Loving Me, Trusting You (11 page)

“We are so fucking screwed,” Kimmi says, sighing so hard it echoes around the mic and makes my ears bleed. “They are going to chase us to the edge of the earth and back. I'm starting to wonder how desperate our future measures are going to have to be. I can't pull a job with Bested on my back.” We're on a private channel, Mireya, Beck, Austin, Amy, Kimmi, and me. Mostly, it's just been Kimmi and Austin chatting back and forth. Things don't sound promising.

“We should still hit Fort Walton,” Austin says, but he doesn't sound convinced. These types of dirty deeds used to be taken care of by Kent and who the hell knows who else. Not us, that's for fuck's sure. “Let's make contact with Broken Dallas, let 'em know our intentions and see how they like bein' swarmed with unwanted guests. Bested by Crows hasn't exactly gotten famous for their manners.” Mireya sighs behind me, shifting just a bit, so that her breasts press hard against my back, warming me up from deep down and making me crazy for it. Last night was nice, but it wasn't enough. Unfortunately, with all of this shit going down, I don't know how to make her pay attention to me.

“We're going to have to make tough choices, Austin,” she says, sliding her hands down my belly and tucking her fingers into the waistband of my jeans.
Jesus Mother Mary of fucking fuck.
I try not to let a groan slip.
Why the hell is she sitting so close though? She could lean back if she wanted. God knows there's enough room back there.
“We're going to have to decide how far we're willing to go to keep this group safe, to uphold our dignity, and to make sure that the open road stays open.” Her hands dip lower, rubbing over the stiff bulge in my pants, making me clench the handlebars so hard I'm afraid they're going to snap. “We don't want to get backed into a position where choices are made for us, not in a situation like this. I need to know how bloody this is going to get.” Mireya unzips me and for the life of me, I can't figure out what the hell she's doin'.

“I don't want anyone to get hurt,” Austin says, and I can feel Mireya sucking in a big breath behind me. “Anyone that means anythin' to me, that is.” The zipper comes down and Mireya's hand slides in, taking advantage of the fact that I didn't have time to wear shit all under my jeans. Her fingers wrap my cock, giving me a shock of white hot pleasure and a confusing slew of emotions.
She ain't pissed at me?
I wonder as I switch off my mic and let out a groan that gets lost in the rush of wind around us. I could flat-out shout and nobody would hear me.

“So we have the go ahead to make things right?” Kimmi asks, trying to get clarification for something that shouldn't need clarifying. I'm not saying it's alright to go around killing people, but in these circumstances, we might not have any other choice. Once Bested by Crows knows, really
knows
, that Tray Walker is dead, then we're screwed. They'll be seeking vengeance and they won't stop until they've got it. Whether that means killing some or all of us, or taking Mireya hostage, I ain't got no clue. As of right now, it's a little hard to concentrate on all that, important as it is. Sawyer's got my dick locked in a death grip, squeezing it so hard I swear to God, the poor fucker's about to break. But it feels so damn good. Right now, I've got the two things in the world that mean most to me: the road and my woman. Doesn't get much better than that. Well, I won't lie, if I could at least get this girl to tell me she loves me, or at the very least accept that I love her, that sure would be fucking nice. I dream of sliding a ring on her finger, claiming her for all the world to see, but that ain't never gonna friggin' happen.

“Make things safe, Kimmi,” Austin says, and I can imagine that he's thinking of Amy, dropping his hand to touch hers where they're clasped around his belly. Me, it's all I can do to keep hold of my bike and not crash us into the dirt on the side of the road. The wind is whistling all around me, stinging the bare skin of my cock as Mireya slides her hand up and down, moving the skin on my shaft and tensing my muscles with pleasure. I don't know why she's doin' what she's doin', but I like it. “Let's see if we can ride this out. Like my mama always said, I don't start shit, but I sure as hell will finish it.”

