked, and she blew me off with a bullshit denial. She knows. It’s written in the way her hand absently rests on her neck as I flash her a smile. “What you up to?” Tap asks, interrupting my play as I come to a stop beside him. The two younger guys have scarpered. Seems to be a common response when I appear. “Nothing at all, brother.” He looks cautiously across to Abbey and gives her a small nod. She drops her chin as though ashamed, and spins so her back is to us, leaning both elbows on the bar. “She’s got all the boys’ attention,” I say. “Yeah, she has. But it doesn’t mean a thing.” He regards me through narrowed eyes. “She’s still offlimits.” “So she says.” I frown, as does he. “When you leavin’?” Tap crosses his flannel-clad arms over his chest. The man looks like a lumberjack got lost and stumbled into the wrong neighborhood. “In the mornin’, I guess.” I pull my focus off Abbey and look Tap over. “What do you know about King’s plans?” He shakes his head. “Nothing. He was in the middle of somethin’ when I called just before. Said he’d ring me back later to talk about it.” “Why send Abbey, though?” I ask, eyeing her shift her weight between her feet. “Guess he thought you could use the company.” “Don’t sugarcoat it,” I say with a grin. “Babysitter, you mean. He doesn’t trust me to get there without findin’ trouble.” “Can you blame him?” Tap asks. “Hell, even I know you couldn’t make it without stirrin’ shit up somewhere along the way.” Tap smirks.
I shake my head. “You assholes have got me pegged, huh?” “Better than you’d know. At least if Abbey’s with you, there’s somebody who can call for backup if you let your little buddy off the chain again.” He points to my head with a cocked eyebrow. “Brother,” I say with a slight chuckle, “if I let him out to play then a li’l thing like her wouldn’t stand a chance.” So glad we understand each other . . . . “Not that you’d hurt her.” Tap hardens his gaze on me, leaning in so his nose is mere inches from mine. “Would you.” Only what I’ve been trying to tell everyone—especially Hooch—for weeks now. I step back, removing Tap from my personal bubble. Anybody else getting that close up in my space, and I would have smashed a fist into their face hard enough to send the cartilage of their nose into their back teeth. But this is Tap: the man who made a quiet promise that he’d see me redeem myself, and the man who pulled a few strings to make things happen when I admitted I needed to return to work to feel myself again. I swing my attention back Abbey’s way, and growl as one of the prospects makes his move, bumping his hip against hers when he crowds her space. She jolts, taking a step sideways, her brow a hardened line. “Don’t you worry about her,” Tap says with humor in his tone. “Watch.” He jerks his chin her way, standing shoulder to shoulder with me. The prospect tries to throw an arm around her, but she ducks, leaving his limb to fall heavily at his side. Words are exchanged, her lips downturned at the corners as he tries to joke it off, given the cocky smirk on his as he talks, gesturing wildly with his hands. Beer sloshes out of the bottle he grips in the right, the left moving closer to her the more he spouts off. Her eyes track his every movement—the concentration, the planning and preparation written in her gaze. Interesting . . . . Indeed. Seems our Abbey isn’t as vulnerable as she once was. The fight’s always been in her, but when I left Lincoln five weeks ago, her first instinct was still to run, to hide, and to deny. Now she looks as though she’s planning how to kill him. Even more interesting . . . “Here comes the good bit,” Tap whispers, leaning in close as though this is some great conspiracy. The prospect shuts up, giving Abbey the side-eye while she takes a swig of her drink. She lowers the tumbler to the top of the bar, and then turns it between her hands; seemingly oblivious to the fact the prospect is now eyeing her ass. My fists clench, my chest a little tighter and my jaw a little harder. If she won’t let me have it, then no one gets it. Tap gently sets a hand on my forearm in warning. I grit my teeth painfully hard and try to focus instead on Abbey, rather than where that prospect fucker has his hungry stare. She hunches her shoulders and takes a deep breath, right at the same moment the guy swings out his left hand in a sweeping arc toward her butt. His hand connects. The slap of flesh on her backside echoes through my skull. I break skin on my palms with how tight my fists are. And then the best thing of all happens. Abbey stands rigid, her back snapping into a steel rod as she pulls her elbow back, the tumbler firm in her grasp, and hammers it down on the prospect’s head. Shock registers in his eyes. I chuckle.
And then the worst thing of all happens. The little fucker wraps his hand around her throat and pushes her back so her spine arcs over the bar. Somewhere amidst the chaos Tap yells for him to be removed from the premises, a blur of black leather and silver accessories flashing in a morbid kaleidoscope before my eyes as I close the space between where I was and where I should have been all along. Tap has kept me to myself the past month for a fucking good reason, and it ain’t because I do well on my own. I just do worse in a crowd. Been a while since we’ve smelled blood . . . It’s been barely forty-eight hours, fucker. Long enough. My devil shrugs. “Head out back, Abbey,” I bark through gritted teeth. “Make yourself scarce.” The prospect whimpers with pain from the grip I have on his wrist. His fingers are limp, the pain incredible thanks to the precise pressure point I grind my thumb into. “Let go, man,” he complains. “I get the message.” Oh, no, my devil chuckles. I don’t think he does . . . Me either. “Your daddy never teach you any manners, boy?” I holler. “Or was he just as heavy-handed with your momma?” Abbey takes a couple of steps back, still in the fucking room. “I told you to leave,” I snap at her. The worry melts from her face and she hardens her brow. “You’re still not the boss of me, pretty boy.” “Wanna bet?” The prospect tries to wriggle his arm free while she’s got me distracted, so I crunch a little tighter. He yelps, his vocal chords breaking halfway through the sound and into silence. Abbey crosses her arms over her chest, dropping one shoulder so her head is cocked at a smartass angle. “Yeah.” “Come on, boy.” Tap reaches for the prospect. “You and me have got words to exchange.” I drop the kid’s wrist, smirking as he cradles it to his chest. He keeps his gaze trained on me, even as Tap sticks his fingers in the neck of the prospect’s cut and jerks downward, stripping the boy of his patch. “You can have this back when you’ve earned it.” Overreaction? Hardly. We might dance on the wrong side of the law, but touching a woman out of anger or violence is something that’s rarely tolerated. “You okay, Abbey-girl?” Her shoulders sag. “Yeah, pretty boy, I am.” “But?” “I could have handled him.” She shrugs. “You don’t need to sweep in and save me.” I chuckle, running a thick finger along the edge of the sticky bar. “Oh, baby, I ain’t savin’ nobody. But you already knew that.” She frowns, turning her body side on as she leans both elbows on the bar again. “Nothing’s changed, Sawyer.” “Hasn’t it?” Because it’s been five fucking weeks, and all I’ve thought about is her and that mysterious goddamn past. She can’t tell me she hasn’t been doing the same, thinking about what we started, even if just a little. Not everybody is as obsessive about things they can’t have as you are . . . . Abbey pops her ass to the side again, and I screw the heels of both hands into my eyes to try and
shove that noisy fucker in my head in a box for the night. Once, just once, I’d love to have a good time without wondering whom I’ll be apologizing to the next day. “Something on your mind?” She sticks a black cocktail straw between her teeth and delicately chews on the end. I answer her cherry-red lips. “Always somethin’ on my mind, Abbey-girl.” She nods, seeming to think over something herself. “Have you thought about how you gonna do it?” The spark in her eyes has my chest doing funny fucking things. “Do what?” You know what she’s talking about . . . Fuck. Off. “Kill your father.” She twists her waist so that her perky little tits face me, but that butt still pops out behind. “I mean that’s what you’re going to do, right? Go back and kill your dad?” So many options . . . This is one thing I have to agree with my devil on: so many options. Where would I start? A little light torture? Maybe fuck him up with some drugs so he’s paralyzed but can feel every damn thing I do to him? Poetically finish him off in the same way he did Mom? “What would you suggest?” A mind as equally dark must harbor some delicious ideas. She smirks, pulling the straw from between her teeth. “Ad-lib.” “Huh?” “Make it up as you go along. If you plan it out beforehand, it kind of takes the fun away, don’t you think? I mean, you’ve already assumed how he’s going to react, so then when he does, it’s no fun.” Jesus. She’s seriously working on my moral obligation to not force women anymore. My hands are itching to pick her up and carry her to the nearest bed so I can fucking lay claim to this piece of work. “That so?” I manage to finally choke out. She keeps this murder talk up and I’ll have her down at the courthouse with a ring on her finger tomorrow. “Yep. Play it by ear. He squeals: do it again. He smiles: try the other foot.” She chuckles, the cutest fucking sound since . . . well, shit, since Dana sighing against my chest after I popped her cherry. You’re so weak . . . At least I have a heart, you black-souled motherfuc— “You okay?” Abbey straightens, turning her full attention on me. “You want some fresh air or something?” Lost her already . . . Shut up. Ever since moving to Cali, it’s as though the sunshine’s only fostered the growth of the fucker in my head. He’s always there. More than he’s ever been, tearing me down and making me weak. Not that it’s hard. You never could keep it together long enough . . . . “Sawyer?” Look at her . . . look at the pity in her eyes . . . . I back away, shaking my head as Abbey frowns. “You get any more trouble . . .” Like you? Ha ha ha . . . Fuck. “Did I say something wrong?” She can’t see me, not when it’s like this. “No. Nothin’ wrong, girl.” That’s it, you pussy. Fucking run away again . . . I stare down at the floor, hands gripped tight to the hair above my temples as I sidestep Abbey and head out the front to the dark serenity of the yard. What kind of weak fuck am I? I can’t even look at her, see the sadness in her eyes, see the way she feels sorry for me.
There’s nothing to feel sorry for. She didn’t do this. Fuck. Neither did I. He did. That soulless bastard who sired me fucking made me this way, and the time for him to pay can’t come soon enough. You’ll never be able to go through with it . . .
EIGHTEEN Abbey His eyes clouded over. I’d say they went dark, but they didn’t. It was as though a normally translucent window fogged up, as though the fire inside became too hot to bear and he shut down. He stood saying nothing, just staring, for what felt like forever when in reality it was only a couple of minutes. But still, that long of a break in conversation when the other person quite literally slips into some sort of catatonic state is forever. What’s wrong? Was it what I said about his dad? Shit, nobody is a stranger to how he feels about Carlos. The whole fucking club, all three states, know how much he wants him dead. I thought it might rile him up to talk about it, get the fuel burning, but damn . . . I think I broke him a little more than he already was. Way to go, Abbey. Wait until King hears that. What’s he been doing since he moved over here? Sure doesn’t seem like he’s healing. In all the time I’ve known him, watched him from close and afar, he’s never been this bad. It’s as though . . . I don’t know. How do you know when bad habits have gone too far and it’s time to call in the white coats? The annoying prospect from earlier moves in for the kill as Sawyer ’s wide shoulders disappear out the entrance doors, barely visible over the mass of people that have slowly filled the large room the past hour. I lift a palm to the prospect’s face, stopping just shy of making impact with his confused mug, and push off the bar to follow Sawyer. Fuck, for all I know the prospect was on his way over to apologize after speaking with Tap. But right now I’ve got more pressing issues at hand. Pretty boy is running, but what from I can’t quite place. He made out that seeing me was what sent him into a frenzy, but I call bullshit. He kissed me once, and ground himself against me in a weak moment, that’s all. He’s not interested in me, otherwise he would have made the effort to call, visit . . . not even leave to begin with. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself these past weeks. A little over a week after he left, I realized why it is I fought to keep quiet on my past. It wasn’t that I was scared to share my history; it was that I was worried if I did he wouldn’t want me anymore. That he’d look at me differently and that would be it, my chance with him, gone. It might have taken five weeks of solitude, and one very set-up reunion, but I’ve finally stopped lying to myself and listened to my heart. I want my pretty boy. I want the things he can offer. How can I continue to believe what I’m told about the kind of man I should be searching for, when every time I get near Sawyer I feel as though there’s no need to keep looking? I don’t count his flaws when we spend time together; I look at his shortcomings and try to figure out how they complement mine. I believe what he said about our jagged edges. I think there’s every possibility we could make one hell of a team. But first I need to know exactly what I’m in for. Not the rumors, the stories, and the hearsay. I want him to tell me all of it. Every black and hollowed experience that shaped the unbalanced man he is. I want to know what it takes to break him, because until now, it seemed like he was invincible. Yet as I chase him down, I’m not so sure. The vacancy in his gaze, the shock as he
backed away, it’s as though he can’t figure out how to escape whatever rolls around inside that turbulent mind of his. As though, for once, he wants to get away from it. He wants to escape himself. Yeah, well, I know better than most that’s near impossible to do. I ran once, and where did I find myself? Right back where I started. Can’t escape the one thing that’s always with you: yourself. The night air hits me square in the face as I step outside and search the dim yard with squinted eyes. The sun from this afternoon has well and truly gone, leaving the evening to chill down considerably. I shiver, and cross my arms over myself while I step out over the dirt to search the big idiot out. I’ve barely been here half a day—I can’t lose him already, and especially if I’m truly to blame. King gave me a job, and by fuck I’m going to deliver on it. The lights are on in the garage, but the gate is dark save for a single light over the control box. It’s eerily quiet out here given the noise and ruckus going on indoors. There isn’t a soul to be seen, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean we’re alone. With Carlos threatening the Aces like he has been, Tap will have half a dozen men stationed out here. They’re just out of plain sight. My breath clouds before my face, and I shiver again a second before my entire back is wrapped in delicious warmth. Like a moth to a flame, I step back into Sawyer ’s hard front; the musky smell of motorbikes and leather, laced with the metallic tang I’ve only just recently figured out to be blood, always gives him away. “You shouldn’t be out here . . . alone . . .” “With you?” I finish. “Especially with me.” He’s got no idea. “Why are you running?” “Can’t hurt anyone when it’s just me, right?” I turn to face him, this . . . looming shadow in the dark. “You really think you’d hurt me?” “I used to know that I never could, but lately . . .” Sawyer glances at the ground to our side and taps a thick finger to his temple. “He’s not so predictable anymore.” “What are we going to do about that then?” I ask. “We’ve got a long trip back to Lincoln to make yet.” “Don’t know.” I stare at him for a moment, turning ideas over in my head. “What if he liked me? Your devil? Would he still make you hurt me then?” His gaze returns to mine, and he frowns. “He doesn’t like anyone, Abbey.” “Maybe nobody’s tried to get to know him.” I shrug. After all, he can’t be any worse than winning over in-laws. “What’s he saying now?” “That the untouched skin on your neck would look good drippin’ in crimson while I fucked the hell out of your dyin’ body.” Well then . . . . I’m not sure what’s more disturbing: what he said, or the fact I’m not overly worried about it. Certainly a step up from a month ago. I still have faith in his self-control. “There’s always role play,” I joke with a tight smirk. He chuckles. It’s a sound to crave, like a hot drink on a winter ’s night, curling its warmth through my chest and settling in my gut. “Tempting.” “Is he always the reason you kill people?” I reach out and boldly run my fingertips around the narrow part of his waist, stopping when they reach his belt. “Mostly.” Tha-thump. Tha-thump. The proximity, the way I’m touching him, it’s sending my anxiety into
overdrive. And yet . . . I can’t stop myself. “What else does he say then?” Sawyer ’s brow twitches, as though my questions confuse him. “Why do you want to know?” He gently removes my hand from his waist. “It’s a bit rich of you to ask considerin’ you were the one to tell me where to get off when the roles were reversed.” Fair call. “I’m curious, is all.” I’m fascinated. And most of all, I’m excited at the prospect of possibly fixing my own issues by understanding his. What if he does have the answer, this madman who controls his crazy with such finesse? I can’t give up without at least trying. Sawyer backs away, crossing his massive arms over his chest as he stands side-on to me. “I think it’s time you went back inside, Abbey, don’t you?” Nuh-uh. I should do as he says, but the need to find out what exactly happened back there is too strong. “Nope. Sure don’t.” He sighs, dropping his hands to his sides as he rolls his neck in my direction. “You made it pretty damn clear that I wasn’t enough for you, Abbey-girl, so if you thought being here in LA means it would be a great time for a fun one-night stand, then I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m closed for business.” Is he for fucking real? “What the hell makes you think I wanted to jump you?” I mean . . . the thought was there, I have wondered what it’d be like, but still. “Your fingers on my belt,” he says snidely. “That sad excuse for fuckin’ clothing you’re wearin’. The fact you fuckin’ followed me out here like a bitch in heat.” “Fuck you.” My fists ball at my sides. “Maybe I wanted to do something ludicrous like talk to you, ask if you’re okay, find out what the hell happened back there, because you’ve never been that bad.” “You didn’t see me before these assholes packed me home, did you?” “You think it would have made a difference if I had?” “Perhaps then, you’d know that what you’re doin’ now, trying’ to ‘help me,’” he mocks with air quotes, “is pointless.” “It’s not. I wouldn’t bother wasting my time if I didn’t see a point to what I’m doing.” His eyes narrow with clear suspicion, and I scoff at his fucking judgmental ass. “So I can’t even talk to you now without having an ulterior motive?” “Everyone’s got an agenda.” Damn fucking right they do. I frown, unsure what to say next. After all, he’s right, isn’t he? I do have an agenda. As much as I give a shit about him, ultimately I want inside that head of his to find out if it’ll help me. Selfish, Abbey. He drags a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “What is it you really want?” Just tell him. “To get up in there,” I admit, wriggling my fingers in the direction of his pretty face. “And to find out how it is that you tick.” “Yeah?” he scoffs. “Why?” “Because it might just help me,” I say quietly. “Without me having to share the things I’d rather leave hidden.” He smirks, cold and calculated. “I’m not tellin’ you a thing until you fuckin’ talk to me.” “Well.” I chuckle. “Guess that leaves us at a bit of an impasse.” “I suppose it does.” He watches me closely as I cross my arms over my middle and head toward the clubhouse. I’ve reached the concrete step outside the doors when he calls out. “I don’t understand how you think knowin’ what it is that eats at me is goin’ to help you.” I stop, my back to him, and look to the ground as I answer. “Because I want to learn how to live on the bottom too. Sunshine ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.” I sigh. “Sick of searching out its warmth only
to get burnt.” “You want me to teach you how to quit on life?” he asks. Going by the sound of his boots on the dirt he steps closer. “No.” I shake my head, lifting my right wrist out to the side so he can see it. “Tried quitting and it wasn’t for me.” “What then?” “I want you to teach me how to shut off my heart and not feel anymore. If it can’t hurt me, then it can’t destroy me. I want you to teach me to be how you were once: dead inside.” He stops beside me and leans a shoulder against the outside wall. “One for one.” “Pardon?” “You give me something, I give it back. We share one for one, but, Abbey?” “Yeah?” I give in and look up at his handsome face, side lit by the glow coming from the garage. “You’ve got to go first. Show me you’re committed by taking the first step.” I look away, my shoulders tense with frustration. It all sounds so easy, but when every memory stashed away in the dusty corners of my mind is nothing but a snapshot of the ugly side of humanity, I may as well agree to walk over a bed of glass and fire. It’s going to hurt. It might also kill me. But you do it in the hopes you come out the other end stronger than before.
NINETEEN Sawyer Tap flags me down the second I show my face in the clubhouse, waving me over to where he’s leaning against the wall, pool cue in hand. “Don’t go far,” he says as I rest my shoulders against the plaster beside him. “I want to have a sit down with you tomorrow morning before we leave.” “We?” Abbey only came here with a message for me. “Yeah.” He reaches to his right and snatches a square of chalk off a small shelf, swiveling it around the tip as he talks. “King phoned while you were outside to say things have gone to shit. He’s had some complication he didn’t want to discuss over the phone literally turn up on his doorstep. He’s callin’ all the officers together.” A lazy smirk crosses his bearded face. “He also wanted to make sure Abbey got here all right.” They know you far too well . . . . I jerk my chin up in acknowledgement, feigning indifference to the way he eyes me. “Didn’t tell King she got here earlier than he expected though,” he says with a lilt of humor. “No?” Tap shakes his head, setting the chalk back on the shelf. “What’s the deal with you two?” “Don’t know what you mean.” “She’s been followin’ you around like you’re fuckin’ Jesus risen.” He swaggers to the far end of the table, placing our conversation on hold while he takes a shot. It misses. “If the girl has a crush,” I say when he rejoins me, “then I can’t help that.” “She’s supposed to be headin’ back first thing in the morning. King’s a bit antsy about havin’ her out of his sight for too long.” Interesting . . . . “Why?” I will the guy to give me something . . . anything. Tap chuckles, giving a nod to his opponent after the guy sinks two. “If you mean well with her, then you’re sure to find out yourself before long.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” I regard him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over my chest. “It means,” Tap says, knocking a loose fist into my shoulder, “I’ve been talkin’ to Hooch and he told me what you were askin’ about while you were in Lincoln: details on her past. Don’t fuck around with this one, yeah? I get you’re pissed off that your old man stole Hooch’s sister from you, but messin’ with a girl like Abbey’s head for fun ain’t the way to get over it.” They all sound the same . . . . Do they fucking ever. Not only has he been talking with Hooch, but it’s as though the asshole’s given him a play-by-play script. I squint my eyes shut, gathering my shit together long enough to finish this heart-to-heart with Tap. “I’ll tell you what I told him: I haven’t got the slightest interest in messin’ with that kid, so go worry yourself with someone else’s business.” I jam an angry finger into his shoulder—fucker does well not to wince. “And don’t you ever fuckin’ question how serious I was about Hooch’s sister again. Dana fuckin’ knew how to silence this shit,” I say, gesturing to my head. “The only girl I ever met who could, and my fuckin’ asshole father took that from me, from all of us. If makin’ him pay is the last
goddamn thing I do, then so fuckin’ be it. I’ll gladly die knowin’ I did it avenging her death.” He brushes off where I prodded him. “No need to get all dramatic on me, brother.” I push off the wall with one foot and head toward my room before I’m tempted to kick his timberloving ass into next week. “Before you go,” Tap calls after me. “Abbey’s twenty now. She ain’t a kid anymore, so you can stop callin’ her that.” His laughter follows me from the room. Yeah, thanks. Like I hadn’t noticed. Abbey What the fuck is his deal? What the fuck is mine? Get given a damn task by King, a simple message, and here I am scheming some reason for me to hang around the Cali boys until Sawyer hits the road tomorrow afternoon. When I left home, I was counting down the hours until I could turn around and get the hell away from him and his games again. And now? Jesus, I’m weak. “You eaten?” Tap cuts off my path toward the bar. “A little.” He lifts one brow. I roll my eyes and sigh. “Pringles, okay? I had a can of fucking Pringles right before I pulled into town.” “Get your ass to the kitchen, girl.” He jerks his chin in the opposite direction of where I was headed. “Sure they’ll have something there for you.” “I’m not hungry.” “You’ve got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow.” He narrows his gaze on me. “Best you do it with a clear head.” “Can’t a girl get a break before she’s shunted out the door again?” He has to have been talking with King. Swear the bastard is like the uncle I never had, always looking out for me. “Not with your track record, love.” Tap crosses his heavily tattooed arms. The man’s the epitome of why you should never judge a book by its cover. On the outside he’s as soothing as wood smoke and mountain air, but dig a little past the surface and there’s one relentless bastard who’ll cut you down quicker than you can think to run. “One day, Tap. Please.” He shakes his head and thumbs toward the kitchen. “Late dinner, and then early night, yeah?” “I’m not a child.” His lips curl up on one side. “You act like one, you get treated like one.” “Oh, come on. It was one time.” “Three.” “You and King really share everything, huh?” He nods, steering me toward the promise of a full belly with his wide frame. I start walking when the pressure of his chest against my shoulder gets too much. “Fine. I’m getting dinner.” “Good. I’ll make sure you get there okay.” I glance around at the dregs of what’s left after the Friday night rush. A handful of members are moping around nursing their heads already, while a couple of the younger guys are still trying to outdo each other at the bar. Half of the people who were here an hour ago have left already, having swept in like a hurricane to grab their fill of free drinks and drugs, and then left to sleep it off in the
comfort of their suburban homes. “There’s really no threat,” I assure Tap. “I think I can make it down a corridor on my own.” He shadows me anyway as we pass the laundry and storeroom. I hesitate at the door to the kitchen and look down the darkened end of the corridor toward the bedrooms. Wonder if he’s already turned in? I didn’t see Sawyer come in, but his bike is still in the yard. “Food,” Tap instructs as he sets a gentle hand on my shoulder and steers me in the room. “That’s all you should be thinking about.” “I’m not like you men, you know. I do think about more than sex and food.” He scowls as I cross over to the twin fridges and pull the left one open to find nothing but alcohol. Speaking of men. “Am I doing something wrong that I should know about?” He sighs, leaning back against the steel counter as I try the right fridge and find leftover mac and cheese. “Of all the guys in your life that you could take an interest in, you pick him?” Tap lowers his chin, glaring out at me from under his brow. “What?” I try for nonchalance while I slip the plastic container into the microwave. “He’s a kindred spirit.” Tap sighs heavily through his nose. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” I tease, knowing his concern would be anything but. We’ve always got along, the few occasions we’ve had to hang out over the years. I’ve never been one of the girls who sleeps around in the club, never had aspirations to be one of the pampered whores like other girls did, and in some way I think that makes Tap more comfortable to have me as a friend. There’s no assumption of our bond ever being anything more. “What would I have to be jealous of, Abbey?” He smirks, confirming my thoughts. “Yeah, I know. I’m not stupid, though,” I say, watching the pasta to save from having to look at him. “I know why you’re concerned: because King’s got you up to speed on my bad habits. He wouldn’t have sent me here without at least giving you some warning.” “When was your last?” he asks quietly. “Drink?” “What else, Abbey?” I study his reflection in the microwave door as the pasta circles slowly. “Today.” He drops his face into his hand, thinking I can’t see him. “And before that?” “I made it two weeks.” “But you’re trying, right?” “Rich coming from you,” I snipe. The guy wrecked his bike a few years back riding drunk. “Pardon?” “Nothing.” The microwave signals its end, and I pull the hot pasta out, thankful for the distraction. “If I told you I was trying, would you believe me? Or would you think I’m just saying what you want to hear?” Truth is, I am trying to stay sober. Thanks to King’s support, and the fact he’s kept my problem on the down low, I’ve managed to at least admit I have an issue. Well, one I can fix anyway. Alcoholism is the least of my worries in the grand scheme of things. “You know we’re only assholes about it because we care, right?” Tap levels. “Yeah, I know.” Also know I wouldn’t have picked alcohol back up if it wasn’t for the head fuck Sawyer gave me. Withholding my past is half of where my problems with the drink started. There’s something infinitely easier about drinking your woes away for a few hours, maybe a day, rather than having to try and talk it out with somebody who couldn’t possibly understand. Counselors, well-meaning friends in the club, they don’t know what it was like. They don’t know what I came from before I fell
at Apex’s feet and found the mercy of a devil to help me. How could they know when they weren’t there? How do I explain what those kinds of experiences do to your head? I can’t. Which is why I want to dissect Sawyer, find out if his brain plays the same tricks, if it skips the same cog. Find out how he keeps it from breaking down entirely. But without sharing a single part of my own. Tall order, right? “I’ll leave you to eat in peace.” Tap pushes off the counter, and hesitates at the door. “You’re staying on the cot in my room tonight.” “Why?” I ask around a mouthful. “Don’t trust your own men?” He huffs heavily out his nose. “One in particular. One that’s not mine.” “Sawyer,” I helpfully fill in. “You might think it’s great to find someone as scarred as you are, but it never works out. I’ve seen what happens when you mix two explosive cocktails, and it doesn’t end well . . . for anyone.” “Advice taken.” I stir the pasta absently, avoiding his gaze. “Night, Abbey.” “Night, Tap.”
TWENTY Sawyer Sleep is an elusive motherfucker. Doesn’t help that the night is as humid as hell. The overhead fan turns lazily, sending a breeze over my naked skin. I stare up at the sliver of moonlight that cuts a line across the ceiling and try to think of anything but women. I told Dana I’d get her out, that I’d make her mine, and I fucking meant it. And then he took her from me. My own flesh and blood, the man who is supposed to protect and nurture me, shot the one fucking woman who could silence my devil, for nothing but pure narcissistic fun. He hit me where it hurt the most. And fuck does it hurt. I had the answer to my greatest problem literally in the palms of my hands, and he fucking stole my one shot at a normal life and being okay away from me. Connect the dots . . . . Fuck. Isn’t that what Abbey’s asking for? The chance at a normal life, at finding out if I’m the one who can silence her demons? And I shoot her down by playing on her desperation to get her to face her greatest fear: intimacy. Still think you’re changing . . .? I’m not so sure anymore. Fuck it all. I honestly thought I was making progress, that I had been taking steps toward becoming better. But damn—I’m just the asshole I always was. Can’t escape the root of who I am, it seems. My foot twitches, the muscles in my legs yearning to leap from this fucking mattress and tear down the road toward his damn estate. All of this traces back to that soulless motherfucker. A normal father, even a drunk who gave half a fuck, could have raised such a different child. Every damn thing I hate about who I am can be traced back to that sadistic bastard. Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s going to buy you a— Funny. Real funny. Any day now, and I’ll be hand delivering that fucker his date with the devil, yet I’ve never felt farther from the end than I do now. King wants in. He wants my old man’s reign over. King will send loyal men hand over fist through the gates of hell to try and take down the one person who’s stood the test of time: fucking Satan himself. I believe wholeheartedly in people’s souls being possessed, that damned spirits can occupy a person’s body and make them do crazy shit. Why wouldn’t I, of all people? Yet, ten holy men could absolve my father of all his sins, and they’d still find the heart that beats inside his body is as black and dead as the world around them. You can’t save a person who hasn’t got anything left to redeem. Which is why he has to die. Which is why I have to do it. Who better to kill the crazed man than the one who understands him best? So poetic . . . . Abbey asked how I’d do it, and I had the answer. It’s all I’ve thought about since kissing Dana’s corpse good-bye and running for my life like the useless motherfucker I am. I could catalogue the
ways I’ve dreamed of taking his life over the years, segmented into categories, divided by weapon of choice. He’s breathed his last a million times over in my mind, and a part of me worries that the real thing, the day I truly put an end to his tyrannical reign, won’t compare. That the dream will remain a fantasy. And that I’ll leave feeling emptier than when I went in. That you’ll fail . . . . The despair, it’s a familiar and forever unwelcome surge that rolls through my body, radiating outward from my chest. Every time I do this, every time I think about how pointless and hopeless this whole crusade against my old man is, it comes again, worse than before. The weight begins in my chest, an invisible force pushing down, crushing my lungs, and leaving me fighting for breath. And then it spreads upward, choking me, wrapping its aching tendrils around my throat until I’m swallowing over and over, trying to find my way back to how I felt mere minutes before. Trying to save myself from being pulled under. But then, without fail, the black fog reaches my eyes, and the ache starts, building until I can’t hold them open a second longer. It’s exactly what the pain wants—complete submission. The moment my eyes close, it’s all over. There’s no reason to fight it. I’ve gone under, drowning in my own miserable cesspool made up of all the reasons why I’m not enough, why I’m doomed to fail, and how I’m no good for anyone. Reasons the world would be better off without me. But as always, there he is, holding a candle in the dark and stroking the wet hair from my eyes as I’m gasping on the shores of relief. You’ve got so much left to prove, he whispers. If they think your father is pure evil, they’ll be begging for him to come back once you let go and show the world who you really are . . . . But I can’t. I can’t do that to the people who matter to me. I’m all that matters, he says with a frown. I’m all you need. It hurts. So much. You know what to do . . . a midnight snack . . . ease the burden . . . save the world from one more leech on its soul . . . . He’s right, my devil. He’s always right. He knows me. He gets me. He understands me. And in a fucked-up kind of way, he raised me when my father was too busy to pay his only child any attention. When I needed advice, my devil spoke. When I needed to unload, he listened. He’s the only one who’s been there no matter what. The only one I can count on. And yet I still want to end him, to silence him for good. You’ll never be rid of me, boy . . . . Maybe not, but I can drain your power. No . . . . Yes, fucker. He’s scrambling, pulling madly at his levers and slamming heavy fingers on switches, but he’s wasting his time. The panic has passed and I’ve taken control again. I’m in charge. The floor is cool beneath my feet as I cross to the short set of drawers and open the top one, revealing the black leather ring box I keep tucked in the right-hand corner. It’s been a while since I’ve done this to my devil, resorted to this madness, but seeing those lines on Abbey’s skin a few weeks ago got me thinking. What if this isn’t such a bad thing? What if it’s excusable from time to time? I lift the box out, the texture beneath my fingers bringing almost as much relief as what I’ll do next. My devil cries out, screams at me to put it down, but my devil, oh my poor devil . . . I’ve got him on mute. The lid snaps open with a jerk, revealing the most precious weapon I’ll ever have in my arsenal.
