CHAPTER TEN

CHRISTIAN

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I stay with the pair the rest of the time in the grocery store. Not because I’m worried someone might kidnap me but because Mira stole the last pack of triple stuffed Oreos, and I like the way she looks walking ahead of me. Hips swaying. Hair a shiny wave down her back. I definitely enjoy the view when she bends over to grab anything from a lower shelf; that skirt isn’t designed for bending unless it’s for the wearer to get fucked from behind.

I’m not the only one who notices. A few men have nearly walked into shelves doing a double take. One guy circled the aisle twice. Didn’t grab a thing either time but took several long glances at Mira before hurrying off.

Daniel and I exchange glances every time it happens, sharing a grin behind Mira’s back.

We’re both possessive, obsessive and jealous assholes, but as long as they don’t touch her, they can look all the hell they want. Mira’s fucking gorgeous. I don’t blame them. I can hardly take my eyes off her.

In line, while Daniel empties our cart onto the leather belt, Mira grabs a fall recipe magazine and flips through it. She doesn’t notice the glances we’re thrown. The hushed whispers are a little harder to miss, but she seems preoccupied by some parsley soup concoction that she turns to show me.

“Would you eat this?”

It takes a lot of effort to keep my voice even, my face neutral as two bitches in the line over point at Mira and whisper to each other behind their hands.

“Sure, sweetheart,” I tell her, slipping my arm around her middle and dragging her into my chest as if that might protect her.

“They don’t bother me,” she whispers, head still bent over the glossy pages. Her face tips back to meet my gaze when I don’t answer. “Does it bother you?”

I give my head a slight shake. “Fuck’em.”

Her smile is breathtaking, stealing every other thought from my brain. “Exactly.”

I hang on to her even as Daniel pays and returns the paper bags back into the cart. My arm stays securely around her middle all the way to the car. I yank open her door and help her up before moving to the truck bed to unload the groceries with Daniel.

“Hate this fucking place,” he mutters when I join him. “We need to figure this house thing out and get the fuck out of here before one of us actually kills someone.”

I haul a bag out and pass it to him. “Agreed.”

Stan Motor’s Junkyard and Impound sits isolated from the town by almost twenty minutes down the highway. Technically, it doesn’t belong to Jefferson. It’s just on the border, but since there isn’t another town for miles, Jefferson adopted the place.

Currently, it’s the prison where my baby is being held hostage. It’s been hours since she was taken from me and I’m terrified of the things they might have done to her. My gut is an anxious pit of snakes as Stan — a beefy bulk of a man with a beer belly to make any pregnant woman envious, and a scowl that could curdle milk — hobbles out from behind the cluttered desk with my keys in his meaty fist and stalks out of the office.

I follow hot on his heels as he makes his way around back and through a jungle of crushed, rusted, and abandoned vehicles. Some were no more than metal frames, abandoned skeletons of what used to be while others were crushed cubes. I pray for the safety of my baby as we round a bend to the designated impound area and I finally breathe a sigh of relief.

The late afternoon sun glints along the chrome and fiberglass frame, shines off the handles.

My baby.

It’s disgraceful how she’s tucked up in some shithole surrounded by dead machinery. The fact that they just stuffed her in a corner has me snatching the keys out of Stan’s greasy fingers.

“Better not find a scratch on her,” I warn him. “I’ll break both your kneecaps.”

Stan only purses his thick lips and glowers, but I’m already hurrying over to my bike, circling her. Checking for even a knick.

Only when I’m satisfied she’s okay do I swing my leg over her back and get her out of that place.

I pull up alongside Daniel’s truck a moment later. The engine idles as I sit up and glance over to find Mira’s window down, her arms folded on the frame as she studies my bike with a deep look of longing I feel to my core.

My baby is a thing of beauty. I practically built her from the ground up myself, sparing no expense. She’s my pride and joy, and no one — absolutely no one — is allowed on her, but me. I know other bikers want backpacks, or whatever kids call them nowadays. They want cute girls to cling to them, and that’s fine if that’s what they want, but not on my baby.

That has always been my firm stance. An unwavering line I never let any woman cross.

