Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(103)

“Tyra –”

“You passed,” I whispered and his eyes heated as his face got closer, his hand shifting to cup my jaw and I finished, “Then last night, you failed.”

His head jerked back.

“What?”

“You put your hand to my throat and shoved me against the wall.”

“Tyra –”

“I’ll accept beer and tequila and eating chips out of a bag and dip out of jars and ten pounds of extra weight,” I told him. “I’ll accept people smoking pot and making out hot and heavy all around me. I’ll even do it, if I’m in the mood. Though maybe not the pot,” I carried on. “I’ll accept your brothers getting their rocks off whenever they want with whoever they want because that’s the way of your world and also, because you’re right, it’s none of my business. And lastly, having had time to think about it, it’s the way of any world. Men cheat, women do too. It happens everywhere, not just with bikers. Though, I must say, I don’t ever want to see it again in the flesh,” I shared and kept going. “And I’ll accept essentially being a second class citizen in your biker world but only if I’m treated with respect to my face and that shit does not come home. I’ll even accept rivers of blood because a man like you has to do what you have to do and part of the reason why you were the one is because you’re a man like you.”

I pulled in breath, held his eyes and finished.

“What I will not accept is being shoved against the wall, a car or even a pillow with your hand at my throat.”

To this, he replied immediately, “But your pulse is there, baby.”

My head jerked and I felt my brows shoot together because his soft response was not anywhere near what I expected.

“Pardon?” I whispered.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“That isn’t the point.”

“Yeah, darlin’, it is. Now answer, did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whispered.

“And I won’t,” he replied. “Ever,” he went on firmly. “Not like that,” he concluded.

“Tack –”

“Found my sister dead. OD.”

I blinked in shock at his words, the change in subject and, well, his freaking words!

Then I whispered, “What?”

“Dead. It was me who was with her, me who found her. Felt her throat, no pulse. I gotta tell you, Red, there is nothin’, not one thing in the world worse than puttin’ your hand to the throat of someone you love and… feelin’… nothin’.”

Oh my God.

“Tack –” I breathed.

“Rush was already born before she died but first thing I did when Tab was born was wrap my fingers around her throat to feel her pulse.”

Oh God.

“Handsome –” I whispered.

But my time to talk was done.

I knew this when Tack kept talking.

“I grew up in the life. My Dad was in a Club. His was different than Chaos. Started by veterans. Pissed. Jacked up. They had their reasons and I don’t got their experiences so I don’t judge. But his Club was about brotherhood, the end. Not country, not blood, but loyalty to your brothers. They thought country f**ked them over so that no longer factored. Blood came second place but only if the biker was the kind of man where his old lady or kid meant somethin’ to him. And they weren’t about freedom to live your life the way you want even if that way is raisin’ hell. They were radicals. They were into anything and everything, serious, whacked out shit, all of it. And everything they did was to f**k The Man.” His eyes held mine, they were intense, drilling into mine and his lips kept speaking. “And, ‘cause ‘a that shit, my Dad’s doin’ a long f**kin’ stretch, life for double homicide.”

Ohmigod!

“Yeah,” he muttered, watching me closely. “That a good thing to share when you’re gettin’ to know a sweet, feisty woman who you know’s gonna mean something to you?”

Oh God!

“Honey –”

“My Dad,” he cut me off, “was about the brotherhood, not blood. Spent my life watchin’ him knock my mother around. Spent my life knowin’ he f**ked around on her whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted and he did not give one shit that she or his kids knew. Spent that time vowin’, I got a good woman, which my Mom was in the beginning, that I would never, not ever, do that shit.”

His eyes were hard, resolute and I kept silent because I figured it was now “later” so I had to take what was coming to me.

And I wanted it.

So I kept quiet and took it.

“Got an older brother,” he kept going. “He hit eighteen, he joined the Air Force. Got the f**k out. Dad was in prison by then and Mom had convinced herself she wasn’t worth shit so she just kept hookin’ up with shitheel biker after shitheel biker that treated her like Dad or worse. Don’t blame my brother for gettin’ the f**k out. Do blame him for never turnin’ back. Didn’t hear from him then, don’t now, don’t even know where the f**k he is. He left me and Kimmy to that. By the time I was free, I just wanted out so bad, I couldn’t see anything else. So I got on my Dad’s old Harley, took off and left her to that too.”