It’s the only one that can reach him. The only one that can beat him into submission for a little while. The one I swore never to use again when I ran a little deep, tried a little too hard once before. You shouldn’t do this . . . I can behave . . . . The blade is clean, never left dirty from the time before. I stare at it, marveling at the way the moonlight bounces off it as I cross over to the bed again. Selecting some tunes on my phone, I set the mood as I lift the blade out and set the box aside on the floor. Put it back . . . we can talk about this . . . . I’d be worried too if somebody was literally about to drain my life force. I find the sweet spot on the top of my thigh. Arms are so obvious—something Abbey is yet to learn. Scars on your wrists or forearm beg for questions. The leg? It’s personal. It’s a place that only those you choose can see, know of, and let’s face it, when was the last time a girl looked at a guy’s thighs as he pummeled her needy cunt? Never, right? He’s screaming, my devil. Begging me as I bring the blade along my flesh in a smooth line. A burst of bright red erupts, morphing into a deeper shade of crimson the bigger it gets. I set the blade on my opposite leg and simply watch the blood as it trickles over the curve of my quad. People take it for granted, the color. They fall and scrape their skin, or cut themselves preparing food, and their first thought is repairing the wound. But when was the last time you stood back and marveled at the perfect shade of red blood is? It’s life. It’s the one thing we share: we all bleed red. It’s the only thing that reminds me I’m human, and not born straight from hell like my father makes me believe. It gives me reassurance that somewhere inside me, I’m the same as everyone else. I bleed red, so therefore I must be able to be saved. Fixed? No. But saved? Maybe. I add another line, engrossed in the trickles of red as they mingle and run in a braided river of life over my flesh. My devil’s quieter now, whimpering as he puts himself to bed to rest. And much like a tired parent, a sense of relief washes over me when I realize that with him quietly tucked away I can also enjoy a few moments of peace and quiet. Finally. A mere ten minutes later and the blade is clean, my leg has stopped bleeding, and I’m back as I was, spread-eagled on the bed, yet alone. The quiet is welcome, the silence refreshing, however I seem to have developed a new problem. Eyes open: gray ceiling, lazy fan. Eyes closed: Abbey. Eyes open: lazy fan, crack in the plaster. Eyes closed: Abbey. Fuck. Clearing the mess from Dana seems to have simply opened the highway for the curiosity over Abbey to kick into high gear. She didn’t mean for me to see her wrists, but I can’t deny that was one of the things that cemented by obsessive curiosity with her. She thinks we might work the same way, that she can find what’s missing for her by understanding me better. What if she’s right? Now isn’t the time to think about that, my devil whispers from his position curled in on himself. Yeah, I know, but I can’t help but wonder what the hell went down when she went on her roadie and I visited Fort Worth to . . . well . . . . Fuck things up? Yeah, that. Got to watch my back every time I’m in the room with one of those Butcher Boys now. Couldn’t blame them if they did dig the knife in. Fuck, I’d do a hell of a lot worse if roles were reversed and
somebody murdered my friend. You don’t have any friends . . . . Aren’t you supposed to be asleep? Still don’t regret the kill, only who it affected. That’s your problem, isn’t it? The devil stretches out, rolling to his back. That I don’t mind the kill? Yeah, fucker, it is. And you. Easy now . . . . Be a whole lot simpler if you weren’t up there confusing everything. You can’t blame me for all of it. Sure gonna try. You do realize we’re one and the same, right? I’m a part of you, a manifestation of your desires, your better half— Shut up and go to sleep, cunt. I block the thoughts of Abbey and her cute butt the only way I know how: popping in my earbuds and cranking up the music. Dark notes fill my ears, slow haunting rock with heavy bass and screaming vocals. It’s the only thing that totally blocks the mess in my head. Can’t concentrate on anything else when I’m focused on the drumbeats and guitar chords echoing around my skull. One song bleeds into the next, my playlist enough to last me for a good hour if need be. Heart slow. Head light. Sleep near. Somebody in my bed. What the fuck? Somebody in my bed. “Ah, damn it! Stop it!” “What the fuck are you doing in here?” Abbey stares wide-eyed at me from her position laid out on her back on the floor beside the bed, my hand wrapped around her throat and her body pinned between my thighs as I kneel over her. “Why the fuck are you yelling?” she asks. “Fuck it.” I let go, backing up as I rip the earbuds out. She leans up on her elbows and stares. “What?” I snap. “You’re naked.” “So? Never seen a dick before?” She smirks. “Not yours.” “Fuck’s sake.” I rip the pillow off the bed and throw it over her face before searching out my boxers. “Let me guess: you sleep in a cute little pajama set with hearts on it?” “Skulls, actually.” “You never answered my first question.” She sets the pillow back in its position and climbs onto the bed, sitting square in the middle with her legs folded Indian style. “Need somewhere to sleep.” “There are twelve rooms down this end of the place.” “Are there?” she sasses. You going to let her dictate what’s going on here . . .? Great—he’s awake too. “Have the bed then. I’ll sleep out in the main hall on one of the sofas.” “It’s big enough to share, you know.” “I don’t play well with others.”
“So you’ve said a thousand times over.” Fuck this girl. How the hell am I supposed to ignore this macabre curiosity I have for her when she’s on my bed with her knees apart like that? I scrub a hand over my face and sigh. “What’s the end game here, Abbey?” Fucking shorts are so damn close to showing it all . . . . “You get company,” she says, pointing at me. “And I get company.” Her finger moves to her chest. “Who said I need any company?” “Just a hunch.” She shrugs, letting out a short, sharp sigh. “And I guess I wanted to say sorry too. For having an agenda, for being selfish and wanting you to do the exact same thing I refuse to, and most of all for making my problems yours.” The girl has a conscience . . . bravo . . . . The devil in my head inspects his nails, unimpressed. Yet the way she fidgets with the sheets at her feet, the frown on her face, and the little shrugs she gives as she talks—that all says something about how vulnerable she feels right now, saying a word that I don’t think I’ve ever said more than a dozen times in my life. A better man might be touched by it. I’m wondering how I can exploit it for my benefit. I’m a sick fucker like that. “Company helps you sleep, huh?” She nods, a small smile playing on her lips as the curtain of her hair hides her eyes. “I’m not the cuddling type, though.” I chuckle at her dry humor. “Neither. But company I can do.” The hopeful look in her eye almost undoes me as she scoots backward, making room for me. I shake my head, lips pressed tight. “I’ll hang out over here.” She follows the direction of my thumb to the corner of the room. “But there’s nothing there.” “There’s space to sit, solitude, and somewhere to sleep.” And at least ten feet between me and a huge fucking mistake waiting to happen. I turn away, heading for my makeshift camp for the night. “I’ve slept in worse places.” The sheets rustle behind me as she gets comfortable. “Yeah. Me too.” Not another word is spoken as I settle onto the floor, back to the junction of the walls and legs kicked out in front. The timber is hard and unrelenting under my ass, but at least it’s level and dry. She fidgets under the covers, tossing around for what feels an age before she finally settles down and her breathing grows quiet, barely audible. Perfect opportunity . . . . To try and do this all over again, the right way—yeah it is. Such a gentleman . . . .
TWENTY-ONE Abbey His huge shoulders curl inward, restricted by the walls as he sleeps sitting upright in the corner still. I don’t know exactly what time it was when I came in last night; maybe it was early this morning? But either way, it’s far too long to be sleeping like that on a hard-as-fuck floor. I started out in Tap’s room like he wanted me to, but as soon as the big guy fell asleep I slipped out to appease my curiosity. I’ve watched Sawyer since I arrived here, seen how he interacts, his habits, and his body language. The cockiness he’s known for, the level of self-righteousness he usually presents to the world . . . it’s gone. Something’s been eating at my pretty boy, and I want to know what it is. Maybe he isn’t as infallible as I’ve always assumed? Maybe he really is a lot more like me than I gave him credit for. Maybe deep down he resents who he is too, despite what he says about being comfortable with his “gift.” Sawyer ’s hands are tucked between his thick thighs, his dark lashes lying soft and delicate over his sharp cheekbones. The man really is a thing of beauty, and so carefully guarded. I can see why Ramona fell hard and fast, sucked into the idea that she could find that scared boy inside and set him free. Thing is, I don’t think he wants to be out here in the big bad world. I bet the child within Sawyer likes it where he is, wrapped up in the protection of this monster that keeps people at bay, friendly or otherwise. I slip off the bed and crawl across the floor, slow and careful in my movements so as not to wake him. His breaths come slow and heavy, a deep resonance straight from his chest. If it were possible for breathing to sound masculine, I’d think he nailed it. He has to be cold, surely. The sun’s already heated the day outside, the room warm from its rays. But even so, he’s slept here all night on the floor without a blanket and wearing only his boxers. I reach out, my hand hovering over his leg. Do I touch him? Do I disturb the beast as it rests? A slim red line pokes out from under the hem of his boxer leg. I retract my hand and sit back on my heels, studying the fresh injury as he slumbers. It’s clean and sharp, not as though he’s scratched himself by accident. Could it be? Were my suspicions back in Lincoln correct? My left thumb absently rubs over the healing lines on my opposite wrist. He’s full of surprises, and it makes me wonder if I was premature to apologize? Should I push harder? Do everything I can to force him to answer me? Not now, Abbey. King wants Sawyer back east to have his chance at finishing things with Carlos. I can’t get in the way of that. How petty would it be if I distracted him from something as important to our club as taking out the biggest threat to our future? I only know a little about what’s going on in the club right now, and it involves Carlos and a whole lot of vengeful agendas that needing sorting out. Seems everybody has something against Sawyer ’s old man. I reach out again, drawn to pretty boy in his restful state. He’s so at peace, and yet, I get the sense that it’s anything but calm inside that ravaged mind of his. My fingers brush against his leg, and his eyes snap open, his hand wrapped around my wrist before I can let out a gasp.
“What you doin’, Abbey-girl?” His husky morning voice drapes its dulcet tones around me. “You looked cold.” “Anything but.” He pulls me forward by the grip on my wrist and lays my hand against his hard stomach. My skin sears from the heat he radiates. “I guess you’re not, then, huh?” The fires of hell clearly rage within, even when he’s unconscious. “How did you sleep?” He lets go of my hand with a flick, sending me away. “Good.” “The company helped then?” “I think so.” I didn’t wake mid-nightmare trying to cut some imaginary intruder, so there’s that. “What’s for breakfast?” He pulls his legs in and stands, pushing off the wall behind him. I fall back on the heels of my hands and look up the glorious length of him as he raises both arms over his head and stretches, his boxers obviously tented from this angle. Oh my. Somebody woke up in a good mood. “Whatever they’re cooking in the kitchen, I guess.” Gathering the remnants of my scrambled thoughts, I right myself and stand also. “But first, coffee.” “Black, one sugar.” I jerk my chin back, hands on my hips as I stare down his wide back. He ignores me, shaking out his T-shirt before he tugs it on over his ripped frame. He turns, slowly, one eyebrow raised. “What you still doin’ standin’ there?” “Do I look like your fucking maid?” “Do I look like a goddamn babysitter?” I smirk. I can’t help it. Visions of him changing nappies flash through my mind. It’s so wrong it’s just absurd. “No,” he affirms. “Didn’t think so. And yet, there I was”—he holds a hand toward where he slept —“keepin’ you safe from whatever.” What do I say to that? Can’t argue that I didn’t ask him to, because I pretty much did. Also can’t argue that it wasn’t needed, because it was. I haven’t felt so secure in a long time. I’m usually up every hour, even when Hooch has his sleepovers. The habit of forever being on edge gets kind of hard to shake when even a locked door couldn’t keep you safe as a child. “Fine,” I say on a sigh. “Anything else?” “Your tank’s a little twisted.” He points to my chest with a devilish smirk. Jesus, I could die. I look down and yank the fabric around so my nipple isn’t poking out the side of the armhole anymore. “Hey,” he says with a chuckle. “We’re almost even now, right?” “Almost?” I cry. “Why only almost?” “You got full frontal last night. I only got a peep of nip.” “Ugh. Serious?” “Deadly.” He bites his bottom lip, screwing his palms together. “Fine.” It’s long past time to call this fucker ’s bluff. I spin around so my back is to him, feet shoulder width apart, and wrench my cut-offs and panties down my legs, bent double at the waist. “Even?” “Baby, you got no idea.” *** “Morning, Abbey.” Tap enters the dining hall with a frown on his face.
“Lovely day out there,” I murmur. “It is.” His gaze drifts across the room to where Sawyer sits at one of the far tables; chair reclined on its back legs as he sips his coffee. “You were up early,” he addresses me, while still staring at Sawyer. “Always am.” Sawyer smirks. I push the last quarter of my waffle around the plate before me, well aware I’m being watched. “King expects you back today.” Tap returns his focus to me. “The rest of us will head off later today—all the officers have been called in—but he wants you on the road this morning.” “Of course he does.” Couldn’t let my leash out for too long. “Sawyer,” Tap says, eyeing me suspiciously. “My office in an hour.” “No can do.” “Excuse me?” Tap’s head snaps around. I take a small bite of waffle, watching their showdown with interest. “I said,” Sawyer drags out. “No can do. We can talk about whatever it is you got on your mind in Lincoln.” “Look, I get you’re keen—” “Ain’t the reason why I want to leave early.” I wilt under the intensity of Sawyer ’s stare. “Let me guess,” Tap drawls, looking between the two of us. “You two want to travel in convoy.” “I hadn’t really—” I’ve started to protest, when Sawyer ’s chair legs hit the floor with a loud whack. “Yeah, we do,” he answers with a stare that dares me to say otherwise. God, after the way he damn near devoured me with his gaze when I flashed him, I can’t look at him for too long without wanting to break out in nervous giggles. No way in hell I’m travelling with him. “It sounds like you’ve got more important things to sort out first,” I say, standing and picking up the plate. “I’ll get going now, see you there.” “Nope. Nothing that can’t wait. Eh, Tap?” The big guy positively glares at Sawyer. “Don’t you need to refill your bike or some shit?” I try. “Don’t you need gas for the truck?” Fuck. Tap watches us with concerned interest as we bicker. “I’ll follow you back,” Sawyer says with finality. “Meet you out front in thirty.” He stands and crosses the room to the adjoining kitchen. His mug clinks in the sink as I meet Tap’s raised eyebrow. Shit. “Anything you’d like to confess about where you really were this morning?” “I’m all good.” I hesitate, thumbs running around the rim of the plate. I’m not sure Sawyer ’s left the kitchen yet, and I’d like to avoid another heated interaction like earlier—even if I did start it. “Ring me when you get halfway,” Tap says, dropping a hand to my shoulder. “Give me peace of mind, yeah?” “He won’t harm me,” I whisper. “Exactly what I’m worried about.” He looks toward the kitchen. “Go. I’m sure it’s safe to ditch your plate now.” He leaves the same way he came in, back out to the main corridor. I stand in the room, flanked by the four matching timber tables, and sigh. What are you afraid of, Abbey? A day on the road together gives me plenty of time to work out how to broach the subject of the lines on his leg. As long as I can keep my raging female hormones in check. He’s been flirting nonstop, clearly not put off by the fact I shut him down the day he left Lincoln. At
least, I think it’s flirting. Never had a guy initiate a proper relationship with me to know for sure. Still—no point getting the hopes up, now, is there. He’s probably playing you. Yeah, there’s that too. I know how he works, and nothing happens unless he’s going to benefit from it. A lot like me. He promises a thrill ride to rival the biggest and best theme park, except with his roller coaster, there’s no safe finish, just the uncontrollable fall into oblivion when the novelty’s worn off. I’ve got to keep the upper hand and remain in charge if I want a chance at getting out of this without being burned. I can’t let him think he has one over me, and standing here afraid to enter the kitchen is doing just that; giving him the power. Besides, he’s probably out in the yard already. It’s been a while, right? I stride forward, berating myself for being so weak after I’ve spent so long making sure I’m not. I was that scared and dependent little kid. I killed her when I found out how comforting the fog from a night of drinking could be. Day by inebriated day, I managed to shut her weak and unjustified fears down until I all but numbed every memory of who I was. A lot’s happened in the five weeks since he’s been gone. God, I need a drink. Fuck being sober. All it does is remind me of who I was escaping to begin with. I don’t like this girl, the one who second-guesses herself and seeks affirmation from everyone around her. I’m a fucking warrior, and I don’t need anybody’s attention to make me feel vindicated. I polish my own crown. “Starting to think you were going to take that fuckin’ thing with you.” Damn it. “Have you been waiting the whole time?” “Looks like it, huh?” Sawyer smirks, shoulders big and overbearing as he sits atop the counter, palms pressed to the surface either side of his legs. “Why do you want to travel separate?” “Why you want to do it together?” “You think you can flash me that pussy and then let it outta my sight?” He shakes his head, chuckling. “You really dove in the deep end without learnin’ to swim first, huh?” “I’m not in over my head,” I snap. “You don’t intimidate me.” Liar. “Who said anythin’ about bein’ intimidated?” I frown, arms crossed over my chest as I stare him down, His gaze roves my attire, same clothes as yesterday, and his pupils dilate. “You want a shower before we head off?” “You saying I stink?” “Sayin’ I could lather you up so you don’t.” He hops off the counter, his boots making a hell of a thud as his heavy frame hits the floor. “Sound like fun?” “Are you like this with everyone?” He shrugs a shoulder. “I tried with Tap once, but he wasn’t too keen. Thought the guy liked men and all . . . .” He trails off, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Funny. Real funny.” “To answer your question, though.” He reaches out, running a finger down the middle of my tank, drawing a line between my breasts. “No, I’m not like this with all the girls. Only the interestin’ ones.” “Glad I pique your curiosity then,” I sass back, stepping out of reach. “I think I’ll pass on the shower though; might keep you away from me on the trip home if I stay stinky.” “Don’t pretend that’s what you want.” “I’m not.” He frowns as I retreat toward the door. “Just think it could be hazardous to your riding if you were preoccupied with other things.” Palms either side of the girls, I give my cleavage a boost, blowing him a kiss on my way out the door.
His growl follows me down the corridor. Balance of power—restored.
TWENTY-TWO Sawyer Fucking girl’s going to do my head in. Don’t know what the fuss is over anyway . . . . As if you’ve ever liked anyone. Thought a little intensity in the kitchen might sway her my way, and it almost did. She had that defiant look in her eyes, the one that says she knows she’s bitten off more than she can chew but she’s going to make a fine show of trying to eat it anyway. But then she blew that fucking kiss on her way out the door, letting me know the chase is on. She’s fucking with me, playing hard to get. Thing is, I’m never one to let prey go. Especially when it presents a fair workout to catch it. Still love you, Dana girl, but can’t stay celibate forever. She’d understand. Getting my dick wet doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what she meant to me. Just means I’ll be getting a little extra cardio on the side while I avenge what that fucker did to her. Not as if I’m looking for anything long-term. A little fun here . . . . A little blood there . . . . I yank the strap on my saddlebags a notch tighter. The leather complains; it’s not as though it needs to be shackled down so damn tautly, but if I’m not taking my pent-up frustrations out on this fucking strap, I could guarantee there’d be a few expensive machines in the garage that are a little worse for wear by the time I cruise out the gates. Abbey fusses with the truck in my periphery; making it damn fucking obvious she’s trying to attract my attention. Thought I had her this morning when she flashed me that pink pussy, but dang, the girl’s done a right one-eighty. She’s playing hard to get for sure. Maybe she is as equally fucked in the head as me? What you trying to say . . .? Come on—not as though we’re exactly over the moon about being stuck with each other, is it? Touché . . . . I throw my leg over the seat and unscrew the fuel cap, giving the machine a wobble between my legs to see where the level is. Damn gauge has been playing up for weeks, but Cedric, the young guy they have in the workshop here, isn’t quite as careful with his work as Fingers. I’ll be handing my keys over to the old boy as soon as we pull into Lincoln; wouldn’t trust anyone else with my ride. I replace the cap and make the fatal error of glancing up as a flash of light off chrome catches my attention. Fucking Abbey’s standing up on the front wheel of the F150, ass hanging out of her cut-offs for the entire world to see as she makes a show of wiping off the windshield. “That really necessary?” I call across the yard. “Will be when the sun starts to set,” she hollers back. “Makes it hard to see when the light hits this road grime.” She’s not wrong, but I’m not buying her excuse either. Didn’t look that bad to me. She hops down, her small but pert tits bouncing as her boots hit the dirt. I lean back, arms folded over my chest as she dusts her hands off and walks my way. “There anything around here I can use as a step?”
“What for?” “Need to check the fluids before I start her up.” “Tire looked handy enough a few seconds ago.” “I can’t reach around the hood properly.” I roll my eyes and dismount. “All this necessary, Abbey-girl? Or are you just stallin’?” “You forget who I grew up with?” Right. She and Fingers were inseparable until she went AWOL earlier this year. “Think there’s a crate in the garage. Come on.” I jerk my head toward the open doors of the hangar-size shed and lead the way. She follows a safe distance behind, out of arm’s reach, otherwise I’d probably have pulled her close just to fuck with her some more. Keep telling yourself that . . . . What you getting at? We all know why you want her up against you, and it isn’t because you’re using her for her feminine qualities . . . . My devil waves his arms about, conducting an invisible orchestra. Fucker can be a right asshole at times. “This okay to use?” Abbey points to a steel toolbox that I know is full of chains. “If you can move it.” I step back and prepare to watch the entertainment unfold. She gives it a shove and the damn thing doesn’t move an inch. Hands on hips, she frowns, as though calculating her next move. The box has two handles on either end, and she squats down and takes hold of one in both hands. Her hamstrings stretch and go taut as she pushes her feet into the concrete and gives it her all to pull it across the floor. The box skids a little. Impressive. Backing up a step, she rubs her palms off on the butt of her shorts, and damn if that doesn’t liven things up in my jeans. “Are you going to help, or just stand there?” “Thought women liked to be independent these days?” I tease. She sighs, tossing her head back. Makes me want to lick her throat. “We like the opportunity to be able to do things ourselves. It doesn’t mean we don’t need a little help every now and then.” I chuckle, wandering over and motioning her to get out of the way with a jerk of my chin. She smirks as I bend my knees and grab both handles. Girl doesn’t think I can do it. Needless to say, it’s satisfying as hell when her eyes damn near bug out of her head as, with a heave, I lift the box clean off the floor and start walking it to the truck. My arms burn like hell; the thing has to weigh somewhere close to two hundred pounds. Every tendon in my neck is on fire with the strain to keep it at waist height, and I’m pretty sure I’ve popped a few of the new scars open in my arm, but like fuck I’ll give her the satisfaction of dropping this and admitting it’s too much, even for me. Fuckin’ long way to the truck. Didn’t remember it being parked so far from the doors. The toolbox hits the dirt beside the front of the Ford with a ceremonious puff of dust. Abbey literally fucking skips over from the garage and daintily steps on top. “Thanks, pretty boy.” Damn sure I slipped a disc or something. Better add heavier deadlifts back in to the workouts. Fuck. It’s worth it, though. Goddamn, is it worth it. Her shorts ride up the back of her legs, the bottom skimming a pretty appealing line around the crease of her butt. She strains on her toes to reach into the engine bay and pull out the dipstick for the oil. “Shit, I don’t have a rag. Could you?” Fucking bitch gives me those puppy dog eyes. And you wag your tail like the whipped little animal you are . . . .
Could be doing worse. I give the side of my head a healthy slap with the heel of my hand to shut the fucker up and return to the garage to get a scrap of old T-shirt for her to wipe the stick on. She accepts it with a smile when I return, and hesitates, hip leaning on the side panel of the truck. “What?” I step back, arms folded. “Why do you do that?” “Do what?” She mimics the way I hit my head with her free hand. “Shuts him up.” I shrug. No need to lie about it—everybody knows he’s in there. “Huh,” she says with raised eyebrows, turning back to the engine. My back burns with the sun beating down on my black leather, but I stand there like a damn sentry watching her as she wriggles her way around the engine of the truck, checking all the fluids, and even dashing into the clubhouse for a pitcher of water to top up the radiator. Girl’s thorough, got to give her that. Planned how you’ll do it yet? The devil leans forward at his post, chin on his hand as he studies her also. Do what? Surely you’re not going to let her get all the way back to Lincoln untouched . . . . Maybe I am. Liar . . . . I chuckle, drawing Abbey’s curious eye. Yeah, he got me on that. As if I’d pass up this opportunity when day after day my thoughts about her have gotten a little more detailed and a little more obsessive. My smile fades pretty damn fast though when I realize the truth of it: I’m not going after her for a little fun, or out of sheer curiosity, like I keep telling myself—this shit is dead serious. Aw, crap. I’ve got a reputation as a jealous and controlling asshole for a reason. When I decide it’s mine, it’s fucking mine. No ifs, buts, or maybes about it. And right now, watching Abbey wipe her hands off on the stomach of her tank top, I’m seeing the words “Property of Sawyer” splashed all over her tight little body. Like that’s ever turned out well in the past . . . remember what happened to the last girl you promised you’d make your old lady . . .? I wince, dropping my chin and twisting my head to the side as I try to scrub the images of Dana bleeding out on my father ’s lawn from my head. Getting attached to women doesn’t go down well for me. There’s a reason why the saying “treat ’em mean and keep ’em keen” came about; for fucked-up assholes like me to keep some semblance of sanity. Relationships and me? Nope, no thank you, ma’am. Leave me more fucked-up than I was going in, and that sure as hell says something. “Are we ready?” Abbey stands before me, hands on her svelte hips as she studies me curiously. “Yeah. Been ready for fuckin’ ages,” I snap. She frowns, eyes locked to mine for a beat before she backs away, nodding. “Good. I’ll run in and use the ladies’ while you put that away, huh?” She points to the toolbox. Fuck it. At least if I drag that heavy-ass thing back in the garage I’ll have a legitimate reason to be aching all over.
TWENTY-THREE Abbey Never did like long-distance drives. Brings back too many memories of my first interstate trip as a toddler. Not quite as fun as you’d think when you aren’t cozied up in the backseat with a pillow and pretzels. A memory that also gives me a fucking good reason to freak the hell out when I’m in confined spaces. Rain peppers my face as I tear up the freeway, windows down. I should roll them up, but that means confinement, and unless Sawyer fancies pulling over to wait out a panic attack, then yeah, I’ll keep the windows down. If I can touch all four sides without moving, it’s too small, remnants of five hours locked in the trunk of a car while we made that interstate journey on my fourth birthday. “Evan! You can’t fucking do that to her,” Mom wails as he shoves me into the dark confines of the trunk. “Maybe then the little bitch will think twice about wetting her fucking panties.” “She’s still training,” Mom hollers, trying to get past him to pull me out. “It ain’t like she did it on purpose.” My barely contained sobs cause me to hiccup, but I don’t want to make a noise. That only makes him angrier, and I don’t want him to take Flopsy too. I cuddle my toy bunny to my chest as he steps back and hits Mommy in the nose with his fist. She cries for the shortest second before standing tall, blood trickling over her lips, and the saddest look in her eyes as he slams the lid closed on me. I love my momma, and I know she loves me. I just don’t understand why she loves him more. Fuck these tears. It’s the whole goddamn reason I don’t think about the past anymore. But fuck it if this . . . connection? Whatever it is with Sawyer hasn’t got me mulling over why it is I’m so unhinged. What’s he going to want with someone as equally messed up as he is? Yin and yang and all that bullshit—two wrongs don’t make a right. I’m more delirious than I thought if I think he’s going to want anything more than a quick fuck out of me. It really is best that I keep my secrets buried if I want a chance. No one looks for anything meaningful with me because of my wild reputation, and it’s fair to say I’m a little tired of it. I read once that everyone we meet is meant for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. So far most people I’ve met have been nothing but a reason—a reason to fuck me up a little more before they go. But then there’re Fingers, Apex, King, and Hooch. Those brutes were my season. They stuck by me while I grew up, a kid too scared of her own shadow to be left alone in a room for too long. The other men at the club used to call me “that savage kid.” They had damn good reason to as well. Pretty sure I lost count in the first year how many times I scratched and bit my way to safety when one of them got too close. All I want, though, is a lifetime. I want that love, endless and unconditional that promises to keep me safe from the memories that assault me when I’m alone . . . like now. I want a companion. A lover. A perfect match. I want to be whole. Blue sky peeks through the gray clouds on the horizon as I swipe the remnants of my unwanted
tears away. The change promises a respite to this midsummer rain. It’s not cold, though, and that’s a start. I could be driving through a torrential winter downpour, so at least there’s that if I want to look for the positives. By the time I’d gone through all my checks, just like Fingers taught me, we didn’t set off until close to lunch anyway. At this rate it’ll be midmorning tomorrow by the time we pull into Lincoln. I glance in the side mirror at Sawyer as he trails behind me, helmet on and a skull-printed bandanna covering his face. He looks like a demon straight from hell, chasing me down. I’ve never felt safer. Why is it that a man everyone’s so damn afraid of makes me feel secure enough to want to curl under his massive arm and find my home against his side? Perhaps that’s just it? When angels fear to tread in your presence, then only a devil will bring the calm you desire. He swings the bike toward the centerline and accelerates up level with my window. I look over at him, terrifying and overbearing, yet everything I wish I could have for my own. His hand lifts and he yanks the cotton down over his chin to reveal his full lips. “Hungry?” he hollers over the road noise, eyes squinted as the drizzle pelts his face. I nod, and he gives a thumbs-up in response before replacing his mask and tearing ahead of the Ford. We drive with him leading the way for another twenty miles before he indicates off the freeway and takes us several blocks down to a diner I wouldn’t have known was there if it weren’t for him. An oasis in miles of farmland. I park the truck a few yards from where he backs his bike in, and wind the windows up before jumping out. Although the rain wasn’t heavy, it’s enough to have dampened my tank to the point it’s stuck to my skin. Sawyer approaches as I’m bent over at the waist, shaking the fabric off me and doing what I can to wring the side of my top out. “Why didn’t you put the window up earlier?” he asks. I straighten, running my palms up the side of my ponytail to smooth down the wet hairs. “Habit.” “Of what?” he asks with a chuckle. “Gettin’ soaked?” “Of having freedom.” His eyebrow quirks, and I shoulder past him, heading for the diner. Don’t really feel like now is the time when I finally explain. I’ve only just got my shit together as it is. He shadows me inside, coming to a stop so damn close behind me that I swear his body heat is going to cause steam to rise out of my damp clothes any minute now. “You okay there, Abbey-girl?” “Peachy, pretty boy.” He gives in with a grunt and reaches to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. The middle-aged man behind the counter eyes Sawyer suspiciously, as though he’s expecting him to be reaching back for a gun to rob the place. Fucking people and their preconceptions. If only they knew that it’s the ones who look the kindest that are the ones you can trust the least. “What do you think of him, baby?” I look over Momma’s shoulder at the man who waits by his car. His bright eyes twinkle in the sunlight, and he smiles. “He seems real nice.” “You wouldn’t mind then if Mommy asked him to be her boyfriend?” “Nuh-uh,” I say, throwing my arms around her neck. “Can I call him Daddy?” “Not yet,” she says with a chuckle. “But maybe soon if we’re lucky.” “What you havin’?”