Until Mira and the soft, adorable pucker of her bottom lip.

Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even ask.

But goddamn it.

“Want to go for a ride, sweetheart?” I hear my traitorous voice ask.

But the way her eyes light up, the way she perks, bolting upright and turning to peer at Daniel makes it impossible to have regrets.

“Can I?”

Daniel hesitates. I know my choice of transportation isn’t his favorite. Never has been. I know he thinks it’s wildly dangerous and I’m almost prepared to hear some excuse about risking Mira’s life, but he sighs, and nods.

“Don’t pull any crazy shit,” he tells me, like I would risk Mira’s safety, or my bike.

With a squeak, Mira throws open her door and hops out.

I pull out my spare helmet and dismount. She’s watching me with the same excited glimmer as when she was talking to me about cookies. That sheer, untainted joy that has her practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. The kind of excitement that makes a man want to lap it off her lips.

My own lips twitch under the dark tint of my helmet as I tuck hers over her soft curls and adjust the strap under her chin. I have to stop myself from dipping my thumb into the tiny dimple when I tuck my index finger into the strap and — slightly unintentionally — tug her close and force her flushed face up to mine.

Unlike mine, her face is visible. I can see her eyes widen and her lips part. She’s searching my tinted visor, but I know she can’t see me tracing her mouth.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?”

She’s still searching, eyes darting over the sleek, black plastic. “Yes,” she whispers at last.

My hold on her strap tightens and I drag her closer still. “You’re going to have to wrap your arms and legs around me, Mira, and hold tight as my bike vibrates between your thighs the whole way back, and you’re not wearing panties.”

I feel her sharp inhale as the realization dawns. I hear it in her uneven exhale. I watch it in the shaky sweep of her tongue across her lips. The color in her cheeks darken, making her freckles stand out.

“I’ll be okay, and I am ... wearing panties.” Her grin is adorably smug. “I took them back and put them on at the grocery store.”

I frown even though she can’t see it. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Mira chuckles. “It was getting too breezy ... and messy.”

That confession tightens my gut and hardens my dick.

I groan. “Fuck, baby.” I draw in a deep, bracing breath. “Get on, little brat.”

She’s still grinning when I let her go and step back. I drag off my jacket and pull it around her naked shoulders. It hangs on her tiny frame, but it will keep her warm.

Without another word, I straddle my bike. Mira waits for my guidance and instructions before climbing up behind me. Her naked thighs spread wide around my hips, and I tell her to get closer. I position her arms around my waist and bunch her fingers together low, low on my midsection.

Again, unnecessary, but if she accidentally brushes or grabs anything ... shit happens.

I shoot Daniel a two-finger salute as I rev the engine. Mira gives him a little wave before clasping me once more.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” I shout over the rumble of my baby.

Mira wiggles closer and tightens her hold. I smirk to myself as I hit the gas.

I don’t miss her little squeak of surprise at the initial jolt. I deeply regret not having a built-in mic on her helmet. Mine does, but since I don’t let people on, the spare helmet is just a precaution, hence the very standard secondary covering. But I wish I’d upgraded just to hear her.

We hit the highway. It’s longer. A full forty minutes more, but I’m not ready to end this. I want Mira wrapped around me. I want her arms around my ribs. Her chin on my back. I want the open road and the cool wind clawing at my skin.

Daniel’s behind us. I can see his truck in the mirrors. I can lose him easily, but I want him to see Mira’s long legs open wide for me. I want him to catch glimpses of her skirt lifting over her ass.

We arrive at the house at the same time. I pull into my spot as Daniel gets into his. Mira stays seated until I cut the engine and straighten my hands off the bars.

“That was amazing!” she breathes, chuckling softly.

I turn slightly to help her down. She wobbles getting to her feet, but I catch her. Instinct has me hooking her waist and pulling her to me. To my chest.

She’s in my arms. Her hands braced on my shoulders. Her eyes are bright with excitement. Her cheeks red from the wind. And her smile...

Fuck me, her smile is damning and inches from my visor.

“Sorry.” She chuckles. “My legs are wobbly.”

