Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(76)

"Just don't dally. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can take her home," Silas said over his shoulder.

"What about the car?" Now, Jeremy sounded completely drained, the question falling to the ground flatly.

"What about it? I don't care what happens to it. Do you?" Silas really  didn't care about the car. He knew that if it was registered, it sure as  hell wasn't registered in her name. And only a few people would be able  to recognize it, anyway. And if Reign found it and recognized it? That  would only work in Silas' favor: it'd get him all riled up, make him  lose focus, help convince Reign that she really was in deep shit. Reign  might walk right into Silas' arms without the need for anonymous  packages and ransom letters.

"I guess … I guess not but … "

Silas turned, impatient, and snapped his fingers. Jeremy flashed him a  look of rage, but didn't seem to have the energy to protest.

"Trust me, porky. I'm a professional. Get the bitch in the truck," Silas  said, his patience dwindling quickly. He was getting nervous about his  client; something about the way Jeremy was looking at his wife told  Silas that he was regretting his actions, that he thought he'd gone too  far, that he was softening up.

Silas didn't need Jeremy to soften up. He needed the exact opposite, if  the plan was going to go off smoothly. It would do Silas no good to have  some bleeding heart husband hanging around making a mess of things.

To his relief, Jeremy bent down and picked up his wife, who was beyond  rationality and only kicked and fidgeted weakly against her husband's  superior strength. As they walked towards the truck, Silas could see  Jeremy's mouth moving, but couldn't hear what was being said in hushed  tones. As they neared, he could hear the lilting rise and fall of  Jeremy's voice, as though he were singing her a lullaby.

Fuck me, Silas thought with a roll of his eyes. We've got a softy here.

And wasn't that just Silas' luck?

"Where should I put her?" Jeremy asked, tearing his eyes away from his  wife's brutalized face long enough to give Silas a big, stupid, questing  stare.

"In the back," Silas said, nodding his head to the bed of the pick-up.  She wouldn't mind riding in the back; she was half-dead as it is. "And  get those spikes off the road, too."

As Jeremy carried her back and then returned to the string of spikes,  dragging them off the baking pavement, Silas saw his opportunity. He  went to the car, pretending as though he was admiring the fresh paint,  and grabbed the duffel bag, which was conveniently located right under  the passenger side seat. Jeremy was so distracted with situating  Gabriella somewhat comfortably in the back of the truck he barely looked  up as Silas trotted back, opened his door, and threw the duffel bag  behind the seat.

"What was that?" Jeremy asked, coming now to the passenger side door and  opening it wide. He seemed hesitant to get into the truck, as though he  couldn't figure out why he'd ever gotten into it in the first place.

"None of your business. No questions asked, remember?" Silas said with a  sneer. Jeremy was too rattled to debate. He slid into his seat and  slammed the door shut, cradling his head in his hands. Silas clucked and  shook his head. This bully was starting to bully himself. The poor  fool'd gone too far. Silas could tell; he'd reached that point, rare but  real, where one human stands back and looks at what they've done with  eyes stripped of pride, anger, desire.

He had it coming, this moment of self-doubt and, probably, self-loathing.

Silas turned the key and the truck kicked the life. Driving alongside  the road until they'd passed the wrecked Mustang then hooking a wide  U-turn, Silas headed back towards his little shack. Home sweet home,  until he fully earned his paychecks and could get himself a mansion in  Sao Paulo.         

     



 





28





"Honey, I feel like there's something wrong," Reign said, tipping his  half-empty glass back and forth on the bar. His anger at her had long  dissipated, replaced by more sadness than he felt could possibly be held  inside one human.

"Sure. You miss ‘er. That's what's wrong," Honey said, keeping herself  busy by wiping down the counter. She'd wiped that thing a million times  in her life behind that bar, and it always needed more wiping. She  sighed. Some day off, she thought again.

