Unruly (20 page)

So I didn't disappoint him. This time I slammed my palm into his shoulder. “And what do you think people will
think
when you say some shit like that? Huh? Do you think they'll say, ‘Oh, that Dash, he's a meddling ass'? or will they say, ‘Ellen's giving it up to Dash again'. You tell me, Noah Dash. What will they
say
?”

He glared at me. “I'm just trying to look out for you.”

“Liar.”

“Ellie, when I first did it, I was just trying to make sure that no one treated you poorly.” Noah gave me the same sort of pitiful expression that had worked wonders when we were kids
and
had still worked when we were adults. It was as good as an admission of guilt.

I stared at him, letting the facts sift through my sleep-deprived mind. If he was guilty, that meant he'd fucked up. I rolled what I knew over in my mind, and in a sickening flash of clarity, I realized that he had lied to me—and not just a little. If he had said I was under his protection, that meant he'd all but announced that we were sharing sheets.

In a remarkably steady voice for a person five seconds from tears, I said, “People knew about us. When you acted like we were a secret, people
knew
. You treated me like I was only worthy of slipping into your apartment after dark, but they knew. The whole goddamn club knew!”

“You're taking this all wrong,” Noah said.

He looked at me, and I knew what he still wasn't saying. He thought I'd come back to him. I had already decided I wasn't going to, but I'd hoped we could be friends. Right now I wasn't even sure I was going to be able to continue to call him a friend.

“All that time when I wasn't allowed on your bike, when you didn't want people to get the wrong idea, they
knew anyhow
. You can't have it both ways,
Dash
. You can't treat me like I'm your property when you won't own up to it.” I took a deep shuddering breath. “You did, though . . . You treated me like I was yours, but you never meant for it to be true. I was a fool.”

“Ellie, come on. I just wanted to keep you safe. You know you're special to me, and I just couldn't stand the idea of the rest of those asses taking advantage of you. You know how guys are.” He reached out like he'd hug me.

I stepped back. Tears would fall if I let him touch me, and that wasn't okay. Maybe it never would be again. He was breaking me.

I shook my head. “We're done here.”

“Ellie—”

“We're
done
, Noah, and I expect that you'll tell Mike to let the Wolves know that you rescind your protection.” I blinked so my tears of anger wouldn't spill. “Just . . . stay out of my business, Dash. I don't want to even speak to you.”

“Ellie . . .”

I shook my head again. “Before you go, tell Alamo that I'm
not yours
, since I never was. You tried to have it both ways, and you have
nothing
as a result. Fix it.”

At first Dash didn't reply. Then he stared unwaveringly at me as he told Alamo, “Ellie's not under my protection, but if you think that this means she's—”

“It's none of your concern what I am,” I interrupted. “I don't even want to lay eyes on you. If I were a man, you'd be on your ass right now. The
only
reason I'm not punching you is that I don't want to embarrass myself in front of Alamo.”

“You need to understand—”

“I understand everything I need to,” I interrupted. My temper was so close to boiling that I was starting to shake. “I was an idiot for putting up with this as long as I did. You didn't want me enough to treat me right, but you didn't want anyone else to give me what you refused.
Fuck
.
You
. Noah.”

He stared at me for another few moments, and then he turned and left without a word to me or to Alamo. Once I heard a car door slam, I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. If I didn't, I was likely to fall down.

A few moments later, Alamo put a cup of coffee in front of me. “You take your coffee black, right?”

I looked up at him and nodded. I felt like I should be embarrassed. He always seemed to see me when I was a wreck. First the day I had left Noah, and then when Killer was shot
and
when I was dripping wet, tired, and nearly naked. Now, as icing on that awfulness, he got to see me angry and hurt. I hoped he remembered the other times, either when I was singing or we had ice cream or there were people around.

As I thought about his actions, I realized that all the times when I thought he was uninterested, it was all about the fact that he was influenced by Noah's lies. It shifted my understanding of almost every single encounter Alamo and I had ever had.

