Bounty:Fury Riders MC(59)

Besides, Jax doesn't exactly seem like the type who would want to settle  down with me. He strikes me as a loner, through and through. I can only  imagine the way he'd react if I showed up one day, bags in hand. He  might act like he didn't know me, or regret ever finding me in the snow.

The idea is entirely too screwed up to consider.

And yet …

When he's not being an ass, and I'm not flying off the handle at him,  he's sweet. Thoughtful. Tender. I'll never forget how he took care of me  when I was half-frozen. There's a good heart in there, even if he  doesn't want to admit to it.

Can I see us continuing this way on a permanent basis? I'm surprised to  realize that the idea appeals to me. I wouldn't mind staying here with  him for longer than tonight. As long as he wants me, and I want him. Why  not? Many successful relationships have been based on little more than  great sex, right?

Besides, there is more between us, as much as I didn't want to admit it  at first. There's much more. The fact that he triggers me only means  we're alike. We're too alike in some ways. And our differences, well,  they make for some explosive fun, that's for sure. I could live with sex  even half as good as this for the rest of my life.

I don't even know anything about him. He could be a murderer, a deviant. I've been here for less than two days.

We could get to know each other. Does any couple know everything about  each other when they first get together? Of course not. It comes in  time.

Just like I didn't know everything about Tommy. I shiver now. I can't  stop taking chances, no matter how terrible things were with him. I'll  be smarter this time. If I see warning signs, I won't ignore them this  time. Not like I did for years with that bastard.

My eyes fall on the dresser, specifically on a framed picture on top of  the dresser. It's of a woman, petite, blonde. Pretty. She's laughing. I  wonder who she is. Not a sister, not with that tiny frame or blonde  hair. Jax is dark, almost swarthy, and huge. A girlfriend? Shit. Does he  have a girlfriend? I wouldn't know, would I? I slap my forehead.

He returns just as I do. "You okay?" he asks, hesitating.

I just nod and smile, my eyes unable to leave his body. He's impressive, no doubt about it.

He gets back into bed with me, his back against the headboard. I don't cuddle up to him as quickly this time, now wary.

"I hope it's okay for me to stay here, I mean, in bed with you."

"Oh, yeah. No problem."         

     



 

I roll onto my side, facing him. "How long have you lived in this house?"

He shrugs, staring at the ceiling as he thinks. "It's been, oh, maybe seven years? Eight?"

"It's so cozy. Perfect at this time of year, too. Makes me feel all warm inside."

He smiles, and I know he feels exactly the same way. I know there's a  good, sweet man in there. I wouldn't care so much if there wasn't.

"Did you grow up around here? What made you move into this house specifically?"

He shrugs again, the smile disappearing now. "I grew up not far from  here, outside of town. Close enough to almost feel like a part of  things, but I never really was. There was always a wall between me and  the people who live there."

"How come?"

"Ask them. I always guessed it was because I was sort of, well, white  trash. Poor. You know those people, you see them. I bet they come in  every Sunday after church, don't they?" I nod. "Of course they do. But  they're the least Christian bunch of hypocrites in the world.  Unaccepting of anybody not just like them."

He looks at me, his eyes narrowing. "You probably don't see it, because  you're the sort of person they like. Sweet, pretty, friendly. You fit  in … except you're a good person. When I walked into your shop, you didn't  judge me or turn me away. You treated me like a person. Tattoos, dirty  work clothes and all."

"Well, I have to admit you were a little intimidating. But you're a big guy, too."

"True enough. But I wasn't always. Not when I was a kid."

I mull this over. Maybe this is why he's so cut off, because he feels  rejected. I don't blame him. My heart goes out to him now. He's so  wounded. I want to end that loneliness for him.

Damn. One good round of sex and I'm feeling all types of things. What the hell happened to me?

"Can I ask you another question?"

He hesitates. I can tell he already feels like he's revealed too much.  He can't be used to talking about himself like this. He shifts beneath  the blankets, his lips pursed.

