Loving Me, Trusting You Read online

  C.M. Stunich

  Sarian Royal

  Loving Me, Trusting You

  Copyright © C.M. Stunich 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 1863 Pioneer Pkwy. E Ste. 203, Springfield, OR 97477-3907.

  www.sarianroyal.com

  ISBN-10: 1938623630 (eBook)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-93862363-9 (eBook)

  "Triple M" Name Used With Permission From Melissa, Mireya, and Megan of "Triple M Bookclub"

  Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

  "Optimus Princeps" and "Ultra Condensed Sans Serif" Fonts © Manfred Klein

  "Ink In The Meat" Font © Billy Argel

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  this book is dedicated to the following people, in no particular order, simply for being awesome:

  Susan Lynn, Lola Stark, The Triple M Book Club, Amanda Heath, Sali Benbow-Powers, Melissa Stewart-Allum, Rhea French, Brandy Little, Lance MacCarty, Amanda Carroll and the numerous other amazing people who have and continue to believe in and support my work.

  but most of all, this book is dedicated to those who have or will be told that they can't or shouldn't do something because of their gender: I believe in you.

  “What in the holy hell is wrong with that woman?” Austin asks, shading his eyes against the harsh burn of the sun. My helmet's still on, and I'm peering out the visor at the remnants of Mireya Sawyer's soul. They're scattered across the yellow desert for all of Triple M to see, laid bare and sizzling hot. Even if I didn't know her as well as I do, I could see that she's bleeding inside, hurtin' so hard she can't breathe. My first instinct is to cross the dry ground that separates us and take her into my arms, whisper into her hair and tell her that everything's going to be okay, that I'll take care of her forever.

  She'd probably kick me in the fucking nuts.

  A smile teases the edge of my lips as I rub at the broken heart tattoo on my shoulder. Austin isn't happy about the sudden stop, but I don't mind. I'd do anything for Mireya Sawyer. Even wait around for seven plus friggin' years while she pined for my best friend.

  “Should I go talk to her?” Amy Cross asks, sneaking up between Austin and me, and curling her delicate fingers around his arm. Brunette hair whips around her face, hiding the expression of concern that's there, genuine and sympathetic. She's a miracle that, girl. The one person on this earth that I think is capable of handling Austin. She's calm, collected, and she don't hold no fucking grudge against Mireya. I feel good knowing she's Austin's soul mate. I just hope he's aware of how lucky he is.

  “Nah,” I say, watching through the visor, waiting with my breath caught in my chest for that day that might never come, for the day that Mireya Sawyer looks me in the eyes and tells me she loves me right back. I've told her before. Just once. It didn't go over so well. I plan on doing it again, but I don't know when. If I have to, I'll wait another seven years. I'd rather not, thank you very much, but I will. I'd wait forever if I had to.

  I glance over at Beck who's busy checking out Amy's ass. When Austin sees, he growls low in his throat and our friend backs off, running his hand through his red hair and chuckling. Dumb as a Goddamn doornail, but ten times tougher. I really believe that Beck could take out twenty men by himself. Wouldn't surprise me a bit.

  “She's just … dealing with some old shit,” I say as Austin sighs and glances back at the group behind us. Triple M. Our family. Our friends. The people we'd do anything for, that would do anything for us. It's a confusing time right now, but they're all still here and they're not asking questions. I think it's because we all knew deep down that Kent Diamond was a Goddamn lunatic. Well, okay, for me it wasn't even deep down, but thing is, he did a lot of good for us all, rescued us when nobody else was there, gave us a home and a family. He might've been an asshole, and a backstabber, but he was still the one that gathered us all together, whatever his reasons.

  But now he's dead.

  Austin didn't bother to check before we left, but I did. I felt for a pulse, and I got nothin'. I don't think Sparks cared either way. All that mattered to him was Amy, and that was that. He took Kent out without a second thought. Guess love will make you do shit like that without thinking. It's a violently gentle emotion, ain't it? A contradiction in and of itself. I know it's been screwing with me forever. Especially when I saw that stupid bitch, Tray Walker.

