Losing Me, Finding You (15 page)

“My cousin's,” I say softly, not wanting him to think that I'm getting married. I'm not that kind of girl. I should be, but I'm not. Apparently, I'm the kind of girl who fucks bikers. “They're going to be worried,” I say as I start to move past Austin, both anxious and hopeful that he's going to reach out and grab me, throw me over the fence and screw me again. “I've got to go.”

He doesn't stop me.

I hear Austin growl as I move past him, but I don't stop. I run and I don't stop running, but I have no idea what it is that I'm running away from.

When I get back to the church, I sneak into the building through the side entrance and hide behind an overly large vase of faux flowers. Jodie's allergic to the real things. Quiet murmurs and whispers travel over to me, making me wonder what's going. The crowd is still here, dressed in their modest skirts and blouses, their dark suit jackets and khaki pants, but it doesn't seem like anything's happened yet.
Oh God,
I pray.
I hope they're not waiting for me.
I start to sidle down the aisle towards the back when I spot Christy sitting in the middle row with her cell phone clutched in one hand and the other clamped across her mouth.

I tiptoe out from behind the flowers and pretend I don't notice the way everyone's eyes are catching on me.
Do I look different?
I wonder, remembering absently that my hair is a wild mess and my body is jumping with energy, humming a tune I've never heard and making me wish I had nothing better to do than lay beneath Austin for the rest of the afternoon.

I sit down next to Christy and ignore the rush of conversation that's just followed me in here. I'm not used to being stared at like this. In fact, oftentimes I think the entire congregation forgets I exist.

Christy's blue eyes snap up to mine and freeze there.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, noticing the slight swell of tears. I try to reach out, so I can touch Christy's hand, but she pulls away like I'm diseased, like she can't bear the thought of my skin on hers.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” she asks, and I cock my head to the side.
Is there? Of course there is. But I can't. Not yet. I have to figure out where you stand first. Besides, if I'm right then I think you're keeping something from me, too. That makes us even.

“No, why?” I ask her as she narrows her eyes and leans in close, keeping my attention on her and away from the glares and the pointed fingers.
What the heck is going on?

“Last chance, Amy,” she says, sniffling and scooting even further away from me. “No secrets, no lies.” I shake my head.

“I don't understand.”

Christy reaches out and passes her phone to me. There's a video cued up.

“Play it.”

I look down with a frown spreading across my face and hit the play button.

It takes my eyes a moment to register what they're seeing, so sure that I must be hallucinating, having a dirty daytime fantasy that's translating onto this screen that's clutched too tightly in my hand. Thankfully, the sound is off or I might've had a heart palpitation.

“Christy? What is this?”

“I don't know, Amy. You tell me.”

Across Christy's phone, I see Austin and me. Fucking. I see myself bent over a pool table. I see sweat trailing down Austin's strong neck and soaking into his shirt as he thrusts into me, gripping my hips hard with his fingers. I see my life flashing before my eyes.

“I … ” No words will come. I look up at my friend, and I try not to be bothered by the look in her eyes, the one that says I've disappointed her somehow, that I've done something wrong. She hates this life, too, doesn't she? She kissed Beck, right? That has to mean something because I want her to run away with me. I don't want her to end up shuttered and closed in, so set on pleasing others that she forgets to please herself. “I'm twenty-one years old, Christy,” I say which probably isn't the right choice of words given the circumstances. “I didn't do anything wrong.” She smiles at me, tight-lipped.

“Yeah, except lie to me.” Christy stands up in a flurry of skirts and reaches down to snatch her phone from my hand. “And you might want to consider getting out of here.” I look up and see that the doors in the back of the church are opening. I see my father and my mother and my aunt. I see faces red with rage and eyes glinting with disapproval and disgust. “Because whoever filmed this sent it to everyone in your address book.” Christy storms away from me and down the aisle, straight out the same side door that I snuck in just a few moments prior.

“Amy.”

It's my father's voice, pitched low, the world's loudest whisper.

I look at him and at my mother and then around at the people who I've grown up with, who are supposed to love me no matter what, and I see that they don't. That their love has stipulations. I'm an adult, and I had sex with a man. Is there something so wrong with that? Nobody has a right to punish me. Nobody. I stand up before they reach me, backing away with shaking hands a heart that's heavy and weightless both at the same time

You have to go now, Amy,
I think, imagining the beating my father will give me if I stay. I may not survive it. I have to go now.

I turn around and I start to run, kicking off my fuchsia heels in the process. My hair flows out behind me and the hideous turquoise bows on my hips flutter.

“Get back here!” my mother screeches at the top of her lungs. “Amy!”

I don't stop. I keep going, running, sliding across the carpet near the door as my hand reaches out and grasps the cool metal.

“You dirty whore.”

It's my father's voice, right behind me. The pain in my cheek amplifies, becomes so loud that I can't hear anything else. The door opens and sunlight streams over me, bathing me in golden light.

Some decisions we make; others are made for us.

This one was a little of both.

Like some sort of old school villain, Kent appears out of the shadows from a nearby building and falls into step beside me. He's so damn white that he looks like a ghost, flitting between patches of shade like the world's ugliest dead guy. I don't look at him.

