Falling For Crazy (Moroad Motorcycle Club) (2 page)

"Jesus," he muttered, gaining his balance.

The bushes rustled. Exhaling, he damned the circumstances and navigated the rocks, barely making it to the opposite bank without falling in.

Four strides and he reached into the bush, wrapped his fingers around a slim leg, and pulled the woman out of hiding.

She scrambled like a feral cat, clawing at the rocky ground. He held on, twisting her leg until he forced her to roll over.

Her head came up. A disarray of red curls half covered her face. He let go and stepped back, staring through the darkness and picking out the fierce hazel eyes, the slim nose, and the open mouth, gasping for breath.

His past stared right back at him.

He shook his head. "No, no, no..."

He'd done everything possible to distance himself from Sarah's sister Amy. After Sarah got killed, he'd found a house in Montana for Amy to rent where she'd be safe. He even had a few Moroad members escort her out of Federal and set her up with everything she needed. There was no reason for her to come back. He did not want her around him.

"Thank God, it's you." Amy O'Harris pushed to her feet, rising to five foot seven inches, brushed her hands off on her thighs, and gawked at him.

He remained silent. Blood rushed through his veins in shock. She was supposed to stay in Montana.

"You're all covered in tattoos." She twirled her slim finger in front of his face. "I've been looking for you everywhere, but I was looking for you. The old you without tattoos."

His head swam. He clasped his hands behind his neck, pulling down to keep himself from shaking sense into her. The risk of someone finding her quadrupled with her in Federal. He had no idea if Los Li had any members watching him.

He ran his hand down his face, tugging on his goatee in frustration. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I had to come." Amy pushed her hair off her face. "I had no choice."

He watched the errant curls bounce back into whatever position they wanted. Un-fucking-tamable.

"Do you know how long I've been sleeping in people's cars at night waiting around Federal trying to catch a glimpse of you? It's not like I could walk through town and ask for you by name." She exhaled loudly. "Tonight, I almost got caught. I'm so glad you found me. I can't keep running. I've lost everything."

His pulse roared. The last time he spoke with her, he'd made her swear never to contact him. Here she was, out of nowhere, before the sun came up, running away from a man.

"Who was he?" he asked.

"I don't know. Just someone pissed to catch me in his car." She shook her head. "Obviously, I picked the wrong place to sleep tonight."

He had a hundred questions and wanted zero answers. Amy returning to his life changed everything. The less he knew, the easier it would be to get her out of Federal.

He motioned up the bank. "Get going. I'll take you back to my place."

She stumbled over the rocks in her hurry to go with him. He caught her elbow, leading her toward the viaduct and across the walking bridge.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't talk." He looked over his shoulder, checking the area. "Keep moving. You're not staying here long enough to talk."

At the corner of Main and Third Street, Maggie opened the doors of Cleo's Coffee Cave and smiled at him. He raised his free hand and waved it wildly above his head, slapping a stupid smile on his face in case she could see him underneath the street light.

"Are you having a late night or early morning?" Maggie used the tip of her heel to engage the door-stop and cocked her hip.

"Walking is exercise, and good for me. I need to keep my heart pumping. It lowers the cholesterol and helps keep my muscles toned." He laughed, bowed with a flourish, and skipped a few feet. "Have a wonderful day, Maggie girl."

Out of site of the doorway, Amy tugged him to a stop and gawked at him. The back of his head pounded. He refused to explain himself or his change in personality. He wasn't the one running from some guy in the middle of the night and claiming to sleep in stranger's vacant parked cars.

"Come on." He pulled her in the direction of his apartment.

He had to plan quick and get her out of Federal before anyone spotted her.

J
acko closed the door to the apartment behind Amy. A pungent odor hit her, and she wrinkled her nose. Old food containers and bottles littered the half-kitchen, overflowing into the main living area. More apparent to her was the shower she spotted through the open bathroom door.

She turned to Jacko. "May I take a shower?"

"No." His blue-eyed gaze intensified. "I want to know why you've been sleeping in someone else's car for two weeks."