I cross my arms over my chest, aware that the air-con blowing down from the ceiling vent, although mild, is making my nipples hard in this wet gear. “They got an all-day breakfast?” “You ain’t gonna have waffles again, are you?” “Nope. Think I’ll have the giant cinnamon roll.” I jam my hand down in the front pocket of my cutoffs to pull out the bills I’ve got stuffed in there. His hand rests over mine, his thumb stroking my hip. “I got this.” “Well aren’t you the gentleman?” I sass, doing what I can to ignore the giddy feeling creeping into every inch of my body. “Sometimes.” He smiles, twitches a frown, and then smacks the side of his head with the heel of his hand before turning for the counter. Fucking voices. It pains me to watch him struggle with it. Nobody’s ever told me if he’s tried therapy, or if his psychosis is just one of those things that people accepted was a part of him and therefore didn’t need changing. I search out the restroom while he orders, well aware that we’ve been on the road a good four hours and the next gas station might not have public restrooms to use. An older lady exits with her young son as I approach the door. She gives me one of those smiles that screams “If I’m nice to you, you won’t hurt us” and shepherds the kid toward a table where a man and young girl eat. It still baffles me that people find me intimidating when for most of my life I’m the one who’s been forced to run from the evil in our society. The stalls are empty, and after I’ve done my thing I take the moment of silence to regroup and find my reserves. This trip has worn me down more than I’d hoped, and my ability to hold it together without a fifth of whiskey in one hand is slipping away. I hit the road a while back in the hopes that facing my fears head-on would rid me of them once and for all. Kind of like those people you see who are afraid of spiders, and so have a tarantula placed in their hands to try and shock the fear out of their system. It works . . . at first. And then there’s nothing but this crippling panic when you start to wonder how you ever thought this newfound bravery would last forever. I set off from the Lincoln clubhouse with a backpack full of dreams, and returned with a paper bag bearing broken promises. King pushed hard to sober me up, and it worked, all until I let the handsome devil out there leave me dazed and confused when he moved to LA. “Abbey, you in there still?” I push off where I had my hands either side of the basin and turn toward the cracked door. “Yeah, pretty boy, I’m still in here.” “Food’s ready. You’ve been gone a while.” Go on, say it . . . “I was worried about you.” What I’d give to hear those words from a man who loves me more than like a daughter. I’ve had plenty of compassion and understanding from our presidents, past and present, but never from a man who loved this girl as she was, and for nothing more. “I’m coming now.” He steps back as I pull the swing door wide, something akin to concern in his eyes before he shuts those brilliant blue irises away and grimaces. Fucking voices. “Where we sitting, handsome?” I say jovially, trying my best to bullshit the world as well as myself that everything’s okay. Everything is fine. I’m doing good now. Totally okay. I’ve got more confidence than I could shake a stick at.
Liar. “Picked us a booth by the window. Thought you might like some sun now that it’s out, to dry yourself a bit.” Sure enough, the clouds have parted and the warm afternoon rays reflect off the puddles in the parking lot. Weather never did have a habit of matching my mood. “What did you get?” I ask, eyes wide as I slide into the side of the booth that has my cinnamon roll. His plate must be at maximum weight tolerance with the amount of food on it. “Grilled special.” He smirks. “I eat it all and the meals are free.” I snort. “What?” I pick up the fork and use the side to rip into my roll. “I mean, you’re a big guy and all, but . . . .” “But . . . .” “That’s a lot of food.” “Three sausages, three eggs, eight rashers of bacon, two buttermilk biscuits, fried mushrooms, and two waffles, to be exact.” He leans back, smug, as though proud of himself. “Your heartburn, not mine.” In the time it takes me to eat half my roll, he’s devoured two-thirds of the food on his plate. I swirl a bite of cinnamon goodness in the syrup that covers the base of my plate, watching him eat the biscuits like some animal in a zoo. His eyes lift, finding mine, and the blue intensifies as he smiles around his mouthful. “Consider me wrong,” I say, watching as he shoves half the biscuit in his mouth in one bite. “Told you I’d pay for the meals,” he mumbles with a hand covering his mouth. I chuckle. “You won’t be paying a thing.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Exactly, Abbey-girl.” Clever bastard. “You come here a bit then?” “Yeah, I’ve stopped before on my way through to visit Mack.” His son. “You miss him?” “Yeah, of course,” he says as though it’s the stupidest question in the world. I guess it could be. “Why did you leave him?” He eyes me intently as his jaw works. I watch his throat again as he downs the food, and then shrink a little under the intensity of his stare. “Just tell me, girl. What happened to you before Apex found you?” He polishes off the last of his meal while I look everywhere around the diner but at him. The scrape of his plate as he slides it across the table draws my focus back to him. Sawyer props both hands on the table, fingers knitted, and waits on me to answer. “I’ve already told you,” I whisper. “The basics, yeah. But what happens to make parents’ abandon their kid?” An elderly couple sits to our right, sharing a giant plate of roast meat and vegetables. Behind Sawyer is a family of three, the parents wrangling their child while the kid single-handedly tries to destroy everything on the table. I spin around and check out who’s behind me, but the seats are empty. Nobody cares what we’re talking about, and yet, it feels so open. I may as well be standing at a podium for how I feel divulging things that I usually keep buried inside. “If you’re still not ready to talk—” “Not here,” I say. “I . . . nobody’s ever wanted to know so badly before. Well, nobody but Fingers.” “You tell him?” Sawyer asks without a trace of jealousy or resentment. “A bit.” He was bound to know something about me after the amount of time I spent in that garage with him growing up. I became property of the Fallen Aces at seven years old, and I first set foot off
the property on my own early last year, at the age of nineteen. Twelve years is a long time to keep everything a secret. “You had enough?” Sawyer gestures to my unfinished roll. “Yeah, thanks.” I sit in silence and watch the shift in emotions as he stares at the television mounted behind the counter. The sound is down, it’s only the pictures, but he still seems intrigued as he slides my plate across and finishes off what’s left of my roll. Twisting in my seat, I take a look as well, wondering what has his full concentration. It’s nothing special: a news story about some person who was beaten and almost died out the back of a bar. The running text at the bottom of the screen gives a number to phone if anybody has information. “You okay?” I twist back to face Sawyer as he frowns at the images. “Yeah.” Liar. He hesitates, cheek twitching as he looks at me. I can’t quite pick if it’s because that damn voice in his head is at work again, or if he’s holding back from saying something else. His gaze drifts out the window at the dimming light, the clouds having rolled around again. “We best get goin’ if you don’t want to be drivin’ all night with a wet shirt and your windows down.” “Probably be a good idea.” The longer we’re out here, the more I find myself longing to get back to Lincoln. I thought I could do this. I psyched myself up on the drive to Cali, but I guess when it all comes down to it, the scared little girl never went anywhere. She just learned to love the dark a little more.
TWENTY-FOUR Sawyer Her mood at the diner plays on my mind the rest of the journey. I can’t pick what changed. She was all sex and sass yesterday, leaning up against that clubhouse wall like the world would lie at her feet, and goddamn if it wouldn’t. Her confidence, her bite, it pulled me to her before she even opened her mouth. Word has been quiet from Lincoln until now. I moved across to be with the Cali boys, and the distance I wanted to put between the central chapters and myself happened naturally. Apart from the odd phone call with Ramona and Mack, the lines have been quiet. No word on what my father ’s been doing—other than the incident with the fire—and no word on how that Butcher Boy is getting on being undercover with my old man’s current distributor. Not even a fucking peep about Abbey. I assumed they wanted to keep me out of club business so there was no chance I’d pull another stunt like I did in Fort Worth and fuck things up. Watching that news story splash images of the man whose license I have in my back pocket makes me think the plan wasn’t such a bad idea. Wherever I go, I cause trouble, and as it seems, sometimes I do it without even knowing I am. I didn’t take the radio silence to heart. I trust King, and I knew he’d tell me when it was time to put an end to my father ’s tyranny. And he did. He sent me a fucking black-hearted angel to deliver the message. The time apart seemed good for Abbey, which only affirmed I made the right decision leaving. She was cocky, confident, and playful. But little by little the cracks have begun to show. She didn’t want to sleep alone last night. Today, she doesn’t want anyone anywhere near her. And now she seems as though she can’t even stand to be out in public. She’s becoming the Abbey-girl I used to watch with morbid curiosity as she scurried around the clubhouse, a rat-haired little kid cleaning up after the filthy pigs that were members at the time. She’s gotten worse than she was a month ago, if that’s even possible. You realize why she’s doing this . . . . What do you fucking think? If I knew, I wouldn’t be stealing glimpses of her in the side mirror of the truck, making sure she looks okay. You . . . . What the fuck about me? I’ve looked in her eyes. I’ve seen what hides behind . . . . Jesus—this asshole. Enlighten me, then. It’s dark and cold in there. It’s home . . . . The back tire of the bike steps out as I slam a hand heavily into the side of my helmet. Fuck you, asshole, you stay the hell away from her. Where you go, I follow . . . . I’ve never wanted to rip this defective brain from my head so damn bad. Why does he have to be there, watching, ruining everything? I am you, and you are me, and everything you touch, I can see, he sings, mocking me. He can’t be right, can he? Am I ruining her? Is she disintegrating because of me? Fuck it all—I never should have stolen that kiss from her. I should have backed the fuck away and kept my hands to myself, kept things uncomplicated. It was there, the apprehension and fear in her eyes, and yet like the
selfish fucker I am, I pushed forward and took what I wanted anyway. I drift left and check her reflection. Flashes of her face come in sporadic bursts as we pass under the lights of the I-135. She seems okay enough, but . . . there . . . she fucking wipes her eyes. Jesus. The sign for the exit to Grand Junction is lit up ahead. I’ve got no idea how far she planned on traveling before we had a decent stop, but we’ve been at this over thirteen hours including the bite to eat, and I’m done. My legs went numb a while back, and now that I’ve stretched out, the most intense pins and needles throb in them. She applies the brakes as I speed ahead and cut in front, narrowly missing clipping the rear end of the car in the next lane over. I gesture toward the exit and lead her off, making sure she follows like the good girl she is. Fuck what she says. Fuck how she acted as a kid. This isn’t about common histories anymore; it’s about making sure her future is right. It’s about getting her to let go of who she was for long enough to believe she can be anything she wants to. I lead us through the town, bringing us to a stop at the first inn I come across advertising a decent nightly rate. I’m not above paying for quality, but when all I need is somewhere soft to lay my head I get a little twitchy at paying what some of these places ask for. Frugal bastard . . . . Don’t you know it. Abbey pulls into the empty park beside where I’ve stopped the bike. Her tires squeal when she slams the brakes on, the door of the Ford creaking in protest as she throws it open and marches my way. “I don’t want to stop.” “Are you fuckin’ insane?” Hello: pot, kettle. Her eyes flash, and she tries another tactic. “Don’t you need to get back in a hurry or something? Like, don’t you have urgent club business?” I lift a finger and reach up to remove my helmet. She watches, arms folded, foot tapping a beat on the tarmac as I hang it off the handlebars and proceed to push my mask down around my neck. “If you need a—” “Just wait a second, girl.” I pull my phone out, holding her gaze the whole time as I swipe sideways and hit 1 to get to the preprogrammed number I need. She huffs out her nose, backing up two steps to lean her butt on the door of the truck. The evening’s cooled off quite a bit since the sun set, and she rubs her arms in an attempt to warm up as I bring the phone to my ear. The line clicks over after three rings. “How’s it going?” “All good here, King.” “Where you at?” “Stoppin’ off at Grand Junction for the night.” Abbey rolls her eyes, arms flopping dramatically to her sides. “She with you?” King asks. “Yeah, I’m keepin’ watch.” In more ways than one . . . . Fuck off. “Everyone happy?” he asks with a sigh. “Yeah, we all are.” King’s known me long enough; I know he’s referring to more than just the physical personalities on this trip. “Just think it’s best if we all get some rest.” “Good.” Shouting cuts through the line, and he curses under his breath. “I need to go, but you give me a call when you head off again, yeah? I’m not callin’ church until tomorrow, so you’re not missin’
anything.” “Sure thing.” I disconnect, a small smile playing on my lips as Abbey turns and wrenches the door to the truck open again. “I guess that’s settled, then, huh? No point asking me what I want.” She grabs a bag of clothes and slams the door shut. “Maybe I’ll feel better after a shower. Who fucking knows?” Jesus. She’s exactly like a tired and cranky toddler, refusing to admit she needs a nap. “What’s the real issue?” I dismount and step toward her. She’s literally vibrating. “I feel safer at Lincoln, okay?” “Safer.” “Yeah, that’s what I said.” Why the fuck would King send her if he knew she’d do this? “Don’t I make you feel safe?” Her gaze roams the length of me, and her mouth opens and snaps shut a few times before she finally picks her words. “Yes, and no.” “Well, that’s fuckin’ clear as day, then.” You’re under her skin . . . . Tell you who’s under my fucking skin— “Getting a room usually requires asking for one, you know.” She pointedly jerks her head toward the dimly lit office. “Yeah, I’ll get on that.” Shaking my head does nothing to clear the echoes swimming inside. It’s as though the devil’s seen what I want from her and opened the door to all the voices of my past. They swirl around in a painful eddy of doubts and questions. Have I broken her? Was she doing okay before I found her making up my room all those weeks ago, and it’s me who’s done this? The curse of Sawyer strikes, yet again . . . . Who else, you idiot . . .? I chase my usual hand to the head with another on the other side, just for good measure. If I’m going to make it through tonight without falling at her feet and begging her to tell me what the problem is, I’ll need to get a grip on things. Even so, I need to know; my mind won’t settle until I’m assured that I’m not the cause of her setback. But what if I am? What if she tells me that I’m the reason for this breakdown in her? Fuck. As if you’d ever have reason to doubt that you’re at fault . . . . Useless . . . . Broken . . . . Boy . . . .
TWENTY-FIVE Abbey Why is it taking him so long? And why is it so fucking dark in this parking lot? One light? I mean, come on. How’s a girl supposed to feel safe around here? My heart physically hurts, it’s beating so damn hard against my ribs. Normally the dark doesn’t bother me too much anymore, but shit, after the headfuck Sawyer ’s given me these last two days, I’m ruined. Fucking wildlife. Whatever the hell is clanging around in the rubbish needs a bullet. As does the flickering light at the end of the porch. Could this get any more horror movie clichéd? I wipe my free palm over the leg of my cut-offs, gripping the bag with my change of clothes tighter in the other. It’s a roadside inn, Abbey. Look at that car over there. A family would own that, a nice family. Or a serial killer who needs room for all the bodies he transports to hide in the woods. Get it together. Breathe. In, and out. There you go . . . . “You okay?” I snap my eyes open and find Sawyer standing before me, the single light near us directly behind him so I can’t see his face. “We got a room?” “Eager, huh?” His tone is teasing, so I’m going to guess he’s smiling too. “Tired, is all.” He walks toward a room two doors from where we parked and sticks the key card in the lock. “Explains why you’re shakin’ like a leaf then, huh?” How did he . . .? “This is us.” He pushes the door wide, feeling around on the wall until the room is flooded in light. I dash inside and hot step across to the far side of the room, placing the bed between the door and myself. Sawyer watches me with a frown, backs out the door, makes a show of looking both ways along the porch, and then finally comes back inside, closing the door behind him with a shrug. “I start to imagine things when I’m tired,” I lie. “Sort of like sleep hallucination or something.” “Looked to me like the hounds of hell were on your ass when you shot in here.” “I’m fine, really.” “Whatever you say, Abbey-girl.” He proceeds to strip off, laying his cut over the chair and then pulling his T-shirt off in that one-handed sexy-as-fuck way only men can. “Feel free to get in that shower if you want it.” He drops his shirt to the floor and runs his thumb across his bottom lip. “I’ll give you a five-minute head start.” I didn’t pack the right equipment for the kind of shower I’m going to need with the way he’s currently looking at me. Give me strength. Plastering a forced smile on my lips, I back toward the bathroom door and sidestep inside. He chuckles as I slam it behind me and sag against the panel. My heart races, my chest tight, and my stomach churning in knots of worry. I just need a moment. Just a few minutes to settle this unjustified panic and get my ducks in a row. A deep, masculine moan filters through the thin walls, followed by the complaint of the bed as he presumably drops his massive frame onto it. Damn it all. Why does he have to be so goddamn beautiful? I’m not asking for much: a jagged scar here, a lazy eye there, and maybe a soft jaw and an overbite to round things off. But nooo, Sawyer has
to be the most gorgeous mental case on the fucking earth. And he’s there. On the other side of the door. Making my resolve to be bold, brave, and not reliant on anybody but myself to make me happy, weaken. Years, I’ve been working on improving, building the right mind-set, and then one week in Lincoln with what can only be the offspring of an angel and the devil himself, and he reduced me to a withering mess. I missed him more than I’d like to admit while he was in LA, and I thought about him more than even he’d care to know. And as much as I tried to talk myself into being strong, to not letting him get to me this time around, all it took was a day. One damn day. Twenty-four hours to fall hopelessly in love with all his broken parts. It scares the ever-loving hell out of me to admit that. This trip has done nothing but cement how I really feel about the arrogant asshole, and in some way I wonder how much more King knew about me than even I did? I’m convinced our selfless president set this up so I had no choice but to come face-to-face with reality. There’s beauty in Sawyer ’s destruction, and I’m attracted to it like the aftermath of a car crash; you know you shouldn’t look, but you just can’t help yourself . . . . The damn door doesn’t have a lock, which leaves me at his mercy, much to my unease. I drop my cut-offs and peel the tank off in record time, discarding my underwear on the way across the small room to the shower. Muted sounds of the TV filter through the wall as I crank the taps on. Thank God. If he’s distracted, then hopefully he really was joking. Still, the thought of him coming through that door and taking what he wants . . . . I stare at the panel, buck naked, almost willing him to act on his threat. Why does the thought of his hands rough around my neck as he shoves me up against the side of the shower have me so wet? I shouldn’t want that. After everything I underwent as a kid, the last thing I should want is a man being forceful with me. But it’s not just any man . . . it’s Sawyer. Only him. Thinking about one of the other guys at the club doing the same thing . . . it just doesn’t get the same response—even the goodlooking ones, like Dog, or my guilty pleasure, Hooch. Nope, just Sawyer. I step in the shower and lather up with the complimentary soap, gaze trained to the pale blue door the entire time. The water cascades over my shoulders, running in rivulets off my hardened nipples. I’m wasting time, well and truly clean, hanging out in the shower in the hopes he wasn’t lying. It has to have been more than five minutes by now. And yet, he hasn’t come in. Because he’s doing what he does best: fucking with your head. I’m so fucking gullible. But still so fucking horny. Realizing I’ve been played doesn’t do a damn thing to ease this new ache in my gut. Might as well sort it myself then. My hand travels south, my back finding the wall under the showerhead. It’s been so long since I’ve let Hooch touch me in this way. Fuck, it’s been too long since I’ve done it myself. My eyes drift closed on images of Sawyer stripping, of his huge cock standing proud when he woke yesterday, his naked body when I slipped into his room. I give in, circling my clit with two fingers, my muscles pulsing in anticipation of the release. His eyes. The way he looked at me as I worked on the Ford. His smirk. And the gravel tones of his voice when he calls me Abbey-girl. Holy fuck. I slip my fingers inside my swollen cunt, heel of my hand rubbing over my clit as I pump in and out. I’m so close, so wound, so tight . . . .
“You started without me?” So busted.
TWENTY-SIX Sawyer Abbey dripping wet, fingers buried in her slick pussy, and on the verge of orgasm is one hell of a sight when you’re not expecting it. I’m not sure what I thought I’d find, but it was more likely her showering in her underwear for privacy than masturbating. And clearly enjoying it . . . . Shut your eyes, asshole. This is mine to watch, not yours. “You started without me?” She jolts, almost slipping on the wet shower floor. I fucking meant it when I said five minutes, but after an urgent message from Tuck at the Devil’s Breed, it became closer to ten. “Ohmygod,” she rambles on a moan. Those damn fingers are still doing my work. Her eyes are hooded, watching my every move as I step out of my boxers. Her knees press tight, and I know if I don’t get in there now she’s going to finish without me. “Jesus, Abbey-girl,”—she groans as I say her name—“I hadn’t planned on it bein’ this soon.” Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as I open the glass door and step inside with her. “Stop touchin’ yourself.” I place both hands either side of her head and lean in close. I can smell her . . . . Yeah, me too. But I told you to fuck off. This is mine. All mine. Abbey’s hands drop away, her little fingers twitching with the need to get herself off. Not on my watch. “Now what?” she whispers, short of breath. Fuck talking. I’m all for showing, not telling. Her feet slip wide on the wet tiles as I shunt her legs apart with my knee. Her chest heaves, those pert as fuck nipples begging for attention. Her gaze locks with mine and she issues what looks to be a challenge. All in, baby. I twist at the waist, leaning down to pull her left nipple between my lips. By the groans she makes, and the fingers tight in my hair, she likes it. So do I. Her back arches, pressing her breast harder against my mouth, as I circle the tight bud caught between my teeth with the tip of my tongue. I’ve thought about doing this from the minute she plumped these babies up yesterday, but fuck it all if having her in my mouth isn’t ten times better. “Pretty boy,” she says, breathless. Not so shy about being touched now. I pull back, searching her eyes for any hints of regret, for any hesitation or doubt. Nothing. “You ready for me?” “I’ve been ready for a long time.” “Tell me how long.” I reach between her legs and run the tip of my index finger along the seam of her pussy. “I want to know how long this sweet little cunt has been dreamin’ about my cock.” “Too long.” I dip my finger inside, and pull away when she thrusts forward for more. “How long, Abbey-girl?” “Years.” Her brow pinches, as though it’s hard to admit. “Jesus.” Makes something else hard for me, that’s for sure.
“I never knew what the feelings I got whenever you walked in the room were.” Her eyes drift closed as she drops her head back against the wall. “But now it makes sense.” I lean in and run my tongue along her throat exactly how I’ve been longing to. Even reward her with another two thrusts of my thick fingers in her greedy pussy. “How do I make you feel?” “Oh my God, so good.” “Not now,” I say, pulling my hand out of her and licking my digits clean. “Before this. When you wanted me, lusted after me. Was I your dirty little secret when you were alone at night?” She holds my gaze; her brown eyes an intense chestnut as she nods. “Yeah.” “Tell me what you did to make the ache go away, girl. Tell me how this went in your pretty little head.” “I . . . oh God . . . .” She sags against the wall as I reach behind her and grip one of her butt cheeks, tipping her hips toward me with my hold. Better. Her swollen hood, the pink flesh below; it’s all on such good display now. Sight for sore eyes. “Tell me, or I stop this and walk away.” “You wouldn’t.” “Done it before, haven’t I?” She sighs, placing a hand tentatively on my shoulder and tracing the swell of the arm holding her against me. “Rough. It was rough when I thought about it.” “How so?” “You did this.” She lifts my hand and places it against her neck. Is she for real? This has to be some cruel game, some sick twist of fate. I swallow hard and force out the next question. “What else?” “You would fuck me so hard I had bruises on my thighs.” My dick weeps at the thought. “And?” She’s holding something back—it’s there in her eyes. She keeps looking away, as though shy. “We had toys.” I think I’m officially in love. Half expecting some fucker to bust down the door and gun her down right here before me, as well. She’s too good to be true, too good to keep. I swap hands, moving the left one from her butt to her throat, and using my right that had been around her neck to rub her clit. She grinds against me, bottom lip between her teeth as she begs me with her heated gaze to do it, to make her fantasy real. “What kind of toy was it?” I’ll ride across the whole fucking town until I find an all-night adult store if I have to. “A plug.” “Jesus, woman.” I drop my forehead to hers, fingers still plying her pussy for honey. “Sawyer?” “Yeah, Abbey-girl?” “Just fuck me hard before I change my mind.” As you wish. She cries out as I take hold of her backside and lift her onto my hips while placing us against the side wall so her head doesn’t hit that fucking shower rose. Could think of another rose I’d like to play with. Maybe next time . . . if she’ll let me have another go in her playground, that is. God, I hope so. Abbey’s hands lie flat against my back, her arms looped over my shoulders and her chest pressed against mine. Shuffling my hold on her, I reach down and align my dick with her hungry fucking pussy. Her legs wrap tight around my waist, her ankles locked. “Am I okay to go bare?”
She nods, biting that fucking lip again. Jesus, she’s tight. I sink to the hilt; tingles break out in my lower back as the tip of my cock bottoms out. She’s tiny compared to me, so it’s no surprise I’ve literally stuffed the girl full. “Feel good still?” “Fuck yeah.” I rock my hips slow, relishing every moan and whimper she makes as I slip out almost all the way and then slam deep again. Her eyes close, her smile genuine as she lets her head roll to the side. Fuck, she’s beautiful. Even more so when her jaw goes slack, each vicious thrust of my hips sending her body jolting up the wall. I lift a hand to her throat and come close to blowing my load in her after I take in the sight that is my fingers pressed tight around her neck. Her groans are garbled, smothered by the pressure I have on her windpipe, but damn it all if her cunt doesn’t clamp down on me with each flex of my fingers. “You keep this up, girl, and I won’t last long.” “I need more,” she chokes. Fuck me—what’s it going to take? “Like?” “Hurt me. Tell me I’m a filthy whore.” My filthy whore. “Yeah?” I lean in and give her earlobe a firm nip. Her cunt clamps hard around my cock. “You like a little pain, bitch?” “More.” Fuck—I can’t do it like this. She gasps as I drop her feet to the floor, unsheathing myself in the process. I reach over and direct the showerhead to the wall, and then point to the tiles beneath our feet. “Hands and knees.” She drops instantly. My stance wide around her hips, I bend my knees and reach down to jerk her backside higher with an arm looped around her waist, placing my other hand on the back of her head to drive the side of her face into the floor. She bears her weight on one shoulder and places both hands at the small of her back. Goddammit, she’s too fucking compliant. “I need you to do something for me now, baby.” “Anything. What do you need?” “Fight me.” With the hand from her waist, I line myself up and slam into her pussy. She cries out, startled for the briefest second before she tries to get away. Good girl. Her legs pedal, knees slipping over the wet floor as she attempts to kick my feet out from under me, but it’s no use. I pound into her hard, her cheek smashed into the tiles with my hand still firmly in her hair. Abbey flings both arms down and presses up, but she’s no match for me. The pressure builds in my groin, the sight of her struggling to get out from under me too perfect. I’m a sick and fucking twisted bastard, but each to their own, right? “Get the fuck off me,” she growls. Her pussy stops gripping me so tight, and I wonder for a second if she actually means it. That is, until I place my thumb against the rose of her ass and the fight drains right out of her. She groans deep and throatily, pushing back against me as I continue to hammer her cunt. My hips are leaving red marks against her butt where I slam into her so hard, but the bitch loves it . . . almost as much as she loves my thumb exploring her ass. “You like that, huh?” I grit out between my teeth. “My little whore likes her ass bein’ toyed with?” “Fuck yes.” “How bad?” “So bad.” I press a little harder, testing what her reaction would be if I were to slip inside. “You’ve stopped
fightin’ me, Abbey-girl.” She pulls away, trying to twist her body under mine. I let her, but only because I want her on her back for the next part. She rolls and her hands fly, nails connecting with my shoulders and neck. She sure as fuck wasn’t kiddin’ about the role play. I wrestle both wrists into my hold, pinning them against the wall over her head with one hand while I grip her throat with the other. She strains against my hold, a well-placed thumb to the point of her jaw keeping her still. “No more scratchin’, okay?” Last thing I need is King asking questions when he sees the marks. She nods, placing her feet flat either side of where I now kneel awkwardly between her legs in the cramped space, and shuffles her butt up my thighs in search of penetration. Impatient little puppy. I give her what she deserves and thrust inside again, resuming the brutal pace from before. The pressure from my thumb on her throat is making the flesh underneath turn white, her face slowly growing more and more red as I search out that fucking finish line. Her pussy clamps hard, and then eases, over and over. She’s close, looking for that release too, yet not quite there. I’m not going to last. I pinch her nipple and she gasps—a breathless sound with my hand still at her throat. The familiar tingles build, my balls drawing up as I prepare to fill her, mark her, and claim her as mine. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, and yet, she still smiles: a delirious, wide, and toothy grin. My hold on her nipple slips as I let go of the first load, jerking my hips into her as I bring my palm across her cheek just hard enough to sting. She whimpers, reaching the edge herself, and I help her over with a fistful of breast, gripping and twisting hard as she screams, the sound echoing off the walls of the shower. Her cries turn to laughter, my legs shaking beneath me as I fire my last round into the best fucking pussy I’ve had in a long time. Yet as I rest back on my feet and run a palm over her slick body, finishing with a thumb across her lips, I can’t help but think there’s only one thing that makes it so fucking perfect. The girl.
