Loving Me, Trusting You

C.M. Stunich

Sarian Royal

Loving Me, Trusting You

Copyright © C.M. Stunich 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 1863 Pioneer Pkwy. E
Ste.
203, Springfield, OR 97477-3907.

www.sarianroyal.com

ISBN-10: 1938623630 (eBook)

ISBN-13: 978-1-93862363-9 (eBook)

"Triple M" Name Used With Permission From Melissa, Mireya, and Megan of "Triple M Bookclub"

Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

"Optimus Princeps" and "Ultra Condensed Sans Serif" Fonts © Manfred Klein

"Ink In The Meat" Font
© Billy Argel

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

this book is dedicated to the following people, in no particular order, simply for being awesome:

Susan Lynn, Lola Stark, The Triple M Book Club, Amanda Heath, Sali Benbow-Powers, Melissa Stewart-Allum, Rhea French, Brandy Little, Lance MacCarty, Amanda Carroll and the numerous other amazing people who have and continue to believe in and support my work.

but most of all, this book is dedicated to those who have or will be told that they can't or shouldn't do something because of their gender: I believe in you.

“What in the holy hell is wrong with that woman?” Austin asks, shading his eyes against the harsh burn of the sun. My helmet's still on, and I'm peering out the visor at the remnants of Mireya Sawyer's soul. They're scattered across the yellow desert for all of Triple M to see, laid bare and sizzling hot. Even if I didn't know her as well as I do, I could see that she's bleeding inside, hurtin' so hard she can't breathe. My first instinct is to cross the dry ground that separates us and take her into my arms, whisper into her hair and tell her that everything's going to be okay, that I'll take care of her forever.

She'd probably kick me in the fucking nuts.

A smile teases the edge of my lips as I rub at the broken heart tattoo on my shoulder. Austin isn't happy about the sudden stop, but I don't mind. I'd do anything for Mireya Sawyer. Even wait around for seven plus friggin' years while she pined for my best friend.

“Should I go talk to her?” Amy Cross asks, sneaking up between Austin and me, and curling her delicate fingers around his arm. Brunette hair whips around her face, hiding the expression of concern that's there, genuine and sympathetic. She's a miracle that, girl. The one person on this earth that I think is capable of handling Austin. She's calm, collected, and she don't hold no fucking grudge against Mireya. I feel good knowing she's Austin's soul mate. I just hope he's aware of how lucky he is.

“Nah,” I say, watching through the visor, waiting with my breath caught in my chest for that day that might never come, for the day that Mireya Sawyer looks me in the eyes and tells me she loves me right back. I've told her before. Just once. It didn't go over so well. I plan on doing it again, but I don't know when. If I have to, I'll wait another seven years. I'd rather not, thank you very much, but I will. I'd wait forever if I had to.

I glance over at Beck who's busy checking out Amy's ass. When Austin sees, he growls low in his throat and our friend backs off, running his hand through his red hair and chuckling. Dumb as a Goddamn doornail, but ten times tougher. I really believe that Beck could take out twenty men by himself. Wouldn't surprise me a bit.

“She's just … dealing with some old shit,” I say as Austin sighs and glances back at the group behind us. Triple M. Our family. Our friends. The people we'd do anything for, that would do anything for us. It's a confusing time right now, but they're all still here and they're not asking questions. I think it's because we all knew deep down that Kent Diamond was a Goddamn lunatic. Well, okay, for me it wasn't even deep down, but thing is, he did a lot of good for us all, rescued us when nobody else was there, gave us a home and a family. He might've been an asshole, and a backstabber, but he was still the one that gathered us all together, whatever his reasons.

But now he's dead.

Austin didn't bother to check before we left, but I did. I felt for a pulse, and I got nothin'. I don't think Sparks cared either way. All that mattered to him was Amy, and that was that. He took Kent out without a second thought. Guess love will make you do shit like that without thinking. It's a violently gentle emotion, ain't it? A contradiction in and of itself. I know it's been screwing with me forever. Especially when I saw that stupid bitch, Tray Walker.

Fuck. I wanted to kill that son of a bitch with my bare hands, feel the life drain out of him while I gazed into his eyes and showed him exactly how I felt about what he did to Mireya. Stupid motherfucker. But it wasn't my decision. It was hers. Beck gave her the knife, and we walked out. She had blood on her hands when she came out, but not a lot. I don't know what happened, and she doesn't want to talk about it with anyone. Not a single soul.

