Rough Ride Page 10

  Amber gave me another slight smile. “If it helps, I don’t think I’m in danger of losing my job. The HR guy went to great lengths to explain their sexual harassment policies. I think they’re spooked that I’ll want to sue or something.”

  “That’s, uh, that’s good news. The keeping your job part, not the lawsuit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, how about I take you out for dinner as an apology.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to.”

  “But I want to. So, how about it? Steak dinner on me?”

  Amber smiled. “Sounds like a date.”

  But it wasn’t a date.

  I had to remind myself of that again and again throughout dinner. Despite how gorgeous Amber looked in her sparkly top or how she made me smile every time she laughed. This was just dinner between two friends because I didn’t go on dates and Amber was too good for a bastard like me.

  Chapter 9

  Amber

  “Oh my god.” I turned my head and puked into the bushes next to my back door. I couldn’t get the image out of my head. Closing my eyes didn’t help. I could remember what it looked like, and ugh. I puked again.

  I heaved until there was nothing left to come up. And then I heaved some more.

  I’d lulled myself into a false sense of security over the past two weeks. Jackson had actually stepped up and was helping out around the house. He even gave me some money to help cover the power bill. I still had a True Brother MC member shadowing me at all times, mostly Bam Bam when I was on shift. And Ruslan had calmed down to a certain degree. He hadn’t bought me another car or sent me more flowers, but his gifts had taken a turn. Instead of romancing me the old fashioned way with flowers and chocolates and cars, he started sending me little mementos of my father’s killer.

  Mostly framed photos depicting how they’d tortured him.

  Only these weren’t little Polaroid jobs. They were blown up into huge poster-size works of art and framed like they should’ve been hung in a museum or something. But the subject matter wasn’t something that would appeal to the masses. Or me, frankly. I might’ve talked a big game, but I didn’t have the stomach for this. And I certainly didn’t have the stomach for what I’d just found on my back step.

  A liquid-filled jar containing what I think—judging by a few of the posters depicted—was the tongue of my father’s killer.

  I heaved again.

  I didn’t want to look at it again, let alone touch it. But I had to, because I didn’t want my mom to see it. She’d been doing so much better since the little intervention that her friends from the club gave her while I was at work. Mom had been going to some meetings at night, and I hadn’t seen her drink in weeks. I didn’t want to be the thing that sent her off the rails again.

  Steeling myself, I grabbed the bottle off the step and tore through the house. I could hear my mom moving around in the kitchen so I took off upstairs to my room. I opened my closet—where I’d been stashing my collection of maiming art—grabbed an old backpack, and carefully set the bottle inside it. My hand crinkled against a note. I’d forgotten to read it once I’d caught sight of the horror show inside the jar. After carefully pulling the note off the jar without looking at the contents, I zipped up the bag, then read the note.

  I’ve showered you with flowers, chocolates, and a car. I’ve shown you what I’m willing to do for those I love. I’m getting tired of waiting, moya zvezda.

  —R

  I swayed unsteadily on my feet. That sounded so ominous…and delusional. Ruslan didn’t torture that guy because he loved me—my dad’s killer was his enemy who had information. It had nothing to do with me at the time.

  Suddenly I really regretted not telling Bam about the pictures.

  To be honest, I’d kinda liked the first one. I had the proof I’d wanted that the scumbag had suffered. And I felt like finally, finally someone was listening to me. He’d heard what I wanted, and he’d delivered, unlike Rebel or Tank or Bam. But then the pictures got…disturbing. They portrayed things I’d never imagined in all my years of watching horror movies and crime shows.

  But I still didn’t tell Bam.

  We’d finally found this unspoken understanding where he didn’t give me shit about my job, and I didn’t give him shit about being a Brother. And honestly, I was starting to like him. He was sweet in his grumpy, pain-in-the-ass way. And it didn’t hurt that he was hot as hell. With his blond gruffy beard and longish hair, he still reminded me of Thor. I continued to have confusing dreams about Vikings and blond gods of thunder. Not that he’d ever made a move on me. He was frustratingly nice. Even if his eyes lingered on me from time to time, nothing came of it. And I was fine with that. Really.