TWENTY-SEVEN Abbey Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. That was not supposed to happen like that. I screwed up. Correction, screwed him. Shit. Now I’m just another used toy to throw on the heap. No connection, no promise, and certainly no public displays before we crossed the boundary. What reason does he have to open up and give himself over to me now? He’s scored the end goal. He’s skipped Go and collected two hundred for his troubles. Fuck. “Here.” He holds his hand out, helping me to stand. I shiver, the water that still drips off my body freezing now that the post-sex cooldown has begun. Sawyer reaches around me to twist the showerhead, lifting his huge hand to test the water before he returns the spray over us. “You always like it like that?” He envelops me in his hold, crushing my shaking body to his chest and rubbing my back in long, slow strokes as the warm water flows over us. “Mostly.” Slow and sensual means something special. It means love. It means care and adoration. I’ve never had any of those. “Turn around.” I do as he instructs, and jolt as his hands start a slow, careful job of cleaning me with the soap. In the heat of the moment I could take his touch, but now, when my doubts are screaming at me like an angry crowd . . . it’s hard to let go and relax. His palms glide down my legs, circling my feet, and then sliding back up to the junction of my thighs. I suck in a sharp breath as he rubs between my legs, cleaning me thoroughly. If he didn’t want me for anything more than a quick fuck, he wouldn’t be doing this, right? You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Abbey. Still, the man’s track record doesn’t exactly lean to this working out in my favor. Who’s to say this wasn’t just another way he’s trying to bribe me to talk? I stiffen, waiting for it: the questions, the demands. A lesson learnt. That’s all he’ll be: another painful lesson of the heart that I can catalogue and use as a reason to shut off again. Perhaps that scared girl I tried to smother with 90 percent proof wasn’t so stupid after all? “You with me?” Sawyer asks as he sets the soap back in the holder. “Yeah.” I force a smile, turning my head to see him. “Thanks.” He grunts, a low throaty sound, and jerks his chin to the door. “Go get dried off while I clean up.” It’s only logical, what he’s told me to do, yet it still stings like rejection. What did I expect though? We’d cuddle? Fuck, look at him. Sawyer doesn’t cuddle. He rubs himself down with the soap as I towel off, twisting at the waist to get behind his thighs, and struggling to reach even a third of the way across his back with the size of his arms. I drape the towel over my head, pretending to dry my hair while I watch him through the thin gap in the cotton. He’s sculpted perfection, a marvel of the human body’s engineering. Every muscle is clearly defined, with striations in his shoulders. If I hadn’t witnessed him plow through that meal at the diner, I would have thought he ate a strict diet to maintain such a form. Who am I kidding? I’m not around him day in, day out to know. Maybe he normally does?
I hang up the towel, gather my clothes into a bundle, and duck out before he’s switched the water off. The bag I brought in from the truck has a change of shorts and tank, as well as fresh underwear. I choose a simple pair of panties and throw the tank on, sans bra. Shoving everything else onto the single chair in the room, I realize I’ve left my phone in the truck. The water ’s shut off in the bathroom, which means Sawyer won’t be too long. I opt to leave the door to our room open slightly so he knows where I’ve gone, and check both ways before dashing across the parking lot to retrieve my phone. It’s still blacker than my soul out here, which this time around gives me some comfort. At least if some perv happens to look out his window at me, he’d need damn good sight to see what I’ve got on display. I grab my cell and lock the truck before running on tiptoes back to our room. Sawyer greets me at the door, arms folded over his impressive chest. “What the fuck were you doin’?” I’m manhandled indoors before I get a chance to answer. “I went out to grab my phone,” I protest. “Sheesh.” “Wearing next to fuck all.” “It’s dark. Nobody could see.” “I could see.” He locks the door and turns around to face me with murderous intent hazing his eyes. “Look, I get—” “Nothing. Obviously.” He stalks toward me. The backs of my knees hit the bed and I fold, landing on my elbows. “What’s your deal?” “My deal?” he says incredulously, eyebrows raised. “Our deal is that what’s on display here”—his finger circles over my body—“is mine now. I choose who talks about it, who touches it, and who gets to so much as fuckin’ look at it for more than five seconds.” Is he for real? We fucked—hard—and it was good. But he’s known to do that a lot to blow off steam, to quiet the voices, to do whatever the fuck it is psychotic assholes need to so they can calm their shit. I’ve heard the whores brag about him, about how many times they’ve had him, and in what positions. I’ve reenacted most of it with Hooch just so I could daydream those whores were me. Yeah, I’m a little unstable. But so what? It made me feel good. “I don’t know what you think happened in there,” I say, thumbing toward the bathroom, “but I never agreed to anything other than what we did.” “You said you wanted it.” “The sex? Yeah.” “You said you wanted me,” he hollers, jabbing his hand at the offending room. “You told me you fantasized about this, about me, about us.” Shit. “Yeah, I did fantasize about you. But I never thought about what would happen after.” “Jesus, Abbey-girl.” He slams the side of his hand to his forehead and paces the room beside the bed. “You don’t get to cross that line with me and back off.” “I didn’t think you’d be interested in more. I . . . I thought—” “Wrong.” He spins, taking two steps toward me and leaning over so his hands hit the mattress either side of my shoulders. His nose brushes mine before he pulls back enough to look my face over, every inch, every detail. “I mark you, then you belong to me. I don’t know if it’s exclusive yet, but when I take a girl bareback, you best be believin’ it means she belongs to me.” He doesn’t know if we’d be exclusive? Like fuck I’d share. “I’m not your property.” He smirks, cold and fucking evil. “Are you sure about that?” I see his father in him in that moment, and it’s confusing as hell. Because as much as I should be repulsed by gazing into the eyes of unchecked and soulless evil, it
only makes me want him more. Maybe I am more unstable than I thought? And maybe being his to do with as he pleases wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all? I’m so fucking torn.
TWENTY-EIGHT Sawyer She’s a fucking angel in one confusing little surprise package. Gave that speech one other time to a girl, and she tried to knock me out with my own boot before bolting out the door to her so-called freedom. Pretty blonde thing only made it fifty yards before I knocked her ass out and dragged her back to my room. But Abbey? She stared at me wide-eyed and then did the worst thing of all. She fucking nodded, rolled over, and got into bed. She’s going to be so much fun . . . . She ain’t yours to play with, asshole. But listening to me isn’t that bad, is it . . .? I narrow my eyes, giving the bastard pause to continue. Remember what happened when you went home? When Daddy gave you a sweet little surprise. When you silenced me . . .? Yeah, I remember; Dana died. First time I truly thought I was in love. Only time a woman’s had the ability to shut the asshole in my head up. And what came of it? I made my own decisions for a change, and they led her straight to her death. Fuck. I need you, don’t I? Sure do . . . . So, what do we do now? We test how suitable she really is . . . . By doing what? What did your message from Tuck say . . .? I glance over at Abbey as she sleeps from my position on the side of the bed. She’s all curled up on herself, knees tucked into her chest, and the sheet is mostly covering her face. She’s not ready for what the hidden side of my world has to offer, not yet. Are you sure? If you want to know if she’s the right girl for you, you need to try her . . . . My phone screen lights the room in a pale glow as I thumb through to the message Tuck sent. It’s an address, nothing more, nothing less. But it’s what it represents. It’s me at my worst. It’s who I really am. And it’s everything that could scare her away for good. I’m in two minds as to whether I do the job. King doesn’t seem to be in a major rush for us to get back to Lincoln, but at the same time I’m not sure he’d be down for me making a half day layover in the name of sorting out trouble for the Devil’s Breed. What to do . . . . Oh, I know what you’d do, asshole. The sing of metal gliding across metal fills my head as the devil sharpens his knives. If I’m going out, I need to do it soon. The target is supposed to be gone from the address by dawn, from what Tuck told me on the phone while Abbey showered. While Abbey played with herself . . . . Yeah, I’d kind of like to see that a few more times before I scare her away. What better time than now, though . . .?
God, I hate the asshole. As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s swaying me to his way of thinking. Why build on something here if she’s just going to bolt the first time she discovers what she’s really got herself in for? She wants inside my head, well then what better way to show her than in living Technicolor? I drop the phone, reach over, and tap her shoulder. She goes rigid, and then sits up in a frantic mess of dark hair and sheets. “Fuck! What is it? You startled the shit out of me.” “I touched your shoulder,” I deadpan. If that’s all it took, I’d hate to see her react when I do try to wake her in a hurry. “I’m a light sleeper.” I cock my eyebrow—an argument for another day. “We’re goin’ out.” She tips her head to one side, bunching the sheet in her fists over her chest. “Where?” “Got a job to do.” Her eyes go wide before she frowns. “And you want me to go too?” “Yeah.” I push off the bed and cross over to the rest of my clothes. She slips her feet off the side of the bed and sits watching me as I tug my T-shirt on, sliding my cut over top. The guy we’re paying a visit to is no stranger to me, so there’s no need to try and go incognito. “What are we doing?” “I’m settling an issue, and you’re watching.” Abbey stands, stretching her hands over her head. “I hope you don’t need me dressed like some cat burglar or anything; I haven’t got anything to wear but my tank and shorts.” Jesus. Talk about unneeded distractions. “I’ve got another T-shirt on my bike.” “Good.” She crosses the room and peers out the side of the curtain at the parking lot. “Because it looks cold out there.” “Keepin’ warm will be the least of your worries soon.” Not getting caught in the crossfire will be up there at the top of her priorities in approximately forty minutes from now. I leave her tugging her cut-offs on and head out to my ride to snag the spare shirt. She’s right; it is still and cool out here. Damn it all . . . . Exactly. Sound carries on a windless night. Going to have to be creative. “You got everything you need?” She stands at the door to our room with the key card in her hand. I nod. “Yeah. Lace your boots, though.” Her hair drops into her face as she glances down at the loose ends. “Right.” “And do you have an elastic or somethin’?” Abbey holds up a single finger and dashes back in the room. I mount up and turn the bike on, letting the engine warm up while she sorts herself out. She emerges a few minutes later, boots laced and her hair pulled into a high ponytail. Fuck, she’s a sight I could never tire of. “Let’s go.” Her hands clap down on my shoulders, and she mounts the bike behind me, thighs pressing in tight against mine. Jesus. I take a moment to simply breathe and level my shit. Hope you’re right about this, asshole. *** “If he knows we’re coming, then why are we sneaking up?” Abbey runs her hands over her bare arms as we walk up a wooded driveway toward a lit house earmarked by the Devil’s Breed.
“We ain’t sneakin’ up,” I explain. “We’re just muddying the timeline when the cops come askin’ the neighbors questions.” “How do you mean?” I run a hand over my head, feeling strangely awkward about discussing my methods as though it’s some Christmas recipe to be passed down through the generations. “My bike’s loud, yeah?” “Mm-hmm.” She nods. “If you lived next door, and the police turned up askin’ you questions about timelines, then you’d probably remember a fuckin’ great Harley screamin’ up the neighbors’ drive at three in the mornin’, right?” “I get it now.” She jams her hands in the pockets of her shorts and stares ahead at the house; we’re less than twenty yards away. “What’s the plan?” “Play it by ear.” I case the place as we approach: animals, obstacles, the number of vehicles out front, and possible exits. “Just stick close enough that I know where you are, but try not to get in the way.” “I’ll give it my best shot.” We get as far as the dented truck parked next to the porch steps before the front door bursts open and my mark greets us with a huge grin. “He looks happy about this,” Abbey whispers out the side of her mouth. “He doesn’t know,” I explain simply before taking three long strides to accept the guy’s outstretched hand. “Sawyer,” he exclaims, clinching me with a pat to the back. “Fuckin’ long time, man.” “Sure has been.” “What brings you over our neck of the woods?” “Business.” I analyze his body language as the implications register. His eyes shift down, his hands tracking over the legs of his dirty jeans. “Yeah?” “Been talkin’ with Tuck.” His gaze shifts to Abbey. “What’s she here for?” “Insurance.” “What do you want, man?” He shifts so the column of the porch is between his left shoulder and me. “Why did he send you over to see me?” Cash Warren and I go back a long way. He’s been knocking around serving the clubs since before I even considered patching in to one. We met as two teen boys, jilted by our asshole fathers. Mine: the drug lord, his: the crooked cop who used to work with my father. “You were supposed to deliver four units last week. Tuck said it was your third delivery date . . . and you missed it.” “I’ve been busy,” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Days kind of get away on me.” “Pretty important date to forget,” I say. “Three times.” Abbey shifts, taking a couple of steps back to lean her hip against the back of the truck. She’s intrigued, ankles and arms crossed as she studies Cash with a frown. “Come on in, man,” Cash says, voice wavering. “Have a cold one. We’ll talk this through.” “Hey.” I raise both hands, palms out. “I’m not here to negotiate. Just check in on business.” I’m lying. Tuck knows the merchandise has expired. He’s been in the business of buying secondhand and refurbishing long enough to know when a dealer is playing him for a fool. “What next then?” Cash’s right hand tracks a nervous path over his chest and stomach. “Show me everything’s in order, brother, and I’m gone.” Another lie.
You’re so good at this . . . . Wondering when you’d turn up. Cash’s eyes flick over to Abbey again. “Just you, Sawyer, yeah?” “Both of us.” I point toward my girl. “She’s under watch.” Abbey snorts. Damn it. I march over and wrap a hand around her throat, leaning in close for show. “Fuckin’ shut your mouth, whore,” I grind out through gritted teeth, adding quiet enough that only she can hear, “He thinks you’re merch, too.” She nods in my hold, coughing when I let go. I’d feel bad about it, but I reckon her panties are good and wet now. “Come in, then,” Cash instructs. “I’ll take you to the storeroom.” His movements get jerkier the deeper we go into the house. Filthy would be a light way of describing how he’s kept the place. There’s rotten food in the kitchen, what smells like stale piss in the living room, and a fucking rat hauling ass with a half-wrapped burrito in the hall. Ignoring the stench, and the train wreck that is the house, I keep watch on the mark as we head toward the linen cupboard. Strange? Yeah. But I’ve been told what’s behind that door. Abbey hasn’t. Cash’s head swivels from side to side as we near the slatted timber doors, as though he’s looking for makeshift weapons. I glance at Abbey, noting the furrow to her brow as she follows, arms folded as though trying to keep from touching anything by accident. “Look,” Cash blurts, body-blocking the doors. “I can do a two for one. I can replace and upgrade.” “I’m not the one you should have talked to, Cash.” “Let me call him.” “You’ve had three missed drops, and eight weeks to make that call.” His gaze hasn’t shifted from mine; the man’s desperate. “Please.” “Tick, tock.” I smile. “Time’s up.” Game on, motherfucker . . . .
TWENTY-NINE Abbey Goddamn—the smell. This place is insane. I’m pretty sure those reality TV cleaning crews would turn this place down for a feature. And this guy lives here? Cash, as Sawyer called him, breaks out in a sweat, staring down Sawyer like he can find some sort of soft spot in the guy to appeal to. The moron’s dreaming. “Tick, tock. Time’s up.” Sawyer ’s head tips to the side, his brow firm and his shoulders rigid as he assesses Cash before him. I take a step back, the change in the air around us almost palpable as something snaps in that pretty boy’s head. Cash backs up also, hands raised, and reaches for the handles of the linen cupboard. Fuck knows what the stuff they’ve been talking about is. I’m guessing drugs? Cash pulls the first of the two doors open, and I expect to see bags of white powder stacked up on the shelves. Not fucking stairs heading below ground. What the hell? Sawyer gestures for Cash to go first, a sadistic smile painted on those full lips of his. Whatever ’s down there, he knows what it is, and I get the feeling he’s looking forward to how this is about to unfold. I leave a good three risers between him and me as I trail behind. I don’t know what tripped in Sawyer ’s mind when Cash started pleading for a second chance, but the mood feels as though we’re in a car with no brakes, teetering on the precipice of a cliff, waiting to see if we’ll go over or balance out. The basement smells dank, the unmistakable stench of stagnant water strong. Something else grows thicker the further we descend, something akin to death. Rodents perhaps? After seeing that rat the size of a small dog in the corridor, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a few decaying ones down here. Cash flicks a switch at the base of the stairs and the ping of old light bulbs fill the air the second we’re bathed in muted white light. Our host collapses his shoulder into the wall opposite the base of the stairs and starts to sob. I duck down, given I’m still standing at least six steps up from the bottom, and look under the ceiling at the room below. Holy. Shit. My entire body trembles, goose bumps born out of pure horror rippling over my flesh. Guess I know what the smell is now. “I couldn’t help it. The first one, she tried to get upstairs, and then the second wouldn’t shut up when I tried to stop her, so I hit them, and then—” “You thought you’d practice your butchery skills?” Sawyer asks, moving past Cash to walk into the thick of the horror. He points to the dismembered parts of women’s bodies, his lips silently moving as though he’s counting. “I’ve only got six legs, Cash. There should be eight.” The guy looks to the floor, hands running over his face.
So much blood. That wasn’t stagnant water I could smell. “Where’s the other one?” Sawyer whips across the room in three large strides, crowding our trembling host into the corner. I allow my legs to give out and I sit on the stairs, eyes glued to the macabre scene spread across the dirt floor. I’ve seen people die before, seen them bleed out from both gunshot wounds and stabbings. Seen more than I can count. But this is new. Can’t say I’ve ever seen three women—at least I assume they were all women—hacked to pieces and organized into piles by body part, organs neatly stacked to the side in plastic food containers. “Where’s the fourth?” Sawyer hollers again. “She got away, okay?” Cash shrinks down the wall, his shoulders hunching over as though they’ll protect him from Sawyer ’s anger. “She ran, and I chased her down. Hit her with the truck. Her body’s wrapped up in the back.” Fuck me. No wonder he was keen to get us inside. I was leaning on that truck. My stomach burns, turning incessantly. I swear the smell has doubled since we’ve been down here. Wonder if I’ll ever get it out of my nose? Sawyer takes two steps back from Cash and looks up at where I sit on the stairs. His gaze is vacant as it slides back to our host, with none of the curiosity or concern I’ve become acquainted with. I draw my knees up and hug them to my chest as Sawyer tips his head back, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. The room’s fallen eerily quiet, save for the beating of my heart echoing in my ears. Tension builds thick, Sawyer ’s arms going rigid at his sides as he visibly winds up. His body vibrates with pent-up energy, his head tipping side to side as though he’s stretching out his neck. But nothing tells me that the shit is about to hit the fan like what he does next. Normally, Sawyer would be slamming the heel of his hand into his head, trying to silence the voice inside. But not now. Tonight he lifts both meaty paws and places them over his ears instead, as though he’s trying to amplify the voice. Cash whimpers as Sawyer ’s mouth twitches in and out of what can only be described as a grimace masquerading as a smile. It’s cold, promising only pain and no trace of mercy. I’m entranced. “Give me a break,” Cash whines. “Not as though you never fucked up, buddy. Remember that time in Chicago?” Sawyer ignores him, turning back toward the bodies and starting to whistle. I tune in to the slow notes, ignoring Cash’s pathetic pleas, as Sawyer wanders the room checking out the carnage. I know the song, it irks at the back of my mind. What the hell is it? He picks up one of the arms, pale and adorned with a small butterfly tattoo at the wrist. The thing’s rigid as a baseball bat, which is exactly how Sawyer holds it as he turns back to Cash. “How old were these ones?” “I . . . I don’t know for sure.” Sawyer chuckles. “Course you don’t. Bet you didn’t know their names, either.” “They’re merch, man.” Cash’s bloodshot eyes flick my way. “You know her name?” Sawyer blinks slowly, lifting the arm over his shoulder with both hands on the wrist as though he’s preparing to hit a home run. “You don’t get to hear her name,” he growls, low and resonant. “It doesn’t belong in here with this hell.” He arcs the arm back and swings it at Cash, hitting him in the side of the head and across the hands as the fool tries to defend himself. “Why did you cut them up?” Cash takes a moment to retch, hands to his knees as he doubles over and heaves his stomach in and out. There’s gore on his cheek, in his hair, and worst of all, covering the stair close to my feet. I should be doing the same thing, throwing up or passing out in shock, but I’m not. Instead, I can’t take my eyes off Sawyer as I wait to see what he does next. He’s circling his neck again, eyes closed, lips moving every so often.
He’s in conversation with his dark side. It’s sexy as hell. And I’m fucking certifiable for thinking so. “I haven’t got all night to wait around, Cash,” Sawyer warns. The guy straightens up, pale and lucid. “I looked up different ways to get rid of the bodies without burying them. I didn’t want any trace.” He sucks in a deep breath. “The sites said the acid worked faster with more surfaces to eat at. It suggested chopping the bodies up.” He makes a god-awful gagging noise and averts his gaze from his handiwork. “Logical,” Sawyer muses. “Why did you stop?” He drops the arm in his grasp and picks up a leg instead. “I can’t do it. Every time I’m down here I can hear their crying, them pleading. I can’t take it, man.” Sawyer snorts a bitter laugh, and then spins at the same time as raising the leg over his head. He rains what remains of the knee down on Cash’s shoulders as the guy hunches into a ball in the corner. “Stop it, man! Cut it out!” Sawyer backs up, tossing the leg in his grasp so it now hangs like it would have on the woman’s body. “Did she kick you like this?” He flicks the foot into Cash’s knee. “Or did she plead and try to push you away like this?” He positions the foot against Cash’s shin and presses. Our host cries out and tries to back away. But he can’t; he’s penned in. So he does the only thing a desperate fool would—he tries to run for the door. I reel back as the guy’s leg hits me in the shoulder and knocks me off-balance. On instinct, I shoot a hand out and try to grab his ankle, but his jeans slip from my grip. “Fucker,” Sawyer growls as he strides past me, taking two steps at a time to chase Cash down. There’s a scuffle at the top of the stairs as I find my feet, Cash swinging wildly to get Sawyer off him. He succeeds in glancing a left hook off Sawyer ’s jaw, and slips from his grasp. I dash up the stairs and follow them out into the living area, making it through the door just in time to see Sawyer tackle Cash to the ground mere feet from the entrance. Cash cries out, a desperate, high-pitched wail that shows he knows this is it—no getting lucky a second time. I creep closer, using the sofa as a blockade between myself and the madness as Sawyer straddles him, sitting atop the guy with his thighs either side of Cash’s shoulders. Our host thrashes and bucks against the hardwood floor, trying in utter desperation to escape. He throws everything he has into it, probably well aware it’s his last shot at life. All he succeeds in doing is making Sawyer appear as though he’s riding one of those bucking bull machines. I can’t help it; I smirk at the sight. “Babe,” Sawyer calls out, turning his head to locate me. “Catch.” He reaches behind him and takes a gun I had no idea he carried from his waistband, tossing it my way. I fumble, wrapping my fingers around the thing as it strikes the floor. “Shit, sorry.” “Take the safety off.” I turn it side to side, find the switch, and slide it off. “Now point it at this asshole’s head and pull that trigger if he so much as fuckin’ sneezes.” Sawyer waits until I’ve got the handgun trained on Cash and backs off, wiping his nose on his arm as he steps toward the kitchen. I keep my gaze glued to our host as he pants, sweating profusely in tiny beads across his forehead. The clatter of drawers flying open in the kitchen echoes off the walls around us. “Let me go, honey,” Cash pleads on a whisper, “and I’ll get you away from him.” I shake my head, frowning. “Come on,” he tries. “Don’t you want to go home?”
The guy still thinks I’m one of them, one of those girls he hacked to pieces out of guilt. My thumb strokes the butt of the gun as I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and study this guy. If I’d passed him on the street a week ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. He’s clean-cut, with a soft and friendly face. No visible scars, and no tattoos that I can see. He’s the epitome of the nice guy next door, albeit a little dirty, and yet he’s hacked three women apart in his basement and killed a fourth, because they tried to get away from him. And now he’s trying to paint himself as the knight in shining armor? Odd. “I can assure you, Cash, it’s not me you need to worry about.” I paint a pretty smile and roll my head to the other side. He frowns, his fingers twitching where they lie on his stomach. The seconds tick by, each as critical as the last. I catch his foot move in my peripheral vision. “Don’t.” “What?” he asks, feigning ignorance. “Try it. I know what you’re thinking.” “What’s that?” His eyes flick toward the kitchen door as a triumphant yell comes from Sawyer. “That you can catch me off guard.” I shake my head. “You can’t. I might be a terrible catcher, but I sure do know how to fire a gun.” I wink, just to round the speech out. He sighs, relaxing into the floorboards as Sawyer rejoins us. “I miss anythin’?” he asks. “Nope. Perfect hostage,” I reply. He holds out a roll of plastic wrap. “Got a job for you, baby.” I take it from him, passing the gun over, keeping my eye on Cash the whole time. “Wrap his head up for me, girl.” I glance between Sawyer and Cash, frowning. Why? “He won’t die from it yet,” Sawyer explains, as though understanding my confusion. “But I don’t need his DNA through the vehicle when Tuck’s boys move the body later. You know how it is,”—his eyes go almost entirely black—“hair, skin, spit, and all that.” “Yeah, I get you.” Cash has broken out in a fresh sweat. Can’t blame the guy. A wicked idea comes to mind. “You’re going to take your time, right?” I ask Sawyer. He frowns, jerking his head back as though he’s surprised I asked. “Well, yeah.” “Cool.” The floor is strangely cold on my knees, in contrast to Cash’s hot skin as I lift his head and prop it on my knee. “Watchin’ you, fucker,” Sawyer warns. “Touch her, I’ll make it take twice as long.” I peel off a starter strip of film and wrap it under Cash’s head. “Why you doing this?” he begs Sawyer. “We were friends, man.” I wrap the first layer over Cash’s forehead. “Hey, I didn’t agree when you started this traffickin’,” Sawyer says. “But I respected your choices. Problem is, brother, you crossed the line for me when you killed them.” Cash snorts as I wrap the second layer around his neck and chin. “Fucking rich comin’ from you, man. How many people you killed now?” I pause, curious to hear the answer also. “Lost count when I hit double digits.” “Exactly,” Cash literally spits out. “And here you are doing it all over again, killin’ me because I’ve done the same as you.”
“Nuh-uh,” Sawyer says with a laugh. I wrap Cash’s mouth, leaving his nose free . . . for now. “Everyone I’ve killed, they deserved that shit,” Sawyer explains. “Each one did something they knew was wrong: owed a debt they never intended to repay, killed somebody I loved, hurt a person who couldn’t defend themselves.” “Fucking noble,” Cash mumbles through the plastic. “Those girls, though.” Sawyer jabs his hand toward the basement. “The only thing they did wrong was have a pretty face. How’s that fuckin’ justified, huh? They didn’t ask to be stolen, taken from their homes, their family. They didn’t ask to be prepped for sale, and they sure as fuck didn’t ask to have some panicked coward butcher them in death to settle his guilty conscience.” Cash tries to protest, but in the time Sawyer ’s taken to issue his side of things I’ve wrapped the guy’s head in three more layers, leaving only his eyes clear. My mind reels as I try to process what they’re talking about. I knew the Devil’s Breed were trafficking drugs to make ends meet, but shipping women around on the meat market? And Sawyer knew about this? I glance up at the pretty brute as he reaches down to his boot and pulls out a small hunting knife. He shakes his head, clearly disgusted with Cash as he steps toward the guy. I circle the wrap one more time around our host’s head so his eyes are sealed open, and then tear the wrap off, using my teeth to start the split. His hands clip me in the head as his natural panic sets in and he claws at the plastic. Sawyer rips Cash’s hands away, pinning each down in turn as he slices into the guy’s arms, severing tendons and literally rendering his mobility nonexistent. The flesh hangs open, showing the pale hint of bone. I turn my head to the side and lift the back of one hand to my mouth. Ugh. The guy screams, but with each lung-busting note he only succeeds in fogging up the plastic and causing it to cling to his face even tighter. I swallow away the nausea crawling up my throat, and look back in time to see Sawyer lean over and reach for me. He gently runs his fingers under my jaw in a soft and comforting way. “Good work, baby.” I rest back on my heels as Sawyer breaks into song, singing the tune he whistled earlier with pure manic gusto. It dawns on me that it’s “Custer” by Slipknot as he growls the chorus while he tidies up his handiwork. Fitting. Remorse weighs heavy in my chest, but not for the carnage currently unfolding in front of me. For the fact five lives have come to this: four women dead because they were blessed with good genes, and one life wasted on a man who chose to check out on his morals. “You okay?” Sawyer shouts over the moans and groans still coming from Cash. I snap out of my semitrance and nod. “Yeah.” “You up to another task?” I shrug. Am I? Feels as though I’m handling this pretty well, taking my history into consideration. But maybe I’ve just blocked the shock until a more appropriate time to lose the plot? “It’s not a tough one,” Sawyer assures me. “Just need you to send a message to Tuck.” “Sure.” He gestures to his chest, holding his bloody hands out in front of him the same as I remember Mom doing when she would get dough all over her hands, baking. “Abbey, honey, can you sprinkle some more flour here?” Momma’s eyes are always so bright. I think she catches rays of sunshine and hides them in there. “Sure, Momma.” “Got to get this just right so we can use the cutter, eh?”
“Yeah.” “That’s enough.” Her hands roll and knead the creamy dough, a smile on her face when she catches me watching, chin rested in my hands. “You think he’ll like them?” “Sure. Everyone loves cookies, Momma.” He didn’t like them. Evan didn’t like much, as it turned out. Discovered that the long, slow, painful way over the years. “Abbey.” I snap back to the writhing victim on the floor, and the man I’m confused over my feelings for standing above said victim with his hands coated in red. “Sorry. On to it.” He leans his right shoulder back to give me easier access to the pocket inside his cut that houses his phone. My fingers brush against his chest, and I hesitate, feeling the incessant beat of his heart. “What can I say?” He smirks. “Two of my favorite things in the same room. A guy could get a little excited by it all.” I hold his gaze, captivated by the way his eyes can be as black as the pits of hell, yet his words are so softly spoken that I’d trust anything he said in this moment. “Got it.” I pull the phone out and back away, glancing down at the floor when I realize Cash has gone quiet. “Shit.” Sawyer toes his leg. “Better wake him up; I’m not done yet.” Settling on the arm of a sofa, I thumb through the phone until I come across the message thread with Tuck. “What do you want me to say?” Sawyer frowns at Cash, bent double over the guy so his nose is mere inches from the plastic. “He’s still breathin’.” He steps back and taps the dirty blade on his chin in thought. “Send him a message that says ‘Field needs tilling.’” Mm-kay. “That all?” The knife makes a squelchy sound as it dives into the meaty part of Cash’s leg. Our victim jackknifes back to consciousness with a garbled yelp. “Yeah. He knows what it means.” I fire off the message and set the phone down in my lap while Sawyer gets to work replicating what Cash did to the girls, to him. As it turns out, severing limbs takes a while without the right tools. Guess it’ll be a long night then.
