Knight (103 page)

I cut around the corner at a full sprint, pushing past the teenagers poking through a jewelry kiosk. My bags rustled behind me and slammed into the packages laying at their feet. Two pairs of boots, a makeup case, and half a dozen bottles of nail polish went flying.

I swore instead of apologizing. The teenagers squealed. I was pretty sure most of their purchases sailed over the second-story railing and onto the mall shoppers below, but I didn’t stop to check. I pitched my milkshake into a garbage bin and ducked inside a Field and Stream store to lose my tail.

One of  these days, I wasn’t going to make such horrible decisions.

Like practically begging to stay with Brew instead of taking his offer and running home. He gave me the money, the gun, and the ticket. I might have hopped the bus and been halfway to somewhere warm and tropical, far from my bar and all the trouble it caused.

Staying on the road was more dangerous than facing Goliath.

That wouldn’t be a problem for much longer. We didn’t have many places left to hide.

The store wasn’t big. It also wasn’t populated, especially at this time of night. I aimed for the clothing section and ducked between the stands of flannel shirts and coveralls.

This so wasn’t my store.

It didn’t have any leather, it didn’t have any alcohol, and anything woodsy reminded me of the lake cottage I tried to forget.

My hand rattled over my phone. I typed a quick message without looking at the screen, staring only at the two bikers who chased after me. The older man with grey hair and a pistol tattooed on his cheek separated from his partner and searched in the fishing section for me. The other, a man about Brew’s age, stalked to the registers, glancing over the exit to the parking lot and the widened door leading into the mall. I snapped the picture of their insignia, sending the blurry text to Brew.

He responded immediately.

Kingdom

All the hours spent running from Temple, and we were caught by the men hunting for me. Their collateral. Their only way to find Brew and exact their revenge for a crime he didn’t commit.

It was a bad time to go shopping. My phone buzzed again.

Get out of there

Like the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I squeezed between two clothing racks and eyed a precariously stacked display of fishing poles. Both bikers rushed between the aisles, searching for me in a quick jog that slammed their boots against the linoleum like the crack of a hammer against a skull.

East parking lot, by the theater

Brew was close, but not close enough. The men circled like wolves and, Christ, I didn’t want to be around when they attacked.

A stray shopping cart tucked near me. I took my chance and grabbed the buggy, wheeling it into the aisle and launching into the display of fishing poles. I didn’t stick around to watch the crash. I sprinted to the exit just as the chaos struck. The men swore and shouted, but the diversion worked. I avoided the main exit and hit an emergency door instead.

Every alarm in the store screamed as soon as it burst open. I spilled into the parking lot.

A hand seized me by my hair and pulled me to my feet.

I didn’t recognize the man, but the patch on his jacket matched the emblems my other stalkers. The bandana covering his head stained with old blood. A fresh bruising scraped his knuckles.

I shouted. His backhand was quicker than my cry. I coughed in surprise, but his grip tightened on my hair.

“We’ve been looking for you, little girl,” he said. “You’re a week late on your club’s payment, and I don’t think you’ll like how we collect the interest.”

Neither would he. I kicked quick, slamming my foot between his legs. He grunted, reflexively releasing my hair. I beat him with two of my bags, breaking the handles and losing my new pair of jeans and helmet.

The man stumbled, and it was enough of an escape. I bolted across the sidewalk, ducking into the rows of cars as he yelled for his two counterparts to chase me.

I burst toward the theater, diving between the traffic and families heading to the cinema. The rumble of a bike turned my stomach, but I recognized the rider. He sped to me, slowing only to let me leap on the back and wrap my arms and one remaining bag over his waist.

The bike peeled out and darted onto the road, cutting through the parking lot of two retirement communities, a Best Buy, and a Catholic church. We dumped out on a five-way intersection that clusterfucked traffic but let us escape into the potholed confusion of roads that were the suburbs south of Pittsburgh.

He crossed through a neighborhood of split-entry homes built in the fifties and hooked onto Route 51, swearing at me the whole way into the city.