  But it would all end once I told him about Ruslan’s…gifts.

  Fuck me.

  “Amber? Do you want breakfast, honey?”

  That was the other weird thing. With her newfound sobriety, my mom had morphed into some crazy fifties housewife, always making meals and cleaning. I think maybe she was working through her grief and guilt over what’d happened in the last year. If I didn’t watch it, I’d be packing on the weight in no time, given all her baking lately.

  “No, thanks!” I yelled down the stairs. “I’m meeting Sydney at the coffeehouse.”

  “Okay, honey. Love you!”

  “Love you, too, Mom.”

  I darted over to my dresser and changed out of my pajama shorts and tank and into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. Grabbing my phone, I fired off a quick text to Bam.

  Me: I need to talk. Where can we meet up?

  He didn’t immediately text back, and I paced a hole in the floor while I quietly freaked out. I ran into the hall bathroom and washed my face then brushed my teeth, all the while watching my silent phone. I was just about to floss out of pure boredom when my phone finally pinged.

  Bam: I’m home but I can meet you anywhere you want.

  Thank God. I immediately typed out a response.

  Me: I’ll come to your place. I don’t want anyone eavesdropping on us.

  We’d swung by his apartment last week to grab a spare helmet. After Ruslan’s last floral delivery, Bam had been giving me a ride to work, and I wasn’t exactly complaining. Being wrapped around a strong man on the back of his bike was a feeling like nothing else. Even if it was under the guise of guard duty and not because he had feelings for me.

  Bam: That’s hella cryptic. I’ll put a pot of coffee on.

  Me: I’ll hit the Mackay Mocha drive-thru and bring you a cup. See you in 15.

  At least that way what I told my mom wasn’t a total lie.

  Crap, I really had a problem. I needed to stop lying to everyone. What was wrong with me? I sighed as I grabbed the backpack I’d hidden the jar of tongue in. Holding it carefully, I walked downstairs and grabbed my purse and keys. The first step was admitting you had a problem, right? I’d heard my mom say as much in the past few days.

  Nothing like starting with the biggest and scariest lie of them all. Bam was the forgiving kinda guy, right?

  * * *

  —

  Twenty minutes later, I knocked on the door to Bam’s apartment, a drink holder with two large coffees in my other hand. I hadn’t known what to order the big guy, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong with large and black. He struck me as a no-froufrou-kinda-drink guy.

  My heart raced as I waited for him to open the door. I didn’t need the pick-me-up from my large mocha latte with whipped cream, but I’d ordered it anyway. At this rate I’d be vibrating like a hummingbird in ten minutes.

  The door ripped open and a disheveled and shirtless Bam stood in the doorframe. “Coffee. Thank fuck.”

  He grabbed my coffee out of the holder and took two large gulps before I could unstick my tongue from the shock of seeing so much of him. He was simply magnifi
cent. Large and muscular and just so damn perfect. He could’ve easily modeled for any fitness magazine, or hell, even underwear. If anything, the large avenging angel tattooed on his right peck curving onto his shoulder and continuing down his arm only highlighted just how muscular he was. My dreams were gonna be hot tonight.

  Bam groaned much like I imagined him groaning during sex. “This is delicious. What the hell did they put in it?”

  “That’s my drink, thank you very much.” I grabbed the cup from him, then ducked into his apartment, hoping he didn’t notice my bright red cheeks. “I got you a plain ol’ black coffee.”

  Bam accepted the offered coffee and took a drink. “Ugh, yours was better.”

  I had to laugh at that. Just when I thought I had him figured out. “Noted. I’ll order you a mocha latte next time.”

  “So, what’s going on?” Bam took another drink then made a face. “This needs sugar.”

  He took off for the small kitchenette next to the door while I stood there uncertain of what to do next. To be honest, I wanted to delay my confession as long as possible. I knew he wouldn’t be happy, and I’d already seen a pissed-off Bam. I sure as hell didn’t want that anger pointed in my direction. Instead I deflected, and like a goofus, said, “You have a nice place.”