THIRTY Sawyer By the time I’ve finished turning my former acquaintance into ten smaller versions of himself, the first hues of dawn touch the horizon. Abbey sits curled into the stained easy chair, asleep with her head resting on the only clean towel she could find in this godforsaken place. All throughout Cash’s penance she stayed eerily quiet. I’m not really sure what I expected out of her. I mean, the girl’s not the same as the other club women, which I know. But fuck, not even a whimper as I slashed and hacked my way through Cash’s joints. A quick survey of the washhouse turns up exactly what I’d hoped to find: a bottle of greaseremoving soap. Using the faucet in the kitchen since the laundry tub is jammed with maggot-infested rags that had to have come from the girls, I clean the blood and gore off my hands as best I can. How did that feel . . .? What do you think? Pretty darn good, I bet . . . . You’d be thinking right then. I give my head a little shake. The devil’s done his job; fucker can go back to sleep now. Well aren’t you— Two quick thumps to the temple silences the asshole. I cast my eye over the mess on the floor, drifting past the blood that runs in a wide pool under the sofa and to Abbey. She looks so fucking peaceful; it’s almost a shame to have to wake her up. But if we’re going to get our asses on the road again by this afternoon, she’s going to need to help. I cross over to where she’s nestled and use the free part of the towel to dry my hands off. “Babe.” She wriggles her face into the chair further. “Abbey-girl.” Nothing. I squat down beside her and watch her for a while, noting the slight flutter to her lashes, the way her lips are parted, and the protective arch of her shoulders. Her hands are clasped against her chest as though she’s holding on to something precious, yet her grasp is empty. I reach out and set my hand on her arm. “Babe.” Her eyes fly open and while her left hand tightens on her imaginary treasure, her right strikes out, collecting me square in the cheekbone. “Shit. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She reaches out as she straightens in the seat, her hand coming short of touching me before she pulls it back. The look on your face might have something to do with that . . . . Right. I soften the scowl and run a palm over my cheek. “Guess I should wake you from a distance in the future, huh?” “It was a bad dream, is all.” She drops her legs over the side of the seat. “Is it time to go?” “Not yet.” I glance over at the mess in the entranceway. “We’ve got some work to do.” “I thought that’s what the message to Tuck was about.” I shake my head as she stretches, my T-shirt baggy over her frame. What I’d do to rip that off and see her lithe body all stretched out before me. But . . . work first.
“Tuck’s guys will clean up the bodies, sure. But I want to get the names of those girls so it can be passed on to the authorities anonymously.” “Why?” She frowns, swiveling to face me properly. “Don’t you think their families deserve closure?” “Of course,” she says matter-of-factly. “Here.” I stand, offering her a hand up. She accepts and takes my hand in hers. Part of me doesn’t want to let go. The other part says I should, given the uneasy look on her face. “How are we going to do this, then?” Abbey wipes her hands on the ass of her shorts and steps over Cash’s legs to look around the room. “Are we searching the place for anything in particular?” I nod. “Knowin’ how his mind worked, he probably has a fuckin’ treasure box full of his conquests’ purses somewhere, or some shit.” “Creepy.” I shrug. What can I say? Criticizing Cash’s methods would be pretty two-faced of me. “I’ll start in the bedroom.” No need for Abbey to find anything fucking perverted in there. She stands, staring at me with the smallest frown pinching her brow. “What?” “Can I stick with you?” Only now do I realize she trembles. “You all right, girl?” “Not really.” She smiles, but that shit is as forced as most of my day-to-day interactions. “Talk to me.” I jerk my head toward the bedroom and start walking. Tuck’s guys should be here soon to raze the place to the ground. Best we get this fuckin’ show on the road. “Watching you, seeing what he did to those girls . . . .” She shrugs, stepping aside to let me in the bedroom first. “It reminded me of things.” “Like what?” I look around the room that houses a bed with sheets so dirty I can’t pick what color they were originally. Food containers are scattered around the place, a cockroach making a fine house in a noodle box that’s tipped on its side. “I don’t remember a lot from when I was little.” She stares at a pile of dirty washing, but her focus is elsewhere. “I think I blocked half of it out, you know?” Not really. Wish I knew how to do that. As if I’d let you forget. The devil in my mind reaches across and slips in an old home movie, staring wistfully at the grainy images playing out before him. I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to make his fucking reel skip. “What happened before Apex found you, girl? I know you don’t want to say, but the more time I spend with you, the more unavoidable it is.” She pushes a porn magazine aside and sits on the only semiclean section of the bed. “Nothing great. Not for the most part anyway.” “Your parents,” I ask, settling a shoulder against the wall as I cross my legs at the ankles, thumbs hooked in my jean pockets. “They alive?” She shrugs. “Dad isn’t. But Mom . . . .” “She left you?” “I left her.” The silence that shrouds the room is fucking poignant. What the hell can you say to that? From what I know about Abbey, Apex picked her up when she was around six or seven years old. She grew up in the club, a part of the place since well before I decided to join simply to fuck off the old man. “I didn’t have much choice,” she states with a resigned sigh. “Nothing could have kept me in that hellhole a day longer.” She rises from the bed, absently pushing things on the bureau aside. “Not even
Momma.” I could push for more; the glimpse she’s given me has me intrigued. Me also . . . . But I also know that look in her eye. I can respect it for what it is: her need to shut things down before her bullshit memories get too real. Self-preservation. Fight or flight instinct. It’s her mind pushing back and forcing her to blank out the pain. “You wanna search those drawers?” I shove a stack of boxes against the wardrobe doors aside with my boot. “I’ll look in here.” “Sure.” We work in silence for what has to be close to an hour, turning the house upside down before Tuck’s guys show up. The whole time I catch glimpses of her as she sorts through Cash’s piles of papers and junk, looking for what we need to identify those girls downstairs. Not many people realize that although I’m one fucked-up son of a bitch at the best of times, I still have some standards. Not fucking with innocent lives is one of those. Somebody’s daughter. A sister. Maybe even a wife. God forbid any one of those women down there was some kid’s mother. They had lives. And my money is on the chance that most, if not all of them, led clean and respectable ones before Cash took them. For six years, Tuck has worked on this fucking ring of horrors. Two months he’s been knocking on the door of laying this issue to bed once and for all, and five weeks since I said I would help bring an end to the senseless sale, knowing it would give me something to keep my mind occupied, while I bided my time in Cali. “There’s nothing here,” Abbey exclaims as she slams down a tattered box onto a haphazard pile in the corner. “It’s no use; he didn’t keep anything.” “We haven’t checked everywhere yet.” “No?” She turns to face me, frowning as she runs a hand over her hair to smooth it down. “Didn’t do a thorough search of the downstairs yet.” Her hand stills on her ponytail before she drops it slowly to her side. “Of course.” “You wanna wait up here?” The hesitation in her gaze as her eyes dart around the room searching for anything and nothing worries me. “No.” She squares her shoulders. “I’ll help you look. Although . . . .” “What?” I stick a hand out, silently asking for hers. She takes it, giving me a shy smile as we start toward the stairs. Progress. “I’m wondering why he’d keep their things with them, is all.” “How do you mean?” I lead her down the staircase, the smell not quite so bad now that the doors have been open for a while. “If you wanted to imprison people, wouldn’t you strip them of all their personal belongings? Remove their sense of identity?” She has so much yet to learn . . . . “Not always.” I shunt the leg I used to taunt Cash across the floor with my toe, adding it back in the pile. “Sometimes havin’ those familiar things in reach when a person is trapped against their will is the ultimate mind fuck. How hard do you think it’d be, knowin’ what you had, havin’ a constant reminder of who you were shoved under your nose when you know there ain’t a goddamn thing you can do to get back to that?” “Never letting them forget it, like?” “Yeah.” The room is worse than a fucking animal pen. The dirt floor is stained and littered with not only the women’s blood, but their piss and feces as well. “It’s actually a really effective way to break a
person.” “In what way?” Abbey steps over the remains of a torso and slaps a hand to her mouth when she catches sight of the heads stacked against the wall like bowling balls. “It’s so hard to imagine he couldn’t finish this off when he did so much already,” she whispers. “A person’s conscience can hit at the most inconvenient of times.” So true . . . . “But back to the personal belongings and shit. Imagine, for example, you’re out with your friends, dancin’ it up at the local bar. What would you have on?” “Boots, slim-fit jeans, and a shirt or something.” Of course—this isn’t your average girly-girl I’m talking with. “I mean, if you were one of these women.” I gesture to the body parts between us. Abbey shrugs. “I guess if I wanted to be all pretty and that I’d have a dress on. Probably some heels.” “You’d feel good about yourself, right?” A clean patch of drywall catches my eye. “I guess so.” “So imagine how you’d feel then, watchin’ that dress grow filthy with your blood, turn some fuckin’ ugly shade of brown after weeks or months in confinement without a shower.” “I’d feel dirty, used, and unwanted.” “Exactly.” On closer inspection, the clean patch is exactly what I’d thought it might be: a hole that’s been fixed recently. “Put a person in a generic sack, and they can disassociate. Put them in their own clothes and remove their control over how they look in them, and they realize pretty fuckin’ fast that they don’t have control over anything anymore.” “I never thought of it that way, but I guess you’d be right.” “Got a bit of experience in it,” I say, prodding at the clean plaster. Do you ever . . . . “What are you looking at?” Abbey steps over to where I have my head against the wall while I tap along the expanse in even steps. “This.” Taking a step back, I ball my fist and then drive it straight through the patch. Plaster dust rains down onto the floor, and I shake the particles from my hand before ripping into the edges to make the hole bigger. Abbey stands off to the side, arms folded, and her eyebrow cocked. “Clever.” “More than him.” I smirk. A smart man would have smeared dirt on the new plaster to make it the same dull cream color as the rest, rather than white. Or at least hung a picture . . . a little art could really give this place some culture . . . . Yeah, or that. The space between the drywall and the dirt behind is narrow. My meaty arms are too damn bulky to reach between the beams and the earth supporting the rest of the house. “Somethin’ has to be behind here, otherwise why would he bother?” I rip another section of wall off, tossing it on the growing pile. Abbey lifts a hand and ushers me away with the backs of her fingers. Any given day, a person who dismissed me with that kind of attitude would be missing a couple of smartass fingers. But Abbey? I step back and gesture with both hands at the wall. “All yours, m’lady.” She pulls my phone out of her pocket—forgot she still had that—and swipes up to turn on the torch feature. I stand back and watch as she pushes up on tiptoes to see into the hole, torch pointed down in the gap. “Definitely something down here. Can you hold the light?” I take it from her, and then watch as she jams a slim arm down in the space, head in the wall also.
“Here.” She reemerges with a handful of plastic cards held together with a rubber band, passing them over before going back in for more. Out comes a sequined purse, two billfolds, a set of keys, four phones, and a couple of GPS units. Odd. She saves the best for last, wrestling a trash bag out of the gap and onto the floor at our feet. It contains the girls’ clothes. “Nice work, babe.” I flick through the cards while Abbey checks out the clothing. To look at the photos on the licenses, you wouldn’t have a damn clue that these are the same women spread over the dirt floor. Gorgeous, painted faces stare up at me, a snapshot of life as it was. These women are twelve out of tens, real catches. No wonder Cash took interest. How he lured women like these home with him, though, I wouldn’t know. Couple of roofies go a long way, you know . . . . True. “Real shame,” I say, pocketing the licenses and tossing the credit cards and whatever else onto the pile of limbs beside me. “You ready to go now?” Abbey sits cross-legged amongst the clothing, a black stretchy dress in her hands. “What happens to the bodies?” “Tuck’s men will move them somewhere else, someplace that they won’t be connected to.” “And then?” Her sad eyes look up to me, filled with so much misplaced hope. “And then I’ll tip the cops off to where they are.” I reach down, running my fingers under her jaw. “Don’t worry, Abbey-girl; they’ll get a proper funeral.” She nods, looking around at the gore that surrounds us. The horrors contained in this room puts Hollywood movies to shame. This kind of shit is one thing to see on the big screen, but in life there’s a kind of realness about it that seeps into who you are. It’s inescapable, and undeniable that to reach this point some pretty sick fucking shit went down first. You would know . . . . Yeah, I would. But after doing it as long as I have, I’m kind of conditioned to it. Abbey though? I don’t know. “Ready to go?” I hold out my hand. She sighs, setting the dress down in the pile before accepting. “It’s so sad.” “Not much we can do about it now, though.” “No,” she replies, a vacancy slipping into her gaze as she comes in for a hug. Her arms slip around my waist and she rests her perfect head against my chest. It feels like we’ve been doing this for years —I wish we had. “It’s far too late to change things now.”
THIRTY-ONE Abbey Sawyer ’s fingers run through my hair in a slow, methodical rhythm as we stand amidst the horror. Seeing their clothes, their bank cards, and their phones laid out before me hit home how much these mangled piles of flesh really were somebody once. Somebody possibly like me. Possibly not. Do they have families who miss them? Or were they lost in life, looking for love in all the wrong places? Worse still, though, are the repressed feelings these women dredge up. The first seven years of my life weren’t spent living. I don’t know what you could call that time. I guess I was growing, but I sure as hell wasn’t experiencing anything you could call a childhood. I might have been young, I may have been naïve, but I sure as fuck wasn’t stupid. Mom went to work, Evan had “friends” over . . . but sometimes they never left. Even a four-year-old knows there’s something intrinsically wrong with that. I don’t protest when Sawyer pushes his arm beneath mine, wraps it around my back, and hoists me into his hold. He carries me out of the basement, through the house of horrors, and into the crisp dawn air without saying a single word. I clench his cut in my balled fist, burying my face into the crook of his neck and clinging to him like he’s Flopsy and I’m four years old all over again. Only this time I would have had a demon of my own to keep me safe. Where were the big bad men with good hearts, like Sawyer, when I was young? Where were the knights disguised in leather when the coward I was forced to call Daddy ruled my life with terror and pain? I guess late is better than never, huh? I jostle in Sawyer ’s hold as he seats himself on the front steps of the house. The gray pickup looms in front of us as I stay huddled in Sawyer ’s lap. I reach out before us and point to it. “We should get her out.” “Rooster will take care of it.” I blink, my mind lost somewhere in the fog between the past and now. “Who’s Rooster?” Sawyer coaxes me to sit up so that my head rests back on his shoulder, and points past the pickup, down the driveway. In the distance three lonely figures walk toward us, kitted out all in black, the color that’s become such a part of my life. “Promise me something, Abbey-girl.” The words whispered in my ear send shivers racing over my flesh. I’d give this man my soul if he asked that sweetly. “What?” “You’ll tell me all your darkest secrets when we get back to Lincoln. I’ll let you get where you feel safer first, and you let me share your pain.” I turn in his hold; the men are close enough now that I can hear their boots crunch the dry dirt. “Why burden you with more of what you already have enough of?” His hand rises and rests gently against the side of my face. The honesty in his clear blue eyes has me in a trance, entirely under his spell. “Because my shoulders are strong enough to carry it for you.” “We interrupting?” a rough smoker ’s voice calls out from behind me.
Sawyer sweeps his thumb across my lips, leaving a trail of fireworks in its wake. I climb off his lap to sit out of the way, and push my hands between my knees as he stands to greet our visitors. “Rooster. Good to see you, brother.” The enormous redheaded man grins, pulling Sawyer in for a clinch. “What are they feeding you, boy? You almost look normal.” He laughs, stepping back to let the other two men shake Sawyer ’s hand also. A young, skinny guy steps forward almost nervously and gives Sawyer ’s outstretched hand a quick pump. He backs up, hands in his pockets, and watches from under a curtain of dark hair as the third guy regards Sawyer with much less camaraderie. Critical brown eyes bore into my pretty boy as the stocky guy steps up and gives a formal handshake. There’s no mistaking it’s out of etiquette rather than actual friendly greeting. “You got everythin’ you need?” Sawyer asks, addressing Rooster. “Pretty sure we do.” The big guy gives me a nod. “Ma’am.” “If it’s all good with you then,” Sawyer interjects, eyeballing Rooster, “we’ll head off.” “No problem.” Rooster raises two fingers and flicks them toward the house. “Set to work, boys.” The dark-haired kid and the hostile head indoors with what look like, and smell like, canisters of gasoline in their hands. “Message me the coordinates when you’ve got the bodies sorted.” “You have names?” Rooster asks, frowning. “Yeah.” Sawyer reaches out for me, and I rise off the step. He tugs me into his side. “We found their ID downstairs.” “Good.” Rooster gives us each a tight nod in turn. “Leave the rest to us. Y’all enjoy the rest of your day.” He heads indoors, taking the entrance steps in one great stride. I snap my attention back to Sawyer when he gives the arm looped around my shoulders a squeeze. “How about breakfast, huh?” “Perfect.” I smile, thankful that as dysfunctional and horrific as the night’s been, I can always find comfort in the least expected of places. Sawyer slips his arm off my shoulders and takes my hand in his, leading us down the driveway. I glance back over my shoulder at the house, so unassuming from the outside. “What have they got the gasoline for? Will they burn it down?” Sawyer shrugs. “I wouldn’t have—draws too much attention when you start doin’ shit like that—but who knows for sure. Tuck might have other plans for the property.” “How long have you known?” He glances down at me, holding my gaze as he frowns. “About the girls?” I nod. “Long time, Abbey-girl. Trafficking ain’t anything new.” “I know, but have the Devil’s Breed been doing it for long? I never knew. I mean . . . King wouldn’t have anything to do with Tuck if he knew, right?” “Tuck doesn’t sell them.” He gives my hand a little squeeze, his lips turned up in a small smile. “He sets them free.” “He buys them back?” Sawyer nods. “Yeah.” “Why?” “Long story, girl, and one that’s his to tell, not mine.” “But he was affected personally by it, right?” “Yeah, he was.” I walk with him in silence, thinking things over. Surely Cash wasn’t the only guy Tuck had
involvement with? Maybe this could be the breakthrough I need. “How many contacts does Tuck have?” “Why you ask?” His irises glow bright in the sunshine as he looks my face over. “I wonder if he can search for someone, for me.” I look away, unable to hold his gaze anymore. I’ve never divulged my full story to a single soul: not Fingers, not Hooch, and not even Apex or King. The men have had tidbits fed to them on a need-to-know basis, but there isn’t a single soul at the Fallen Aces, or anywhere for that matter, who knows the truth. Only my mother. If she’s still alive. A quiet, barely discernible rumble sounds from beside me. “I can take care of it,” he snaps. “What’s the matter?” I steal a glance at Sawyer as we near the end of the driveway. “That heartbroken fuckin’ look on your face,” he says. “I’m warning you now, Abbey-girl, if I ever find who did this to you, who made you so sad, this guy”—he taps his head—“gets free rein.” “Better let him rest up then,” I say dryly. “Because hopefully he’ll get a workout.” A small smile spreads over Sawyer ’s lips as he looks down at me. “You have no idea how happy that just made him.” “You’re fucked-up. You know that, right?” I say with a laugh. He nods, his smirk growing to a smile. My own fades as I drop my gaze to the road beneath our feet. His bike is a few yards up. “When did you know you were different?” “I don’t think there was a moment when it occurred to me that there was somethin’ wrong with me,” he says. “I just knew from the start.” “Nobody’s born like you, though. I mean, it has to be conditioning from the environment you grew up in, doesn’t it?” He frowns down at me, thumb rubbing over the back of my hand. “What you getting at, girl?” How do I explain it to him? He embraces who he is so wholeheartedly, and here I am trying to deny that this is who I’ll be for the rest of my life. I wasn’t born afraid. I wasn’t born untrusting. And I sure as hell wasn’t born with the ability to watch a man be butchered—alive, and dead—and to not even bat an eye. Once upon a time I was a happy little girl, I’m sure of it, back before my life was sent off course by a selfish pig of a man who stole my mother ’s heart. “I guess,” I say, “I’m just hoping that I’m yet to find out who I really am.” “Is this not you?” he asks, stopping us and turning me to face him. “This girl here”—he prods my breastbone—“is she not Abbey?” “Not the Abbey I wish she was.” “Why? What’s wrong with her?” “Everything,” I murmur. He sighs, opening his mouth to speak, yet shutting it just as quick. Rejection strikes me like a hot iron as he shakes his head and turns away, walking the last few feet to the bike. It’s begun: the frustration, the confusion, and ultimately the rejection. Before long, Sawyer too will give up on the mess that is the wild child trapped in her gilded cage of fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of not being enough. And ultimately, fear of finding out who she really is . . . and not liking that girl one fucking iota. This, right here, is why I never let people in.
THIRTY-TWO Sawyer “We’re about an hour out,” I tell King as I sit on my parked bike and watch a mother wrestle her child into their car seat across the way. “Abbey needed another fuckin’ nature stop.” King chuckles down the line “It’s a woman thing, man.” “Nope,” I argue. “It’s all those goddamn energy drinks she lives off.” The mother shuts the door of her car and takes a moment to suck in a deep breath before opening the driver door. Yeah, love. Don’t we all need to do that from time to time. “Heard you took her on a field trip last night.” “Vine works fast,” I muse. “Tuck never was able to keep his trap shut.” “That guy has more secrets than even you could shake a stick at, brother. He just likes to look out for our girl as well.” Our girl . . . . Yeah, I didn’t like that either. “Don’t you trust me to take care of her?” I growl, fingers turning white with the grip I have on the phone. “You ain’t exactly got the smoothest track record there.” “Thanks for throwin’ it back in my face.” “Sawyer . . . .” King sighs. “Not about to start this fuckin’ conversation when you’re on the road, okay?” Fair enough. I shouldn’t give him so much shit—he’s just trying to do what he thinks is best for me. Hell, when half the southern states were gunning for my ass he was one of the few that thought I deserved a second chance. Right after he dumped you back in your father’s lap, knowing that meant you were as good as dead . . . . Yeah, but I ain’t, am I. And besides, I deserved that. “Tap shouldn’t be far behind by now,” King says, breaking the silence I created. I cast my gaze across to the coffee shop in time to see Abbey walk out with a giant cup of some frothy fucking concoction in hand. Jesus. Does the woman ever eat anything real? She seems to function on a mix of high-sugar, high-caffeine drinks. Going to do something about that. No girl of mine is allowed to treat her temple that badly under my watch. “Better go,” I tell King. “Li’l Miss Shy is on her way back to the truck.” “Li’l Miss Daredevil, more like,” he says. “We talkin’ about the same girl?” I muse. The Abbey I’ve seen these past few days has been caged, holding back. “Oh, man,” King says with a laugh. “Have you given our girl a crush?” “What?” So not ready to have this conversation yet. I’d planned on keeping things on the down low once we got back to Lincoln to keep my mind on task. And to give her a chance to rethink what she says she wants out of me. “If she’s gone quiet, man, she’s totally into you. Isn’t that how girls work?” “Nope, scared of me more like.” I pucker up and give her an air kiss as she nears me. The rise of her cheeks goes pink, her lips puckered around the straw she so diligently sucks on.
Could put that skill to use somewhere else . . . . One of the few times I agree with you. “You’re so full of shit,” King says with a laugh. “See you when you get here.” He disconnects. I pocket my phone and stretch both legs out as she stops before me. “What you got there?” “Salted Caramel Mocha Frappuccino.” “I don’t think you said anything that made sense other than salted caramel.” “Try it.” She tips the plastic cup toward me. I frown. Bitch steps closer, tapping the green straw on my bottom lip. “Come on, pretty boy. You know you wanna.” I open my mouth enough to let her slip the tip of the straw inside, and besides the caramel, I can taste her on the plastic before I start sucking. Fuck it all if my dick doesn’t get hard at how erotic she can make a goddamn Starbucks drink. “How’s that?” Her gaze is hooded as she watches me lick my lips. “Better than I gave it credit for.” “Mmm.” She pops the straw back in her mouth and turns away, swinging that tight little ass as she walks the few feet to the truck. “Ready to go?” Fuckin’ more than she knows. *** Forty-eight minutes later we’re waiting at the gate to the Lincoln compound. Yeah, I may have pushed her to go a little faster. The raging fucking boner trying to punch a hole in my jeans most of the trip might have had something to do with that. She fucks like a damned angel, and she has no hang-ups about the sick shit I do to let off steam. Then she goes and teases me with a fucking frappe-what-the-fuck-ever-it-was. The girl’s toxic. And this sick fucker loves poison. You’re such a lovesick fool . . . . What can I say? When I find the rare ones that fit my bent mold, I fall hard and fast. Much like this goddamn prospect is going to if he doesn’t open that motherfucking gate any quicker. “You need to do your fuckin’ job and clean the tracks, you lazy piece of shit,” I yell at him over the sound of my engine. His eyes go wide as saucers, and the kid pulls some extra muscle out of his ass to get the damn thing wide enough for us to pass through. I swing left, taking the bike straight to Fingers for him to work his magic, while Abbey backs the truck into its park to the right of the doors. “You didn’t come all that way just to see me?” Fingers teases as I kill the engine and kick the stand out. He wipes his hands off on a rag, and wanders over. “Givin’ you any trouble?” I dismount and look around at his new workshop, letting out a long low whistle. “Flash as, brother.” The guys rebuilt the garage ground up, adding a few bonuses for the old guy. “Everything I need,” he says with a smile akin to a proud father. “And still shiny as new. But you would have known that if you’d stopped by like you said you would when you saw Mack last week.” His smile falls to a quick frown. “I had other engagements.” He gives me a knowing nod, and then shifts his focus over my shoulder. The old wrinkled man’s eyes go soft and he holds out one arm. Abbey bypasses me and tucks herself into his side.
“There’s my girl. How did the truck go with the new rings we put in?” “Much better. We should have done it six months ago.” “I know.” He gives her a squeeze and lets her go. Touching your things again . . . . Seriously—stop reminding me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Guess I’ll go find the boss then, yeah?” Abbey watches me with a slight frown as I completely dismiss her and walk toward the door that adjoins the garage to the clubhouse. It’s not as though I want to be a complete asshole to her, more that if I so much as catch a whiff of her, touch her, or look at her too long I’m likely to pick her ass up and march it to the nearest flat surface so I can fuck the shit out of her. She was eyeballed by Rooster. Watched as she walked into the Starbucks by some frat boys. And hit on by the fucker at our last gas stop. And now Fingers—platonic as it is—having his hands all over her . . . . A man needs to claim his territory from time to time. Just that now isn’t the right time. King’s standing out on the back deck, watching his son run around and kick a ball with Callum. He turns as I approach, holding out a hand for a quick clinch on greeting. “You made it. Abbey still in one piece?” “Ha-ha.” “Serious. Is she?” I shake my head as he laughs. “You realize,” he says, “that without Cash around we’ve lost a connection to the men he dealt with. He had a unique channel to a couple of elite buyers.” Back it up. “We?” King turns his head to look at me again. “Yeah. I told Tuck I’d help in exchange for his assistance with our latest problem.” The one Tap said fell on King’s doorstep. “What is the problem now?” He huffs out his nose, frowning. “Bronx may have got himself tangled up with a girl while he’s undercover, a girl who also happens to be Tuck’s estranged daughter.” “Fuckin’ small world.” “That it is,” he says flatly. King leans back, checking behind us for I’m assuming the girl in question. “Don’t say anything though. It’s a long story, but basically she still thinks Tuck is her uncle until he can get here and explain otherwise.” “So how is any of this our issue?” I mean, I think Tuck is great and all that, but . . . . “We offered protection in exchange for manpower when we deal with Carlos.” “Well, ain’t that kind.” “As if I’d be able to turn him down anyway,” King mumbles more to himself than anything else. “Might as well make sure I get somethin’ out of it.” “What’s the current situation with that fucker who sired me? Any news?” King’s mouth quirks up in a lopsided grin. “No news. He’s blissfully livin’ out his days, unaware they’ll be his last.” I scoff. “He treats every day like his last. Asshole has that many enemies, I swear he doesn’t even take a shit without sweepin’ the room first.” “It’s a double-headed attack.” “How so?” King jerks his head toward his office. “Take this somewhere less open, shall we?”
Abbey watches from where she now sits at the bar as King and I cross the common room to his office. I start to smile to ease her mind, but it quickly becomes something a whole lot less friendly when I see the fucker who’s working the bar—Dog—copping an eyeful of her tits while she’s distracted. She frowns as I change course. Dog looks up with a fair amount of panic painted across his pierced features, yet I’m stonewalled by fucking King blocking my path. “Office. Business first.” “You didn’t see the way this greasy fucker was eyeballin’ her,” I complain. “Where’s the respect, huh?” I shout across to the young blood. “I did see,” King growls, shoving me backward. “And so did she. It’s nothin’ he hasn’t been doing for fuckin’ months while you’ve been anywhere but here—physically and mentally.” Fuck it. He’s right. I don’t know what goes down here day to day. I’ve never been involved with the business side of things until this shit with my old man blew up, always choosing to live on the road, keeping my hands dirty for whoever offered the right price. I couldn’t have cared less—until he threatened my family—what he was doing to anyone else. I’ve been here, but not here at the same time. So you’re going to let him get away with it . . . . No choice, old buddy. Ducking my head, I let King manhandle me back into his office. My ass hits the seat with a whoosh as the air gets crushed out of the cushion. The slam of his door echoes around the room as he strides to his side of the enormous desk. “What the fuck was that?” “Me?” I try deflecting with a joke. He stares me down, one hand absently stroking his beard. “I was kiddin’ when I said she must have had a crush on you. Shit man, we all know that Abbey is volatile when provoked, but she’s also quiet as a damn mouse.” He jabs one hand toward the closed door, other on his hip. “You messin’ with her?” “Depends what you classify as ‘messin.’” “What the fuck have you done?” His fatherly tone annoys the ever-loving shit out of me. “Nothing she didn’t fuckin’ beg for,” I rumble back. “That was uncalled for,” King levels, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah? Well so is you questioning what’s goin’ on between me and Abbey.” I push out of the chair and stand, matching his stance. “She’s a woman who can make her own choices.” “Evidently the wrong ones.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “What do you think it means?” King shouts. “She’s fragile, broken. She’s fuckin’ scarred. And you . . . .” “I’m what?” Give it to him . . . . My devil scoots to the edge of his seat. “You’re not the balance she needs.” Sucker punch right to the gut. “You self-righteous assholes all sound the same,” I sneer. “You, Hooch, and Tap. You all think you’ve got some fuckin’ magic insight into what she needs, but none of you want to accept the truth.” “Which is?” he challenges. “That Abbey the woman is nothing like Abbey the kid who first came here. But you bastards keep drillin’ lies into her, tellin’ her she’ll never be anything but socially awkward and a fuckin’ failure at
life, and she believes it. She thinks she’s still that wild fuckin’ kid from ten years ago, but she’s not.” I pause, chest heaving as I catch my breath. “She’s so much more.” “You done yet?” His nostrils flare; I’ve angered him by questioning his motives for keeping Abbey shielded from the world around her, from relationships, dating, . . . love. “For now.” “Good. Sit down,” King instructs gently. “We’ve got business to talk over, and bickering over a girl that hasn’t got a thing to do with it is pointless.” I drop back into the seat, having said my piece. He’s right; arguing about her doesn’t help the more important topics at hand. Like judgment day . . . . Exactly. Time’s up, Daddy-O . . . .
