Losing Me, Finding You (16 page)

I don't go looking for Tray Walker, but I want to. I want to hunt him down and kill him, and I want to take a good portion of Bested by Crows down with him.
You don't know who knows and who did what,
I think as I imagine the Triple M'ers. Most of them are good people, some aren't, but very few of them know their true purpose: to act as cover. It's kind of like hiding in plain sight, using an MC to cover our tracks, but it works for us. At least it has for the past fucking decade. Ever since I was eighteen, I've been pulling shit for Kent Diamond, and now, I'm going to do it for Mireya Sawyer.

“Don't walk away from me,” I growl at her. I probably shouldn't be acting like this. It isn't Mireya I'm mad at. It's Tray and his buddies and me for being a complete and utter asshole.

“I've got shit to do, Austin.” Mireya glances over her shoulder, quite the sight with her bright lips and dark hair, her olive skin and her tight as fuck leather pants. She looks so friggin' tough; it's hard for me to imagine anyone hurting her. She doesn't act wounded, not usually, but then I think about what she said this morning and it all starts to make sense. “Apparently, so do you. I think her name is Amy.” Mireya's smile gets tough as leather and then she's turning away from me and stomping down the sidewalk like she's pissed off.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask her, but she doesn't answer, pausing next to a 1951 Thunderbird with a whistle.

“This yours?” she asks a man standing nearby. I grab her wrist and spin her to face me. The dude gets real upset and starts coming forward, but Mireya holds up a hand to let him know she's okay.

“Kent told me,” I say.

“Shit,” Mireya growls, jerking her arm away from me and spitting at the sidewalk. “And he probably exaggerated, too. Look, Sparks, I don't need you to march down here feeling sorry for me, trying to steal my vengeance. Run along and go play with your little virgin friend.” Mireya smiles briefly for a moment, and it isn't a friendly smile. Then she frowns and shakes her head. When she looks back up at me, her eyes are dark with anger and the skin on her face is taut. “I don't really feel like talking to you right now, so fuck off.”

“I don't give a shit,” I tell her, trying not to get mad. Truth is, I am beyond fucking pissed. It's taking every ounce of my self-control not to seek out our rival MC and show them a real nasty time. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“My life is none of your fucking business!” Mireya snaps, pulling away and heading back the way she just came. “If you decide you want it to be, come find me.” She starts to walk away, practically begging for me to follow after her. I start to, I really do, but then I see Amy Cross at the end of the street, shoeless and dressed in her ugly, purple dress. There are black tears streaming down either side of her face, but she's smiling. In one hand, she's got a small duffel bag and in the other, her purse.

What on God's green earth?

My body heats up at the sight and in an instant, I'm rock hard.
A hot, angry tumble sounds real good right about now,
I think as I start towards her, wondering what's going on. If I was in my right Goddamn mind, I'd realize that pushing away all my other worries for this girl was a bit weird.

“You alright, Cross?” I ask when I get close enough to touch. My hand comes out seemingly on its own and brushes against her cheek. She lets me touch her, but she doesn't respond, standing stone still like she isn't sure what avenue to take.

“Did you send it?” she asks quietly. She blinks a few times and wipes away some of the mascara that's run down her face. I wrinkle my brow and drop my hand.

“Send what, darlin'?” I ask, and a smile blossoms on her uncertain face.

“I didn't think so,” she whispers, taking a deep breath and adjusting the strap of her duffel bag.

“Honey, if you don't start talkin', I'm gonna get real worried and start breakin' faces. What the hell happened to you?”

“I … ” Amy begins, voice trailing away to a whisper. “I'm homeless.” She wrinkles her face up like she's perplexed and then tilts her chin up to look at me. “I've been ostracized by a simple decision, one that some would see as meaningless and others, life altering. But I don't think sex is either or.” She pauses, eyes cloudy like she's lost in thought. “I mean, it could be, but it doesn't have to be.”