  Fuck. I wanted to kill that son of a bitch with my bare hands, feel the life drain out of him while I gazed into his eyes and showed him exactly how I felt about what he did to Mireya. Stupid motherfucker. But it wasn't my decision. It was hers. Beck gave her the knife, and we walked out. She had blood on her hands when she came out, but not a lot. I don't know what happened, and she doesn't want to talk about it with anyone. Not a single soul.

  “We can't sit on the side of the highway all day,” Austin warns, but I'm not sure who he's talking to exactly. He's in charge now, so he better get used to it.

  “Okay, Pres,” I say, lifting up my visor and feeling the burn of the sun on my skin. “So what do you want to do about it?” Austin gives me a look, blowing out a rush of air like he isn't quite sure he's ready for all this. I don't tell him, but to me and Beck, he's always been in charge. He's the only one we've ever really listened to.

  “Give her five minutes,” Amy says, so quiet that I almost don't catch her words. Austin does though. And he hangs all over them like a kid on the monkey bars. Jesus. This boy is so head over heels, it's hard to look at him. I hope he realizes it. “I think she needs this. If you rush her, she'll hang onto the pain. Let her go for a minute, please?” Amy asks, pressing a kiss to the leather sleeve of Austin's jacket. His arm curls around her waist protectively, and his eyes soften a bit. Jesus.

  I turn away. I can't look at that. Not right now. I'm jealous, and I don't want to be. I just want to be happy. I just want to be with Mireya Sawyer.

  I turn around to give her some privacy and focus my gaze on Melissa Diamond. She's slumped over Kent's bike, holding onto the handlebars like they'll be able to save her from the downward spiral she's started on. The flirty, wicked blonde bombshell she was a few days ago is gone. Disappeared without a trace. Despite all the things she's done to me, all the flirting and the teasing and the bullshit, I feel sorry for her. Really, I do. Poor thing's going to have to reinvent herself, figure out what it was she wanted in the first place. I do not envy her that fucking task.

  I pull my helmet off with a sigh and walk over to my bike, tossing it onto the back and pulling out a cigarette. As I light up, I take a deep breath and try my best not to look over my shoulder at Mireya. She needs her space, I know that. But I can't resist. Like that douche, Orpheus, I turn and look at her, even though I shouldn't.

  Her head is back and her dark hair is billowing in the breeze.

  Ash falls from the tip of my cigarette and hits the toe of my boot as I gaze, completely raptured by this wild woman. My cock gets rock solid at the thought of her brushing her lips down my stomach, dragging that gorgeous hair across my skin. Mireya is a hot fuck, don't get me wrong, but that's not why I'm interested.

  I pull my cigarette out with two fingers and exhale into the hot, dry air.

  Mireya is the one.

  I don't just believe in all of that fairytale shit, I eat it for breakfast. I live that fucking shit. Because without it, the world is a bleak, bleak place. Don't even
want to imagine how anybody gets along without it. Even people like Austin who deny it eventually fall for it. We all do. Or we die real pissed off. Now, I don't know if there's heaven or hell or anything like that, but I do know that if I go without a chance to have Mireya, my soul is going to be seriously fucked up. This wanting can only go on so long before it bleeds you dry. Right now, I'm ready for a transfusion. Seven years is a long time, sweetheart. A long, long time.

  Mireya drops her chin to her chest, shakes out her hands and spins around. She pounds the earth with her knee-high boots and licks her dry lips. Her dark eyes are faraway, but still beautiful. Deadly. She's been pissed off ever since that night. I can't figure out why, and she won't discuss it, so what am I supposed to do? I feel like a kicked puppy for Christ's sake, and I'm a grown ass man.

  “Don't do it,” Beck whispers as he saunters by and flips me the finger. “You're acting a damn fool, Kelley.” I ignore him and put my cigarette back in my mouth.

  “You alright there, lover?”