“I heard you were looking for me, Sparks,” he says as we continue down the block towards the massive crowd that's gathered together 'round a stage at the end of the street. Some band's about to get on, but I don't know who – don't give a shit neither.

Amy.

I can still taste her on my tongue, still feel her hot thighs wrapped around me. Part of me wants to hop on my bike and run like hell, get as far away from her as I can. The other part of me is pissed the fuck off for letting her go back to that wedding. There must be a reason she wants to get away. I'm worried about her, and I can't even say why. I don't know anything about the girl except that she's good in bed.
Or out of it.

“Yeah,” I say. “I was.” I keep walking, right past a row of vintage bikes that are calling my name. I barely pay 'em a glance.
No time for that,
I think as I notice Beck and Melissa standing outside the front entrance to the hotel. Fortunately, they're clothed this time. “I got some shit to talk out with you.”

“Ah.” Kent snaps his fingers and Melissa falls in line beside him. Kent's face doesn't say that he knows anything about what she does behind closed doors, how she really feels about him. He doesn't really believe he's in charge of her, does he? If he does, then he's an even bigger asshole than I am. “About Walker?”

I scowl and try not to look at Beck when I pass. He tries to follow, but I wave him away, moving down the blistering sidewalk like I know where I'm going; I don't know shit. My cock feels raw and my brain is stuck on that girl with her long, soft hair and her big round eyes, her curves for days.
Not to mention her slick pussy.
I shiver and try to keep my mind on the situation at hand.

I pause near the stage and let my eyes flicker through the crowd, looking for jackets or vests with crows on the backs of 'em. The words
Bested by Crows
jump out at me from several places. I wonder how much they know about what's going on. About as much as the rest of the Triple M'ers? Guess it's time for me to get involved and find out.

“Kent,” I begin, tucking my hands in my pockets. “I want to sponsor a new member.” I speak before I can think too hard about it. I promised Amy that I would, so I'm doing it. I don't think she really understands what it means to be a part of an MC, especially since I can guess she's never spread those sweet thighs over a bike anyhow, but I think she does understand the need to be free. I can get behind that. Besides, Triple M isn't a real MC – not in the traditional sense of the word. Some of our members might think so, but then they never ask where the money comes from or why we go where we go. Ignorance is bliss, I guess.

“Oh?”

“A girl?” Melissa asks, smiling wickedly at me, teasing me by flicking her tongue across her full lips. I ignore her.

“She don't know shit about motorcycles, and she'll probably bail first chance she gets, climb on a bus in the next town and head right back here, but … ” I look down at my boots. I may not know Cross, but my words still ring false. She doesn't seem like the type who gives up easily.

“But if I let her in, I've got your full cooperation?”

“Something like that,” I say, thinking that he's got it anyway. I can't let Gaine, Beck, and Mireya take shit for my work. I'm the one that's responsible for this crap. And whatever it is that Walker's done to them that they're grudging against, I'm gonna figure that out, too, and take care of it. That's why we're all here together, a bunch of broken assholes trying to look out for each other. Well, everybody except Kent and Mel. I used to think they were about that – well, Kent anyway, not that blonde bitch – but I've long since learned my lesson. If you pull someone's fat from the fire then you've got their loyalty. Kent knows that. Period. He doesn't give a shit about any of us.

“Done. Bring her in, cart her around. You're responsible for her.” Kent shrugs like he couldn't care less, but his black eyes are sparkling. “Introduce her to the group. Tonight, you, Mel, and Kimmi are going to finish this.” I spin around and watch Kent as he sits down on a bench and pulls out a cigarette. His hands are shaking, but the muscles in his hands are tense, fingers curled like he's holding something back.

“I'm not going to smash up anybody's bike,” I tell him firmly. “I'm not into that juvenile crap.” Kent smiles, a big, wide, crocodile smile that makes his small face look ever smaller, overwhelmed by those teeth and those thick lips. Melissa hooks her hands behind her head and rolls her blue eyes over to mine. She's smiling, too, but hers is much more restrained, tight and little. What a miserable couple the two of them make.

“Good,” he says, voice pitched so low I can hardly hear him over the roar of the crowd. “Because I think you're right. Walker's getting suspicious. I'm thinking he's planning on moving ahead of schedule. You're going to beat him to the finish line.”
Fuck.

“Kent, this is my deal. You've always known that. Going in ahead of schedule is like planting an X right on our friggin' backs. We'll have two choices: stay here and deal with the consequences, or leave and draw all the attention to us. Either way, I'm sorry to say it, but we're fucked.”

“What if I told you a little secret,” Mel whispers, leaning over and blowing hot breath into my ear. “A nasty, dirty, little secret.”

“About what?” I snap, getting real antsy real fast. I have a plan, have always had a plan, and I've stuck to it. Things don't seem to work out too well for me if I don't. To get me to break it, Melissa's secret would have to be good. Real, real good.

“It's about your girlfriend.” Immediately my mind goes to Amy, but I don't know why. I don't have a girlfriend. Austin Sparks has
never
had a girlfriend. “It's about Mireya.”
Ah. Figures.
Kent taps the bench next to him and smiles as a bit of country twang breaks through the drone of the crowd.

“Come on, Sparks. Sit a spell, why don't ya? Melissa will tell you all about it … ”