Needing Me, Wanting You(20)

“You wouldn't touch me,” I tell him, using the judgment of his character to make the assumption. The smile is false, the bravado real. He doesn't want to hurt me, but he will. At the same time, I don't think he'd get any pleasure out of it. “This isn't about me.”

Beck's face relaxes up a bit, and he shakes his head.

“No. You're right. This ain't about you at all. I just want to do damage control, get my friend back, find out who the fuck your people took away from me.”

“They wouldn't do it without a reason,” I repeat, wondering who he and his friends took away from us. Triple M. I was fantasizing about them, and here one of them is, and he's nothing like I expected. And everything like I did.

“Keep flappin' your lips and the wind is bound to listen,” Beck says, moving forward and pausing a few inches from me. I watch as he puts his hand on his gun. I turn away and stare out ahead of us, at the open road, and I wonder how far this is going to go. If the ending's going to be something I can live with. Or if there's going to come something I can't live without.





Beck

Chapter 10

I don't want to be thinkin' nasty thoughts right now, but I can't help myself. I'm a man, and I'm wrapped around a beautiful woman, a woman whose body is hot and ripe, rounded curves in all the right places. She's got these perfect lips and hair the color o' blood. Better circumstances, better days, and I would've picked her up in a hot second. Right now, I have to worry about my club, my friends. Who the fuck is dead, injured, and where the fuck they all are. I got my cellphone, programmed with the number of everybody in Triple M, but that doesn't do me any good if they don't fucking answer.

Nashville it is then, I guess.

I get to ride for eleven hours with unknowns crawling around in my head, what-ifs and all that. A shooter on the roof? It just doesn't seem like something Seventy-seven Brothers would do. And then why just one guy? Why not have a whole host of guys up there waiting to shoot us? I hate this covert ops sort of shit. Why can't everything be plain as Goddamn day? The world would be a lot better place if it were simplified a shade or two.

Melissa, I'm sorry. I tried to keep up with the group, but they split off a few guys and took shots at me while I was riding. It was get hit or stay back, that much was obvious. And then I lost them right as I was coming into town.

Then I saw her.

When I first stopped, I didn't even know what I was doing. I saw that shock of red hair, the bright green eyes, so piercing from so far away. There was a pull in the air, like I was being controlled from within, pushed forward against my own will. Strange as shit, I'll tell you that much. Then I saw her jacket, her colors, and I knew what I had to do. If she really is the Pres's little sister, then the hopes of getting Mel back are high. Provided she doesn't die from that gunshot wound.

I squeeze my fingers around the handlebars and rocket down the freeway, happy that the wind is fierce enough to hide this girl's sweet scent from me, like a field of flowers or somethin'. Woo wee, Tease sure is a right appropriate name. This woman still has me thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about. Actually, on the other hand, maybe this is exactly what I should have my mind focused on. I can't do anything but ride right now. In another hour or so, I'll pull over and try my friends' phones again. For now, I'm trapped right here with my arms around her and her body pressed tight against me. If my pants get a bit tighter, who would know?

For a second there, I get all nostalgic and start pinin' away for Austin and that horse shit music he likes so much. I start reminiscing about Mireya's snarky commentary and Melissa's overly ridiculous outfits, dark makeup, and blatant come-ons. This is not over, Beck. Not by a long shot. Stop being a bitch and get your crap together.

I smile wider and ride harder, grinding my wheels into the hot pavement, letting my sorrows spill from my skin and fly away in the breeze. Back to that cold calmness. I almost let my anger and my fear get the best of me. Almost. But Beck Evans has a lot of practice in this department. I draw on my past mistakes, lessons learned, and I man the fuck up.

By the time we get to the border between North Carolina and Tennessee, I can almost pretend that I don't give a shit.

“Answer your damn phone, you son of a bitch,” I growl, leaving a message for Austin first. Then Gaine, Mireya, Kimmi, until I'm halfway through the alphabet with no information and a massive fucking headache. The few folks that pick up don't know shit about shit. Nashville. That's the last thing they heard, so it's where we're all headed. I make plans with anyone I can get ahold of to meet outside the city proper, on the side of the highway. I don't like that I have to ride all the way there, leave Melissa behind, but there's not much else that makes sense at this point. I have to find my MC and scrape us all back into shape. As long as I have this foxy, young thing on my bike, I've got leverage.