“Jesus Christ, you
had
to get clothes.” He yelled over the wind. “You okay?”

My cheek hurt, but it was a familiar pain. I leaned closer to him, tightening my grip over his body and flushing when I realized I wanted to rest my head on him. I tucked the panic deep into my belly and nodded.

“Fine.”

He shifted, almost like he considered reaching for me. I didn’t move. Neither did he.

It had been that way for two days.

My grip over his waist was the closest he let me get to him and the most intimate I let myself be in his presence. We slept in separate beds, talked only if we had the buffer of alcohol between us, and avoided any mention of our fight, or the reason for our fight, or the burning frustration luring us both to thinking of how close we came to making an absolutely perfect mistake.

I wanted him. And I knew how dangerous that was. Brew was the bad boy I thought I needed, the strength I used to get off. His aggression didn’t seduce me as much as his power forced me to lust.

I had to drop that part of me. The only way I could be safe again was if I denied those desires. Even if it was normal or a deviancy or just some sort of thrill I got from putting myself at risk, it was time to face the truth. Brew was right.

It was my fault for getting into these situations.

So how the hell was I supposed to get out?

I held onto him as he sped through the city and over bridges. His body wound tight. His shoulder hurt him, but he said nothing, guiding the bike from the clutches of our enemies and to the safety of the hotel without even a grimace.

It was like he denied the pain’s hold over him. Now I understood why.

The guilt crushing his soul was more than any man should have endured. He did his jobs and earned his money and waited for the day he could restore his honor and redeem his sister. And he did it all in solitude.

But then he revealed himself to me, completely bared his heart with every painful consequence. He hated himself—not for his failure, but for a man he imagined he’d become.

His rejection wasn’t meant to shame me. He meant it to protect me.

Even if it was to protect him from himself.

It was painful. The secrets we kept and the lies we whispered rendered us raw and exhausted. I felt exposed, like the honesty after sex, but we denied each other its pleasure.

I never thought I had any pride until he stole it from me. What few fragments remained were too wounded to offer again. He didn’t hurt me. I did it all to myself, again and again, looking for a reason to crave that hand over my neck, slap to my ass, and ferocious mounting that once made me feel trapped and alive.

I wouldn’t feel that way now.

At least, I didn’t think I would.

I doubted we’d stay at the hotel much longer. Two days was too many, especially with Kingdom suddenly closer than ever. I had no idea where we’d go. It really didn’t matter. We lived in frustration late at night while we both stared at the ceiling. I couldn’t even look in his eyes, but I didn’t leave. Not with Goliath searching for me. Not with Kingdom lurking. Not with Red’s constant texting begging me to pull a trigger and destroy a part of me I’d never reclaim.

I trusted Brew. He didn’t want me to put any faith in him. But I was right. No safer place existed than on his bike. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I was his second chance.

As long as I had him believing that, he’d keep me alive.

The hotel’s parking lot was dark, but Brew hid the bike away from street lights and the prying eyes of the ground floor windows. I hopped off. He saw the mark on my cheek before I could duck. But why try to hide it? It wouldn’t do any good. Instead I pawed through the bag that survived the chase and swore. The lackey panties in the Victoria Secret packaging peeked at me.

“I guess I’ll only be wearing underwear for a few days.”

Both of us liked the implication, but we dreaded the images my stupid flirting conjured. It was hard enough sharing a room, even if it was safer that way. Brew kept me where he could watch me.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to take back to bed and untangle the twisting heat driving us insane.

“I’ll get you more clothes,” he promised.

I nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t think Kingdom would be hanging around the mall.”

“Someone saw us.”

“Guess so.”

“I can’t keep putting you in danger.”

I had a pounding headache, too exhausted to flirt. But I had to. I couldn’t let him change his mind.

“You’re the one getting me out of it,” I said. “Probably the only one.”

He didn’t like that. He pulled on my arm, his fingers burning through my jacket and knifing my skin with every memory of our broken embrace. I followed him into the hotel lobby, casting one last glance over the still parking lot and the darkness that didn’t conceal our location nearly as well as I hoped. We took the elevator.

