Loving Me, Trusting You(10)

“Of course it does,” I growl at him from across the counter. “You're a blundering idiot that doesn't think things through. You want to rob a bank?” I hiss. “You think that's a good idea right now? The cops are going to be looking for somebody to pin those murders on. You don't think we should be worried about that?”

“I think,” Austin says, interrupting me before I can really get going. He doesn't want to hear what I have to say, that's for sure. Once I get started, I won't be able to stop. I think I'll just keep talking until the words turn to screams and then sobs. I've got a lot going on inside right now, most of which I don't understand. I feel conflicted and lost. I don't like it. I don't like it at all. “That the cops don't give a shit about some broken ass bikers. They'll call it a gang war and write it off like they always do. Nobody but us cares whether we live or die, and that's,” Austin says, rising to his feet as little Miss Perfect appears from the elevator and casts a shy smile his way. “Why I think avoiding Bested by Crows is more important than avoiding the cops. Let's just get to Fort Walton, get this money and have a little sand and surf.”

“You asked us down here for our opinions, right?” I ask him, spinning around on the chair as he steps back and wets his lips. He wanted a 'meeting', so he's going to get one. I don't care that Miss Amy walked into the room all saccharine sweet, the white fabric of the dress she's just changed into swirling about her delicate ankles as she pauses by the elevator banks and tosses Austin a smile. To his credit, the man pauses and turns to look at me, tall and sweaty, dirty from a hard day's ride. I want to feel something for him, anything for him, but I don't. I feel nothing but emptiness. I stare Austin's dark eyes down. “Well, I think coming back here is a f*cking mistake. We're, what, rescuing another poor, Southern belle from her daddy's hard hand? That's not what we're about, Austin. Triple M is counting on you to take care of them, not get them hauled into a police station for questioning. We need to ride fast and lay low. I say we get the hell out of here and don't look back.”

Austin stares at me for a long moment and sighs, putting out a hand and squeezing my shoulder.

“You've got good points, Sawyer, but I have to do this.”

“For who?”

He looks me straight in the eye when he answers.

“For Amy.”

I grit my teeth solid, but don't try to stop him as he walks away.

“Why did he even call us down here, if he wasn't willing to listen?” I ask, grabbing my beer and draining it with one last eye roll towards the ceiling. Hombres. They think with their nuts first, their hearts second, and their brains never.

“Well,” Kimmi says, ever the Austin advocate. He could advise us to ride to hell and back and that girl would stand by his side and toot his horn for all the world to hear. “We need to choose a new Road Captain, somebody to scout out the road ahead of us, decide where we're going to refuel, where we're going to sleep.” Kimmi nurses her beer for a moment and brushes some hair behind her ear, sending her bright, ruby red earring swinging like a pendulum. Her green eyes are vibrant, like fresh cut grass, and I can smell her perfume from here. Such a doll, but a badass, too. I really do like her, even if she pisses me off. “I was going to wait for Austin to come back because this sounds f*cking pompous as shit, but … what do you think about me being the Vice President?” She looks up and casts her eyes down the counter, focusing her pinprick pupils on me.

“What do I give a shit? You're the one that has to tell the group that you got cherry picked by their new leader.” Gaine coughs and opens his mouth to interject, but Kimmi's already pursed her pink lips and started in on me.

“Who says we need a popular vote? He's the Pres. His word his law, and he wants me to be Vice. You have a problem with that, princess?” I order yet another beer, desperate for the alcohol to hit my system and do something to it. I've become immune to booze over the years. After all, we're bikers, we drink. That's what we do. Right now, I doubt anything less than a gallon of moonshine could knock me off this stool onto my ass.

“We going to pretend to be a real MC now? Maybe we should vote in a Treasurer and a Sergeant-at-arms? Have 1% stitched onto our jackets? No, no, I know. Let's all sit around and watch Sons of Anarchy and then bitch about how we're not following all the rules set down by a f*cking TV program?” The beer comes up and I close my lips around it, sucking down the bitter hops in a few controlled contractions of my throat. When it comes, I keep going. “Or maybe we should chase down Bested by Crows and ask what we're doing wrong?” I look Kimmi right in the face, letting the anger swirl around me like a dark cloud. I don't mean to be this way. Somewhere inside of myself, I get that I'm difficult, but I can't stop the outbursts. I feel like a little girl trapped inside a woman's body. I have the idea of how I should act, but feel like I have no control. My fists clench at my sides tight and my nails dig into my palms, drawing the slightest sting of blood. It drips down to my knuckle and rolls to the floor with a silent splash I swear everybody around me can hear. “Don't try to mimic them, Kimmi. Don't let Austin try to mimic them. We are what we are, and we're better than everybody else. In a 'real' MC, you wouldn't be Vice. You wouldn't even be a member. Remember that next time you guys decide to make plans. We should be fighting everything they are and showing people that it goes beyond the bullshit, beyond the jackets and the emblems.” I touch a hand to my chest, and I have no idea where all of this is coming from. Maybe it's just been bottled up inside for so long, I don't know what to do with it anymore? “It's about the wind and the road and the sound of a purring engine. It's about being free and owning yourself, doing what's right for you and nobody else. That's it.”