THIRTY-THREE Abbey “If you don’t quit staring at my chest, Dog, so fucking help me . . . .” He’s harmless, but it still doesn’t mean I appreciate it. And neither does Sawyer, judging by the stunt he just pulled. I wasn’t ready to let everyone know yet. Not that I knew what I was supposed to be telling them anyway. I haven’t figured out for myself where exactly we stand. I could bet on the response Ramona’s going to have when she hears about Sawyer and me, and it won’t be supportive, that’s for sure. A problem that, unavoidable as it is, I’d kind of hoped to hold off on for a while longer yet. “Fine.” Dog rolls his eyes. “You want a drink or anythin’ then?” The guy would be a catch if I didn’t already know his faults. Strong jaw, icy blue eyes, blond hair, and the most endearing smirk ever. Pity he’s earned his name from his habits in the bedroom. Perhaps if he had a few more morals when it came to how he treats others, he might find himself with women who want to stick around a bit longer. Then again, I think he enjoys the rotating view just fine. “I’m good for now.” Dog tosses the bag of ice in his hands into the freezer draw under the counter. “Heard that a few of the Cali boys are on the way as well, so thought it best somebody stock up. I seem to be the only face that’s here day in, day out, Pres excluded.” I look across the room at King’s closed door, as though if I look hard enough I can see Sawyer in there on the other side. He’s been hot and cold the whole journey home since our stop in Grand Junction. After the way he took me in the shower, I expected one or the other, not both. Does he want me? Or doesn’t he? Do I want him? No doubts there. I’ve wanted the guy since I laid eyes on him as an impressionable preteen, only I didn’t know what the feelings were back then. Nobody had girly nights with me, I didn’t have any friends to discuss boys with, and the birds and the bees were taught to me by a stray copy of Penthouse left lying around the place. He’s easy on the eye, but he’s also broken, and what do women like to do? Fix things and nurture them back to health. Which is why he’s never had any shortage of interested women to pick from. A wallflower like me stood no chance of being noticed in a sea of gorgeous women who wanted nothing more than to be the one who redeemed his damned soul. Maybe that’s what he likes: I’m no ordinary woman, and fix him is not what I want to do in the slightest. When I picture us making a go of a relationship, I’m not trying to make him “normal.” I don’t want to change who he is. I want to make him need me as much as he needs that voice in his head. I want his broken parts to shine shattered sunlight on mine to make a stunning kaleidoscope of courage. I want the fact he’s fucked-up to make me feel okay that I am too. I want to feel welcome where I am, not like the outcast I’ve been the past twelve years. I’ll never be ungrateful for what Apex, or this club, gave me. How cold would that be? Apex gave me reprieve me from a life begging on the streets, and the club has given me a home. I think it’s fair to say without either I wouldn’t be here to tell my story. Yet, the one thing nobody’s been able to do is make me feel like I fit in. I’ve always been “Abbey, the wild kid.” “Abbey, the animal.” “That little bitch.”
I’ve never been what anyone needs. And I want that more than ever: to be needed. “You still with us?” Dog jokes. I snap out of my daze and spin back to face him. “Yeah. Did I hear some of the southern guys before?” I was only half paying attention, and I’m not sure if I saw a few of the Fort Worth crew or if I imagined it. “Yeah. They’re out the back.” Anxiety, my old friend, sets in. “Hooch here?” “Well, duh. He is their president.” “Presidents don’t always travel,” I snap back. “When they’re meeting about war, they do.” Shit. Of course. “You look worried.” “Tired,” I lie, flashing Dog a winning smile. He nods, easily pleased. I’m freaking the fuck out. The night before Sawyer left for Cali, Hooch was in my bed—talking. He basically laid out the ground rules that he didn’t want to see me anywhere near Sawyer in “that” way. If he hears what we did, if Sawyer decides to be a typical male and brag to one of his closest friends, then hell . . . war might be closer to home than anyone thinks. “Can I grab that drink after all?” I ask. Callum chooses the perfect time to walk through the common room. “No alcohol for her,” he announces, hand raised and pointed in my direction as he strides by. Dog jerks his chin up, and then gets back to ignoring me while I slide off the barstool, defeated, and head upstairs to the living quarters. I showered at the motel in Grand Junction, but for obvious reasons I’m suddenly feeling a whole new desire to get clean all over again. My room’s exactly how I left it—a slip of comfort in turbulent times. I kick my boots off and drop onto the mattress, staring up at the reflection that looks back down at me from the ceiling. I had the mirrors put in back in my pigheaded liberating phase, right before I headed off on my soul-searching trip around the Southwest. Now though, I’m regretting the fact I can see what a fucking wreck I am in full detail. Potential problems with Sawyer and Hooch aside, I’ve got other slightly more important things to worry about. By simply thinking of letting Sawyer in, I’ve inadvertently opened the floodgates to things I’ve kept buried, issues I’ve compacted with all the other trash. It never occurred to me that in order to tell him about my past, those words have to go through me first. I can’t stay neutral in this, there’s no denying that explaining what happened to me is going to resurrect feelings I’d rather not relive. Those girls Cash killed, they triggered something deep in me. Their brutalized bodies have played on my mind since we left the filth-ridden house. Was that what transpired for the women Evan would bring home? Or did he do worse? Although I’m not entirely sure what worse would have been. And just how much of his sick shit did I help in my ignorance as a kid? “Honeypie, won’t you go get Daddy some fresh towels?” “What for?” “No askin’ questions, precious. Just do as you’re told, okay?” I shiver at the memory of his hand stroking my hair off my face while he stood there before me with his knees bent, and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. Momma loved that man, and still, to this day, I have no fucking idea why. Shaking the memory away, I get up and strip down, wrapping the towel that hangs on the back of my door around my body. Gathering up my toiletries, I head down to the shared bathroom at the end
of the hall. King’s promised that as soon as he can he’ll remodel and give us all our own bathrooms when he adds in more bedrooms, but I know the club is in the shit financially; I’m not expecting him to work miracles. At least the bathroom is empty, it being a little after lunch. I turn the water on and drop my ass to the edge of the bath while I wait on the shower to heat up. Part of me hopes by some freak miracle Sawyer will stride through that door again and give me an encore. The sensible side of me knows that was a one-off. I saw the way he shut me down, not once, but twice before Dog provoked the beast. The carnal part of him might want what I’ve got to offer, but the part I’m interested in, the intellectual, is fighting to keep me at arm’s length. Did I presume too much? Is he embarrassed by me? Does he not want the guys to know how low he’s stooped? Maybe so, but I refuse to believe what we did in that motel shower was nothing but raw animal desire. There was something else in his eyes, something that said he felt more than he bargained for too. We had a connection. Maybe it was young, underdeveloped, and yet to fly, but it was alive. I rise to grab my shampoo from the bag on the counter with new conviction. The Abbey who left to find herself in the back roads of America might have been this timid and doubtful of herself, but the one who came back wasn’t. I owe it to her, the new me I worked so fucking hard on, to keep up the hard work I put in, to not let my doubts win. I didn’t go through hell for this. I didn’t risk my safety more times than I should have just so I can fall apart over a man. You’re a badass bitch. Yeah, I am. I need to fucking remember that. And maybe if he’s not so keen to go after what I’ve got, I need to remind him of it daily until he admits that I’m exactly what he needs. Fuck the maternal hearts like Ramona. Look how that worked out for him. Fuck the naïve good girls. Look how they run from him. He doesn’t need something better, something more pure. Fuck what his head might tell him. He needs what his heart clearly desires: me, the female fucking equivalent of his madness to balance his scales. And it’s on me to prove why.
THIRTY-FOUR Sawyer “You’ve got this pretty well planned out, huh?” I take the tumbler of whiskey King offers. “Got to be a point to my sleepless nights, right?” “Guess so.” “I’m sure I don’t need to check you’re on board?” he asks with a sly grin. “Fuck, man—you’ve just cleared the plate for it to be me and my old man puttin’ this shit to bed once and for all.” I grin, wide and genuine. “I’m all fuckin’ in.” This is going to be so much fun . . . . Going to need to give you a workout to prepare, aren’t I? You really know how to sweet talk me, don’t you? “You think it’s achievable, though?” I take a swig of the drink. “I mean, you’ve got a lot of players here, a lot of pieces that have to fall into place just right.” “I’ve got backups, plan B’s, the works.” King drops into his seat, kicking his boots up onto the desk. “Sick of fuckin’ being walked over by your asshole father. Sick of him underestimatin’ me.” “Hear, hear.” I raise my glass. “Time he was laid to rest, don’t you think?” “Fucker should have had lead between the eyes years ago.” “I’m sure you wouldn’t make it that easy on him now, would you?” King smirks, raising his tumbler to his lips. “Not in a month of Sundays.” The two of us sit in amicable silence, grinning at each other like the sick fucks we are. Only difference is King is the kind of person who believes in second chances, and I’m most likely to shoot on sight. Like the time you killed that bitch so she would stop sharing how pathetic your virgin ass was at popping her cherry . . . . Shut the fuck up. So her murder was questionable. Still. She should have known not to run her mouth all over town like that. But what? You’re so much better with your self-control now . . .? I like to think of myself as a work in progress. “Hooch is already here somewhere.” King places his empty tumbler on the desk. “You know how he likes to party up large when he has somethin’ to celebrate, so I suggest you take the opportunity to rest up before the rest of the ragtag bunch arrive.” I laugh, placing my own glass on the edge of the desk. “Not all of us are as old and worn out as you.” “Easy now.” He lifts an eyebrow in friendly warning. “I ain’t that much older than you.” “Maybe not, but the job’s aged you plenty.” “Has it ever.” He draws a hand over his face and sighs. “Best go see what Bronx and that girl he brought in here are up to.” I nod as I rise out of the chair, stepping aside so he can open the door. “Let me know if you think of anything else, yeah?” King says as he passes by. I stop him with a quick tap on the shoulder. “Will Ramona be here tonight?”
“Yeah, man. She’s bringing Mack in to see you.” King smiles and shakes his head. “You two not know how to use a phone?” I cringe before answering, “I might have pissed her off on the last phone call we had.” “Of course you did,” he says dryly. “Might need to keep that side of things in check if you want her to let you keep seeing Mack.” “Yeah, I might.” He gives me a slap to the shoulder and then heads out the door. King knows me well, and he knows the only thing I love more than the satisfaction of being the last face a person sees as they take their dying breath, is my boy. If it wasn’t for that kid . . . I hate to say it, but I swear to God if Ramona hadn’t sprung that pregnancy on me I would be just like my old man. Probably be living under his roof again, too, being the son he always wished for. Instead, I’m about to be the son he deserves, all to keep the son I don’t, safe. King hangs a right and disappears outdoors to where Dante is currently riding an old BMX over a crudely knocked together jump. I scan the common room, but aside from Dog reclined on one of the sofas with his feet kicked up over the back as he plays on his phone, there’s nobody in sight. “Where the fuck is everyone?” Most notably Abbey. Dog lifts himself up on his elbows to peer over the end of the sofa at me. “Buying shit for tonight, working, visiting, sleeping at home . . . you know how it goes.” “Why aren’t you then?” I come to a stop by his feet and fold my arms over my chest. He shrugs, unaffected by me. I kind of like this kid. I don’t . . . . “Never did like the idea of a nine to five.” “Fair enough.” He goes back to fiddling with his phone, both thumbs a blur as they scream across the screen. “If you’re looking for Abbey, she went upstairs.” Punk ignores me, even when I add a growl to the stare I’m currently envisioning cutting him in two with. Kids these days . . . no respect. You do have a little time, you know . . . . No. I don’t. The kid smirks as I head for the stairs. Where the hell else am I going to go? Dog can grin that smarmy fucking smile all he wants, but he doesn’t stand a chance at holding my clear interest in Abbey over me. Pretty sure everybody has figured it out for themselves, judging by the friendly words of warning I get from every which direction. Still banging that drum, are we . . .? Get fucked. I hear her before I lay eyes on her. Or should I say, I hear the music she has playing in her room. Rob Zombie—beautiful choice. Her head lifts to take me in as I step into the doorway. She’s laid out on her bed, phone resting between her hands. “Well hello, stranger.” “Stranger?” I quirk an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Tempting little bitch swings her long legs around and perches on the side of the bed, back arched just so, making her tits pop and her waist appear smaller. I know how these women work. “I thought we were going back to pretending we didn’t know each other.” “Subtle.” She backs up a little as I enter the room, kicking the door shut behind me with my boot. “What was with you blowing me off then, if that’s not the case?”
“Got something else you can blow off.” Her eyebrow lifts as I reach for my buckle. “Come on, now. We’re past this bullshit, don’t you think?” “Are we?” I keep my hands on the leather and metal—never know your luck. Abbey huffs out a heavy breath, making her long bangs flutter. “I’m not one of the club whores, Sawyer. You can’t sway me with cheap pickup lines, and lewd suggestions.” “Well aware, girl.” Her dark eyes find mine, and she frowns. “What are we?” She flicks a finger between us. “I mean, are we making this an item kind of deal? Or are you out for some fun and that’s all?” “Do you think that’s all I want? A fun time?” We talked about the whole childhood crush shit, and I warned her that I wouldn’t let anyone else near her. What else did she get from that if not long-term? “I wasn’t sure.” She ducks her chin. “Well, I am,” I admit, causing her to look up in surprise. “Nobody’s ever looked at me like you do, as though they’ve thought further than the things I could do for them right then and there. Nobody’s ever looked at me like they wanted a future, Abbey.” “Not even Ramona?” she whispers? “Not really.” I shake my head. “Deep down she knew the same as I did, that we weren’t meant to last.” A small smile creeps across her lips. “What?” “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . I never thought she was right for you, and knowing that you see that too?” Her hands stroke an even rhythm on her shins. “It makes me feel better.” I step forward, and drop to my haunches before her. “Why?” She shrugs, a vague attempt at dismissing what bugs her. “Tell me, Abbey.” “I was worried you’d go back to her.” I sigh, reaching out to wrap my hand around her neck. “Baby, I’m done with Ramona. It was done a long time ago, but neither of us wanted to admit it. We worried about what it would do to Mack.” “She doesn’t like me.” “You don’t like her,” I point out. “But at least I have a valid reason.” I drop my hand away, and rise to my full height. “Which is?” “It doesn’t matter.” “Abbey.” She looks up at me, clearly startled by the anger in my voice as I uttered her name. “No secrets, remember? We can’t have secrets if you want this to work.” Her throat bobs, and she fidgets with the comforter. “When I was eleven, Ramona and a couple of the other girls tried to pressure me into offering myself around, you know, like be one of them.” “A whore?” I throw both hands on my head while I stare at her in disbelief. I know Ramona can be pigheaded and arrogant at times, but fucking hell, making a kid a whore? Abbey nods. “Said it’s what all women did to pay their way around here.” My hands drop away. She’s not serious. Oh God, she is . . . . No way. It certainly appears so . . . . “Sawyer?” “Who did you tell?” And why the fuck wasn’t anything done about it?
“I didn’t tell anyone. King saw what was happening and put a stop to it.” “Damn, Abbey.” “It’s in the past, Sawyer.” Her whole sex kitten show long gone, she tucks her legs up Indian style. “Let it go.” Silence hangs thickly between us as I steal the moment to look her over . . . the right way. Yeah, she has a fucking fine body, and yeah her face isn’t hard on the eye. But there’s more to her that, until now, I never gave her full credit for: the honesty in her eyes; the acceptance of the man I am when I’m with her, not the guy other people see; and the way that even though we’ve been talking about her, she’s sitting there, watching me, trying to figure me out. She’s more selfless than she realizes. “Tell me the truth, Abbey-girl. Do I bring out the worst in you?” Her head tips to the side, a confused frown in place. “What do you mean?” “I keep pushin’ you to stop hiding, to face who you are and put your demons to bed, but . . . I don’t know. Is that right?” I lace my hands at the back of my head, trying to get into words what I mean. “What I’m tryin’ to say, is, the way I’ve always dealt with the things that get at me, the regret that I’m not the same as my brothers out there, is by facing the problem head on. Instead of acceptin’ it as a flaw, I make it a feature, you know? Like, why hide that I enjoy causin’ pain when I can embrace it and make it somethin’ I’m known for? Turn the negative into a positive, sort of?” “I don’t follow where you’re going.” Fuck it. I drop my hands, shaking my fists at my sides to save from lashing out in frustration. “What if what’s right for me, isn’t right for you? What if you were doing the right thing all along by burying your hurt? Maybe me forcin’ you to drag it to the surface is doing more harm than good?” “Why do you think you’re harming me?” She frowns as she slips her legs off the bed and stands. “What gave you that idea?” She steps toward me as I explain. “You have nightmares, right? I never knew that before, so I’m guessin’ they’re worse now since this started between us.” She shakes her head, coming to a stop a foot in front of me. “No. I’ve always had them. Ask Hooch. Ask Sonya.” I frown, reaching out to hook my hand on her hip. “You freaked out at the diner. Was that because you were out with me?” Her hip bumps mine as she closes the space between us. “No. I had anxiety at being shut up in the truck for too long.” I arch an eyebrow in question. “Later. I promise I’ll explain later.” “What about Ramona?” “I thought we sorted this,” she snaps. “I mean, is she givin’ you trouble . . . because of me.” Abbey bops a shoulder, staring off to the side. “She’d do it anyway. I mean, she’s made a few snide comments while you were in Cali, but that’s nothing new.” “Like what?” What the hell could she possibly have against Abbey? We’re through, she said it herself, there’s no true feelings, no real love between us. “That I’d make a terrible mother. That the kids don’t hang out with me when they’re here because I’m scary. And that she can’t imagine I’d ever have a lifetime with anyone because I couldn’t be a proper ‘woman’, doing all the homely, motherly things.” “That worries you?” “Not really. I’m happy being a grease monkey for Fingers right now.” I duck my head, still not convinced that my issues wouldn’t burden her when she’s fighting so hard to control her own. “I still don’t know.”
“Know what?” she asks, clearly frustrated as she runs a hand over the side of my face. “What if you change your mind? What if you see everything that goes on behind the scenes and decide it’s too much?” “I won’t.” “How can you be so sure you won’t?” Convince me, please. “You took me with you when you sorted out Cash.” “And?” “I’m still here, aren’t I?” She sighs, pushing up on to her toes to press her lips to mine. I hold her in place, moving my hands one by one to cup her face as she deepens the kiss. I’ve never been this gentle with a woman for this long, cared this deeply without shutting it down. In a way, she’s unlocked the hidden levels of my heart and the things that’s it capable of doing have me more on edge than ever. “I wish I knew why my influence is doing this to you,” Abbey whispers. “You never used to worry about a thing, and since that day on the deck, that first kiss, you do nothing but worry: about me, and about us.” “I don’t want to fuck this up,” I admit. “I’m fuckin’ terrified that if I relax even the tiniest bit, that I’ll lose you, and yet again, stupid crazy Sawyer has screwed everythin’ up for himself.” “Nothing will take me away from you,” she says with conviction, staring out from under her brows. “Nothing.” “It won’t take somebody else for me to lose you, Abbey-girl, because the harder I hold on, the harder I’ll push you away. Keepin’ you close is what will ultimately make you walk away.” “Why?” she cries in frustration, stepping out of our embrace. “Because what you see is only half of what you get, Abbey, and the other half?” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Nobody’s ever been able to put up with him for long.” “I think you give him more power than he really has.” My devil perks up, taking notice. “What makes you think I give a shit about any of that, anyway? I’ve told you so many times, but either you won’t listen, or you refuse to because it’s too hard for you to get your head around: I. Don’t. Care. I like you exactly how you are. I wouldn’t want you any other way.” “Stop lyin’. Everyone gives a shit,” I snap, pacing across her room, only to turn around and hesitate, unsure what I want to do other than punch a fucking hole through her wall. “You might say you don’t care now, but trust me, even the strongest eventually break.” Ramona. Silence hangs thickly between us while Abbey studies the floor, her arms folded over her chest. “I’m not the same as everyone else, Sawyer.” She sighs, exasperated. “I can’t bring myself to come to terms with it, but all the same, I know what the truth is.” “That?” “I’ll never be ‘normal.’” She bobs her fingers in air quotes. “I’ll never fit in. I’ll never be able to just hang out with the other girls, because when everything they talk about seems so foreign and boring, why would I want to?” She shrugs. “I just wish I knew where I did belong. I can’t hang out with an ageing bike mechanic my whole life.” A bitter, jaded laughs slips from her lips. What do you say then, old chap? Worth a try . . .? I think so. “Grab a coat.” Her head snaps up. “Huh?” “It’s going to be cold as hell once the sun goes down. Grab something to keep you warm.” I rove my gaze over her tiny shorts and baggy tank. “As much as I like what you’re in now.” I give her a sly smirk and a wink, and her cheeks turn rosy red.
She frowns, confusion clear as she glances over at me while grabbing an oversized hoodie from her drawers. “Where are we going?” “I want to show you somethin’ I’ve been workin’ on since I left for Cali.” “Like what, Sawyer?” She cocks her head to the side, eyeing me suspiciously. “You’ll see when we get there, but, Abbey?” She tugs the hoodie on over her head. “Yeah?” “I want you to understand somethin’ about me, about what bein’ with me will be like.” “What’s that?” Her hands work her hair into a high pony. “Other guys, ‘normal’ guys, they might buy you flowers, or take you out on a date. But me?” I pause and chuckle. “The only way I’ll ever show you I love you is by doing things like what we’re headin’ for now.” Her lips part, her eyes wide. “You, uh, you just said you love me.” I smile, stepping before her so I can place a kiss on her forehead, one hand wrapped where it belongs on the back of her neck. “Call me crazy,” I say with a chuckle as I think of Tap’s words about selfless acts and putting others first, “but yeah, I do.”
THIRTY-FIVE Abbey The sun sets in a brilliant array of crimson and oranges on the horizon as we cruise through the streets. I can’t figure out where we’re headed yet, but who really cares when Sawyer ’s hand is massaging my thigh like that? I tuck my chin down against the breeze, my ponytail whipping about my face, and watch his thick fingers as they push and pull my flesh in slow, methodical movements. It’s the kind of absent fidgeting a person does to calm their nerves, and I wonder . . . just maybe . . . is that what I do for him? Calm him? Surely not. The homely smell of the hot leather on his back is comforting as we idle to a stop outside a rundown trailer park. A weatherworn sign promises a Garden of Eden for its visitors. From what I can tell, they’d be lucky to get a single living thing inside the chain-link fence. Weeds wither and die, clinging to the wires as though trying to escape the misery inside. “I’m not sure what you had in mind,” I say, dismounting, “but I could think of a dozen other places to go and hang out for a while.” “No need to judge the book by its cover, Abbey-girl.” He flicks the stand out and climbs off, shoving his mask down into his helmet before hanging it off the bars. His bike is a gleaming beacon to petty thieves in a neighborhood like this. The value in his ride alone is probably twice what the average annual income is, but besides the Aces emblem etched into his axle covers, he has another insurance policy that goes everywhere the Harley does: the image etched into the derby cover of the V-Twin that indicates exactly whose bike it is; a two-sided face, split between a laughing devil and a crying angel. Nobody associated with our lifestyle is going to touch the machine if they value their hands remaining attached to their body. No one. Except me. I run my finger along the seam of the leather seat, appreciating for the millionth time since he told me to get on the back what a truly amazing custom it is. There’s a reason it’s Fingers’ favorite to work on, and I can understand why. The sing of metal being pulled from a sheath draws my focus back to the other fine specimen within reach. Sawyer stands staring at the weed-stained driveway into the place, pressing the point of his knife into the tip of his index finger. A fine dot of blood blooms as he begins to speak. “He started out back in ’93. Small time. Met a guy who introduced him to the trade through mutual contacts; men my father knew, if you could believe it.” I step up beside him, gently coaxing his hands apart before he slices his damn hand open. He shakes his head clear, looking down at me with an apology in his eyes, yet he says nothing—just starts toward the park. I follow alongside as he continues to explain. “He murdered his first wife in ’99 over a dispute about how often he wasn’t home, how often he was out doing dirty work for his new friends— including my father—instead of payin’ attention to her.” I follow his line of sight to a brightly painted mobile home on the corner of the access road through the park.
“He got worse after that. Dad would often say that the dog was runnin’ out of fingers to bite off. Always said he’d take the guy out himself. Thought he was gettin’ too greedy and eyein’ the top position.” Sawyer chuckles. “This guy,” I ask. “He’s the reason we’re here?” Sawyer nods. “Got word a few weeks back he was out of prison.” He swallows hard as we near the home. “Why prison? Did he get found out for his wife’s murder?” Sawyer shakes his head. “Nope. He went away for fuckin’ robbin’ a gas station, of all things.” I run my fingers through my hair to unknot it, shifting between my feet. “I don’t get why you’ve brought me here, though.” “He killed his girlfriend in ’02 because she refused to give him head. Also cut up a whore pretty bad the year after, but she never pressed charges because he threatened to send his lackeys after her if she did.” My gut turns. This guy, whoever the fuck he is, sounds evil. “Kidnapped a rival’s kids and tortured them until the parents gave up their connections. Grew his little business into somethin’ that could sustain his bad habits.” He hesitates, looking down at me with something akin to pity. “And then he met a single mom. Moved in with her and her kid, started abusin’ them both.” “He’s a bad seed by the sounds of it.” A story so familiar. “Why the fuck hasn’t anyone got to him yet?” I whisper. “What does it take?” “Because he rules with fear. He has them by the short and curlies. Every person who’s tried to take his crown has ended up dead or missin’ in questionable ‘accidents.’” The things he’s telling me leave me shaking with rage at the injustice of it all, but regardless, there are a thousand men this cold and evil in the world. Why this one? And why bring me? “What did he do to you?” I ask. Because why the fuck else would Sawyer take time out of his day to make a house call if not for some personal vengeance? “Told my mother he’d get her out of her fuckin’ screwed-up marriage. Gave her false hope when she needed it most, and then left her to fuckin’ die after he betrayed her and told the old man, just to try and get in his good books.” “Jesus Christ . . . .” “He was already dead for that, Abbey, but what I need you to understand is that ain’t what brought me here today.” “What did then?” I look over at the mobile home, wondering if our guest is even in. “You.” I frown, my heart already believing what my head refuses to acknowledge. “It’s a small world, Abbey-girl.” I’ve got nothing. I simply stare at pretty boy like a dumb mute, my mouth twitching in my effort to form words, any words. A small world. Is he saying— “His name is Evan, baby.” “It couldn’t be, right? I mean, the same one?” I whisper. Thank God I didn’t eat anything before we came out; I swear I’m going to be sick if he says— “Yeah, I think it is.” My head wobbles side to side, and I place a foot out wide to steady myself. “Why?” I squeak. “Why bring me here?” Sawyer reaches out, tugging me to his side to hold me up while I swallow over and over, willing my nauseous stomach to ease. “Say the word, and I’ll take you back to the clubhouse, finish him myself.”
I should. One little word and he’ll whisk me away from here, but I can’t do it. I can’t even force myself to open my mouth. He gives me a squeeze and lets go, leaving one hand on my shoulder. “This is your show, baby. Okay? You lead, I follow.” I nod shakily, understanding why he didn’t tell me what we were doing until we got here. If he’d said he found Evan back at the clubhouse, I would have shut myself in my room and refused to even entertain the idea of coming along. But now that I have no choice, now that I’m here, I’m slowly coming around to the idea. My pretty boy, my sweet broken man, is showing me love the only way he knows how. By slaying the monster under my bed. “Come on.” He nods toward the place and starts walking. I stay on the spot, watching him go, eyeing every outside wall, window, and blade of fucking grass as though each is as dangerous as the next. Does he know we’re coming? Has the grapevine that gave Sawyer the information, worked in reverse? Are we walking into a trap? “Chop-chop, Abbey,” Sawyer calls over his shoulder as he reaches the single step at the entrance. Only one way to know. He raps his knuckles on the door as I catch up, and then stands back with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops while he waits on Evan to answer. Footfalls echo over the raised timber floor as I reach Sawyer ’s side. “What have you got planned?” I whisper. He smirks, looking down at me. “Nothin’. I told you, this is your show, Abbey-girl.” I don’t get a chance to answer before the door swings open and I’m confronted with the sum of all my fears. “Can I help you?” He leers at the two of us, one arm holding the door as though he’s ready to slam it in our face. The past ten-plus years have aged him harshly. Yet underneath every line on his face, and every scar, is the same sick, twisted, and fucking soulless asshole I ran away from as a child. “I had hoped you were dead.” Evan jerks his head back, narrowing his gaze as he looks me over. “Do I know you?” “Know many people who wish you were dead?” I sass, despite the fact my voice shakes. He runs his spine-tingling gaze the length of me once more, and then drags a hand over his chin. “Well, you didn’t turn out much like your momma, did you?” My mind is a jumble of a thousand thoughts and memories, swirling and ricocheting off one another as I scramble to grasp hold of what to do next. “Who’s this?” Evan jerks his chin toward Sawyer. “You still too fucking scared of me to come on your own?” I glance over at Sawyer and see him literally bite his lip to save from saying anything. The murder in his eyes reveals the discord is personal, but either Evan is too stupid, or too proud to notice. “You sorry-looking assholes coming in, or you going to stand on my doorstep like a couple of retards all night?” Evan turns from the door, his baggy T-shirt billowing around his scrawny frame as he moves. Sawyer ’s hand goes to the butt of his gun as we follow over the threshold of the mobile home, and step into the most contradictory room. Evan stands to the side in the small kitchenette, a fresh beer in his hands. He cracks the top off and jerks his head toward the back half of the home. “You caught me right as I was going down for a siesta.” I let my gaze roam over the floral pattern on the settee, across the neatly stacked TV trays, and
along the crude shelves that house model cars and trucks. It looks as though a retired couple live here, not a sick fucking individual with a history that’s brought two jaded victims to his door. I want to rush him and slam his skull against the wall until it cracks, yet at the same time I want to hide behind the nearest chair and vomit with fear. I’m stronger than I was physically the last time I saw this asshole, but mentally, I’m seven years old again. “Take it easy in the rain,” Mum gently requests from the front seat of the car. I look away as Evan shoots her his warning stare, the one he gives her before he hurts her. “I know how to drive, bitch, so shut your fucking mouth.” The wheels squeal as we slide a little around a bend in the road. It never feels like this when Momma drives. “What did she say to you?” Momma asks, so quiet I can hardly hear her. “That’s none of your business.” My head hits the door as Evan curses, wrestling the steering wheel. Momma gasps, and I cuddle Flopsy tighter. Evan drives faster. The rain is so hard I can hear it as it hits the roof of the car, a rat-tat-tat like fireworks sizzling on the Fourth of July. “You’re not even worried,” I whisper, angered that Evan casually strides around the place like we’re annoying salespeople he’ll find a way to dispatch with soon enough. “Should I be?” If it were Sawyer delivering this fate, then I’d say yes, but am I strong enough to make him suffer? Or will I fold and run faster than that coward Cash? “Are you even interested in why we’re here?” “Oh, Abbey,” he groans, getting comfortable in one of the single armchairs. “Only one reason why you’d bring that beefcake over there with you, right?” I blink. “How’s he going to do it?” Evan takes a pull of his beer, turning the bottle on his knee before he continues. “Shooting me seems so quick and easy, and I’m guessing you’re a little jaded about how things went down between us, so that won’t be your style.” “A little?” I scoff, cheek twitching. “Fucking jaded would be a walk in the park compared to how you bloody left me!” “I left you?” he asks with one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me? Last I remember, you left me.” He leans forward, veins in his neck thick with his anger. “You think I would have stayed?” My voice remains low and eerily calm. “You were seven, Abbey. Fucking ballsy of a seven-year-old to run off into the unknown.” “I had no choice,” I seethe. Sawyer steps toward me and places a gentle hand to the back of my neck. His fingers apply the slightest pressure, and the calming effect the ownership in his hold has takes me by surprise. “The whole thing wouldn’t have happened if your bitch of a mother had kept her nose out of my business.” He lifts his lip in a snarl, looking off into nothing as he takes another sip of his beer. I lunge forward and strike out, smacking the bottle upward out of his hold. He reels back as the lip of the bottle crashes into his teeth, and then spills frothy drink all down his front. “Now look what you did!” He stands, fruitlessly brushing at his shirt. “Perhaps you shouldn’t talk about my mother like that then.” I step back, arms folded over my chest.