"Please." She held her palms up in front of her. "I'll explain everything to you. Right now, I'm dying for warm water and to scrub myself clean. I've been living outside, bathing in freezing river water, and haven't used a bar of soap since leaving home."

His firm mouth tightened, and he motioned with his chin to the bathroom. Trying to stay calm, she forced herself to walk and not run to the shower to take the chill out of her bones. Even the warmer spring days lately failed to heat her body completely. Sore, achy, and stiff, she wanted to wash away the last two weeks and feel normal again.

At least her old normal before she escaped Montana.

She stopped at the door and turned around. "Do you have any clothes I can borrow?"

"Clothes?" Jacko gazed around the living room. "You want clothes?"

"Why are you acting as if you don't understand what I'm saying?" She tugged at her sweatshirt, impatient to strip down and get rid of the filth hanging on her. "I'll wear anything of yours that's clean. I can't stand the thought of putting these clothes back on after I shower."

He pulled out his phone, and she noticed even more tattoos than she'd originally seen in the pre-dawn by the river. She swallowed. Even his light brown hair hung longer, past his broad shoulders. His whiskers, a little darker than his hair, weren't neatly trimmed, but wild and longer than how most guys wore their goatee.

His gaze snapped to her. "I'll get you clothes."

"Thank you." She shut the door, caught herself from sagging in relief, and peeled off her sweatshirt, bra, and jeans.

After her third day on the run, she'd stood at the edge of the river and watched her favorite pair of panties float downstream. It took too long for them to dry after hand washing them and she hadn't worked up the bravery to ask the Silver Valley Community Center for new underwear. The volunteers were kind enough to give her bread and peanut butter to keep her from starving.

The water pipes along the ceiling groaned when she turned the faucet. She pressed her hand against her stomach, surprised when her ribs hit her thumb. Glancing in the mirror, she wanted to cry at the tired bags under her eyes, the snarled hair, and the film of dirt dusting her face. No wonder Jacko acted as if he hadn't recognized her.

A skeleton of her former self, even her breasts seemed to sag from her weight loss. She stepped into the shower. Instant pleasure swept through her, and her legs trembled. She reached out for the wall and held herself steady, letting the beads of water pound against her neglected skin.

Exhaustion hit her fast. She forced her eyes open and found the bar of Irish Spring soap. The potent scent so unlike her, she inhaled deeply through her nose. Different was good. Hopefully, once she was clean and explained the situation to Jacko, he'd help her figure a way to get back on her feet again.

Scrubbed until her skin reddened and every bit of stench off the street was gone, she wrapped a rough and well-used towel around her body. Even with all the weight she'd lost, the material failed to go clear around her. Not that she expected Jacko to have big, plush towels, but nobody bought mid-sized hand towels.

She stepped out of the bathroom and found Jacko sitting in the extra-large bay window hanging over the sidewalk of Main Street. With his attention directed outside, she took the time to study the man who had loved her sister five years ago. Emotions clogged her throat every time she thought of Sarah.

Only twenty-two years old at the time of her kidnapping, Sarah had left the house to go see Jacko, excited and happy. Young, beautiful, and carefree, her sister had found Jacko exciting, dangerous, and irresistible at first. But, her age got the better of her, and she lived to have fun. If her sister had stopped to listen for a moment to Jacko's warnings, Amy's lectures, and paid attention to her surroundings, she might still be alive.

Before her life had a chance to start, Sarah's beautiful soul was snuffed out by cruel and evil men.

Amy cleared her throat. "Jacko?"

He turned. She held the towel tighter, shielding her from the unexplained fury aimed at her. She placed her barefoot on top of her other foot. Right in front of her, his face changed to disinterest.

"You said you'd find some clothes I could borrow." She lifted her right shoulder, hurrying the water drip running down her skin from her wet hair.

Jacko left his perch in the window, picked up a sack on the couch and approached her. She eyed the bag.

"Clothes," he said, thrusting it in her direction.

The warmth from the shower wore off. She grabbed the sack and peered inside, juggling to keep hold of her towel.

"What's all this?" She raised her gaze. "I only needed a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt."