I groan at the thought of how else I could make her legs wobbly.

“A few more rides and you’ll be a pro,” I tell her.

Her smile widens. “You’ll let me ride with you again?”

Fuck.

“As often as you like.”

I regret fucking nothing when my little brat beams and I wish I didn’t have my helmet on so I could kiss that fucking mouth.

Instead, a scuffle has her glancing over her shoulder. Daniel is at the truck bed, unlatching the hatch to grab the groceries.

“Thank you for the ride,” she’s saying when I focus away from my brother.

I drag my helmet off and reach to unsnap the buckle on hers. Her hair falls in a wild tangle of curls around her shoulders. She’s still leaning against me. Her tiny hands practically half buried in the long sleeves of my jacket are bunched up in my t-shirt.

Barely twenty four hours and I’m ready to promise my soul to the devil for just a taste of her mouth. Nothing more. Just a fucking kiss.

“Hold on to it,” I tell her when she starts to take my jacket off.

She pauses. Her thick lashes lift, and she fixes her gaze on my face, searching. Assessing. Looking for something I’m not sure she’s going to find.

“Thank you for today,” she says at last, and I think for a second she means for the ride, but she continues, “For what you did back at the Sheriff’s office. For being there.”

Against my better judgement, I reach up and hook a dark strand of hair off her bottom lip. Let my finger graze the plump fold and watch it part.

“I would have killed all of them for you.”

I don’t know when her arms found their home around my shoulders, but I don’t give a shit as I pull her closer. Tighter. My heart is drumming wildly in my chest, a rampant, unfamiliar tempo I don’t recognize when the tiny creature in my arms closes the distance and presses her puffy lips to my cheek. The one she’d struck.

The spot burns like she’s stuck me with a lit match. It tingles and pulses and I almost touch it when she pulls back a notch and kills me with that mischievous smile of hers.

“I’m still angry with you for last night, but...” her grin broadens. “I’m really close to forgiving you.”

My eyebrow lifts at her teasing. “How close?”

Her button nose crinkles, but she’s grinning when replying slyly, “Seconds.”

Fuck!

I watch her pivot on her heels, sending her skirt flaring around her thighs before she hurries to where Daniel’s waiting for her. I can’t hear what she tells him but I hear his resigned, “Of course he did.”

We work together bringing the groceries up to the house. We load the cupboards and pantry. The fridge has to be emptied and scrubbed before anything new can be put away. Dad, the pig that he was, hadn’t cleaned anything out in six years — according to the expiration on a jar of liquid shit tucked behind a block of moldy cheese.

Somehow, that task broadens to wiping down the kitchen. Washing the tower of crusty dishes piled in the sink. Scrubbing the floors and vacuuming the rugs. All the bedding gets stripped and washed. The furniture is dusted, the stairs swept, and even the bathrooms get tackled. Mira pries open every window in the place while Daniel and I haul trash bag after trash bag from the house to the shed around back. They’re locked up to keep the animals away.

With the dust and grime the old man had let accumulate over the years polished and washed away, I find myself at the kitchen counter, dicing green peppers on a wooden block, listening to Daniel and Mira argue over chicken or steak to go with fajitas even though Daniel has strips of chicken browning in the skillet already.

“Chicken is so basic,” Mira says, metal tongs clicking as she mixes the salad next to me. Her arm bumps mine occasionally. I don’t mind.

“Chicken is classic,” Daniel argues. “It goes with everything.”

“So does steak.” Task complete, Mira settles her tongs in the bowl, dusts her hands and faces Daniel fully. “In fact, I’m pretty sure—”

We don’t hear the rest of her statement when a light, tinkling sound cuts her off. Her head pivots to the living room with an expression of puzzled confusion.

“It’s my phone.”

Her tone suggests that getting calls isn’t a normal occurrence, but the way she hesitates, glances at Daniel, I can’t help wonder if she’s expecting bad news.

Daniel sets his fork down in the sauce catcher and faces her. “Want me...?”

Mira shakes her head even as the ringing continues. “I’m sure it’s nothing. You’re here. There’s no one left anyway.”