  Bam looked at me like I was insane. “This place is a shithole. Your house is nice.”

  “I live with my mom. It’s not exactly my house. I still sleep in the same room I had when I was five. I’d give anything to have my own place like this.” I didn’t know what Bam was complaining about. He had a tiny kitchenette with all the appliances a twenty-something needed—a microwave, a refrigerator, and an itty-bitty stove. A high countertop with a couple of bar stools. Across the smallish space was a worn sofa, a battered coffee table, and a large, flat-screen TV. I couldn’t see from here, but judging from the three closed doors down the small hallway, he had at least one bedroom, a bathroom, and probably ample closet space. What more would a single guy need? This place was the embodiment of my living-on-my-own fantasy. What was he complaining about?

  “I know shit hasn’t exactly been a bed of roses at your house since Stitch passed, but come on. Do you know what I’d give to be in your shoes? To have a family that actually gave a fuck? To be able to sleep in the same room for what? Fifteen years? That’s the fucking fairy tale, kitten. This”—Bam waved his arms, gesturing at his apartment—“this is just fucking sad. The carpet is older than dirt, the super doesn’t give a shit about the ants living in my kitchen, and the fucker next door thinks he’s the next Charlie Watts. I’d give anything to be in your shoes.”

  I nodded soberly at his reality check. “I know. I know I’m fortunate to have the family I have left. It’s just…” And for some reason—maybe it was the tender look in his eyes or the way he’d opened up to me—I unloaded something that I hadn’t told anyone but Sydney. “This was supposed to be my time, you know? I know it sounds selfish as hell, but I’m only twenty-one. I should be going to college and living on my own. That’s all I really want.”

  “I’m sorry, kitten.” Bam braced his arms on the counter and leaned toward me, the expression on his face intense. “And you should know that I’m doing everything in my power to make that happen for you. Hopefully, if things go right, you should be able to go back to school soon. If not next semester, then the one after.”

  Wow. He’d said it with such fervor I felt his passion down to my toes. This was a man who cared. He gave a shit about me. I swayed toward him, aching to feel his lips on mine.

  Mmrrrroww. The cutest, fluffiest white and gray striped Persian cat came strolling down the hallway, leaving the far door slightly ajar.

  My jaw dropped. “You have a cat?”

  This big, tough, burly biker had a cat? And the cutest, fluffiest cat I’d ever seen.

  Bam huffed an annoyed breath. “Pixie was my Grandma’s. I inherited her.”

  “Awww, she’s so cute.” I dropped down on my knees and beckoned her toward me. “Here, kitty, kitty. Come here, Pixie.”

  “She doesn’t really like peop…” Bam trailed off as Pixie butted her head against me.

  I held the back of my hand out and let her delicately sniff my fingers before I rubbed them against that spot behind her ear that had her purring in no time.

  “I’ll be damned,” Bam murmured to himself.

  I looked up at him as I continued to rub Pixie. He had the most flummoxed expression I’d ever seen. After a moment, he shook his head and muttered, “Uh, you had something you wanted to talk about?”

  I closed my eyes as I mentally cursed. I guess I couldn’t hide my head in the sand forever. I gave Pixie one last pat, then pushed myself up to my feet. “Yeah. The talking thing. Right.”

  Bam raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

  “Can we sit down, maybe?” I gestured toward his sofa. I hoped that maybe he’d be less intimidating in a seated position.

  Bam hitched a shoulder, then grabbed his newly sweetened coffee. “Sure.”

  I followed him over to the worn leather sofa and took a seat on the end, tucking my backpack with its horrible contents under the coffee table. Bam sat on the opposite end, leaving a cushion between us. He set his coffee down on the table next to mine, then twisted until he faced me, his left leg bent and inches from me.

  I was wrong. He was still intimidating, now probably because he was so close to me. If I reached out I could touch him. I think I liked it better when we still had the countertop between us.

  “There was something you wanted to talk about?” Bam prompted me.

  “Uh, yeah.” I took a deep breath and had to look away to say it. “I haven’t been honest with you the last few weeks.”