"Katie brought it over."

"Oh?" She hid her surprise. Of course, he'd move on from losing Sarah. She never expected him to stop living, and five years had passed since she'd seen him.

Jacko stared at her left shoulder. She held the bag higher, wanting to hide. He'd changed since she'd moved to Montana, and the difference wasn't only in the number of tattoos he wore on his skin. The last time she'd heard anything about Jacko the president of Moroad MC contacted her by phone, telling her Jacko was back in prison, and then she was contacted again almost a year ago when Jacko got released. That's why she'd come to Federal looking for him. He was the only one who could help her.

"Katie's one of the Moroad MC women. The clothes are yours now." Jacko walked across the room and opened a door off the living room. "You should get some rest and we'll talk later. Go ahead and sleep in my bed. I'll take the couch."

"I can sleep in here." She stepped back into the doorway of the bathroom. "Soon as I get dressed, I want to tell you what's going on."

Jacko stretched his six foot two body out on the couch, covered his eyes with his broad forearm and propped his black, leather boots on the arm of the couch. "Not right now. You need sleep, and I need you to shut yourself in the bedroom and get out of my sight."

Her head snapped to attention, but he already turned away and ignored her. She walked to the bedroom door and stopped.

"Thanks, Jacko," she whispered.

She stepped inside the room and reached for the door handle. Before the latch caught, she stilled.

"Sleep, Momma," Jacko said.

She quietly shut the door, dropped her towel, and moved to the bed. Every stiff muscle in her body moaned in approval when she stretched out on the lumpy mattress. The wonderful cushion on her weary body beat the backseat of strangers' cars. She snuggled down, pulling the blanket up to her neck. Inhaling deeply, she couldn't even muster any disgust at the less than clean scent clinging to the bed.

She closed her eyes. Her body shook from fatigue. Asleep before her mind shut off, she smiled against the pillow. He'd called her momma.

For a moment, he took her back to five years ago when she had her sister in her life. After her mom had passed away, she continued living in the house, working in the office of the Mining Supply Company, while helping Sarah finish her senior year of high school.

Because of her overprotectiveness of Sarah every time her sister wanted to attend a party or go out on Jacko's motorcycle, he'd call her momma, because of her need to mother Sarah. She and Sarah's relationship spanned and exceeded sisterhood. Only two years apart, she'd cooked, bathed, and looked after Amy to make sure she stayed out of trouble while growing up. Her mom worked two jobs to keep a roof over their heads, and they relied on each other. A heart attack took her mom on a Sunday when Amy was nineteen years old. From the day her mom died until Sarah was killed, she'd taken care of her sister, stepped into the role of mother, including working all the time to keep a roof over her head and food in the refrigerator.

C
urled on the bed, only her mess of red hair visible from the doorway, Amy slept. Jacko glanced over his shoulder looking for any excuse not to wake her. To shut the door on his memories and pretend he hadn't found her under a bush, in Federal, running from a man, claiming she'd slept in strangers' cars for two weeks.

If he were lucky, Cam would show up immediately and keep him from having to talk to Amy by himself. He grimaced and lifted his hand to punch the door, stopping the swing of his arm before he hit the wood. She reminded him of everything good before his life went to shit. Acid burned in his gut knowing he was the one responsible for bringing crime to her doorstep.

He'd finish his job of killing everyone who had a hand in Sarah's death. He owed her that much and more.

"Hey, get up." He stepped into the room and kicked the end of the bed. "You've slept all day. You need to get up."

She shot out of bed naked and stood in front of him. His cock noticed her breasts first and responded in appreciation before he could check himself. He dragged his gaze up to her face and rubbed his eyes. Angered over Amy jumping up nude in his room, he had a wild urge to walk out of the apartment and have the club get her out of here.

"Get your ass dressed and come out to the living room," he said, slamming the bedroom door. "Jesus Christ, motherfucker, son of a bitch."

The ache of pleasure in his cock pissed him off. He adjusted the front of his jeans and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. Cam had better get his ass over here, because Amy needed to leave.