Wring: Road Kill MC #5 (19 page)

Dying.

“No—no!” I grip Mom's shoulders.

Her eyes open. “I love you, darling.”

“Mom…” I hug her to me, tears soaking our
clothes. “I love you, too.”

She blinks. Her eyes caress my face as her mouth
forms a smile.

Then Mom's last breath eases out of her
body.

And my will for living goes with it.

*

They pry my fingers from Mom, threatening to
break them off. I don't need fingers to fuck, they say.

I want to die.

I'm so sad I don't know what I feel. I'm numb to
everything.

Lopez hits me, and I fall.

I lie on the ground on my side and will myself
to be absorbed into the hard concrete beneath me.

No one comes to save me.

“She's fucked up—that old bat of a mom dies, and
she becomes a fucking corpse, too,” a voice says in disgust.

“I'll get her moving.”

Lopez tears off my pants. My legs flop
uselessly. Fingers tear at my panties. The only other man who's
touched my underwear is Wring.

“Look, man, she's crying.”

“Nah,” Lopez says, tugging the fragile material
away from my body, “she's just leaking. All women do.”

It's as though they're talking about someone
else.

Rough fingers part me.

“Wow! Now this… this is a pussy.”

A huge booming sound reverberates around me,
shattering my numb. My autonomy.

My senses.

Chaos ensues. The pleasant roar of violence
fills my ears. Flesh crushes bone.

I stare at the lights embedded in the ceiling as
warm metallic rain hits my body then cools against my skin.

Something soft goes around my legs, and I sigh,
finally closing my eyes. Maybe I've died, and I can be with Mom
now.

I'm ready.

Then a smell of smoke and metal fills my
nose.

I float.

There's no need for me to respond.

“Shannon?” a deep male voice rumbles, and
beneath the layers of acrid horror, a familiar smell permeates my
nose.

My lids fling open, and I suck a gasping breath
then cough.

Wring.

He stands above me like a luminescent avenging
angel of light and justice. His pale hair surrounds his head like a
halo. Eyes like aqua gems appear to glow in the haze of the
room.

Suddenly, I'm awake. I can breathe.
Feel.

My anguished scream is caught as he lifts me,
cradling me against his chest.

The soft thing I felt is wrapped around me. A
blanket.

Safe,
I think as my consciousness wanes
to black.

One week later

I gaze out over the foundation of my home. Lone
wood two-by-fours stand like forgotten spires against the smoking
remains.

Wring watches me silently, giving me space. Yet,
he's closer to me than any human being could ever be.

The police did find me slightly before Wring met
them at the place where Lopez conducted his business—human
trafficking. Peddling flesh on the streets. Whatever he could do to
directly or indirectly harm women, he was a part of it.

It didn't matter to me when I heard of his
horrible childhood. Everyone has
choice
. Eventually,
everyone can choose to do harm. Or not.

And Lopez chose harm every time, every day.

“You ready?” Wring asks, and I realize I've been
staring off into the distance for a long time.

The clothesline is singed black, but the
battered poles still stand.

“Babe,” he says, wrapping an arm around my
shoulder, “time to go. We don't want to be late.”

I give a series of jerky nods, and he hugs me
against him. I fit perfectly.

We move toward his bike. There are fourteen
others lined up in the procession.

The funeral procession.

I duck my head against a cool wind that's picked
up, and it lifts my simple black dress, causing the hem to hug my
legs as I fight through it.

A car pulls up, and Rose exits. She holds out
her hand. The girl responsible for telling Noose and Wring the one
critical detail that allowed Wring to get to me.

The one detail that allowed me to have a second
chance.

Wring hands me off to her, and Aria reaches for
me, hooking her baby arm around my neck. Aria, Rose, and I hug.
Baby smell lifts my spirits.

My new extended family huddles around me.

“Num-num,” Aria whispers, pulling away.

“That kid,” Rose says, shaking her head.

Everyone laughs.

“Kids got a goddamned case of worms,” Noose
says. But his words are said with affection, with love.