“Sugar, you're singing a pretty strange tune there, and to be honest, I don't have a clue what you're talking about.” I reach out and brush my fingers across Amy's shoulder, watching as she shudders and bites her lower lip. I take the duffel bag from her. “Are you in some kinda trouble?”

“I guess you could say that,” she tells me as I turn around and start to guide her back towards the hotel. It doesn't exactly seem like she's all there right now. I'm betting on shock, but why? What the hell is going on? First, Mireya's secret and now this. I love women, but wow, they sure can be complicated.
Like you're a simple piece of work, Sparks? Get over yourself.
“Somebody sent a video of us having sex to my entire congregation.” She pauses and taps a fingernail to her pursed lips. “I suppose they could've gotten the numbers from me when I left my purse at the bar. It had my address book in it, you know? I know nobody keeps them anymore, but my father, he … ” She waves her hand around dismissively, but I cut her off.

“What the fuck?” I ask, and Amy pauses next to me, mouth turning into a little 'O' of surprise.

“On the pool table. Somebody filmed it and sent it to everyone I know. I can never show my face there again and that church, that's my family's entire life.” Here she pauses and takes a big ass breath. I'm still working it out in my head trying to understand what's going on. Somebody filmed us? I play out that scene in my head and try to remember who was in the bar that night. Could've been Diamond. That bitch has done worse, but then, what reason would she have to sabotage Amy? The only person I can think of that would even have her on their radar would be … Mireya Sawyer.
Fuck.

“I … don't know what to do with myself. I had a plan, but they beat me to it. They closed my account.” I have no idea what Amy's talking about, but I get the gist: the girl's broke.

“Well,” I say as we near the doors to the hotel. “Then I've got good news for you, Cross.” I reach out and touch a strand of her hair, still mussy from our little rut behind the grocery store. I like that she's still got that look about her, like she's been marked by me. I suddenly want everyone around me to know this girl belongs to me. I want them to see her wrapped around me on the back of my bike, see me taking her up the stairs and into my room. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop this train of stupid ass thoughts. “You're in.”

Amy Cross blinks at me for a moment and then reaches out and grabs me hard around the arm, digging her nails into my skin. This time, it's my turn to shiver.

“In?”

“You want to be a member of Triple M, you got it.” I pause and lick my lips. “It's gonna take work, though. As of right now, you … ” I look at her carefully, judging how far she'll go. Amy licks her own lips in response and a small smile starts to pull at the corners of her lips. If she was crying earlier, she's done now. I like that.
You're a strong woman,
I think as I watch her and wonder how a dirty, little video could possibly convince a family to give up on someone as … engaging as this girl. “As of right now, you belong to me. You walk with me, ride with me … ” Amy doesn't look scared, not in the least. In fact, the more I say, the happier she looks. “Bunk with me. Until you get your colors and your own bike, you're mine.”

“Thank you, Austin,” she says, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss against my lips, one that makes me feel guilty as hell for wanting to drag her up the stairs and fuck her. “I think you might've just saved my life.”

I flew away from that church in my mother's minivan, drove all the way home with the gas pedal pressed to the floor and grabbed my duffel, my toothbrush, and a signed copy of my favorite book.
Just the essentials,
I had told myself while I packed. I hadn't known I was crying until I'd looked in the rearview mirror before pulling out of the driveway. There were fresh tears shimmering on my cheeks, outlined in black from my makeup.

It wasn't the video that had made me cry. I'd made the decision to sleep with Austin, and I was going to stand by it. It was the look on Christy's face. My father's, my mother's, my aunt's – those I had expected. What I hadn't expected was to see Christy looking at me like I was the enemy. We'd spent our whole lives living on the same side and now, I was suddenly an outcast. If there was anyone in the world that I wanted on my side, it was her. She was like a perfect reflection of me – sheltered, trapped, curious. And now she was gone, wiped clean away with one, stupid, little video.