"Sure. Go ahead."

I point to the dresser, indicating the framed photo. "Who's that?"

His face drops. I've seen that look before, I realize. It's the same  look he had on his face when I referenced the way he lives alone. Shit.  What did I just step in? I wish I could take it back.

I especially wish it when he replies, "That's my wife. My late wife."





Chapter 13

Jax

I knew it couldn't last, the whole "let's not ask personal questions"  stage. Now that we've had sex, the floodgates are open. She doesn't know  there's no future for us.

I watch her now, as she sleeps. I know she wants more. It's always  obvious when a woman wants more. They start asking questions. How long  have you lived here? Where did you grow up? Who's that woman in the  picture you haven't been able to take off your dresser in the two years  since she died?

I shut down after telling Christina that the picture was of Marissa. I  didn't even give her the name, leaving it at "late wife." I felt sorry  for her; I still do. She was upset, I guess because she didn't mean to  pry. I hadn't given her any idea that I used to be married. It's not her  fault. It was an honest question.

After that, I sort of shut down. I didn't want her to keep asking  questions, which I knew would grow progressively painful and awkward. If  she had, and if I'd answered honestly, Christina wouldn't be asleep  right now. She'd be out in the snow, running away from me. Even freezing  to death would seem like a better fate.

I didn't tell her how Marissa died.

And I didn't tell her that the whole town thinks I did it. Or at least that I'm responsible for it.

They're right, of course. I'm responsible. She died thanks to me and my fucked up life.

I joined the club when I was a kid, too stupid to realize what it was  really all about. I remember how good it felt, the idea of having a  family. A circle of brothers, people I could count on. They'd have my  back. I'd spent my whole miserable childhood on the fringe. My parents a  couple of alcoholics, Dad in and out of jail. No brothers or sisters at  home, all of them only half-siblings anyway. There were four different  fathers among the six of us, and I was the youngest. I was always alone.

The club was going to save me, give me a new life. I'd always loved  motorcycles, and when I saw the Angels of Chaos ride through town on  their bikes, my imagination would race. They were the coolest thing I'd  ever seen. The gossip about them, the way folks would wrinkle their  noses and turn away, all of that just egged me on. They already felt  that way about my white trash family and me, anyway.

So I joined up. I met Marissa through them. She was one of the  hangers-on, so to speak, always at the parties. Serving beer, sitting on  members' laps. But she wasn't like the others. She was smart, and she  wouldn't do everything she was asked. A lot of the girls were so broken  they'd suck any dick waved in front of their face as long as it meant  they got to hang around. Marissa was different. She wouldn't stand for  any of it. I knew she was the one for me.         

     



 

I don't even remember how things went downhill, but they did. I was so  busy with the club I didn't notice the way we were falling apart until  it was much, much too late.

I stepped away after she died. I couldn't be a part of it anymore. I  didn't need the club to survive either. I'd managed to stay away from  any serious charges during my time in the club, so it wasn't impossible  for me to get a job. I started landscaping, needing the air and sun.  Something good, something fresh. All I'd ever known was darkness and rot  and stink.

Now here's this girl. She wants me. I can't deny wanting her. She's a  pain in the ass, a sarcastic brat. She's perfect right down to the  freckles on her nose and arms. But I can't bring her into all my shit.  I'm too fucked up; I've done and seen too many things. I'm dirty, and  I'll never be clean. She deserves so much better than me. She's a good  woman. She has a future. I don't.

I always hurt people in the end. It was unfair of me to bring her  closer, to give into the need I felt for her. She's not the type to  screw 'em and lose 'em. She's the real deal. She has a good heart. Now,  we're more connected than before, and it's going to be even more painful  for her once she realizes who I am and what I've done.

Because she will of course. She hasn't been here long enough to hear the  rumors. Or maybe she has, but she hasn't put two and two together yet.  She doesn't know about Marissa, how she died. How I killed her. Once she  finds out, it'll break her heart.