There's a buzz on the com, and then on comes a song I can actually relate to, even though I kinda wish I didn't. 'Casual Sex' by My Darkest Days bursts out through the speakers as Austin lifts up his bike and hightails it the fuck out of there, flying ahead of the group like he needs some space to think. Me, I couldn't think my way out of a cardboard box. Mireya is coaxing pre-cum from the head of my dick, slicking me up nice and good, letting the wild wind sting it hard. She works me fast and furious, drawing the breath from my lungs, choking the life out of me while I fight against an orgasm. Not often that that happens. No man wants to hold back his load, but shit, if I'm not on the back of a damn bike.

I drop one hand to hers, hoping I can keep us on the road with the other. My fingers tangle around hers, but she doesn't slow, just squeezes tighter and pumps faster, bringing me to the edge and dropping me straight off the fucking cliff.

I come hard and only barely, just
barely
manage to keep us on the pavement. When Mireya's satisfied that she's fucked me up enough, she withdraws her hand and leaves me with my dick hanging out of my damn pants.

It's not easy to get myself put together, so when we pause in the next town to refuel, I look like a damn fool. I am fucked up six ways to Sunday, breathing heavy and leaning over with my helmet in my lap. Mireya slides off behind me and pauses next to my left side, glaring down at me with narrowed eyes.

“And what in the hell was that for?” I ask her, glancing up with hair in my eyes. I brush it away, but I'm sweaty and sticky from the heat. The hair refuses to budge, sliding across my slick skin as I stare at the love of my life and the grudging respect in her eyes. She's mad at me, yeah. I was right about that. But she's not livid.

“Next time you pick me up like that, you're done,” she growls and then glances around like she's suspicious that someone might be listening in. “But thank you. For stopping me.” She puts her hands on her rounded hips, and drops her chin to her chest. “When I kill those sons of bitches, I want it to be with my mind in the right place and my intentions on my lips. If I'm going to hell, I might as well make it worth it.” Mireya lifts her head up suddenly and starts to turn away. Without a second thought, my hand shoots out and wraps her arm, halting her where she stands with one boot in a slick of oil.

“If there's any real justice in the world, you'll be marked a saint for removing those fuckers from the face of this earth.” She smiles tight-lipped at me and tries to move away, but I'm not done yet. Instead, I pull her back hard and fast, slamming her body against mine and smashing my lips to hers. My fingers tangle in her hair and my heart beats a rough, aching rhythm of want. With half of Triple M looking on, Mireya grabs me right back and kisses me fierce, nipping my lips and drawing blood. I fight her back, begging and commanding both with my mouth, asking her to indulge the burning desperation she's fired up in my blood. But no. Guess I'm being punished.

With a chuckle, Mireya shoves back, using a rough hand on my tender crotch as leverage.

“Barb,” she says, drawing the old woman's attention. She stands behind Mireya with a cigarette dangling from her mouth, either ignoring the myriad
no smoking
signs or just not giving a shit about them. Her white dreadlocks drape over her shoulders as she narrows her eyes on me. “Gaine told me the other night that he thinks about you a lot when he whacks it. Apparently, I'm not his dream girl. You are.” And then Mireya spins away in a cloud of crow-black hair and curves that could kill. I watch her go and only just manage to pull my gaze away when Old Barb snorts at me. She gives me a once-over that says she isn't very impressed with what she sees.

“Boy,” she asks, leaning close and squinting her eyes at me, wrinkles falling down her forehead like a damn avalanche. “I think you got splooge on your fuckin' shirt.”

“You are such a fucking asshole,” Beck crows, laughing his ass off as he follows me down the hallway to our rooms. Mireya's back with Austin and Amy, trying to figure out what to do with Christy. Me, I'm here suffering a constant barrage of insults about the damn jizz on my shirt.
Thank you, Mireya Sawyer.

“Leave me alone, Beck,” I growl at him, but he's not too good at taking hints. Instead, he follows me to the last door on the left and kicks his way inside, guffawing while I yank off my shirt and toss it to the floor. “I'm sure you're no stranger to walking around wearing badges of honor.” I kick the dirty tee against the dresser and retreat into the bathroom with a fresh one. It's got a saying on the front that embodies my current mood to perfection:
Up Fuck Creek Without a Paddle.
Yes, sirree, that's me in a nut shell. “Don't you have women to harass? Go find the local bar and pick yourself up a chick.”