I met his eyes and said, “I swear my life isn't as messed up as it looks.”

“It looks fine, Ellen.”

I snorted.

“You had a bad relationship situation, some amazing secret trips to sing, a perfectly understandable worry over Killer, and then a car breakdown,” he said with a shrug. “It's not so awful.”

“And I can't sing around the people who love me, and I keep flirting with you like some desperate—”

“Any man with half a brain would be interested in you, but I can't ignore direct orders.”

“
Echo
?”

Alamo shook his head. “Killer. Dash warned me off. Killer said that Dash's claim was no different from the rest of the club.” He shrugged. “I figured you two must've still been together. One of those couples who are back and forth all the time.”

“According to Noah we weren't ever a couple,” I said. “I don't love him. I don't want him. I haven't in a while . . . but I was already disgusted with myself for being
that
girl, you know? To think that everyone knew just makes it worse.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I had no idea it was a surprise to you.”

I wrapped my hands around the cup, which had a footprint, the UNC logo, and the words
Tar Heels
on it. It was an odd reminder of where he'd come from, of the fact that he had people and a life he'd left behind.

“I'm glad you didn't know it was a surprise, then. I'd rather be mad at just him than both of you,” I told him bluntly. “You're probably the only one I'm not on the verge of getting ugly with . . . well, and Echo. I'd never disrespect him. But Killer? He should've said something. Hell, Big Eddie could've told me.”

Alamo was silent as he finally poured his own coffee. Once he sat across from me, he said, “Point taken. Well, then, I'm sorry you found out the way you did.”

“Thanks.” I thought about how many bikers knew, and I wondered if my mother did too. Did everyone just assume that I was in Dash's bed all this time? I wasn't even sure I wanted to know. I didn't have the energy to start yelling at the whole lot of them, and to be honest, I just wanted to move on.

For a few moments, I debated the wisdom of my impulses. It wasn't that Alamo was a real rebound, though. I wasn't intending to use him. The fucked-up mess I'd had with Noah was in my past as far as I was concerned; it was only Noah and everyone else who had missed the memo.

“Just so we're putting it all on the table, I want you to know that Noah and I were together as kids, and then . . . I don't know . . . now and again we fell into old habits. But that all ended the day I met you.” I looked away from my mug and met Alamo's eyes. “Not because of you or anything weird, but I wouldn't be with one Wolf and be thinking about another the way I've been thinking about you.”

“You don't owe me explanations about anything,” Alamo said carefully. He was eyeing me the way I suspected he'd watch someone he thought capable of pulling a knife—or, for example, stripping down and kissing him in his bathroom.

“I know, but . . .” I tried to think of the right way to say it. Sometimes I wanted to be less blunt than I was, but I'd never quite mastered that skill. Maybe it was being raised around Wolves and their women, or maybe it was just who I was. Either way, I was deficient in the Southern lady area. I met Alamo's eyes and said, “I just didn't want you to think I was the sort to flirt like I did if I had something going with another man. I'm not like that.”

“Darlin', you don't owe me or
anyone
an explanation,” Alamo said, just before he smiled that sweet flirtatious smile he passed out easily to women at the bar, including the female bartenders, but only rarely offered me. I liked it, liked being the one in his focus.

“There's been no one in my bed since the day we met,” I added. “No one has a claim or right to be there either.”

“Good to know.” He took a sip of his coffee before asking, “Are you saying the job's open?”

I laughed. “For the right man. You applying?”

“I think I am,” he said.

Then we sat and enjoyed our coffee in silence. It was wonderful to finally be speaking openly and to get the sense that he was receptive to my interest after all. I guess I hadn't imagined the way he'd watched me.

Being quiet with him was a weirdly comfortable thing, despite the fact that he'd just seen me five seconds from flaying the flesh off Dash. I shook my head. He'd
also
seen me nearly naked. All told, we should be a whole lot less relaxed than this, but we sat in peaceful silence. I liked it, the way he could be there without needing to fill up the space with words and questions. My own brain was noisy enough that sometimes people who were too filled with talk made me tense.