Mistake.

The air thickened as Brew finally looked me over in decent lighting. The elevator’s mirrored walls didn’t spare me any sympathy. The backhand left a darkening bruise against my cheek. Brew bristled. The rage trembled his hands.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“It’s not
fine
.” His repentant tone was shadowed by a growl of hatred. “They hit you.”

“I got away.”

“Never should have happened.” He stepped toward me. I tried to avoid him, but the elevator trapped me in the tight corner.

I glanced down. Instinctual, one that usually prevented black eyes. I shifted as he reached for my chin. If he saw my flinch, he ignored it. His fingers brushed my jaw. He studied the bruise, letting the pad of his thumb rub over the ugly welt. The touch hurt, but I didn’t protest.

It had taken him two days to even look at me. A touch was miraculous.

I shuddered as he stroked my cheek. He felt it, but I didn’t know what to say or how to apologize or if it was even my turn to apologize. The smoky darkness of his eyes hid everything from me. The heat of his fingers sliced through me. The bump of his hand against my chin caught my breath.

He never needed to grab me by the throat or pin me against a wall. Everything he did demanded my attention. Trapped within the elevator, subdued before the solid strength of his body, the black leather of his jacket, I surrendered.

Every nerve in my body sizzled in his shadow. My thoughts bound themselves, my hands pressed behind me. He didn’t ask for my obedience. He didn’t beat it out of me. I just gave it to him.

Why did something so
natural
destroy me?

His touch caressed my cheek, and I fought the goose bumps as his uncharacteristic gentleness healed every part of me it brushed. He stared at me with such concentration, like he tried to understand how to embrace me, treat me,
have
me, without letting himself taste what we started before.

He feared his dominance. I no longer trusted my submission.

I didn’t mean to part my lips. He groaned as his lips met mine.

The soft kiss ended as soon as it began. The elevator dinged and opened. I pulled away first, sucking in a useless breath.

“This is my stop,” I whispered. “I better go. The biker I’m with expected me hours ago.”

Brew didn’t answer. He pushed himself from the wall and strode into the hall. I ignored the quiver in my belly and followed.

I didn’t make it past the emergency stairs.

An arm wrapped over my belly, another over my mouth. He kicked the door back, but my muffled cry for Brew rang through the hall.

My scream reignited the rage suffocating him under months of torment.

Brew’s roar echoed with the crashed of the metal door against the stairwell. The hands grabbing me tightened as he approached, but my captor didn’t make a run for the stairs. He also didn’t bear a weapon. And his voice sharpened over my name as I kicked him in the knee.

“Jesus, Martini! It’s
me
!”

Red spun me to the ground, ducking as Brew’s fist swung over his head. He rolled from a second strike and held his arms out.

“Brew! Stop!” I shouted.

The gun already pulled from the hostler. Brew thrust it into Red’s face. My cousin swore, cracking his hand over Brew’s wrist and wrestling the gun free. Brew reached behind his back to pull a second weapon. Red released a knife from his sleeve and aimed it for Brew’s throat.

“
No
!” I rushed between the two. Brew swore, shoving me toward the door.

A split second of agony ripped through me, and I feared I had been caught between bullet and blade. Brew poised to kill Red, and I had no idea how my jagoff cousin planned to retaliate. It would be just like Red to try to protect me. He aimed the knife for Brew.

He’d kill him so I wouldn’t have to.

My stomach turned. I couldn’t save them both.

“Stop!” I forced myself between them. “Brew, that’s Red! You remember him. My cousin!”

Red offered him a cheesy grin that did nothing to lower the blade. The gun wasn’t a great reflection of Brew either.

“Does your cousin normally try to kidnap you?” Brew readied for blood. “How did you find us?”

Red’s laugh wasn’t the best response, not when Brew had fifty pounds of muscle and a full clip on him. But Red never needed brute strength—he was quicker than most people reacted.

“I know how to crack Martini.” Red twisted the knife before slipping it into his sleeve. I flipped him off. “Looks like I got here just in time.”