Loving Me, Trusting You (4 page)

As soon as Mireya's attention is diverted, I take my helmet off and climb off my bike, giving the girl a gentle pat to tell her how proud I am. I swear, my little baby has a soul. Ain't nobody gonna tell me otherwise.

With a smile, I turn to Beck and watch him ruffling up his red hair, grinning like the asshole I know he is. Fucker's got a pair on him, too. Bravest dumb ass this side of the Mason-Dixon.

“Room with me?” I ask him as he brushes dust off his pants and winks at Kimmi's girlfriend, drawing a smile from the girl even as Kimmi flips him off.

“Nah, brother. Tonight, I'm performing a public service and making sure the ex Mrs. Diamond doesn't get herself into no trouble.” Beck stands up straight and leans in close to me. “We're hittin' the bar tonight and then after, well, if she needs some comforting, I'll be right there at her bedside with my entire body at her service.” I roll my eyes and curse under my breath.

“You're such a dumb shit. You'll never learn your lesson, will you? That woman is trouble.” Beck grins, big and wide and sloppy. The tanned skin on his face pulls back tight and his lower lip cracks.

“Yeah, but she's
my
trouble now. With Kent gone, you never know what might happen.” Without waiting for another insult from me, Beck whistles and swings his key ring around his finger, moving off towards the glass doors that frame a set of stairs up to the main lobby. By the time he rolls out of there, I'm all alone. With a sigh and a string of unspoken curse words, I move after him, arriving just in time to see Austin passing out room keys.

Mireya gives me a look when I walk in.

“Awfully warm welcome, don't you think?” I ask as I pause next to her and tuck my hands in the front pockets of my jeans. She lets her eyes slide off of me to trail around the weary-eyed group in front of us, our brothers and sisters in leather and ink. These are the folks that society cast out, but who weren't right to drift down to the underbelly neither. These are the people that don't fit in, but can't be left out. Good people, for the most part. If Kent had picked a different crowd, maybe things would've gone his way, but you can only push people like us so far before we fight back.

“Kid behind the counter scored some weed off Diamond when we first got here. He had to be gently reminded of that fact.” Mireya sounds bored, but her eyes are anything but. They're full and whirling, spinning a million miles an hour to nowhere. “Stupid shit actually thinks we're gonna call the cops on him if he doesn't comply.” Mireya gives me a wan smile which I don't return.

“Who are you rooming with?” I ask tentatively, and she shrugs.

“You, I guess, since there's nobody else,” she says, taking a plastic key from Amy's outstretched hand, turning towards the bank of elevators on the right that are already filled to capacity with a bunch of Triple M'ers and a pair of old folks in Hawaiian shirts who, admittedly, look a little terrified.

“And what if I don't want to room with you?” I call after her, feeling a little stir in my belly.
Want
isn't strong enough of a word when it comes to Mireya. I don't just
want
to room with her, I'm practically desperate for it. Already, I can feel my dick rising to the challenge, chasing after her tight ass as she sashays over to the metal doors, pauses, and then turns left towards the stairs. I start to move after her when she pauses again, fingers clutching the handle.

I know that everyone's starin' at me, thinking I'm a damn a fool, a stupid ass who can't seem to get the fact that his love ain't mutual. But I can't help myself. I am head over heels and way too far gone to see straight anymore.

“Oh, please, Kelley,” she says, making sure her voice echoes across the mostly empty lobby. Only Triple M's here to witness my mockery. I try not to look at Austin and Amy standing by my left shoulder or at Beck who's feelin' up the widowed Diamond. “We both know there's not a lick of truth in that question. Stop being an asshole and get us some extra towels.” Mireya yanks open the door and moves inside without waiting for an answer. That's her problem, and mine, too, maybe. She knows she doesn't have to wait for me because I'm always waiting around for her. Maybe I should show her that I'm not just going to sit here and rot, be her backup plan?

But I know without even asking myself that I won't do that. She's the only thing I see in full color anymore. Everything else is just black and white.

With a sigh, I move after her, finding her waiting at the next landing by the time I get there.

“I figured you might have trouble finding the room,” is all she says before she takes off again. Her face looks ashen in the harsh, white lighting, drawn and tired, but with no hint of anything in particular. More like she's just tired of plain ol' living.

“You alright there, babe?” I ask her, glad I'm behind her, so I can't see her scrunch up her face at the nickname. I know Sawyer doesn't like to be called anything but what the ink on her birth certificate says. She especially hates bein' called after food. Austin's
sugar
this and
sugar
that really pissed her off. I wonder if she misses it now or how she feels when she hears Austin calling Amy that?

“Why wouldn't I be alright?” she snaps, kicking open the door to the third floor with a whole lot more force than necessary. “I mean, I lost my bike, faced down a group of people who used to be family and relived the pain they've scarred me with. I have to say, I'm feeling just plucky.” I hear her mutter something under her breath as I move to catch up and grab the room door before it swings closed behind her. I have a feeling she might not let me in if it does.

“What I meant was, do you want to talk about it?” I ask her, trying not to get flustered. Getting pissed at Mireya doesn't help anything. All it does is reaffirm whatever it is she's thinking about you. Trust me, I know that from personal experience.

“No.”

Just that, a single word. It's all I'm worth nowadays. She used to talk to me, tell me everything, but that was before I uttered those three stupid words.
I love you.
The girl won't even look at me straight anymore. I royally fucked it, spilt the blood of my heart before she was ready to see it and now I'm drownin' in it.

Mireya slings the bag she's got over her shoulder onto the floor and drops to her knees, unzipping it with long, red nails. She tries to pretend that her hands aren't shaking, but I can see it, even from across the room. After her omission to Walker, I know the truth now: she took a man's life. I get it. Even if he deserved it, even if he hurt her so bad she couldn't sleep for months after. No matter what she shows on the outside, on the in, Mireya Sawyer's a good person and this isn't gonna be easy for her.

