Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3) Page 4

  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 no-strings 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.