  “Screw you, Gaine,” Mireya says as she storms past and mounts her fucking motorcycle like I wish she'd mount me, muscular thighs clenching tight, fingers wrapping the bars. She squeezes them so hard, her knuckles pop. “I don't want to hear any of your dime store romance bull. Just leave me alone right now, okay?”

  I should be offended, but I'm not. Kind of used to this shit by now. Used to it but ready for it to stop. Soon. I watch as Mireya closes her eyes and tries to get a grip on her emotions. If she'd let me, I could help her. As of right now, I'm in the dark. I don't know what happened with Walker or why she's feeling the way she's feeling. Did she kill him? Is this guilt? Or is he still alive? Is this fear? I have no clue. Mireya Sawyer is not the kind of woman that's easy to read. Over time, I've gotten better, but I'm no expert.

  I drop my cigarette to the ground and crush it out with the sole of my boot, watching as Mireya's eyes open and trail over to Austin and Amy, happy in their little couple cocoon. She gazes at them with pain, but no envy. Not anymore. I think she's moved on. Or at least, I fucking hope so.

  “And Gaine, I can see your Goddamn hard-on. It's pointing straight at my fucking face. A little respect here? I'm hurting and you want to dive into my vagina. Piss off.” I roll my eyes and try not to get mad. If I do, it'll just start this fire between us that I'd rather not have burning. Mireya can turn any fight into a brawl, any brawl into an all out war. I keep telling myself that it's a defense mechanism, but my tongue's got a life of its own sometimes.

  “You know what I want, Mireya, and it ain't just your pussy.” Beck whistles, and some catcalls pass down the line, but I ignore 'em, watching Sawyer's beautiful bronze face squinch up in distaste.

  “Really, Gaine? You want a happily ever after? Is that it?” Mireya smiles wicked nasty, grabbing her helmet and jamming it onto her skull like she's trying to punish herself for something. She lifts her visor up to glare at me. “Well, keep searching cowboy, because you're not going to find it here.”

  Mireya starts up her bike with a roar, drops her visor, and disappears down the highway without another word, leaving the rest of us to catch up behind her.

  Gaine Kelley is such an asshole. He doesn't know that he is, but he is. The biggest fucking asshole to ever walk this earth. I don't want to look at him. I don't want to see his face. And most especially, I don't want to hear him say it again. I love you. I don't love him. That's for sure. We've fucked a couple of times, so what? If he expects me to give him the key to my heart, he's going to be sorely disappointed. That crusty, old organ was chained up and locked away a long time ago. And I threw away the key when I saw Austin look at Amy for the first time. I knew it then, just knew it. Winning him back was never an option. I knew, but I still tried, and I failed. And now …

  Now, I have blood on my hands.

  I swallow hard and pull myself together. When you're flying down the highway at seventy miles an hour, the wind in your face, nothing between your body and the road but a bit of denim and leather, you've got to pay attention or you'll end up as roadkill. I've seen it happen before, and I'm not willing to end it that way. If I'm going to go, it's going to be spectacular. I deserve that at least, don't I?

  I leave the intercom off in my helmet. I don't want to hear what any of them have to say, and I sure as shit don't want to listen to Nickelback. If Austin tries to play that crap again, I will kill him. Like you did Walker. I try to convince myself that I should feel bad, but I don't. I don't feel a lick of guilt for putting that fucker down. When I slid that blade across his throat, I cried tears of relief. Call me sadistic or mental, I don't care. He hurt me in ways that may never heal. I have to learn to live with the scars, or I won't survive. So I killed a man and I don't feel the way I should about it. This is my cross to bear. This is my trial to overcome, to accept that I am a monster because they made me that way.

  My next step is to figure out where I go from here, how to find something out there worth living for. Austin was … I guess he never really was that thing for me, but he was something, someone to hold onto at night, someone to run to during the day. But he wasn't that perfect, special something we're all searching for, that thing that Gaine believes he's found in me. Too much responsibility, I think as I hit the corner and take it hard, tilting my bike so low I could brush the ground with my fingers, taste the concrete and watch it wear away at me. For a split second, I almost let it, almost drop through that last bit of space and watch myself spin away into nothingness. But then I pull my bike back up and rocket down the empty, flat stretch of road towards the sunset. If anything, there are a few people left in this world that owe me a pound of flesh. I don't want to go to the grave with a debt hanging over my head.

