23. Cam

twenty-three

Cam

When the waitress dropped off the food, I put some juice behind my charm to prove a point. The waitress more than wanted it. And if Riley got pissed, decided being my ole lady was too much—that might be a good thing.

But fuck if hurting her didn't tear me apart.

Every word I said was hollow, but I made sure the waitress was eating it up, even brushed my knuckles across her breasts when I straightened her name tag. She didn't jump back or smack my hand away, instead leaned so close I could smell the tictac she'd popped before walking over.

"Now you're just being mean," Riley blurted when the waitress sauntered away, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

I needed to show her who I was, how life would be for her with me. Not because she'd done anything wrong, but because we were being followed, because my life was already putting her in danger.

Santos Garza had given her his number. I'd brought her there, I'd put her in his sites. Yeah, I hadn't expected the man himself, but I should have. She was right, part of the problem was my ego. As that had been what made me think I could keep her safe.

Archer had kept her safe, by keeping her away from here. Maybe I needed to do the same.

I'd do anything to keep her safe. She'd hate me for it, but wasn't this how it was always supposed to happen?

"Women like that, darlin, they ain't looking for a Prince Charming. Fifteen minutes with me would be the best day of her life. Women are easy."

Her confusion, the hurt feelings, were gone now. I'd hit my mark. "Is that the way you think about me?" There was a tremble to her bottom lip that punched me in the gut.

"You're nothing like that." Not even comparable.

"You screwed me, that the difference?"

I leaned over the table and for the first time in this whole fucked up charade, was brutally honest. "Because I wanted to fuck you, because I want to fuck you with every breath I take. Not because I'm doing either of us any favors."

The door swung open, letting in a momentary flash of sunlight as three white guys entered the bar. Two were scrawny skinheads. One was using, judging by the way he picked at the sores on his arms and twitched.

They all looked right at me. The one with the mullet jerked his eyes away fast and climbed onto a high-backed stool. I'd seen him when he'd driven past us. My hackles went up. Riley pushed at her burger, looked at it like there were worms crawling under the bun, and left it laying in the basket.

Plan B, Riley was staying with me.

I pulled out my phone to text Merc again. Not the group text, but Merc. My hesitation to alert everyone was the sort of thing that tore clubs apart. Archer had taught me that. But his blind trust had probably gotten him killed.

He taught me shit like that, too.

When the waitress came back, she slid a small piece of paper under my fingers. The red of Riley's cheeks darkened almost purple. She might not think she was jealous, but she was. Likely she thought this was my payback for Garza. And maybe it was.

The hairs on my arms prickled, my intuition telling me something bad was about to happen. My leg shook restlessly under the table—my body preparing for trouble.

When I fucked Riley, I let my guard down. Let myself forget who I was.

I wasn't leading the waitress on; I'd been leading Riley on. I hated myself for it. Deep down, knew I'd burn for it.

"What's going on?"

She was too perceptive. I glanced up from Merc's response.

If shit pops off, head to the clubhouse. Meet you there.

"Nothing."

"I'm seriously going to need you to respect me enough to stop lying to my face."

Why did she have to be so fucking cute with her righteous indignation? Her irritation was easier to deal with than the other emotions. I glanced over and caught Mullet watching us through the mirror behind the bar.

"There's so much shit happening right now, I don't know where to begin." A deflection, but fuck if it wasn't the truth.

"I'm good enough to screw but not good enough to talk to. Good to know." She pushed the basket back, stood with a grumbling mumble, and went to the bar.

The weathered bartender with the day's growth of white beard was more accommodating to her than the waitress had been. The rednecks following us were as well.

If I called her back, they'd know I was on to them. And that would cost me the element of surprise. Which I'd need to keep our asses intact.

I ate, but tasted nothing, and watched as Mullet chatted her up. The other two kept their distance for a while, focusing their attention on me. This guy was running the show. He was the one I'd take out first. Something else Archer had taught me, in a fight never stop moving, and cut the head off the snake.

With a crack of my neck, I drug a fry through ketchup and tossed it in my mouth. The waitress came back, and all but sat right in my basket of food when she propped a hip on the table.

Accustomed to women, to the shared way women like her put the moves on a guy, I only half listened. She tugged at the patches on my vest, working her way toward the t-shirt and my chest.

My attention was with Riley, especially when one of the skinheads flanked her. I took a few more bites of the burger as she caught my gaze in the mirror. Her discomfort was obvious, but she was too fucking stubborn to come back to me.

"A man like you needs a real woman." The waitress' laugh was low and sultry, her shorts inched up so high now they disappeared into her groin.

"Think so?"

"That little girl can't give you what you need."

Wrong again, lady.

I didn't hear anything else she said, as a familiar look furrowed Mullet's brow. He'd said the wrong something—and Riley was Archer's daughter. Her bristle was visible from across the room.

That was my cue. I took a fifty from my wallet and tossed it on the table.

"Hey, are you even listening, sugar?"

"Nope." I was on my feet, striding across the mostly empty seating area, before she had a chance to shout at me.

"Listen here, you mouthy bitch." Mullet grabbed Riley's arm and something flared white hot and deadly dangerous inside my chest.

Everything happened in a matter of seconds. There was a crackle and the snap of bone when I grabbed his hand and jerked it back, twisting his wrist and breaking a couple fingers in the process. His face contorted with pain.

Another thing Archer taught me: the elbow is the hardest point on the body and I needed my hands to ride. I smashed my left elbow into his face and threw him on the ground before the first skinhead scrambled toward me.

Riley smashed a glass right into his nose, blood and glass flying. He screamed like a bitch, grabbing at his face with both hands.

I don't think I'd ever been so proud in my life.

I punched the other skinhead before he could jump from his seat, and he folded over the side of it like a paper plate. Riley smacked against my chest, already running. Her gaze met mine as I moved, and there was an open realization in her eyes. She was far from stupid. Maybe she was more cut out for this life than I gave her credit for.

The anger that tingled through me, icy hot, was no doubt showing on my face. I damn sure wasn't trying to hide it. "Go!"

More were coming. Mullet was already on his phone. I hit the door and held it open for her, jumping on the bike and tossing her my phone.

"Text Merc that we're coming in hot!" I fired up the Harley.

As soon as her arms wrapped around my waist, I kicked up the stand and pitched the bike sideways, spitting gravel all over their big green truck.

I was in third gear, blasting down the highway before any of them made it from the parking lot.

A shrill, warm sound sang over the roar of the exhaust. I glanced over my shoulder to see Riley laughing with her face tilted toward the sun and her hair blowing behind her.

Something else licked against my rib cage, pushing away the anger and coating it with a warmth and comfort I'd never imagined possible.

I was a goner.