My mother was the opposite. Silence bothered her. She said my father had been like me; “still waters” was what she called my quiet spells. I wasn't so sure that was right. I wasn't exactly thinking anything deep or earth-shaking. It was more like my mind needed space to sort through thoughts and ideas. Silence was sometimes what I needed for . . . I guess what you'd call mental updates. I kind of visualized it as my mind plugging into some far-off server and downloading software updates. I wasn't going to
say
that, but it was the visual I thought closest to the way my body slowed.

Then it would pass, and I'd be me again—loud and bold, fearless and silly. The Ellen people saw was never as quiet as I was in my private hours each day. I needed that time, though. I was a wreck without it. I built quiet time into my routine. If my mom and her latest date weren't awake yet, I'd take my quiet when I had coffee. If not, I'd go outside or into my room. If all else failed, I'd take a bath or a long walk.

“Usually my silence bothers people,” I said finally.

Alamo shrugged. “I like it.” He met my gaze. “And I like that you're relaxed enough around me to be silent.”

I stared at him. I'd thought that he had no idea how rare it was for me to be so at ease, and part of me wanted to run far and fast because I felt like he'd figured out one of my secrets. The rest of me, however, wanted to curl up next to him and go back to sleep. I had the sneaking suspicion that I could do that with him, that I could sleep soundly, that I could maybe even
sleep in
if he was at my side.

“Since we cleared that bullshit about Dash up and I'm not one for subtlety, what do you say to taking me for a ride?”

Alamo looked at me again, and then he returned to drinking his coffee. He didn't reply until he needed a refill. I liked that too, the way he wasn't rushing to answer. It made the silence shift into something charged with possibilities—and like most things with him in the past day, it made me think about what he'd be like naked. He was deliberate at almost everything, and I closed my eyes briefly against the images
that
thought evoked. I had the feeling that deliberate attention from him would be . . . everything a woman could want in bed.

“A ride?”

“Today,” I clarified. “Not because I need to go somewhere. Not a favor. Just you and me and your bike.”

He stood, walked over, and refilled his cup. He lifted the pot and looked at me inquiringly. I held my cup out, and he topped me off.

“It depends on what you're looking for, Ellen.”

“Nothing. A little stress relief.” I paused, thinking of the number of times when I felt like we were on the edge of a conversation and he'd retreated. Now I understood why. I was furious with Dash, but I was also feeling cheated that I could've been here in this moment before now.

In a level, firm voice, I said, “This right here? It's good. I've wanted to talk to you alone so many times, but you always walked away. Coffee at your table is nice.”

“But?” he prompted.

I grinned. I liked this straight-up negotiation and honesty. A lot of men were intimidated by women who spoke their minds. Sometimes I thought that Killer had been right when we were kids and he'd suggested that I was so blunt as a way to scare people off. It made it easy to see who was a runner. It worked, though. If they couldn't handle me in conversation, they sure as hell couldn't handle me any other way. Alamo seemed like he might be able to handle me, so I didn't try to mince words.

“But I want a ride,” I said. “Not to carry me to work or as a favor, but a ride. No destination. No plans. Just a tank of gas and go. I hope you're going to stop walking away when I try to talk now that you know I'm available, but either way, I'm glad that whatever happens next is just between us.”

I looked him over and let myself enjoy the very details I'd been training myself to ignore. He was fit and intimidating, and it looked like he'd be able to handle any trouble we came across. It did good things for the libido I'd been trying my damnedest to quash.

Alamo didn't reply, but he was grinning at my assessment. He leaned back and let me take a good long look. It was about as subtle as I felt, and I drew in an appreciative breath. Sometimes women thought that men didn't like being ogled, but that was sheer foolishness. A man wouldn't work to look that good if he wasn't wanting someone to notice. I was noticing, and for the first time since we'd met, there was no reason to pretend otherwise.