  Another motorcycle whips up beside me, and I don't even have to look to know that it's Austin's. I can tell by the sound of the engine, that's how familiar it is to me, how much it used to mean. I know he wants me to switch to the intercom, but why? So he can bitch at me? Tell me to fall back in line?

  Fuck this.

  I will never again allow a man to control me, whether directly or indirectly. This friggin' community is full of misogynistic bull from both sides. I've got girls from other gangs telling me I'm not worth anything but the heat between my legs, that I should be a good old lady and hop on the bike of a person with a penis. My response? You ain't never seen this bitch ride.

  I give Austin and Amy a one fingered salute and gun it, kicking up dust in my wake and scarring the road with rubber. The good thing about being in a fake ass MC is that nobody really cares what kind of bike you ride so long as you ride one like a God and have respect for the machinery. Me, I can outrun Austin's custom clunker any day. I've got a Triumph Bonneville. This baby could run circles around him.

  I speed up and hit a small crest in the road, launching myself high, silhouetted against the sky for the rest of Triple M to see, a dark shadow bathed in light. When I crash to the pavement again, the air kisses my skin and steals away my pain, hiding it in the rush of wind and the sizzling heat for a few, brief beautiful moments.

  See, some people, like that stupid bitch, Amy Cross, they like to bury their noses in books to escape. Me? I like to straddle my bike and find a new place, somewhere I've never been so I can see something I've never seen. That's what I live for, that's my escape. I hide in experiences and lose myself in air and mileage and the scent of gas, shiny alloy wheels, stainless steel headers, chromed upswept silencers.

  So when that beauty is threatened, I get upset. Really upset. Livid even.

  I swing around the corner, past a genuine freaking cactus, and spot a smattering of people in the distance, dark against the sunlight. They've got bikes aplenty and they're using them to block the roadway.

  Ay, Dios mio. What the fuck is this shit? Malditos estúpidos.

  I know I'm getting pissed because I'm starting to pull out the Spanish. I only do that when things get rough. And things are going to get really rough. I mean, I knew that. We all knew tha
t. We've been lucky to get as many days without being accosted as we've had. Might have to move back to Spain with my broke ass mother. Ugh. Even the thought makes me shiver.

  I hit the brakes and slow down, so Austin can catch up to me. I can feel his glare through the helmet, but I ignore it, sliding back into the ranks with Beck and Kimmi. I can't look at Gaine right now, but I do flick on my intercom.

  “You disobeying the new Pres on purpose, Sawyer?” Beck asks, chuckling.

  “Shut your fucking mouth, Evans,” Austin snaps back at him. “Deal with outer turmoil then inner, you know that.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain!” Beck chortles, not at all worried about the cluster of shadowy figures. Why should he be? The man is absolutely insane. He's the perfect soldier, capable of downing a dozen men by himself. I've seen it many times. Brawn over brains should be Beck's motto.

  We start to slow, filling the road with shining helmets and beautiful bikes, works of art in metal and chrome, curious faces and nervous twitching. You don't mess with another gang and walk away, no matter what they did to you. I don't even have to see their colors to know who we're up against.

  Bested by Crows.

  Great.

  Suddenly, I feel my chest tighten and my mind start to spin. With my thoughts rocketing into space, drawing me away, clouding me in blurry stars of distant memories, I almost miss the sound of a loud pop. Seconds later, I lose control of my bike and hit a dusty patch on the road with my wheels spinning every which way. The bike starts to roll and my mind goes blank.

  I remember leading the women out on a pride parade, flaunting that inner beauty and that hard wiring that all women have inside themselves somewhere. Tray never let on to me that he was going to take our bikes away, never even hinted at it. And then he caved to peer pressure and everything just went to shit. I remember pulling into the garage with the other girls, how my cheeks felt flushed, the smile on my face.