“Now why would I be out doin' that when I've got a perfectly good asshole to fuck right here?” He chortles some more and I kick the bathroom door closed in his face, leaning over the counter with my fingers wrapped around the laminate. I let my head hang for awhile, trying to catch my breath. I'm not embarrassed. Okay, not
really
. I'm a little pissed that Old Barb turned me down for a tumble, but hey, that's the way the world works. You win some, you lose some. I smile. Frown. Mireya. I just don't know know what I'm going to do with that woman. I think briefly about joining Beck on his nightly prowl. I'm sure I could find a girl that would make the hurt go away. Thing is, I know that in the morning, it'd be back with a vengeance, screaming around me, telling me that I've betrayed my heart with my dick. I don't like that feeling, and it's a damn hard one to live with.

I sigh and lift my head up to look into the mirror, straightening myself and examining the tattoos on my chest and belly. I could use a new one. Ink always makes me feel better. I touch the broken heart tattoo on my left shoulder first, dipping my hand down to the viking on my chest, sliding my fingers down to the skull and the Triple M tat beneath it. And then I keep going, diving down and taking a naughty dip into my pants.

The whorls on my fingers feel like blades, slicing across my aching flesh and drawing more blood into my cock, making it solid and painful. I feel like I could fucking scream right now. At first, I didn't get Mireya's angle. I mean, who would turn down a hand job? But now I get it. That bitch knew exactly what it is that she was doing.

I use my other hand to rip open my pants, snapping the button off and sending it skidding across the white tiled floor. Beck slams his fist on the door and I ignore him, turning on the sink, so I can have some fucking privacy.

My right hand grips my shaft while my mind wanders, sliding right back to those fresh memories of Mireya's cruel fingers. I stroke myself, letting my eyes flicker closed for a moment while I savor the rush of pleasure that's coursing through my veins, poisoning me, spoiling me to anything or anyone else. Never thought I'd be this way. The day I turned thirteen, I lost my virginity to an older girl next door, just a few days before she left for college. And from that moment until the day I joined Triple M, I was a little nightmare on wheels. I had more sex in that brief time period than I have in the past seven years. But it wasn't great, wasn't even good. I'm in love. Never wanted to be, don't even really know how much I like it now, but I can't stop it. Love is an unstoppable force, a gale of emotions, pain and pleasure, joy and melancholy, ache and fulfillment. It doesn't discriminate and it never stops. It never goes away. I got bit in the balls and I can't pry off the jaws of fate.

I am so fucking screwed.

I reach forward and grab the complimentary lotion bottle that was left on the counter, sending up a silent apology to whoever put it there. Doubt they suspected that some guy would be slathering up his penis with it, wishing he was being swallowed up by a smart mouthed Spaniard turned Yankee with a tiny waist and heaving breasts, skin like bronze and eyes the color of melted fucking chocolate.

“Mireya,” I whisper, opening my eyes and staring at myself in the mirror. I'm a shirtless mess with my pants hangin' loose around my hips, my cock out and rigid, standing tall and quivering with need. I try to start slow at first, work my way up into a more satisfying orgasm, but I can't keep it in. Soon, I'm pumping so furiously that I find I can't stop, not even when I hear the bedroom door open and the harsh murmur of Mireya's voice as she tells Beck to fuck off. If anything, it makes it worse. I grit my teeth and pump myself into a wild fury, imagining Mireya beneath me, writhing in pleasure, calling out my name, begging me for more. In my mind, she gives herself fully to me, opens up and lets me in. I call her mine and she doesn't protest, she lets me have her the way I want her to have me. Fully and completely.

I'm so into my shit that I forget that the door didn't get locked behind me. Just as I'm reaching that pinnacle, watching myself in the mirror, staring my demons head on, the door opens. The muscles in my belly contract and I let loose, spilling myself all over the bathroom sink at the same moment somebody screams.