Page 9 of Javier

The thongs had held, but the skin between her big and the next toe on both feet was raw. Blisters would be likely.

“Hop on behind me.” He unlatched his helmet and handed it to her. “Buckle it. I don’t have another. Didn’t plan on a passenger tonight. Slide your arms around me and hold tight. Watch the pipes so you don’t get burned.”

Her body sparked with need as Memphis mounted carefully and slowly slid her arms around him.

He passed a bandana to her from over his shoulder. “It’s clean. Blow your nose and wipe that beautiful face. Where are you staying?”

“Smugglers Inn. It’s?—”

“I know where it is. I know Torch River like the back of my hand, woman. I’ll drop you off at the front. Cissy has the place locked up at this hour. Front door access only. You have your key?”

“Yes.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.” She whispered, nodding, and burrowing into Javier’s warm back, feeling the corded muscles of his back glide against her cheek as he set the bike on its course. Her legs hugged his powerful ones and it felt great. He smelled like heaven.

Her blood was on fire from the heady desire assaulting her. He feltsogood. Solid. Warm. She felt protected. Something in her shifted.It’s all going to be okay, Memphis.

CHAPTERFOUR

Memphis Creed was the craw that stuck in his neck. A creature of habit, he rose at dawn on Saturday, made himself an enormous breakfast and ate it on the balcony, washing it down with some strong coffee. Sleep had been of the restless sort. That night of the castration intertwined with the guilt over sanctioning Ransom.

They wanted justice for their sister. It should have been handled differently, but they were young and strident. Ransom had taken it too far, possibly putting a target on their backs even though their quarry had no idea who had punished him. Mom could have been caught in the crossfire. Torch River was a small town, so the details could have leaked out. Right or wrong, they put it all on Ransom and banished him.

The current moved lazily along the edge of his property—land he purchased in his early twenties—on which he constructed a house from the ground up, faced with his share of mistakes and learning throughout the process. He also focused on resolving his anger, examining his motives, and making decisions about his future.

When completed, his home represented him—a simple man who enjoyed nature and the peace it gave him. Whereas the shop allowed him a creative outlet and a decent livelihood outside of the brewery and his other investments, the house was a retreat. His family was welcome and visited regularly, but the women he had casual relationships with were not. He fucked them at their places or outside somewhere and left afterward.

True intimacy was elusive. The many placements, abuse, and betrayals during his early childhood created a skeptical man.

Daphne was his last placement.

He remembered that day with clarity—the slant of the summer sun and the abundant colorful gardens bordering the large rambling river house with its wraparound porch and spacious wooded property. A large tire swing hung from a massive bough in the side yard. Nearby were a number of bikes laying on their sides. An enormous sandbox was beyond that.

She greeted him after he passed through the wrought iron gate. Tiny and dark-haired, her smile reflected in the warm brown eyes when she looked up, not at all intimidated by his scowl and large size for an eleven-year-old. “Welcome home, Javier. You’re right where you need to be. You’re staying, even though you’ll try to prove to me that you shouldn’t.” She extended a hand but didn’t touch him. “Come with me. The kids are having a snack. Are you hungry?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Daphne is fine, Javier. The kids are excited to meet you. Let’s get some food in you, and then show you your room.”

He learned to smile, laugh, and engage, and speak his mind without retribution. Always hungry but no longer fearing a tongue lashing or a beating, he asked for second and third helpings at meals. He kept his room spotless and looked for ways to repay his foster mom’s kindnesses. A tinkerer at heart, he fixed plumbing issues and made repairs. Her thanks were accompanied by a shoulder squeeze or ruffling his hair.

In time, he leaned in, seeking her approval and her insight. He called her mom and began to believe he mattered and belonged, but total trust was fragile. Daphne, Sammi, Rose, Stone, and Ransom were the only recipients, the only people he had confidence in.

Ransom shredded his trust that night on Refuge Island. Or had he? Had they set him up by agreeing to the castration? Had they set in motion the other things that followed?

We did. Fuck.He slammed the mug on the wrought iron rail, spilling coffee over his hand. He licked it off, mulling over how Ransom’s daughter made him see that long-ago-night in a new light. A night no one ever talked about.

Distraught, he had almost left Torch River when Ransom was banished but decided otherwise. Mom was recuperating from foot surgery and needed all sorts of assistance. And he also wanted to be around in case word of what had happened got back to the Narrows.

She never mentioned it. Did she know? He suspected as much, but in true Daphne form, she would play along like she didn’t and patiently wait for the truth to come out. It always did. This story had been buried for decades though, as far as they knew. How would she react?

Despite Mom helping him soften the rough edges, he was hardwired to not share too much for fear of being hurt, he remained unattached. But lonesomeness was setting in at his age.

Javier swigged down the last of the coffee and went inside, depositing his dishes in the sink. The need to hop on his Hog was strong. He stripped out of the joggers, pulled on sweat-wicking briefs and summer gear, and headed out to his bike, eager to eat up the miles. To escape the thoughts and big feelings closing in.

The problem was that his mind traveled with him, and the guilt did not subside.Fuck it.

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