Claiming Crusher (Savage Brothers MC #4)(7)

I look down and see my hands shake. Shit. I can’t do this right now. I fight to keep Nic and Ray clueless to the things I deal with. They’ve done enough and seriously, I don’t want their pity. I can’t handle that.

“Hey, I’m thirsty!” I call out to Nic. I’m not. We’re only about fifteen or twenty minutes from the house we’ve rented. Yet, if I don’t get a drink and one of my pills, this panic attack will go from zero to sixty and I’m going to let all my crazy hang out. I can’t do that. I can’t…I won’t.

We’re just thirty minutes away!” She yells back, and you can tell she’s not excited about stopping.

“Big damn deal, let’s get some drinks and chocolate, girl!” I yell back, the music is annoying me and grating on my nerves. Panic attacks and loud noises do not mix, but this song, this speaker thumping sounds like something Dani would want.

Nic flips on her turn signal to get over and takes the upcoming exit.

I wrap a band in my hair, attaching a messy bun at the back of my neck. I need to keep my hands busy and hide the shaking.

“Whatcha’ want, bitch?” I ask, yelling over the music. Ludacris is blasting through the speakers. There’s this pain behind my eyes and the blinding black spots are still floating in my vision. I need to get out of here quick. There are people everywhere and it feels like all of their eyes are on me. Goosebumps skitter across my skin and a blast of cold…stark cold fear, chills me to the bone.

“Pepsi, fountain if they have it,” she says back, her attention landing on a bunch of bikers to the side of the parking lot. I nod and try not to run into the gas station. I manage, barely. It is definitely a fast pace, with my head down. I’m counting backwards from a hundred in my head, trying to stave off the attack. My eyes are glued to my feet as I say a number in my mind with each footstep, making them smooth and rhythmic to try and slow my thoughts and heart rate down. I really should have looked up, because I run into a solid steel wall—of muscle.

I look up to see the sexiest man I have ever laid eyes on in my life. Skin tanned and warmed lovingly by the sun, beautiful dark hair scattered in different directions with the wind, a leather biker cut over his chest with a black, sleeveless tank under that and tattoos, lots of tattoos. Praise Jesus, this man has gorgeous ink and he looks like a piece of art. In another life, this man would have made Melinda pray he noticed her. Would he notice Melinda? In her retro-styled dresses and perfectly pulled back pony tail and looking like she belonged on the set of ‘Leave It to Beaver’?

Somehow I doubt it. This guy is a charmer, I can just tell by the look in his eyes. He’s probably been in more pants than he will ever remember. He likes Dani. I’m wearing my cut-to-your-ass jean shorts. They look worn and frayed, but I just bought them last week. I have on a hot pink tank that reads, ‘Smooth As Tennessee Whiskey’, Jimmy Choo stiletto heels that are too f*cking tight and silver bangles on one arm that jingle when I walk. My hair is a mess despite pulling it back and my face has no makeup on, save for Dani’s signature red lipstick. Yeah, he likes what he sees. My heart kicks up yet again, whether it’s because the panic attack is getting closer to the point of no return, or the way the man in front of me makes my body tingle—I’m not sure. I shouldn’t like the way he is looking at me, I shouldn’t take pride in it. I find I do, and that’s just weird. What would the biker think if he knew I’d rather be home wearing a sweater and sweat pants? What would he think if I did what I really wanted to do with these f*ck-me shoes and throw them in the garbage?

He puts his hand on my shoulders to steady me, which wasn’t needed. I might be tall, and these shoes might be dangerous and very conducive to falling, but I’m not going to. Shit, I dance in shoes higher than this. The only thing surprising me at this moment is how tall the man is. He’s taller than me—even in my heels.

His touch sends heat through me and immediately my body coils in fear. I stiffen my back to hide that reaction and do what I trained myself to do when I created Dani, show no fear and be a badass.

“You going to let me go so I can get in the store stud, or stand there and eye-f*ck me all day?” I ask, full of attitude. I want to cringe, but I ignore the impulse, Dani wouldn’t give a f*ck and this is who I am now. So I disregard everything, including the sweat trickling down my back and the wave of nausea in my stomach.

“Sorry, Darlin’, didn’t mean to mow you down,” he says and that country boy accent and good ole’ southern boy charm oozes off of him.

I like it. I like it too much. I shake my head, more at myself than at Biker-Cowboy. Then, I move around him. He lets me go and I’m through the door and scanning for the restroom area when his voice stops me again.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

For a minute I don’t turn around, instead I close my eyes and try to still the thoughts spinning in my head. I’ve got to get away. I look over my shoulder, but even as I do, I’m aware that part of my mask has slipped. I’m too close to the edge.

“Today, I’m not even sure,” I reply, hating how sad my answer comes out. I push through the store, ignoring the small crowd of people and hunt out the restroom.

Thankfully it’s one of those single restrooms and completely empty. I lock the door and lean against it for a minute. I need to catch my breath. I count quietly and get to fifty before my pulse begins to slow. I reach in the pocket of my jeans and pull out a small pill case. I cup water out of the sink, using it to wash down the pill.