No further context is given when she brushes her hands restlessly down her thighs before leaving to find her phone.

“What did she mean?” I ask once she’s out of ear shot. “That there’s no one left.”

Daniel picks up his fork and moves a strip of chicken across the lightly greased pan. His head is down, face focused, but I can see the shifting knot in his jaw from a mile away.

“It’s been a rough year for her.” He lifts his chin a fraction to peer over at me. “She lost her whole family last year. She gets nervous when the phone rings.”

“There’s no one left anyway.”

I get that.

Daniel and I have no one left either. We lost Mom years ago, before the biggest scandals to hit Jefferson took place, a fact Dad was never shy in bringing up.

“Thank God your mom killed herself before she had to see what degenerates her sons have become.”

Losing her was the thing that pushed me and Daniel closer. I mean, we were always close, but after we lost her and Dad was the nightmare we had to face afterwards, we became an untied wall of steel. We bonded over belt welts, bruises, broken bones.

And the things we didn’t talk about.

I’m not attracted to my brother. Despite the rumors, the lies, we never fucked. We seldom even touched. Sure, it happens in the moment by accident, but I never looked at my brother’s cock and wanted it. It was never like that for either of us.

But when you live through the shit we had to deal with every day and the only escape was going to school or staying out until the old man had drunk himself unconscious, you become more than just brothers. You become soldiers bonded together through war, loss and grief. You become almost the same person in two bodies, so close that I could be miles away and feel Dad’s fist breaking two of Daniel’s ribs. Almost died getting home that night, bat in hand, ready to beat the fucker dead only to find him passed out in the couch and Daniel a bloody mess at the bottom of the stairs.

Shit like that haunts you. The only thing that gets you through is the knowledge that you’re not alone.

I had Daniel and he had me.

Who did Mira have? I guess Daniel. It made sense why they were so close. I understood that bond.

Trauma bond.

I read that somewhere once.

The clink of metal striking ceramic has my attention darting to Daniel as he pinches his fingers on the rag hanging off the bar on the stove. His head is turned to the door, expression tense.

“I’m going to check—”

Mira returns then, phone still in hand. “Wrong number,” she says with a tight chuckle and an awkward wave of the device. “A guy looking for Jim. I don’t think I’ve ever even met a Jim.”

With a deep breath, she sets the phone on the small table Mom kept for bills next to the doorway. Her hands are shaking, I note and I have to resist the urge to go to her.

“Come here,” Daniel tells her firmly, no humor in sight.

She doesn’t hesitate. She crosses to him at an almost run and steps right into his chest. His arms close around her protectively.

“It’s stupid. You’re here. It shouldn’t still make me feel this sick to my stomach.”

Daniel sighs into the top of her head. “Give it time.”

I hear her shaky inhale, but Daniel catches my eye. Without a word, he motions with his chin in the direction of her phone.

I don’t ask for clarification. I move to it quietly and hit the button on the side until it powers off. I’m not sure that’s what he wanted, but he seems satisfied when I look at him again.

We eat dinner in semi silence broken occasionally by the scrape of cutlery and glass. I’m not in the mood to chat anyway, but the nagging persists in my gut, a gnawing pulse to say something. To distract Mira. To wipe that pensive furrow from her brow.

Daniel seems to at least share my unease. He also keeps glancing at her. The fact that he hasn’t said anything either makes me feel less useless.

“Do you want to watch a movie or go for a drive?” he asks her softly as we finish up the dishes and wipe the kitchen down.

“Oh, you guys don’t have to keep me company.” She twists her wet fingers in a dish rag and glances between us. “You haven’t seen each other in ages. Why don’t you two go out for drinks? Or whatever men do. I have a bed, a book and a whole pack of triple stuffed Oreos upstairs with my name on it.”

Daniel and I share glances. I’m expecting him to refuse, but he turns back to Mira.

“Are you sure?”

She smiles and nods. “Go. Have fun. Catch up. I’ll hold down the fort.”

Daniel goes to her and I leave the room to give them privacy; the way Mira has her face tilted up to his as if in invitation suggests I’m about to become a third wheel and not in the way I like.