“Takes after her daddy,” Rose retorts, hand on
hip.

Good-natured smiles all around.

Rose takes a deep breath, squeezing my hand.
“Ready?”

I nod.

We climb into the black SUV and travel up James
Street, toward Saint James Church.

*

The bikers rev their engines. The rumble is like
music after the finality of Mom's death.

Another biker club showed up to pay their
respects. Chaos.

There was one especially attentive guy in their
group. Puck, I think his name was. I shake my head. He seems so
familiar somehow. Like I met him in a dream. The guys seem to like
him. Lots of back clapping and grinning going on.

I tip my head back, sucking a huge gulping
inhale of fresh air, and a rare sunbeam hits my face, warming
it.

“Hey, you,” Rose says, at my elbow.

I turn to face her. “You gonna be okay?”

Wring is standing with a bunch of other bikers
and happens to look up at that exact moment. His expression says
many things.

Need me?
I'm here.

Are you okay?

I remember thinking when I met Wring that I
couldn't read his expressions.

Now I read them all.

I nod to Rose's question and give Wring a
tentative smile. “I am now.”

Rose curls an arm around my waist and tightens
her hold. “I could use a friend like you.”

My head eases onto her shoulder, and she presses
her palm against my head.

A woman my age, with dark hair and midnight blue
eyes, walks up to us. There's a really cute little girl bouncing at
her side.

She looks familiar somehow, but I can't put my
finger on it.
Still a little numb,
I guess.

“Hey,” the brunette says with a smile, “I'm
Sara—Snare's old lady.”

I look at the little girl. “I'm Jaylin,” she
says shyly.

Sinking to my knees, I scoop my dress underneath
my legs and offer her my hand.

We slowly shake hands. “It's very nice to meet
you, Jaylin.”

She grins, showing me a tattered bunny.

“Who's this?” I ask.

“It's Peter the Rabbit.”

My eyes take in Peter, who happens to be missing
an ear. “I'm very pleased to meet you as well.” I shake his paw,
and my hand comes away with something sticky.

I smile. Plenty of kids to adore in this group.
The sentiment makes my eyes sting.

Sally fired me. Well, she didn't call it a
“firing.” She'd said she was sorry for my loss and the frightening
circumstances surrounding it, but the library couldn't afford any
more missing days from me.

I translated that to: I don't like you, and
you're not getting a break.

Wring said he didn't care. He didn't give a fuck
what I do. The insurance from the fire would give me some money,
and I know exactly what Mom would have wanted me to do with it.

College. I think I'll be an elementary school
teacher, after all.

I stand. “She looks a lot like her dad.”

Sara shifts a baby to her other hip. “And what's
her name?” I ask, taking a chubby hand in mine. The baby coos. Dark
blue eyes blink back at me, and a tuft of inky hair stands up
straight on her head. “Espie.”

I frown. “What?”

Rose laughs. “It's actually Esperanza.”

“That's a mouthful,” I say, though it's
pretty.

“
Hope
is what Espie's name means in
Spanish.” A sheen of tears covers Sara's eyes. “Sorry,” she says,
swiping at her face. “I just get all teary when I think about what
I have now.”

I nod stupidly because words fail me. Wring
saved me—and I get what a good man means now that I've got one.

Mom's gone, and I do think that Lopez and his
gang members hastened her death.

But I got to say goodbye. No one can never take
that away.

Sara smiles through her tears. “I figure Rose
already told you how tight the club is?”

“Yes, but I think I got that the day I met
Wring.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Sara says, and we laugh.

Wring strides to our little group. “Ready,
babe?”

I nod.

He takes me back to the car. “The girls will get
you to the cabin, and I'll follow.”

He bends over me and grips my shoulder, but his
lips are a feather's press against my forehead. “I'll be right
behind you.”

Sliding my arms around his hard waist, I cling
to him for a moment. “I know,” I answer quietly.

The girls and I slip into the SUV and head to
Ravensdale.

*

“Well, your appetite sure has improved,” Wring
drawls.

