Page 103 of Ridin' Free
Underneath the shock and the hurt, I felt something visceral.
‘Fucker got less than he deserved,’I remembered Benson saying.
‘Her, too, if you ask me.’
I defended her then.
Now, I feared what I might be capable of if ever our paths should cross in the future.
It wasn’t until she pulled in a breath, as if preparing to speak, that I was able to move. Slowly, I took one step back and then another. Before she could say a word, I turned and started for my Bronco. She called out to me, but I ignored her. I climbedbehind the wheel, jammed my key into the ignition, and shifted into gear—all without giving her so much as a second glance.
My tires peeled against the hot asphalt as I sped out of the parking lot, headed I didn’t care where. It didn’t matter, so long as it was far, far away from her.
Ten minutes later, I was merging onto a state highway. I didn’t take note of which one it was or which direction I was headed. I was anxious to go wherever the road took me.
My top was down, my gas tank was nearly full, and I had no place to be.
So, I drove—going fast, headed nowhere, the wind in my hair, and my shackle left behind.
TWO WEEKS LATER
The engineof hisHarley rumbled as he turned onto the compound, headed for the line of hogs parked outside Steel Mustang. It had been four weeks since he walked through the doors and spotted his woman behind the bar. It had been twenty-three days since he sliced open Scorpion’s jugular and watched him bleed out in the middle of an empty warehouse.
Twister usually preferred a gun—but it felt only right to exact justice with a blade.
For Phoenix.
For Ali.
He hoped eliminating the bastard she considered a grave threat would be enough to get her home, but with each passing day, it became more obvious—more unavoidable—more frustrating to admit Scorpion wasn’t the only thing that compelled her to run. Her silence seemed to stretch over an immeasurable, unknowable distance.
Two days after his last message, he went back to Dayton only to find she was gone; and this time, he couldn’t guess where.
Yet, no matter where she was, Twister refused to believe they were finished. All she needed was time. That’s all she’d ever demanded of him—and he loved her enough to give it to her. He couldn’t make her come back. He couldn’t fix what was broken inside of her. But he could wait.
For her, he would fucking wait.
Now, as he killed the engine of his hog and dismounted, he glanced across the expanse of the parking lot. He wasn’t surprised to see her Bronco was not at the back that night, but neither was he deterred. As he’d done nearly every night for the last three weeks, he made his way inside, headed straight for the bar.
The band on stage was in the middle of their set, the Thursday night crowd busy enough to keep his brothers occupied but not overwhelmed as they slung drinks. Wrangler had been pitching in where he could—and it was him behind the bar with Rodeo and Mustang that night. Mustang spotted Twister as he approached, and the annoyance that marred his brother’s hazel-blue eyes almost made him chuckle.
“Not servin’ you water all night—don’t care what your kutte says. If you’re not here to drink, sit your ass by the door.My muscle’s behind the bar. You could at least make yourself useful.”
Twister understood he wasn’t the only one feeling Ali’s absence, but he was in no mood for attitude. “You know, it’s not my fault she’s not returnin’ your calls,” he replied, any trace of amusement he felt suddenly up in smoke.
“Oh, yeah?” Mustang grumbled with a furrowed brow. “She returnin’ yours?”
Twister didn’t bother with an answer but pulled out an empty barstool and took a seat.
“Corona,” he ordered.
Mustang hesitated, shook his head, then reached for a pint glass.
“Sooner or later, I’m gonna have to put up a job posting,” he muttered as he poured from the tap.
A flash of anger coursed through Twister as he glared at the man. “She’s comin’ back,” he declared.
“So you keep tellin’ me.” Mustang delivered the beer then continued, “Couple weeks ago, I might have believed you.”
