Loving Me, Trusting You(52)

“Let's lie low and try to keep out of their hair then,” Austin says as he drifts towards one of the upcoming exits. “If we can get everyone safely to St. Marlin's then I'll be tickled f*ckin' pink. A few days to breathe would be nice, and I don't think a visit to the beach would hurt anyone neither.” He tries to make light of the situation, and I hear him chuckle. “I sure would love to see Amy in a swimsuit, I might add.”

“Saw it last night, boss, and it was mighty fine. Girl has got a body.” Beck opens his damn mouth and inserts his foot. I smile, too, but I know it doesn't reach my eyes. I don't feel it deep down. This expression is strictly on my face. I think of the girl lying in the grass back there and I wonder what they did to her and how I'm ever going to be able to make that up in life. And then there's Mireya … Do I tell her? I think about that for a second, but the answer is obvious: no. If she wants to hate me for lying to her, then so be it. I can't watch her be dealt another blow by these motherf*ckers. I just need them to go the f*ck away and leave us alone. Even if it takes another ten years, I'm sure I can get her to forgive me. I know I can.

I keep my eyes focused on the pavement in front of me, zoning into myself and letting my motorcycle warm me up from within. When all hell's broke loose and you got no one to turn to, your ride is there for you. Stupid as that sounds. It'll hold you up when you're down and take you places you never thought you'd go. If I could, I'd ride for days straight, stop only to refuel. Instead, I try to think of Mireya's lips on mine, her hands in my hair. It's going to be a long time before I ever get the pleasure of holding her in my arms again. One step forward, two steps back, right?

We ride straight on, the silence of the group heavy around us. It's like there's a climax building that we can all feel, a crescendo that's coming too fast. We don't have time to think, just to react. That's life, I suppose. It doesn't give you warnings, and it refuses to wait its turn. There ain't nothing I can do about that except go along for the ride.

We move together like a flock of birds, a perfect unit, burning up highways and tucking miles under our belt like they mean nothing. When the sun rises in the sky, we don't stop, we continue underneath its boiling gaze for as long as we can, moving as fast as I've ever seen. The longer I sit there, the more time I have to think. The more I keep going back to Mireya's face, to those chains, to her expression after I grabbed her.

She's done with this, I know she is. She's ready to move on. God, I can f*cking feel it! It's driving me nuts. How can I expect her to accept me, to take the next step together when she's chained to the past? With Amy in the picture and Austin tied up in heartstrings, I thought I was good to go, that the last obstacle to her heart was gone. I was wrong. This is it. She can't rest until this crap is done and buried.

“Where we at, Pres?” Beck asks after awhile. The noise is so unexpected that I swerve a bit and catch sight of Mireya moving up beside me. She looks so perfect on the back of that ride, even if it is a bit rickety for my tastes. Her body is round and smooth, bent over like a race car driver. Even with Christy clinging to her for dear life, she looks graceful and strong, like a predator hunting prey. There's power there, and confidence. All of that paired with an ass I could stare at forever. It's almost too much. I force my eyes back to the road, but I know my cock is rock solid, waiting for her, always waiting.

“Just about there,” he replies. “I'd say we've got less than an hour until we hit the coast.”

“And just enough daylight to hit the beach,” Kimmi adds with a smile in her voice.

“I want to talk to you all when we get there,” Mireya says, and I'm glad to hear she's on the channel now. “I've got something to say if that's alright.” She pauses. “If my opinion even matters.”

“Of course it does,” Austin responds automatically, but I doubt she's convinced. “If y'all have something to say, feel free. Hell, even if you don't got something to say, tell me, so I know you're in. This isn't going to work without your support. It's damn near impossible to go it alone.” His voice trails off, and I know he's thinking of the massive burden he's just swallowed. It's going to be tough, but I know he can do it. “So, sugar, you tell us whatever you want and we'll listen.”

“Good,” Mireya says, and I can hear the frown in her voice. “Because you're not going to like it.”





Eating the wind nourishes the soul, and it gives you plenty of time to think.

By the time I get to the hotel in St. Marlin's, I know exactly what it is that I'm going to do. I just hope everyone else is behind me. If they're not, then f*ck 'em. I am tired of this crap, tired of running from my memories, already sick to death of the effect it's having on Triple M. I look down at the MMM tat that rests in the crook of my elbow and take a deep breath. Gaine's not going to like my plan, that's for f*cking sure, but he's going to deal with it. I'm not going to give him a choice. Despite what he might think, I'm capable of making my own decisions.

I grab my bag and watch as Christy climbs off. If this all works out, and I make it through this shit okay, I'll be a better sponsor in the future. Lo siento, Christy, I think as I watch her eyes take in yet another new space, a different climate. I'm sure there are all sorts of things going through her head, enough to fill a novel twice the size of Amy's smut rag. Which you loved, you dirty slut. Don't deny it. I ignore my inner voice and toss my bag over my shoulder, letting it hang heavy against my spine. Considering it's all I own in this world, it doesn't seem so bad. When you travel this much, you learn to appreciate non-material things instead. I collect sights instead of items, sunsets and vistas, towering high-rises and quiet, suburban streets. Everything has its magic hidden somewhere. The only thing I give a shit about is my bike, and that's more like a friend or family member instead of an object. I throw up a silent prayer for my Triumph Bonneville and pretends that it's not lying trashed on the side of the road somewhere. It deserved better than that.