I stand there in front of Austin thinking all these thoughts. I'm not sure what actually comes out of my mouth, but he looks confused, so maybe I'm not making any sense. I'm trying to tell him that I went to the ATM with my debit card, tried to check my balance and found out that there was nothing there, no account at all. I'd even gone inside, spoken to Nina behind the counter. She informed me politely that my Papa had come in the other day and closed the account. It was as if they'd known I was going to try to fly the gilded cage and had prepared for it. Instead of loving me enough to let me go, they had tried to lock the doors and keep me inside.

“Right here, beautiful,” Austin says, ushering me into his hotel room. I hardly even remember walking up the stairs to get here.

“You want me to stay here?” I ask him as I step inside, moving across the brown and orange carpet slowly, feet whispering gently against the fibers. My skin feels flushed and alive, like I can hear every word in the world through my skin, a constant flow of conversation that never stops. I'm walking on clouds now, thinking that I'll never have to drink coffee with milk and sugar again, never have to get up for church, never have to stand there with my father's eyes judging me to the very core of my soul. I could be in shock, maybe. I think that's also a possibility. I mean, it's one thing to wish for your life to change and another to be thrust into it like a bird knocked out of its nest. One moment, I'm warm and safe and the next, I'm flying, wings spread against the cool wind. I swallow hard.

“Just for tonight,” Austin says, not getting my meaning. “We're leaving in the morning. Early. Maybe five or six.” He smiles at me, his scar pulling at the corner of his mouth. He looks pretty happy to see me, and he says I've got a spot in his gang, but what am I going to do if I wake up and he's gone? What if he abandons me somewhere along the road? I wipe a bit of sweat from my brow and think of Sali Bend. Can't help it. The girl's full of tricks.
I'm living in the moment, okay? He might fuck me and leave, sure, but I'm going to enjoy every second of it. I'm going to eat him up and drink him in, and if he does leave, well then, it's his fucking loss.
I take a deep breath and watch Austin as he sets my duffel bag down next to his own. “I'll get you a jacket, sugar, make you all official like, and introduce you to the group.”

“What do I have to do?” I ask him, moving forward and touching my fingers to the edge of his jeans. One of Austin's blonde brows goes up.

“Pardon?”

“To pay you back for this? What do I owe you?” I run my fingers up Austin's taut belly muscles. I'm not purposely trying to antagonize him, but I want to touch something, somebody. I want to feel something other than this unnerving euphoria that will fade as quick as it came and leave me miserable if I'm not careful. Austin laughs and takes me by the wrists, pulling me forward, so I bump up against his chest.

“You read too many romance novels, beautiful. You don't owe me shit.” I flush fifty shades of red, stepping back and trying to untangle my limbs from Austin's.

“That's not what I meant,” I tell him, turning away and stepping over to a horrible set of mustard colored curtains. I glance over my shoulder once with sharp eyes. “I am
not
a whore.” Austin laughs again and steps forward, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me against him.

“No, pretty girl, but you do belong to me for the time being.”

“So you want me to fuck you to earn my place? Is this an initiation sort of a thing? Does everyone have to do this?” I think about all the things I've read about motorcycle clubs. Some sources said women are used as cash cows and sex objects, that they're not respected as full fledged members of the group. When I saw Mireya and that other blonde lady, I thought otherwise. Those two were tough; I could see the pain and the anger and the desperation in their eyes the same way I could in everyone else's. Now, I'm starting to get scared. My heart begins to pump, but already, Austin is laughing again.

“Nah, it's not an initiation sort of a thing. It's a
you don't know shit about motorcycles
thing.” Austin releases me. “You will be my shadow from now on, sugar. I don't care if you fuck me, but,” Austin holds up a finger. “You don't fuck anybody else without asking me. There are a lot of toes that can get stepped on and a whole lot of skirts you don't wanna reach up. Don't go out without me, don't eat without me, don't even sleep without me, alright? Once I teach you the ropes, you can do whatever you want. Until then, you're mine.” Austin steps forward and hooks me under the chin. “But if you do want to fuck me, well, I can't say that I'd put up much of a fight.”