I nod happily, shoveling in the tenth bite from
the four different casseroles. “I should be grieving.”

Wring kicks out his legs, lacing his hands
behind his head. “Not by me, babe. You're so skinny, I say plow
away.” His lips twist with humor.

I set my fork down and take a deep breath. “I
spent whatever extra money we had on Mom's food. Her supplements
and medications. We didn't have enough…”

Suddenly, all that delicious food spread over
the tiny countertop of Viper's kitchen is a big lump in my throat.
Food prepared by my new family within the club. Because Mom
died.

Wring leans forward, putting a large hand on my
knee. “I know—I figured you were poor as shit early on. I want you
to eat. I want you to eat until you puke, Shannon.”

My smile is wan, and I hang my head. “I know you
don't need this… complication.”

Wring makes a noise of disdain deep in his
throat. “Fuck that. There's not one of us guys—well, I guess
Lariat—who doesn't seem to be a damn magnet for complicated women.”
He chuckles.

I can't help my smile. Rose and Sara had filled
me in on their transition from “citizens” to biker brides.

“You're not a ʻcomplication,ʼ Shannon.” Wring
pulls me onto his lap. “You're the woman I love.”

I lift my chin. I gulp, afraid to hope.

His hand cradles my jaw. “I didn't save
you.”

I open my mouth to protest, and his fingers
press against my lips. “You saved me. I was this scooped-out husk.
Couldn't sleep. Didn't give any fucks. Got outta the service,
estranged from what little family I had, decided to stick with the
one I knew.”

“Noose and Lariat?” I say, thinking they'd all
been in the war together. Wring and I had done more than just make
love since that day my house burned down.

We'd communicated. Connected.

I didn't think I could be truly intimate with
another human being again.

But I was wrong. I could.
I am.

Mom's loss is a sucking void, but Wring is the
salve to a wound I didn't think would heal.

“Snare, too,” he adds, brushing a stray hair
from my face and tucking it behind my ear. Wring's stubble tickles
my face as he whispers against my temple, “I got something to show
you.”

I lean away, studying his face, a flutter in my
stomach.

“Don't give me that look. It's a good thing. No
more awful for you, Shannon. It's all good from here on out.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. I feel safe.

Loved.

Wring

Her warm back is pressed tightly against mine. I
cover her wrapped arms with my hand, easily steering my bike up the
winding hill toward my new place.

Shannon probably doesn't remember I was having a
house built on the property adjacent to Snare's.

I try not to let the tension sing through my
body, but it's a hard trick.

I've fought for my life and for others, but the
possibility of Shannon's rejection looms large.

This girl holds my gonads—and my heart—in her
delicate hands. With the wrong answer, she could crush me.

I don't have it in me to go back to that
voided-out existence where I just shit, eat, and fuck with insomnia
and nightmares.

Shannon's put an end to my misery and given me
something to believe in besides surviving.

I come to a stop in front of the place and kill
the engine.

I'm not a visionary, but I vaguely remember my
grandparent's house. It was a solid old farmhouse with a couple of
dormer windows above and an expansive front porch.

Using that as a model, I choose a Terhune house
plan called “the Hannibal.”

A square copula graces the top of the attached
garage, which doesn't face the front of the circular gravel drive
like the ones on a lot of modern houses. The doors load from the
side, so it's all picturesque house from the front.

Didn't want to copy Snare too much, so the
paint's on hold. Just painted with a pure clean white primer at the
moment.

Shannon slides off the quiet bike and stands
there, staring at the house.

God—
what if she hates it?

“Is this your house, Wring?”

I stay quiet.

Shannon looks at me over her shoulder, her
beautiful clear pale-emerald eyes wide.

I nod. “It's the one I said I was getting
built.”

“It's beautiful,” she breathes then ducks her
face away from my eyes.

“Hey.”

Shannon looks up.

“It can be your house, too.”

She shakes her head. “I don't want to be a pity
case. I've already relied on you too much. I—”

“No.”

Her eyes meet mine.