Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3) Page 9

  “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 a
s 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?