“You comin' down to meet with Austin in the bar?” I ask when she starts gettin' out some lacy naughty nothings.
Damn. I sure as shit hope she isn't planning on wearing those tonight.

“No.”

Again, just a single word. I narrow my eyes and move over to her, crouching down beside her and trying to play friend instead of interested lover. She likes me better that way.

“Don't make me tell you the badger story again because I will. Austin wants us all down there, and if you disobey him again, you're gonna get yourself into trouble.” Mireya slams her fist into the bag and turns to glare at me. Our faces are inches apart. I don't miss that. Neither does she.

“No man can own me, Gaine,” she growls. I can feel her hot breath against my dry lips. I want so desperately to reach out and take her in my arms, hold her and brush her hair back. I want to kiss her and show her the world's not all bad, that there are men out there who'd rather cut off their own dicks than abuse a lady in the ways she's been abused. I want to hold her and protect her, press my lips to her eyelids while she's falling asleep naked in my arms at night.

Instead, I get to crouch there with loins burning and my fists clenched tight at my sides.

“Austin isn't tryin' to own anybody. He's our Pres, Mireya, and he needs us behind him. We're his best damn fuckin' friends. The group needs to know that we support him, that we're with him one hundred percent.” A piece of ebony hair falls across her forehead and it takes every ounce of self-control inside of me not to reach out and brush it back behind her ear. Her red, red lips are moist and shiny with fresh lipstick, beckoning me, calling out to me in a language that's older than time.
Shit, damn and God Bless America, I want to kiss this girl so bad it
hurts.

Mireya stays stone still, staring at me, taking me in. I don't know what she sees. A guy with a stubbly chin and a sunburned nose? A man who's only been with three other women in the past five years because he's been waiting on her ass? Who felt guilty after each and every one of them, like he betrayed her? I don't know. But whatever it is, it's not enough. She rises to her feet and starts towards the bathroom.

I move after her, but I keep my distance. I don't want her to feel pressured by me, just supported. It's not an easy line to toe.

“I'll tell you what,” I say as she steps onto the white tiled floor with a click of her boots. “You come downstairs with me, and I will beg, kiss and plead until Austin promises to get you a new bike. How about that?”

Mireya pauses for a moment with her hand on the light switch and her dark brows bunched. In the mirror, I catch a glimpse of her profile, her sculpted jaw, her ripe lips, her full breasts.

“You already tired of sharing yours?” she asks, throwing her lacy panties on the counter. She turns around to face me and puts her hands on her hips. “What if he says no? Then what? You gonna let me drive? I need a guarantee here, Kelley.” I give her a look, raising a single eyebrow.

“Life isn't about guarantees, Sawyer. It's all chance and circumstance, but I can promise you I'll do my best.”

“Not good enough,” she says, and we stand there staring at each other for a long, slow moment. I know not much time is passing, but it feels like a lot with the heavy weight of her gaze on me, measuring me, testing me with a single look.

“Okay,” I say finally. I might cringe while I'm doing it, but I say it and I mean it. “If you want to sit in front, I'll be your ol' lady.” Mireya smiles and this time, it's genuine.

“Fine then, cowboy. You're on. I'll meet you downstairs in ten.”

And then she slams the door in my face.

When I get down to the bar, the boys are already there nursing beers and pissing off the man behind the counter who looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Kimmi, the most masculine one of them all, raises her glass to the ceiling and salutes me.

“We thought you weren't going to show,” she says with a smile. I keep a frown on my face. I want her to think I hate her. I don't know why, I just do. It makes things easier, I guess. The less people I have to worry about, that I have to consider when making decisions, the better things will be. And I don't
ever
want to end up in a situation where I believe in everyone and have no one, better I ration out my approval. Right now, I can't think of a single person who has it. Austin used to.

I look at him looking straight back at me, dark eyes soft and sandy, blonde hair gleaming in the light. He's so
fucking
beautiful and now he's gone. Forever. I will never have those strong arms around me again, never taste those warm lips.

With a sigh, I approach the bar and order up whatever it is that they're having.

“Glad you could make it, sugar,” Austin says, but I ignore him, sliding my beer close and squeezing it between my hands. I have no desire to drink tonight. I'd rather just slide into bed and forget the world for awhile, but here I am and I'm going to make the most of it. I lift the bottle up to my lips and drink deep. “And I'm sorry about calling you out earlier, but I had to make an example.” I laugh so hard that I almost spit out my drink.

“Right. You did real good there, boss. Thanks for chewing me out over the com.” I slam the last of my beer and order another. I overheard Beck say he was taking Mel out tonight. If that's the case, then I'm riding shotgun. What else am I supposed to do? Sit in a room alone with Gaine and watch him make puppy dog eyes at me? If he thinks it makes me feel better, he's wrong. I can't even look at his face anymore without drowning in
need.
I don't want him to need me. I don't want anyone to need me. I want to simply exist and be a part of the road and the wind. I need oil and chrome and burnt rubber, not kisses and sweet nothings. As shitty as it is, I can always buy a new bike, always fix one up, always start over with a new piece of metal, breathe life into it and run away. With love, you don't get a do over. It just happens the way it happens, and if it fucks you, so what? There's nothing you can do about it. Walker shoved that principle deep into my heart and the thorns have been cutting me ever since. And then there's little Amy Cross, Southern Bell Bitch Virgin from the middle of nowhere. I never expected her, thought I'd have at least a slice of Austin's life for the rest of mine.

I down my next beer and pretend I don't feel Gaine watching me.