  Even though I wasn’t looked at him, I could feel the tension emanating from him, belying his casual body language. “About what?”

  I took another deep breath and said his name as I exhaled. “Ruslan.”

  “You’re seeing that fucker?” Bam shot up to his feet and paced agitatedly across the room.

  “Bam, that’s not—”

  “He’s a demented fucking lunatic, Amber!” Bam’s voice rose with every word until he was shouting at me. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING?”

  “You need to calm down. I’m not—” I broke off with a cry as he drove his fist through the wall. I covered my head with my hands like the blow had been at me. “Oh my god. What are you—”

  But Bam wouldn’t let me finish as he turned and pointed a now bloody and drywall-covered finger at me. “It’s not happening. No way in fuck am I letting you waste yourself on that fucking piece of trash. DO YOU HEAR ME?”

  “I’M NOT SEEING HIM!” I shouted back at Bam. We both stared at each other, our chests heaving with our breaths. Mine out of fear and anxiety. His out of anger and frustration.

  “What?” His hands dropped to his sides as he stared blankly at me. “But you said—”

  “I said that I hadn’t been honest with you about Ruslan. That doesn’t mean I’ve been seeing him.” I shuddered. The thought was so disgusting it made bile tickle the back of my throat. “I know he’s a psychotic SOB. Believe me, I know.”

  Bam’s eyes hardened at that piece of information. “What the hell does that mean? He can’t have been hanging around you—we have eyes on you or your house at all times. Has he been calling you? That’s it, isn’t it? I’m gonna—”

  “Oh my god. Would you calm the fuck down? Here. Sit. Please.”

  I waited until he sat back down on the couch, although it didn’t seem to calm him any. His knee bounced, displaying his nerves. But I continued anyway.

  “When the first one came, I thought I could handle it. Honestly I was glad to see it. I liked that he had listened to me, that he heard what I wanted, but then…” I blew out an unsteady breath. “But then they kept coming. And each on
e was more deranged than the last, and I just couldn’t…” Tears sheened my eyes as I remembered the posters and the ugliness they portrayed. Yes, I’d wanted revenge, but it turned out that, at the end of the day, I didn’t have the stomach for it. I was weak.

  So fucking weak.

  I covered my face with my hands and sobbed. I couldn’t take it anymore. Between my dad dying, my mom falling apart, my brother disappearing, and now my crazy-ass stalker, I just couldn’t take it anymore. Why did everything have to be so fucked up? Why couldn’t I catch just one break? Just one. Was that too much to ask?

  Chapter 10

  Bam

  I sat there, lost as fuck, as Amber sobbed beside me. I had no idea what she was talking about. Air left me in ragged breaths as I tried to get my anger under control. Just the thought of Amber with that fucker filled me with colossal rage. To go from that to watching her sob on the couch next to me…I couldn’t handle the roller-coaster. I needed a fucking minute to get my shit under control.

  Amber did this hiccupping sob that I felt in my heart. The last time I heard that sound was just after my grandma died, and I sat all alone in her house. I never wanted to hear Amber make that sound ever again. Putting my arm around her shoulders, I pulled her to me.

  “It’s gonna be okay, kitten,” I murmured to her. “I swear to God, whatever’s going on, we can handle it. It’s gonna be okay.”

  Amber burrowed into my chest as her sobs slowly subsided. She kept one hand over her eyes, like she was embarrassed to look at me. Finally, after a few minutes, she scrubbed at her eyes with her wrist then gave a sad laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s just been building for a while. And then when that tongue showed up this morning, I—”

  “Tongue? What fucking tongue?”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to stay calm and not go all Hulk on me again. Okay?”

  I nodded tightly.

  Amber’s body shuddered as she let out a breath. Then she tilted her head up and the soft, wounded look in her eyes, tore me up. “About a day or two after our weird encounter with him at the parking garage, Ruslan started sending me these photos. Huge, blown-up photos the size of a poster, but framed like something you’d see in a gallery. He left them on the back step late at night, where you guys couldn’t see.”