Evan’s hand goes for the discarded bottle, yet Sawyer raises his gun just as fast. “Nuh-uh,” he tuts. “I might be leavin’ this up to her, but that don’t give you license to hurt her.” “Oh, right,” Evan scoffs. “But she can hurt me, correct?” Sawyer simply nods, lowering his weapon. “I want to know,” I say with a stiff jaw, “did you ever feel bad about any of it? At all?” Surely, somewhere in this asshole is a flicker of someone human. Surely. Evan grins without saying a damn word. I shake my head at him, my gaze flicking to the bottle as I consider how easy it would be to smash it over his smug fucking face and do some real damage. Not that he’d care, evidently. “What happened?” I ask. “That night? What happened afterward?” The asshole drags a hand down his face and perches on the edge of the wet seat. “She died.” I can’t fucking breathe properly. The memories I have always led me to that conclusion, but I guess I held on to hope a little tighter than I thought all these years. “Did it . . . did she die quickly?” He shrugs. The motherfucker shrugs. “You weren’t even there when she passed, were you?” “Nope.” “You fucking left her alone?” “Didn’t you?” he asks, staring up at me with hardened eyes. Maybe, but, “I was a kid, Evan. What the hell could I have done to help her?” He hits her, and the car swerves. I hold my breath, my fingers aching on Flopsy while I wait to see if Evan can make the car go okay again. “Stop the car,” Momma says. “We’re getting out.” “Like fuck you are.” “We’re not part of this, so let us go.” “Bitch,” he says with a laugh, “the moment you decided you knew better than me and opened that mail, you made this about you.” His horrible eyes are on me as he twists in his seat. “Both of you.” “Evan!” “You might not have been able to save her, kid, but I’m sure she would have liked to have you with her, don’t you?” He doesn’t care. He’s not saying that because he feels remorse that Mom was left alone when she died. He’s purely trying to shift the blame and guilt squarely onto me to weaken me. Not today, fucker. “I think she would have been happy knowing her daughter got away from the sick fucking kiddyfiddler, don’t you?” Sawyer pushes off the wall he’d been leaning up against in a rush. “You touched her?” he asks Evan. Damn. I only told him that Evan pimped me out to his friends, not that he did it too. “Oh, you don’t know?” He feigns surprise. “She not tell you that?” “It’s hardly the kind of thing you share around the campfire,” I sass. “I’ve spent over ten years trying to forget what you fucking well did, but I can’t.” “That good, was it?” Sawyer ’s fist makes a resounding crack as it hits Evan’s jaw. The bastard damn near falls out of his seat with the force. I fight to stay on my feet at what I hear next.
“Is that . . .?” Sawyer steps toward the back rooms. “Stay out,” Evan warns. “You got no right going through my place.” I shake my head and storm past Sawyer, following the gentle sobs to a door leading into the room behind the kitchen. The handle turns easily in my hand, yet I can’t get the door past halfway as I freeze in shock. No. Sawyer takes a step back to let me past as I march through the trailer to Evan. “You’re still at it?” “Surprise.” He throws his hands up mockingly. “You sick son-of-a . . .” I can’t even finish what I’m saying before my hands are at his throat. He plays foul, taking my hair in his hold and wrenching my head to the side. “Remember how I used to hold you like this as a little girl, sweetheart?” Something snaps. All rational thought flies out the window, all consideration for the other people in this trailer, gone. I lash out, hitting and scratching at him while he pulls my hair painfully hard. I’m not winning, the pain in my scalp too severe to continue. “You’re sick. Fucking sick,” I yell as I give up. “And you’re probably just as bad, am I right?” He releases my hair with a thrust, sending me toward Sawyer as he emerges from the back. I take a quick look at pretty boy as he stands with his fists twitching, his neck corded with rage, and his eyes blacker than the pits of hell. He’s waiting on the word. “You wanted to know who this is?” I shout at Evan, one hand pointing to Sawyer. “You sold his mother out, gave a scared woman false hope, because apparently ruining one family wasn’t enough. Apparently, destroying children’s lives is your thing.” Evan stands, eyes fierce as he stares down Sawyer. “Carlos?” Sawyer growls. Literally fucking growls like the animal he is. I could place money on his devil going haywire right about now. “Have at it,” I tell Sawyer. “I can’t stand to waste one more breath on this asshole. End it.” The mobile home shakes and shudders with the force of their brawl, model cars smashing on the floor as I head back into the small bedroom to find the girl curled in on herself. “It’s okay, baby.” Her head shakes violently from side to side, the noise from the men most likely terrifying her. “Do you live around here?” I ask, trying to distract her. Her mouth opens on a pained cry, and she begins to sob. I edge closer, giving her time to move away if she doesn’t want interaction, but she does the opposite. The kid crawls over the pretty purple comforter and climbs into my arms where I stand at the end of the bed. “Shh, honey.” I stroke her hair, rocking my hips side to side to sway her like Mom used to with me. “You’re safe with me.” She cries as grunts and curse words fly through the air. The distinct sound of something large breaking the wall echoes around the room. “What’s happening out there?” the kid finally asks. “The bogeyman’s being taken care of,” I say. “He won’t hurt you anymore.”
THIRTY-SIX Sawyer “What do we do with her?” Abbey asks, stroking the girl’s hair. The little critter drifted off as soon as we stepped foot out of Evan’s trailer. My guess is she hasn’t slept properly in days. “I guess we try to find out who her parents are,” I say, wiping what’s left of the blood on my hands off on the legs of my jeans. Gosh, that felt good . . . . Yeah, it did. “And him?” She jerks her head back to where Evan lies in a mangled heap on his kitchen floor. It’s been a while since I’ve killed with my bare hands, nothing more. Feels fucking fantastic to know I still can. Weapons are great, guns are easy, but it takes a certain . . . finesse to know how to end a man with nothing but your fists. “Someone will discover him when it starts to smell, or attract flies.” “Aren’t you worried about evidence?” she whispers, pressing the kid’s head to her chest while she covers the little girl’s exposed ear with her hand. I chuckle. “No. I’m wanted in three states already.” “Well, that sorts that then.” I reach out and take the kid from her grasp, seeing her struggle to keep the girl aloft. “How old is she?” “Ask her,” Abbey says letting go. I nod, letting her know I’ll get to it once we’re back to the bike. The three of us leave, nothing more said until I set the girl down on the seat of the Harley. “What’s your name, sweet thing?” She looks up to Abbey. My girl smiles back at her. “Grace.” “Well ain’t that a pretty name for a pretty girl?” The kid’s face contorts and she reaches out for Abbey with a whimper. “It’s okay,” Abbey explains. “She’ll just be wary of you because you’re a man.” Well, shit. Broken already . . . . Makes me want to kill that fucker all over again, thinking what he must have done to the poor wee angel. “Do you know your address, Grace?” Abbey strokes the girl’s hair as she talks. The kid shakes her head. “Your phone number?” Shakes her head again. Gee, this is going to be fun . . . . “How old are you?” I ask. Grace looks warily across at me, and then answers. “Five.” “He touched you? Hurt you?” Her lips quiver before she whispers, “Yes.”
I reach out and scoop the kid up as she falls apart, crying for her mommy. Abbey watches with a fist to her mouth and tears in her eyes. Just makes me hug that kid harder looking at the living proof of what she’ll likely become. Wow. My devil lifts a brow as I struggle to contain my anger. Even I wouldn’t have stooped that low. We went easy on him . . . . Nothing would have been enough of a death for a sick fuck like that. Nothing. “We’ll take her back to the clubhouse until we figure this out.” I nod down to my pocket. “Ring King and give him a heads up.” Abbey steps forward to retrieve my phone, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her face with her bottom lip stuck out. I watch with nothing short of wonder as she carefully strokes Grace’s back, and then thumbs through to King’s number. She handled this whole evening with an eerily calm finesse. As broken and scarred as this spitfire is by her past, she hasn’t let it destroy who she is today. She just doesn’t realize it. She handles her demons better than I do. Hey now, play nice . . . . No. I’m sick of this, of being conflicted, torn in two directions, and loving every second of where each road takes me. I thirst for the kill, to spill blood and make the scum of this earth suffer, but at the same time I can’t get enough of tender moments like these. Grace mumbles, drifting back to sleep, curling in tighter as I run a finger over her shoulder. She’s so tiny—at least compared to a monster like me—and yet she has the power to bring a man as corrupted and selfish as me to my knees. I’d do anything for a soul as pure as hers. To save her innocence. To keep her untouched. Anything. “He didn’t answer,” Abbey says. “I left a message in case he didn’t get to it in time.” “He won’t answer if he’s in a meetin’ with someone, which is pretty darn likely given what’s coming up.” “It’s half an hour to get home.” I hold Abbey’s concerned gaze and nod. “And we can’t get her anywhere with one bike and three of us. But we can’t stay here.” She paces the sidewalk, rubbing a hand over her stomach as she moves. “I’ve got an idea.” She jerks her head, indicating I should get off the bike. Hoisting Grace higher into my arms, I rise and step aside, curious. Abbey rubs both palms down her legs before taking hold of the bars and heaving the machine upright. I’ll give her credit, it’s no lightweight, yet she manages to wrangle it like a pro. Using her boot, she kicks the stand up and starts wheeling it down the road before coming to a stop and looking over her shoulder. “You coming?” “Where we off to, Abbey-girl?” “Away from here. We need to move in case somebody saw us and called the cops. You never know —people can be suspicious, especially in a quiet place like this.” She gets the Harley rolling again with a grunt as I catch up and walk alongside. “I figure if we get a few blocks away we can call someone who’ll answer for help.” I frown, adjusting Grace as she wriggles in her sleep. “I don’t need help.” Too proud to ask . . . as always . . . . Abbey comes to a stop again, somehow managing to keep the bike balanced with a thigh pressed into the seat and one hand on the bars. She brings my phone out of her pocket with the other and
waves it in my direction as she speaks. “You want to make the call, or should I? Because as far as I can see, we’re not going anywhere fast in our current state.” You going to let her boss you around like that . . .? Yeah, I am, asshole. “Fine. But I don’t want to hear about this again, right?” “Build a bridge, pretty boy.” Using her thumb, she taps out a number and brings the device to her ear. “Hey . . . Yeah, we’re good . . . I need a favor.” Forty minutes later and Grace is awake as Fingers pulls up in the truck to our meeting spot, six blocks over. She wriggles back into my chest as the old man steps out and rounds the hood. Careful . . . you’re going soft . . . . Fuck off. “What have you two troublemakers got yourselves into?” Fingers asks as he warily eyes Grace. “Evan,” I answer simply. The old mechanic’s eyes soften and he drops his shoulders with a resigned sigh. He knows who Evan is. Both to me, and to Abbey. “You sort him out, then?” “Yeah, he did,” Abbey answers, giving me a soft smile as she answers. Fingers grunts in acceptance, and then steps toward Grace. The girl stiffens in my hold as he shoves a hand into his pocket and then brings a closed fist out to her. “Hold your hands out, love.” She twists her neck to look up at me. I nod, giving her knee a pat. Cupping her hands together, she tentatively holds them out to Fingers, who looks on like a doting grandfather. He releases his grasp, dropping something small and metal into her clutches. “What is it?” Abbey asks, stepping closer to look. Grace turns the trinket over, and then slowly holds it out for Abbey to see. Using old nuts and washers, Fingers has soldered together a doll figurine, complete with a carefully cut outline of brasscolored hair. “I was playin’ around with makin’ some trinkets out of scrap to sell for a little extra, but I figured this wee one might need it more.” Grace whispers something none of us catch, head bowed as she looks over the metal doll. “Pardon?” Fingers asks. “Thank you,” she whispers again. “It’s real pretty.” Bunch of soft-cocks . . . . I slam a hand into my temple and shift Grace to her feet. She reaches out for Abbey’s hand and walks side by side with my girl to the truck. Fingers turns to stand beside me, and we both watch in silence as Abbey helps Grace into the cab. “You got any idea what you’re in for with that one?” Fingers murmurs beside me. “We’re takin’ her home,” I answer. “Not the kid.” He shakes his head. “Abbey. She’s come a long way,” he says. “But don’t let that fool you any. She’s still as fragile as the day Apex first propped her up on a stool and slid a glass of milk and a cookie under her sweet little chin.” “She held it together well.” “Maybe. But you keep an eye on that girl. She won’t let you know if it bothered her until a week later when she can’t hold it in no more.” I glance over at Abbey, a little uneasy at the fact I kept a secret from her that was bigger than anything she might harbor. “I never said thanks for passin’ what you knew about her on to King. It helped me connect the dots, get the validation I needed that it was the same asshole.”
He shrugs. “If it were you askin’, I probably wouldn’t have told you. You did the right thing getting Pres to ask the question.” “You think I’m still doin’ the right thing?” I ask. He glances up at me, a tight-lipped smile in place. “For once, yeah, I think you are.” Fingers sighs and slaps his hands on his thighs. “Keys?” I point to the Harley and the eyeball keychain. He nods once and steps away, throwing an awkward leg over the seat. I close my eyes, relishing the sound of the engine as he starts the bike up and lets it idle a while before easing out into the street and leaving with a wave. Abbey watches from her position in the front seat of the truck, Grace tucked in under her arm. Why do I get the feeling this is going to be a significant moment for you and me . . .? I don’t really know, but all I can say is that I feel it too. Maybe it’s the mild chill in the night air, or perhaps it’s the small smile on Abbey’s lips. Fuck, it’s probably just her, but something about this moment, right here, right now, screams that life as I know it is about to be irrevocably shaken up and laid down in a whole new pattern. Ah, fuck . . . .
THIRTY-SEVEN Abbey “Thank you.” Sawyer frowns, looking away from where we’d both been watching Sonya fuss over Grace. “You don’t need to say thanks, Abbey-girl.” I slip my hand in his, ignoring the residual tingles that remain from years of avoiding interaction. “I want to.” He shrugs. “Babe, it was just one of those things you do for people you love.” I cock my head a little. “Pardon?” “I said, it’s just one of those things you do.” He gives my hand a tug, crashing my body against his. I don’t miss the cheeky smirk from King over Sawyer ’s shoulder. “I meant the other part,” I say, returning my gaze to the crisp blue eyes that set my soul alight. “What?” He smiles, eyes roving my face. “The part where I said ‘for people you love’?” “Yeah,” I reply. “That part.” A rumble sounds from deep in his chest. “You like that bit?” “It might have made me feel a little special,” I tease. He lifts a hand to brush the hair from my neck. “You are special.” I sigh, relaxing into his hold as he places a firm kiss just below my ear. “What now then?” I shrug, leaning back so I can see his face properly. “I truly don’t know. I mean . . . .” He waits patiently while I try to put my tangled emotions into words. “You took away the monster under my bed.” His lips curl up on one side, and I find myself smiling in response. “What?” “Can I be the monster in your bed?” The spark in his eyes, the smile on his lips, it brings weightlessness to my chest I can’t remember ever feeling before. I tip my head back in pure joy, and fucking well laugh without fear of what anyone thinks. Because damn it all, I feel great. And I think it’s long overdue that I do. “Is that a yes?” he asks. “Yes.” He grumbles again, the sound doing strange things to me deep down inside. “Hold that thought.” I step back and watch as he crosses the room to where King talks with Callum beside Sonya and Grace. The minute we stepped through the doors, the people I truly admire sprang into action as they always do. Nobody questioned why we chose to bring Grace back to the clubhouse, nobody appeared put out that we had a child who needed help finding her way home. They simply pulled together and each played their part in doing what the Fallen Aces do best—taking care of the people who need it most, the innocent ones. I smile, bringing my right hand up to grasp the opposite elbow as I watch the group interact. For once I feel at home, comfortable bearing witness to the things that happen within our walls, as though
nobody would question why I’m even here. “What have you done now?” Except her. “Not now, Ramona.” She smirks, glancing across the room to where Mack stands waiting with his backpack. “You’ll never have what we did.” I pull in a deep breath, and close my eyes to gather my cool. “Key word there: ‘did.’” No need to lose it in front of her kid. In front of Sawyer’s kid. Ramona frowns, her jaw working side to side as she thinks her next words out carefully. “You want to make yourself a part of his life? Then you need to understand two things. One: you hurt him and I swear to God I will make your life hell.” “Like you don’t already,” I scoff. “And two: I don’t care how great he thinks you are, or how head over heels he might be. You will never have a thing to do with my son. As long as you’re around, Sawyer will never have Mack stay over with him; he’ll only ever be able to visit us.” “You finished yet?” “For now.” She starts toward Mack, and then stalls. “I hope like hell you two never decide to have children, because with parents as screwed up as you both are, that kid would be a right piece of work.” She storms off, catching King’s wary eye. I wave a quick hand at him to let him know it’s okay, and head upstairs to shower. I’ve got road dust in my hair, a little blood on my clothes, and years of suppressed memories crawling over my flesh where Evan touched me. A short while later, my clothes are stripped and in a pile by the closed door, and I’m in nothing but my underwear as I gather up my toiletries. Sawyer comes striding into the room without so much as a knock. “Damn it,” I cry out, diving out of view of anyone who might be in the hall. “Give me some warning next time.” His head turns as he checks out my clothes to his right, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he slowly closes the door. “Hey, Abbey-girl.” “Everything okay downstairs?” I ignore his blatant innuendo. He nods. “Fine. Sonya’s goin’ to keep her company for the night, and King’s got Callum seein’ what he can dig up on her.” “Good.” My shoulders sag with relief. “How you doin’?” He closes the space between us, placing his huge hands on my shoulders. “You okay?” “I think so.” I force a smile, but it doesn’t wash. His gaze moves between my eyes, searching, reaffirming. “You weren’t put off by a single thing I did these past few days.” “Nope.” “Didn’t worry you at all?” “Not at all.” If you asked me, everything he did was justified. “So . . . us.” “Mm-hmm.” “You think it’ll work yet?” I duck my chin, overwhelmed at the thought of everything he’s done for me. “Would you have gone after Evan, even if you didn’t know his connection to me?” “Probably not for a while.” He frowns, narrowing his gaze a little. “Do you think I did that tonight
for me? Not you?” “I think you did it for both of us, and that it was just a bonus for me.” He shakes his head, slipping one hand up to hold my neck in the way I’ve grown so used to. “No, girl. No.” His thumb traces my bottom lip, coaxing me to open my mouth a little. “I wanted to do that tonight for you. When I got the info, I first thought I’d wait a while.” His brow pinches. “But I did it tonight because, like I said, I need you to understand what I do for the people who matter most to me: I kill. And I fuckin’ enjoy it.” “I wouldn’t change that.” “Me”—Sawyer taps the side of his head—“and him. He’s part of the package.” “So you keep saying.” I give a little shrug. “That really doesn’t worry you?” “Is he going to try to kill me in my sleep?” “Never.” His words ring true, but his eyes lie. Note to self: keep his devil happy. I reach out, placing my hands on his trim waist. “If I say yes, I want this, then you’ll have to be patient. The whole going steady thing is kind of new to me.” “Did you just say ‘going steady’?” He laughs. I smile nervously. “What?” “That’s so old-fashioned.” “Oh, fuck off.” “It’s cute.” I smile, but it quickly fades when I stare into his eyes and see the dark promises hidden behind. He’s serious when he warns me about how intense he can be. I’ll be his property, exclusively, and he won’t go soft on anyone who threatens that claim. I run the finger of my right hand up his side, laying it flat when I reach his chest and push beneath his cut. “Going to tell me why you came into my room, then, pretty boy?” “How about I show you?” I bite my bottom lip hard, watching him as he strips his cut and T-shirt off. “You could join me in the shower?” He chuckles, turning back toward me as he unbuckles his belt. “Babe, as much as I enjoyed myself, we’ve already done it that way. How about you show me what other tricks you got up those sleeves of yours?”
THIRTY-EIGHT Sawyer Her dark irises track my every motion as I drop my belt to the floor and give a sneaky flex for a little added show. Rose flushes her cheeks. Game on . . . . Get back in your fucking box. “We’ve already got a problem, Abbey-girl.” “Yeah?” The word is barely audible, a stolen breath dropped from swollen lips. “You’re wearing too much.” She looks down at her simple yet sexy bra and panties. “Guess I better fix that.” She ditches the bra at the same time as I drop my jeans. “What now?” “You fuckin’ shut up and take what I give you.” She gasps when I grab her by the upper arms and literally throw her ass on the bed. Her panties hit the floor a second later, and I prop her feet up on the side of the mattress so her knees are bent and everything is on display. My dick strains in my boxers as I step back and admire the view. Nice . . . . Seriously, fuck the hell off. “Pretty in pink, girl.” “It wants you to eat it,” she purrs. Fucking hell. Kill the monsters in her closet, and the girl’s got brass. I’m moving to kneel at her feet when she stops me with a raised palm. “What?” “You’ve got too many clothes on.” My lips curl up on one side as I hook both thumbs in the waistband of my boxers and drop them to the floor. She pushes up on both elbows to take the length of me in—yeah, both kinds. “Now you may.” I drop to the floor and fucking worship her in every damn way she deserves. Her head is tossed back, ragged moans filtering from her lips as I sweep my tongue the length of her, teasing her clit with little strokes of its own. Her honey on my taste buds, and her words on my mind. She wants this, always. She wants something with me. And she said she’s not interested in changing who I am. Could this really be it? Have I finally found my queen? Who fucking cares, when she grinds her sweet pussy against my face like that? Her legs drop, feet hitting the floor, and she clamps my head with her strong thighs. The girl works out, that’s for sure, but it’s not the kind of sweat I want to see on her right about now. I reach up the length of her body, massaging her breasts on my way to her throat. My fingers close over that slender neck, and her legs close on my head. She groans; the vibrations run through my palm and tickle my wrist. I press a little tighter. She creams a little harder. This game’s fun. I rise up, wiping my mouth with the back of my free hand, taking in every detail of her. I could
look at her day in and day out without feeling like I’ve ever seen it all. Every time I lay my eyes on her she steals my breath all over again. She’s perfect. And I’m spoilt. Abbey’s eyes are wide, her lips soft as she struggles to breathe beneath my grasp. I loosen up, not really wanting to take things that way just yet, and run the same hand down her side, slow and sensual. She expects it hard, expects me to be brutal. But what if I’m not? If I give her gentle and caring will she turn off me? Is that what it’ll take to finally lose her interest? Only one way to find out . . . . She arches into my touch, her eyes closed. The girl’s drunk on me and we haven’t really begun. Maybe it really is me she’s after, and not the fantasy of the ‘bad boy’? Will I ever really believe it? My gaze drifts across the floor to where my jeans lie piled in a heap. The buckle of my belt peeks out from below, giving me an idea. I step away to retrieve it, and Abbey pushes up to watch. “What are you doing?” “Making sure you can’t complain.” She frowns, adorably confused until I slip the length of leather out of the belt loops. My girl understands now. “Lie back with your legs bent and wrists beside your ankles.” Her eyes flick to the belt. “Now.” “Are you going to—” “Did I fuckin’ stutter?” She swallows hard, and then does as she’s told. I take my time, making sure to drive her crazy with anticipation as I secure her hands beside her feet. Her arms are banded tight enough that if she tried to pull out of her hold, she couldn’t. “Good girl.” I reward her with a few strokes of her flush pussy, and her legs quiver. “Tell me, Abbey-girl. You got any of those toys in here you were tellin’ me about?” Her eyes narrow in challenge. “Look for myself then, huh?” I lean left and check her nightstand first. Where else would a horny young woman keep her tools? Sure enough, behind a few magazines in the bottom drawer, I find the magic box. Her eyes go wide as I pull the gold-colored cardboard from its hidey-hole, but she quickly schools her fear and smiles. “That how we playing this evening, is it?” “Sure is.” I toss the lid aside and find the moneymaker: a long, not so slim, chrome dildo. “Really?” I ask, lifting it out. “Chrome?” “So? I like it that much.” She shrugs in her bounds. “Guess I might like it a hell of a lot more soon, too.” Left hand holding her ankles, I push her legs out of the way. She tenses up, so I set the dildo on the bed beside her and lick my thumb. No need to be too rough on her the first time. She squirms against me as I massage her pussy lips and clit until she’s weeping for more. Doesn’t matter how much she fights, until she tells me to stop, I’m not backing down. “Oh my God, that feels good,” she moans, twisting her neck to try and see around her legs. I reach up and shove her face away. “Did I ask you to talk?” Shock registers on her face, but one look at the smirk I’m sporting and she understands it’s all part of the play. “Shut the fuck up unless you’re moanin’ like a good little whore.”
I grab the weapon of choice from beside her and run the slick chrome tip up the length of her wet slit. She writhes, but like a good girl never says a thing. Using my forearm, I lean against the back of her thighs to hold her legs out of the way, and slowly insert the metal rod in her hole. Fucking thing looks amazing; the contrast of cold unrelenting metal against her warm and pliant cunt. A low groan comes from deep in her chest as I hit the end, only the very hilt of the dildo showing. “Feel good, girl?” I give the end a tap for good measure. She hums as the vibrations ripple through her, chest rising fast as her breaths come even faster. I watch her face as I slide it out, give a little twist, and slip it back in again. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, a small grin tipping the corners of her mouth up. With every stroke, her pussy grows slicker, the evidence of her arousal dripping down the seam of her butt. I leave the dildo completely immersed in her and run the tip of my index finger through her juices, wetting the rose of her ass as I slide past. She flinches, a small gasp of air sucked into her lungs as her eyes shoot open. “So fuckin’ filthy.” Years, I’ve played the field. Tried every goddamn flavor a man could have, and only once found the woman who I thought would be it. But to be struck by lightning twice? I watch her face while, using my thumb, I press hard on the dildo and shove it deep inside her. Her muscles twitch as her pleasure builds, once, twice, and on the third time I push against her ass. I’m a fucking lucky man, that’s for sure. Air is drawn in to her lungs sharply, but she only tenses for a second, soon relaxing again as I slip the dildo out, and then in, repeating the process over and over until my name is falling from her lips on a whimper. “What’s that, baby?” “I’m going to come.” She cries out as I withdraw the dildo and slap her ass cheek. “No, you ain’t.” Abbey strains to see around her legs while I fist my already hard cock. She’s got me so in awe in this moment that it would be easy to make things happen quickly, but that would only cheapen the moment. Quick and hard is for when you’ve been on the road days on end without your woman, for when some asshole hits on her and you need to stake that claim. Not now. My devil stands, placing a gentle hand to his desk, much like a retiring director of a company would. He taps his fingers on the surface, his other hand casually slung in his pocket, and smiles. Nothing more needs to be said as he fades into the shadows. This time is ours: Abbey’s and mine. And that asshole upstairs finally sees her for what she is—the person who’ll take care of me in his absence. His better half, and mine. “Don’t leave me waiting,” she whispers, her body fully relaxed as she watches me. “Please.” I step forward, gently undo the belt, and stretch her limbs out. Her gaze tracks my hands as I rub her wrists, over the damn scars. “I’ve seen yours,” she says simply, holding my gaze as she smiles. “I know you get it.” “No more, okay? Make that promise now, no more.” Tears well in her eyes as she smiles. “I’ve got no reason to keep doing it when I’ve got you.” Her words cease as I take her mouth with mine, and line myself up with her. I say everything that’s still too hard for me to put into words with my actions, sliding my length inside and rocking my hips in a gentle motion. I want to tell her I’m sorry. That I wish I could have known her sooner. That perhaps if I hadn’t been blind to the perfection in her flaws, that I might have saved her from ever feeling so bad she felt the urge to physically harm herself to relieve the pressure.
I want to tell her that I wish I could have been everything I never had, for her. She groans as her climax builds, her thighs squeezing against mine, her back arching off the bed. “You’re so beautiful like this,” I murmur, picking up pace. Tears crest her cheeks, that maniacal smile and the contradiction of it all only making her even more precious and worth holding on to. “I’m close, pretty boy.” “Good.” I lock my knees into the side of the mattress and lean back, bringing her with me. Abbey’s dark locks spill over her shoulders, framing her breasts as she adjusts her seat on my hips. We move together, eyes locked in the best fucking game of who’ll blink first I’ve ever played. Her hips rock, and she draws that damn lip into her mouth as her eyes slip closed. One hand between her shoulders to steady her, and other firmly on her ass, I grind her faster, shifting the angles until the only way to describe the look she wears is pure ecstasy. Nobody, and I mean nobody, will ever see that but me. Who cares if I fucking die in the coming days at my father ’s hand; I’ll put a clause in my will that means she’s mine even after I’ve gone. She comes apart with a sigh, falling forward to rest her forehead on my chest as I follow her lead. My cock still twitches inside her as she leans back to find my gaze. “Does that make it official?” She smirks, squeezing her cunt muscles to make me jerk. “Damn it, woman.” “I couldn’t resist.” A hand either side of her face, I bend my knees a little to hold her weight. “Neither could I.” “So?” “I’ll get your patch made up tomorrow.” Fucking bitch laughs. And damn it all if I don’t laugh with her.
THIRTY-NINE Abbey Being official turns out to be a huge deal for Sawyer. He insisted after we cemented our status in my room that I won’t go anywhere without him ever again. And he hasn’t been wrong. I shower, he’s there. I eat, he’s there. I duck out to the garage, and there he is mere seconds later to check on me. I kind of like it. I’ve never had someone want to spend time with me like that before. It’s a new feeling, one that took me a day or two to adjust to, but I’m getting the hang of it. “Today’s the big day,” Sawyer announces out of the blue as he absently strokes my shin. We’re on opposite ends of one of the sofas, my legs over his lap as I read Alice in Wonderland. He insisted that was where I started when it came to catching up on childhood staples that I missed out on. I know what he talks about. Shit, the butterflies in my gut know what he talks about. The final showdown with Daddy. “What time do you go?” “Evenin’.” I pretend it doesn’t affect me, bury my nose in the book and end up reading the same paragraph six times over. “Abbey.” “I’m not going to lie.” I set the book aside on the floor, and then crawl over so I’m sitting beside Sawyer, facing him. “It makes me nervous.” “You’d be one coldhearted bitch if it didn’t.” I reach out, cupping his neck with my palm. “He almost killed you once, and knowing those are the chances you have again, while I’m stuck here waiting it out?” I shake my head. “It’s going to be the death of me whatever happens.” “Come with me.” I frown, tempted to place the back of my hand to his brow and check his temperature. “You know I wouldn’t be allowed.” Women aren’t involved in business unless it’s completely necessary and entirely unavoidable. He smirks. “Babe, I wouldn’t let one pretty inch of you past his gates.” “What did you mean then?” Come with me? Don’t? “I meant I want you there when I walk back out.” “If you walk back out.” He lifts a hand to pinch my chin. “When I walk out, I’m goin’ to be fuckin’ high on life and wantin’ to celebrate that with my girl.” “And I’ll be right here,” I assure him. “Waiting. Impatiently.” “Too far away. It’ll take me fuckin’ hours to get back here.” “Your point?” “That wouldn’t wait.” He gestures to his lap. “Oh, pretty boy. Are you horny just thinking about it?” I tease. “What you goin’ to do to fix it?”