After a few drinks with Endo, which had helped her think through the  details of what she knew and what she felt about the stranger, she'd  been an unhappy witness to Gabriella's departure. Feeling the call of  duty, knowing that Reign needed her but wouldn't come to her unless she  was pouring his drinks, she sent home the girl who'd been covering her  shift and donned her old, dirty apron.

"No, something else. I just … I just feel it," Reign said, and his voice  sounded defeated. Honey's heart went out to him. She bit her lip,  keeping her face away from his. He might look at her and see what she  was thinking. What she knew. He didn't need to know anything about it;  it would only make things worse, and more dangerous. Better he thought  she was flying high and free all the way to Mexico.

"Leave the intuitions to me, babycakes," Honey said. She wished Reign  would just get properly drunk, have himself a good bawl, and wake up  feeling fresh and new and ready to fuck some other girl. Lord knew there  were enough of them hanging around. But Honey had seen their goodbye;  she knew that it was going to take more than a few half-assed  performances by the ladies of Ditcher's Valley to rid Reign of the pain  in his heart. Poor kid.

"You think she'll be okay?" Reign asked, his voice not quite hopeful but at least not as pathetic as it had been sounding.

"I got a feeling she'll be just fine. Now drink up. The faster you get  drunk, the faster you get to forgetting her," Honey said, really, really  wishing that Reign would give up the ghost and start taking shots like  all the other men did when some girl ran off on them. The less space he  had in his mind for rational thought, the better off he'd be.

"I don't feel like drinking, and I don't feel like forgetting," he said  sourly, shoving his glass towards her. She caught it one-handed and  sighed.

"Ok, fine. You wanna remember her. So remember her. Tell me what you're  gonna miss, I'm all ears," Honey said, stretching her hands out and  looking straight at him. Their eyes met and it took everything in her  not to flinch. She didn't want to lie to Reign. She hated lying to her  boys. But if she told him what she really felt, he'd likely do something  damned stupid, and it'd be her fault. She needed Reign's blood on her  hands like she needed her ex-husband back.

"I don't know. I don't wanna talk about it, either," Reign said, his  head slumping. Honey was relieved that she didn't have to put on that  "everything's okay" face anymore, but she also worried about the  soon-to-be President. He didn't look good at all.

"You don't wanna drink about it, you don't wanna talk about it, what do you wanna do about it?"

"I wanna … shit, Honey, I don't know. Maybe I'll go for a little ride," Reign said.

"Maybe that's a good idea," Honey agreed, shaking her head and resuming  her endless bar-wiping. "But keep your mind on the road. You remember  what happened to Bull."

"How could I forget?" Reign said. It was too easy to lose yourself in  thoughts and get yourself killed; that's what had happened to Bull.  Reign didn't plan on ending up like that poor sap.

Honey watched as Reign got up from the bar, moving as though his whole  body was made of lead. She wished she could take the weight off his  shoulders, but there was nothing she could do, and she knew it. She  could only hope that he'd leave what ailed him on the road. And that  with Gabriella gone, there wouldn't be any worries about the mysterious  man or her cop husband or any other trouble she could have dragged in.

Reign let the door swing shut behind him and looked up at the  star-filled night. He remembered a similar night, only a day ago, when  he'd made Gabriella buck and come for him, then held her on the cooling  sands. Only a day ago, but it seemed like a lifetime.

He cursed the memory. He cursed her husband, for driving her into  Reign's arms and then driving her away. He cursed her, for bewitching  him and then leaving. He cursed the night that seemed so cold and empty  without her voluptuous warmth at his side. He curse the club, for  keeping him from following her. He cursed Honey for not convincing her  to stay. And he cursed himself for falling in the first place, for  letting himself slip just long enough to get hurt worse than any  physical beating he'd endured growing up.         

     



 

With a roar and a screech, his tires turned the dust and he was gone,  riding into the empty night, wanting to feel as empty as the miles and  miles before him. Empty, at least, didn't hurt.