“We can't sit on the side of the highway all day,” Austin warns, but I'm not sure who he's talking to exactly. He's in charge now, so he better get used to it.

“Okay, Pres,” I say, lifting up my visor and feeling the burn of the sun on my skin. “So what do you want to do about it?” Austin gives me a look, blowing out a rush of air like he isn't quite sure he's ready for all this. I don't tell him, but to me and Beck, he's always been in charge. He's the only one we've ever really listened to.

“Give her five minutes,” Amy says, so quiet that I almost don't catch her words. Austin does though. And he hangs all over them like a kid on the monkey bars.
Jesus. This boy is so head over heels, it's hard to look at him. I hope he realizes it.
“I think she needs this. If you rush her, she'll hang onto the pain. Let her go for a minute, please?” Amy asks, pressing a kiss to the leather sleeve of Austin's jacket. His arm curls around her waist protectively, and his eyes soften a bit. Jesus.

I turn away. I can't look at that. Not right now. I'm jealous, and I don't want to be. I just want to be happy. I just want to be with Mireya Sawyer.

I turn around to give her some privacy and focus my gaze on Melissa Diamond. She's slumped over Kent's bike, holding onto the handlebars like they'll be able to save her from the downward spiral she's started on. The flirty, wicked blonde bombshell she was a few days ago is gone. Disappeared without a trace. Despite all the things she's done to me, all the flirting and the teasing and the bullshit, I feel sorry for her. Really, I do. Poor thing's going to have to reinvent herself, figure out what it was she wanted in the first place. I do not envy her that fucking task.

I pull my helmet off with a sigh and walk over to my bike, tossing it onto the back and pulling out a cigarette. As I light up, I take a deep breath and try my best not to look over my shoulder at Mireya. She needs her space, I know that. But I can't resist. Like that douche, Orpheus, I turn and look at her, even though I shouldn't.

Her head is back and her dark hair is billowing in the breeze.

Ash falls from the tip of my cigarette and hits the toe of my boot as I gaze, completely raptured by this wild woman. My cock gets rock solid at the thought of her brushing her lips down my stomach, dragging that gorgeous hair across my skin. Mireya is a hot fuck, don't get me wrong, but that's not why I'm interested.

I pull my cigarette out with two fingers and exhale into the hot, dry air.

Mireya is the one.

I don't just believe in all of that fairytale shit, I eat it for breakfast. I
live
that fucking shit. Because without it, the world is a bleak, bleak place. Don't even want to imagine how anybody gets along without it. Even people like Austin who deny it eventually fall for it. We all do. Or we die real pissed off. Now, I don't know if there's heaven or hell or anything like that, but I do know that if I go without a chance to have Mireya, my soul is going to be seriously fucked up. This wanting can only go on so long before it bleeds you dry. Right now, I'm ready for a transfusion. Seven years is a long time, sweetheart. A long, long time.

Mireya drops her chin to her chest, shakes out her hands and spins around. She pounds the earth with her knee-high boots and licks her dry lips. Her dark eyes are faraway, but still beautiful. Deadly. She's been pissed off ever since that night. I can't figure out why, and she won't discuss it, so what am I supposed to do? I feel like a kicked puppy for Christ's sake, and I'm a grown ass man.

“Don't do it,” Beck whispers as he saunters by and flips me the finger. “You're acting a damn fool, Kelley.” I ignore him and put my cigarette back in my mouth.

“You alright there, lover?”

“Screw you, Gaine,” Mireya says as she storms past and mounts her fucking motorcycle like I wish she'd mount me, muscular thighs clenching tight, fingers wrapping the bars. She squeezes them so hard, her knuckles pop. “I don't want to hear any of your dime store romance bull. Just leave me alone right now, okay?”

I should be offended, but I'm not. Kind of used to this shit by now. Used to it but ready for it to stop. Soon. I watch as Mireya closes her eyes and tries to get a grip on her emotions. If she'd let me, I could help her. As of right now, I'm in the dark. I don't know what happened with Walker or why she's feeling the way she's feeling. Did she kill him? Is this guilt? Or is he still alive? Is this fear? I have no clue. Mireya Sawyer is not the kind of woman that's easy to read. Over time, I've gotten better, but I'm no expert.

I drop my cigarette to the ground and crush it out with the sole of my boot, watching as Mireya's eyes open and trail over to Austin and Amy, happy in their little couple cocoon. She gazes at them with pain, but no envy. Not anymore. I think she's moved on. Or at least, I fucking hope so.