I level his hard gaze, narrowing my eyes also. “Anything you want.” My ass leaves the sofa in a whirl as he scoops me up on the way off himself. “I’m holdin’ you to that.” “Good. Now get us upstairs.”
FORTY Sawyer The back roads that lead toward my father ’s property are quiet this late at night. The only sound to be heard apart from the steady swish of boots in grass is the slow, methodical scratching of a cow grazing nearby. The new moon does nothing to help guide the way, the night blacker than a coal-miner ’s hand. Still, it’s perfect for what we’re here to do. My devil pops his hips, singing “It’s a marvelous night for a bloodbath” to the tune of “Moondance” as he quicksteps through my mind. Tuck walks ahead of me, roped in to help the Fallen Aces with the job when his estranged daughter turned out to be involved with the drug syndicate King’s currently trying to crack. Having the president of the Devil’s Breed leading the charge is a scenario I never considered. “How much farther is it?” Abbey asks, skipping every so often to keep up with my long strides. “Not much longer.” I’d point out a landmark for reference, but she’s lucky with how dark it is out we can even keep track of Tuck. To his left are a couple of the younger Aces: a prospect by the name of Nathan who shows all guts and a thirst for glory, and a Latino guy by the name of Alvarez. I narrow my gaze on him, wondering if he’s a plant from my father ’s cartel. “Where you say you’re from again, Alvarez?” The kid with a buzz cut swings his head my way. God only knows how he’s looking at me. Could be cool and calm, or ready to throw down. Fucking moon. “Detroit,” he answers. “Right,” I say suspiciously. Abbey smacks me in the arm. “Stop it.” Fuck knows why King included him and Nathan. Compared to the other dozen or so men walking the road with us, they’re babies: inexperienced and dangerous. I shift the backpack containing ammo to my chest, looping the straps over my arms backwards. I’ve got two extra clips in my pockets, but denim only holds so much, and without proper tactical gear this is the best I can do. No way I was going in with just a couple of spare rounds. This gunfight is bound to be of epic proportions, and I’d like to be prepared. “Stop at that mailbox up there,” I tell Tuck. He reaches it first, bringing his men to a halt with a simple hand in the air. A second gesture has the entire group kneeling in the grass, blending into our surroundings. The road we’re on skirts two-thirds of casa de la Redmond. It’s the most guarded section of the property, but also the least covered in security cameras. The majority are out back since my father ’s second wife, Elena, used the rear as her exit to elope with King. I gesture to two of Tuck’s men, getting them to come my way with the rifles they carry. They squat down before me, making an impromptu meeting circle. Tuck shuffles over to rest behind my right shoulder, listening in. “If you look down the far end of the fence,” I say, gesturing to the enormous brick wall that encircles the property, “there’s a crow’s nest with a sentry on point. Maybe two now, who’d know?” I shrug. “About a third of the way toward us from there is the first camera.” I point out a small mound
on the top of the wall. “See it?” Both men nod. “You’ve also got one either side of the gate.” I point them out also. “And one at the speaker.” “Get the boys lined up to take them all down at once,” Tuck instructs. “Time is of the essence tonight. The faster we crash through his front door, the less time that asshole has to react.” “How we getting’ past the gate?” the roughest of the two before me asks. “I’ve got help on the inside.” My own Fingers, in a way. Frank, the gardener. Turns out being helpful and offering a hand when I had time to kill, paid off. The old guy appreciates me enough, feels badly enough about the loss of my mother, that he was more than happy to slip me a coded card to open the gates. Didn’t even want payment for it. Simply picked up his hat, gave me a smile and a nod, and left the bar I met him in a few hours ago, wishing me well. “Everybody listen up.” I catch Abbey’s stern stare. “You too, girl.” A couple of the stragglers crowd in to hear what I’ve got to say. “Once we take his eyes and ears down, it’s all on, exactly like we talked about over and fuckin’ over at the clubhouse.” A few people nod—it’s about all I can make out in this light. “We’ve each got our roles, and we’ve each got a job to do tonight. Nobody said draggin’ this asshole off his throne would be easy, but I can damn well promise you one thing: it’ll be worth it.” A hushed mumble of agreement ripples through the group as they shuffle around to get in position. The two men I briefed first co-ordinate the rest, while Tuck overseas it all from mid-point. Dull yellow dots of light begin to spread out over the roadside grass as each man reaches his position: our signal system. From a distance, the lights would look as though there were fireflies hopping the seed heads. “Come here, Abbey-girl.” I hold my arm out, coaxing her in. She snuggles close, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You need to get going, bossy pants.” “You got that gun I gave you?” She nods against my chest. “Anyone that ain’t me and is actin’ strange. Got it?” If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that you can’t trust anyone—not even your closest friend. Even me . . .? Especially you. “I’ll be fine.” She slips away, pushing up on her toes to meet my kiss halfway. “Now go.” I take two crouched steps, and then hesitate. Fuck it. I’m still waiting on no less than five guys to get in position. I’ve got a minute while they shimmy their way down the road, out of sight. Abbey smiles, totally aware of my intentions when I scoot back and pull her to my chest, falling on my ass as I do. The bag of ammo jams between us, and I let go of her long enough to drop it to the ground beside me. She knocks me to my back, and then crawls over top of me like the vixen she is. I place both hands on her backside to grind her hips into mine, fucking praising whoever ’s listening that I asked her to wear her teeny-tiny cut-offs for the occasion. The denim slides out of the way easily, and I lose no time thrusting two fingers inside her. Her head drops to my shoulder; her whispered moan enough to have me wishing we had longer. Digits slick with her arousal, I slide them free and move my fingers to my mouth as I count how many lights are visible now. Her chest rises and falls rapidly against mine as I lick my fingers clean. “A taste of what’s to come,” I tell her. She places a single kiss to the point of my jaw. “Surely you’ve still got a minute or so, pretty boy.” “Guess it’d be a damn shame to waste those precious seconds, huh?” “It would.”
Her mouth slips open on a moan as I thrust my fingers back in her slick pussy. She bites down on my collarbone as I curl my fingers and rub the sweet spot inside her to have her coming over my hand in seconds. Abbey’s body shudders as I roll her beside me and prop myself up on one elbow to look at her shadowy figure in the dark. She stays still, most likely watching me intently while I clean off my hand, finger by finger. “I think I’m good to go now.” She giggles softly, giving me a little shoo with her hands. “Go have fun, okay?” “Always.” I steal another quick kiss at the same time as Tuck gives the signal to start. The gentle whistle of suppressed gunfire swirls around us, my heart picking up pace at what the sweet sound means. The day’s finally come. It’s here, the greatest moment of my life. I’ve waited so damn long for this, so long that I can’t really believe it’s happening. “Pretty boy.” I hesitate, positioned ready to scoot across to the gate. “I gotta go, baby.” “I know . . . .” “But?” I reach out and fumble until I find her neck. “Tonight isn’t about you anymore, baby.” She taps a finger to my head. “It’s about letting your devil take the lead.” I nod, placing a chaste kiss on her salty lips. “Baby, don’t cry.” “Make sure he brings you home.” The concern in her voice almost undoes me. “I’ll be right back there, waiting by your bike. “He’s never let me down yet, Abbey-girl.” Yet . . . .
FORTY-ONE Sawyer I left the damn bag behind. A wash of panic makes its way from my head to my toes as the beep of the gate control echoes around my skull. Fuck. Shouldn’t have let the girl distract you . . . . Didn’t see you reminding me either, asshole. I pocket the access card and slip toward the open gate, the crunch of my brothers’ boots on the gravel the only other sound. Floodlights click on in succession across the property, left to right. We’re sprung, sooner than I’d planned. Fucker really has upped his security since I broke out. “No point fucking around now,” Tuck hollers. “Get inside. Shoot to kill.” He slips right to find safety behind a fountain in the middle of the lawn while he covers the rest of us. I knew he wouldn’t go far. King told me the big secret—he’s dying of cancer—so I wouldn’t get mad if I saw him easing off. Poor bastard. Two guards come at us from the right, quickly taken down by our greater numbers. Three of Tuck’s guys head left to take on the rent-a-cops running in from behind the house. I push harder, pumping my thick legs to reach the front door before any one of these paid monkeys manages to break through. My right foot hits the first step, and the enormous double doors swing open. Three rounds later, I have two dead security personnel, a graze from a bullet on my left shoulder, and a VIP ticket to the main house. My father ’s office lies to the left, but I bypass it, sure he’ll be in the heart of the property same as last time we did this dance, out of harm’s way as best he can. The night is eerily quiet as I slip through the door from the entrance hall, out into the pool area. The courtyard sits encased on three sides by the house, partially barricaded by two stories of vine covered stone. When I broke out, it was here that my father hid from the carnage Hooch and the Fort Worth boys unleashed out front. Tonight though, it’s empty. Not a soul in sight. The pool glows blue, the submerged lights giving the still night an almost ethereal feel. I glance to the sky, frowning. Does she watch me, my mother? Does she look down on her boy with tears in her eyes, or proud that I’m still fighting for justice against the asshole who sired me, even after all this time? Better keep focus, my devil warns, or you’ll be up there to ask her yourself sooner than you’d like . . . I heave a sigh and backtrack, checking all directions and feeling increasingly uneasy the further I go in the house without any resistance. What if our intel was wrong? What if my father ’s not here at all? Fuck. I make my way back through to his office, and find it empty as well. The sentimental part of me keeps my feet rooted to the spot a second too long, my gaze fixed on the very section of floor where my old man shot Dana, and killed her father, Hooch’s father, Judas.
The door hinges let out a single, split-second squeak behind me. My hand is on my gun in a flash, but I’m still too slow. Cold metal bites into the back of my head. “I’m going to count to three and then you’ll remove your hand from your weapon as I lower mine, okay?” That voice—I know it. “Sully?” “Three,” he says with a chuckle, pulling the barrel from my head. “Didn’t think I’d see you here again.” “Likewise.” I turn and face the man who helped Elena escape, the same guy who’d help me sneak in and out when I was just a teenager living under this cursed roof. “I thought the asshole would have killed you by now.” “Couldn’t prove anything,” he replies with a smirk. “It’s still risky workin’ for him, isn’t it?” “I got my reasons,” he says with a firm stare. “Besides, I cut a deal that means I have to stay until I deliver what was agreed on.” “A deal? With who?” Two of Tuck’s men come barreling through the front door with Alvarez. I lift a hand to let them all know it’s okay. “Hey, Sully.” Not that it matters, clearly. I shoot the Breed member who addressed Sully a questioning glare. “I struck a deal with their boss,” Sully reveals, pointing to the Devil’s Breed men. “You’re our intel?” He nods. “You’ll find your father in the library.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead with one hand. “Am I in the fuckin’ twilight zone or somethin’?” “Why’s that?” “Firstly, you’re here. And secondly, my old man is in the one part of the house he can’t usually step foot in without having a fuckin’ mental breakdown.” My mother ’s part of the house. “He doesn’t know he’s there.” Sully winks, and then casual as a chance meeting at the store, he wanders out the door with a promise to catch up soon. I give my head a slap; sure I’ve finally lost it completely. “We lost two,” one of Tuck’s men informs me. “One of your guys, and one of ours.” “We sure there ain’t any ambushes waitin’ to happen?” It seems too easy, too quick. The Devil’s Breed member licks his lips and grimaces. “What?” “Your buddy there”—he thumbs in the direction Sully left—“gave us a helpin’ hand, it seems.” Stealing your show, my devil grumbles. Hardly. The guy just never knew when to quit helping others. He’s the most selfless idiot I know. Idiot, because who else would knowingly go against a psychotic drug lord with a penchant for gruesome torture? You . . . . Touché. “We checked the out buildings like you asked,” the Breed guy explains, “and found a few bodies he must have prepared earlier.” The dark-haired guy quirks an eyebrow. “Bullet to the head, execution style.” I step across to the open entrance doors and stare after Sully as his shrinking frame reaches the main gates. The guy’s literally walked in here like a guardian angel, clearing the way for a perfect finale to one fucked-up tragedy.
“What now?” Alvarez asks. “I guess we do what we came for,” I murmur, still frowning at the distant outline of Sully. “We pull the pin on my old man’s reign.” “Lead the way,” Breed boy says. “We’re just here for the show.” He smirks as I catch his eye. I kind of like the guy. “What’s your name again?” “Jacob.” I nod, making a note to remember that in case he could come in handy with any future “projects.” “This way then, men.” They trail after me as I lead them right of the grand staircase, toward my mother ’s wing of the mansion. “Any of you fuckers bring the popcorn?” A couple of chuckles sound behind me as I press an ear to the door that leads through to the servants’ break room. Lifting a finger to my lips, I turn the handle slowly and push the door open. The lights are out, probably in the hopes we’d think nobody was in here. But I catch the distinct sound of fear as a female hiccups in a ragged breath. “We’re not here for you,” I call out, stepping into the cloakroom that leads through to the main lounge. Don’t have time for this . . . Settle down. The old man’s not going anywhere. Jacob follows, rifle held at the ready across his mid-section as I step through the dark space. Alvarez and the other Devil’s Breed man stay behind, watching the corridor. It takes us next to no time at all to find them: two maids crouched in the far corner behind an easy chair and side table. If we had been hostile, these girls would have been toast. “Come on out,” I say. “We can see you.” The more composed of the two slowly stands, reaching for the other ’s hand. “Come.” The sobbing mess at her feet stares wide-eyed at the two of us and bursts into tears. She rattles off something in her native tongue, way too fast for me to catch on. “What’s she saying?” Jacob asks the other girl. “She’s scared of you. Thinks you’re friends of the boss.” I fight to contain my smile. “Quite the opposite. You’re safe to leave.” I jerk my head toward the corridor. They make their way warily around the two of us, only for the scared one to cry out as they come across Alvarez and his buddy. The mouse rattles off another string of barely coherent words, but this time it’s not her workmate who settles her down, it’s Alvarez. He replies in kind, holding her shoulders and gesturing to the main entrance. She nods, eyes wide, hands clutched to the cross at her neck. He gives the girl a smile, and rubs his thumb across her cheek. The braver of the two gives Jacob and me a small nod before she ushers the mouse toward the exit. “Alvarez.” He stands tall, turning to face me. “Yeah, boss?” “Go with them, would you? Make sure they get out to the road and then find out if they have someone who can pick them up without askin’ questions. If not, call Vince and get him to arrange somethin’.” He rubs a finger under his nose as he nods. “Yes, boss.” I turn my head in the opposite direction and eye the double doors that lead into the north wing. My father ’s the only person who’s ever been able to make me feel this way: nervous. Even on the day of his death, I still fight the insatiable longing to make him proud, impress him with what I’ve learnt, what I’ve taught myself. You’ve been waiting for this day . . . . Exactly. So why now, when I stand here literally feet from making my every fantasy a reality, do I
freeze? Believe in yourself, my devil whispers. You’ve practiced your whole life for this . . . . I guess I have. Years of killing, of discovering what torture techniques make a man squirm greater than the rest; they’ve all led me to this moment, here and now. “You good?” Jacob asks. I nod, steeling my resolve and kicking my feet into action before I have another chance to let the words my father drilled into me over and over as a child, stop me. Useless. A disappointment. Such an embarrassment. A mistake. What I would have done to hear him say he loved me, or that he was proud, that he cared. No matter how cruel and ruthless the man is, he’s still my father, and those words from his mouth would have meant so much more than the same sentiments from a man I truly respect, such as King. Twenty-odd years of trying, boy . . . it’s not going to happen now . . . . Which makes it even harder to bear. The clomp of our boots echoes off the barren walls as we make our way through the doors and down the corridor. I hold a hand up, asking the guys to wait where they are when we reach the library, and with a deep breath, push open the doors to the final act. Well, well, well . . . . “Honey! I’m home!” My father ’s head lolls to the side as he tries to fix his gaze on me. “What the hell? You organized this?” Blood runs in a steady stream from a wound on the top of his head. His body and arms are bound to my mother ’s favorite reading chair, leaving only his legs loose. And judging by the strange position of the chair in the room, he’s been pedaling to get free. I pull up a stool, and lean both elbows on my knees, my hands cupped over my mouth while I look him over. He’s completely at my mercy. I could end this within seconds, or drag it out for hours. It all depends on how I feel for a change. For once in my fucking life, my father has no say in what happens next. He’s finally lost control, and it’s the most glorious thing to behold. “Get on with it then,” he grumbles, frowning down at his leg. I shake my head slowly, relishing this moment. So many emotions fight for precedence, leaving my chest aching from the pressure: happiness, regret, confusion, and relief. Sweet relief. All the things he did to me, to Mom, and to everyone I love, play through my mind. I stare at him, a living piece of art, while he fidgets in his constraints. “Is this how you saw it happening?” I ask, curious if he’s thought about this day as much as I have. He spits on the floor between us. “Fuck your chitchat. Just get it over with, you coward.” I chuckle, rising off the stool. “Who’s the coward? I do believe you’re the one who’s beggin’ me to make it quick, right now.” “Never did like wasting time.” He smirks, lifting his venomous gaze to mine. “Probably why I never liked you much; such a monumental waste of time.” I deal a quick punch to the side of his head, forcing the wound further open with the shock. Blood pumps quickly over his eyebrow, curling around his eye and gathering in his lashes. The contrast of the crimson against his graying hair is striking in itself. “Nothing about this is a waste of time,” I growl. “Nothing.”
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe . . . . My devil points his bony finger to various parts of my old man, picking where we’ll start. I make my way slowly across to the doors, and give the men waiting in the corridor a nod before I shut them out. The click of the lock echoes around the room. My chest rises and falls with measured steady breaths as I commit every sense of this moment to memory: the smell, the feel, and most of all the sounds. From today, this moment will be my dreams. No more will I wake, my gut in knots after another nightmare where I failed, where I let my father get away. No, from today onward, his screams, his protests, and his final regrets will be the symphony to which I live my life. Let’s get to work . . . .
FORTY-TWO Abbey He’s been in there for over four hours. The gunfire stopped not long after they got inside, maybe twenty minutes at the most? I didn’t count. I was too busy puking in the hedge to pay that much attention. Seated side-on over pretty boy’s bike, I tap the home button on my phone for the millionth time, cursing the fact it only has 7 percent battery left. If it dies while I’m waiting, I’m going to go stir crazy not knowing how long it’s been. A scuff from my left sends my heart into my throat. I freeze, hoping the dark night will give some sort of cloaking effect and hide me in plain sight. The scuff gets louder, closer perhaps. I slip my hand down to where the gun rests atop the fuel tank. Murmuring. A voice in the night. I strain my ears so damn hard that my jaw aches with the pressure as I try to work out who it is. Friend or foe? What did half those Devil’s Breed men look like again? Not that it matters; Sawyer said I had permission to shoot anyone acting strange, so I’m sticking with it. I palm the gun, slowly bringing it up to point in the general direction of the noise. “Easy, Abbey-girl.” The bike rocks with the speed I launch off the seat, the gun landing in the grass as I sprint through the dark toward the hazy outline of my man. He holds his arms wide, ready to catch me as I launch myself at him. Four fucking hours. Two hundred and forty minutes I feared he was dead or injured. He wraps his strong arms around me, hoisting me high and crashing his mouth to mine. “Best reward for a hard night’s work, ever,” he mumbles against my feverish lips. “I was so stressed, you asshole. Why did it take so long?” I run my hand over his face, around his neck, searching for injuries I can’t see. “It took as long as it needed to, baby.” “Where are the others?” Sawyer shifts one arm under my butt, and I wrap my legs securely around his waist as he walks us to his bike. “They’re going through the place, looking for anything of use.” “And you’re not with them?” He shakes his head as he sets me down on the seat. “Nothin’ there I want to keep, other than what I brought out for you.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a closed fist. “I want you to wear it so I get the opportunity to see it every day.” I offer my hand when he holds out his, and take the delicate jewelry he drops into my palm. It’s too dark to see the detail, but by running my fingers along the chain, I can pick it’s a pendant necklace. “Thank you.” Thank fuck for the dark and it hiding how much of a blubbering mess he’s made me. He strips his cut off, handing it to me, and then peels his T-shirt off over his head. Something feels cool against my hand, and I realize that his leather is probably covered in blood splatter. A chill races up the arm that holds the cut, causing me to shudder violently.
“Everything okay?” Sawyer asks as he bends down to roll up the leg of his jeans. “I’m touching his blood, aren’t I?” “Yeah,” he says hesitantly before chuckling. “Guess I can say you met my old man, right?” “That’s gross.” He laughs. “What are you doing?” “I untied him,” he says vaguely, as though that’ll explain everything. “Felt wrong doing it without it being fair.” “And?” “He knew where there was a letter opener in Mom’s library, but I didn’t.” He hisses, bent at the waist. “Got me good, too.” The fear and concern that had only just subsided, rush back in with a vengeance. “If you’re hurt, why are we mucking about here?” I jump off the seat. “Let’s go.” “Baby,” he says with a hint of humor. “I’m fine. Now get back on that fuckin’ seat, I’m not finished with you.” I grow considerably hot between my legs when he takes the cut, drapes it over the handlebars, and then lifts me with his hands on my waist to place me back on the seat. The whole gentle, yet bossy feel to his actions has me subdued and waiting eagerly to see what he wants. Sawyer presses in between my legs, reaching between us to undo the button and zipper on my shorts. The pressure in my core, the tension below: I know what he’s going to discover as his hand slips inside my panties. “Already wet.” “Is it any surprise?” I reach out and run my palms over his shoulders, admiring the raw strength beneath my fingers. He flexes, and I clench. “Easy.” His lips spread in a wicked grin, his face still heavily shadowed by the night. With a simple curl of his digits he presses the sweet spot deep inside me. I go limp with a moan, and he catches my weight with his free arm looped behind my back. I reach out blindly, feeling around in front of me until I find what I’m searching for: his belt. He pumps his fingers, priming me as I wrestle his buckle open, and free his straining cock. My fingers close in a fist around his thick heat, and he hisses. “Did you ever imagine this would be part of how things went down?” I ask. He leans closer, taking my bottom lip between his briefly. “Nope.” “Nice bonus?” “The best.” He brings his free hand to my jaw, holding me firm, and borderline painful. “You’re never gettin’ away. You get that, right?” “I wouldn’t want to leave.” He pulls free, and steps to the rear of the bike. “Straddle it facing me.” I do as I’m told, but only after I quickly hop off and drop my shorts and panties. He lets out a heavy breath, his head cocked to the side in disbelief as I hop back onto his bike, legs parted, and my naked pussy slick on the leather. “Jesus, Abbey.” “What now, pretty boy?” “This.” With a growl he grabs ahold of my hips and jerks me down the seat. I fall back, petrified I’m going to tumble off, but he steadies me with a firm palm to my chest. Sawyer gently coaxes my feet in turn onto the stems for his taillights, giving me a little added stability. He shunts me again, a couple more inches toward him so my legs are folded tightly at my hips. “You better hold on.”
I scramble for purchase on the side of the bike, unsure what I’ve got my hands wrapped around, but he leaves me no time to fuss as he slams himself deep inside. Oh, Lord, yes. Every wired nerve, every last scrap of my unspent energy from worrying that he was okay, explodes and sends me into overload. The Harley rocks with his thrusts, but being the heavy beast it is, it holds up. Myself? Not so much. He’s barely been inside me a minute, but already I can feel the tingles in my toes, the tightness in my chest, and the joy as my endorphins rush through my body on a tidal wave of release. “Fuck, Sawyer. I . . . I can’t.” He slips the hand on my chest to my breast, and grabs hold. The pain spikes, clashing with the pleasure still swirling inside. The contrast is too much, my over-wired brain making each feel more intense than the other as I struggle to focus on one alone. “Jesus, Abbey. You got no idea how right this feels, baby.” He grunts with his efforts, possessed and lost in his pleasure. “I do, pretty boy,” I groan. “I do.” He shifts his hands to my thighs, lifting my ass off the seat with a painfully tight grip. I tip my head back as he angles himself deeper, and gaze up at the stars, shifting as I rock on the bike. I dreamed of finding the man who’d complete me, wished upon the very twinkling beings that shine down on me in this moment, and asked whoever looked out for me for guidance to know when I found the right one. I gaze at the night sky, my body alive, teetering on the precipice, and smile as a shooting star strikes its way across the inky black backdrop. My eyes fall closed, tears of happiness and relief slowly tracking a path across my temples as the man I know I love with my whole heart cries my name the moment we fall apart together, becoming the one thing he wished for us to be. Normal. Loved. And complete. I found the soul who could temper my demons, and in return he found a companion for his own. Life couldn’t be better.
EPILOGUE Sawyer Pine needles stick to the mud on my boots as I walk the short distance from the detached garage to our cabin. Moving up here into the mountains was the best decision we ever made. Abbey and I literally left the bullshit behind, made our own little slice of paradise, and set down roots without worrying who’d recognize us or turn up out of the blue to shake our world apart. I lean a hand against the timber panels of our front door and shuck off my boots, leaving them in the messy yet perfect pile of footwear at the door. I don’t take overnighters as much anymore, and when I do, I find I miss the little things like haphazard footwear at the door more and more. The little things that make our house a home. I step inside and breathe in the scent of a hot home-cooked meal as I shut the door behind me. “What’s for dinner, baby?” My woman, my life, comes careening around the corner in a flurry of hastily put up pastel-blue hair, and loose “mom clothes” as I love to call them. She’s never been more stunning. “I thought that was you I heard.” She waves a dismissive hand behind her, explaining “I couldn’t hear properly over the sound of the blender” as she presses up on her toes, waiting for a kiss. I reward her with what she needs, and she reaches around me to snag the duffle out of my hand. “What you got, today?” “Not much. Pretty clean this time.” I smirk, reaching out to tap my index finger under her pretty chin. “Must be getting better in my old age, huh?” “Old.” She snorts, giving me those bashful eyes that always lead to trouble. “You’re not old, pretty boy.” “Feel it some days.” She disappears into the laundry room off the entrance, all the while still talking. “I’ll dish you up some dinner, if you want to go wash up.” “Yes, boss.” Her chuckle follows me through the lounge as I cross over to the bedrooms on the far side. I catch myself staring out our floor-to-ceiling windows, amazed yet again by the breathtaking view. We lucked out buying this place, getting it on the cheap since the previous owners were in the middle of a messy divorce and wanted the last thing that kept them together, gone. I pass the guest room, and frown at the job I’ve got to do renovating the space. It seems like the perfect weekend job Monday to Friday, but come Saturday it’s the last thing on my mind. Not when I’ve got the best reason to kick back and hang out right here in front of me, smiling like a lunatic. “Dad!” “Hey, little man.” I brace myself and welcome a hug-attack. He’s almost five, and he’s greeted me with a cuddle every damn time I’ve been away since he was old enough to stand on his own two feet. It’s more than I deserve. “Were you good for Mom?” He smirks, the devilish smile matching my own. “Of course.” “What you been up to?” Leyton hops on his bed and snatches up the controller for his Xbox. “Mom and I did some shopping for new shoes, and then she did baking for you, Daddy.” I chuckle, watching him attempt to control the animated character on the screen as it bounces
through an alphabet minefield. He shuffles to one side, giving me room to stretch out and lie down. I kick my feet up, hands behind my head, and enjoy the serenity for what it is. Nothing cleanses the palate after a noisy weekend of gunfire and bloodshed, than the quiet muttering of a child determined to succeed at everything in life. My gaze roams over his room, and I settle on a couple of new drawings atop his low table. I slip off the bed and cross to them, bent at the waist to check out the details. Two stick figures with crazy hair pointing straight up are placed beside what I’m assuming is our house going by the color and the shape. A bunch of scribbled circles float over the house in a rainbow of color. I pick the picture up and carry it back to Leyton, lying down once more. “What’s going on in this one, buddy?” He usually comes out with some elaborate story that entertains me no end. I can’t wait to hear the reasoning behind this drawing. His eyes glance across before he goes back to the game and carefully pauses it. “That’s me,” he says, leaning over to point out the stick figure farthest from the house. “And that’s my friend.” “What you doin’?” “Making the sky pretty for Mommy, just like she likes.” Most nights Abbey sits out on our balcony, overlooking the treetops as the sun sets. Every now and then, Leyton joins her, and the two of them cuddle under a blanket as the temperature drops, the stars coming out to shine. “That’s nice of you two.” I smile at the picture. One for the fridge. “Who’s your friend? He from playgroup?” Three days a week, Abbey takes him for a few hours at our local community center so Leyton has a chance to work on his social skills. My boy shakes his head, shuffling closer until his legs rest against my side. “No.” “Do I know him?” His icy-blue eyes harden, and he frowns. “Maybe.” “Where does he live?” If it’s one of the neighborhood kids, I’ll get Abbey to take him over for a play more often. “Up here.” The picture crumples in my hands as my angel, the fucking light in my dark, lifts his pudgy hand and taps a finger square to his temple. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it . . .? My devil hangs his coat on the hook, and dusts off his desk with a smile on his face. And all I can do is cry.
NOTE FROM MAX First off, thanks for reading Sawyer and Abbey’s story! You might have a few questions if you got this far, like: What happened to Grace? Or, why did they move away from the MC? What about Ramona and Mack? To answer every thread this story gave me would have meant another huge book (possibly two) and to be honest, the main story didn’t need that. But rest assured, I have plans to answer all of those questions over my next two or three Fallen Aces MC releases! If the Fallen Aces are your first books of mine, and you’re wondering what some of the details are behind the Fallen Aces’ decision to take on Carlos, and who the Butcher Boys are … then I suggest you read the Butcher Boys series—it’s all explained in there. They’re available on all major platforms. Any questions, feel free to get in touch with me through Facebook or my email. I’m happy to do my best to answer everything for you ;)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS My first thanks will always be dedicated to my family. They mean the world to me, and I hope my efforts continue to make them proud. <3 Thank you to everybody who patiently waited out this book. 2016 was a year filled with hurdles, professional and personal. But, it’s those things that try you, which make you grow. To the bloggers—thank you as always for your support and sharing the word. If you would like to be a part of any future sign-ups and exclusive content shares, then hop on over and join my Blogger only group on Facebook here. Same as last always, I’m tired, meant to be cooking dinner, and behind on getting my Christmas decorations up, so if I’ve missed anybody, just know that I love you and thank you. Onto the next . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Originally born and bred in Canterbury, New Zealand, Max now resides with her family in beautiful and sunny Queensland, Australia. Life with two young children can be hectic at times, and although she may not write as often as she would like, Max wouldn’t change a thing. In her down time, Max can be found at her local gym, brain-storming through a session with the weights. Or, she may be out bumping, and jostling her way along a dirt track with the family in hubby’s 4WD. FOR ALL UPDATES AND ANNOUNCEMENTS – SIGN UP TO MAX’S NEWSLETTER: http://eepurl.com/6bb6f BE SURE TO FOLLOW HER AT: Facebook - Profile Facebook - Page Bookbub Goodreads Twitter & Instagram: @maxhenryauthor FOR EXCLUSIVE NEWS AND EXCERPTS - JOIN MAX’S FAN GROUP, THE MADHOUSE!
