Page 177 of Burning Ember
After everything I’d told him, showed him, and after everything that we shared, he thought I could be a whore and a snitch for another club. That I was acting when I let down my guard and gave myself to him. When I told him about the hell I went through with Warner, about Will and having to drop out of school, and how my mother left Sunny and me.
God . . .
I grieved with him when he showed me the wreckage of his past. I comforted him when he told me about his dreams of a family and being a father. I’d cried for the precious baby he lost.
Did he even stop to consider that I never once asked him anything about the club besides how long he’d been a member and why he joined? Or how the more I was with him, the less I was at the clubhouse. Which meant I wasn’t there overhearing every tidbit the members conversed about when they thought no one was listening. Why would I want to be anywhere but at the clubhouse if getting information on them was my goal?
It wasn’t until Smoke explained why he’d come into his room, that I saw Mav’s doubts waning. But the damage was done. My faith lost. He didn’t trust me, and that hurt more than anything else.
Because I trusted him.
I’d given him a second chance when he didn’t deserve one. I had faith he’d change when I didn’t have any reason to. I believed he could be a better man even though he’d only shown me his worst.
So I have only myself to blame.
I mean, I’d learned this lesson already, hadn’t I? That a man with two faces isn’t one I can trust. That putting myself in their path invariably ends with my blood being split, and running for my life.
Well if I hadn’t then, I definitely have learned it now as I wince and whimper with each movement. Failing miserably to keep my blood inside my body where it belongs, and brace with every step for the consistent prickly sting that shoots through my foot, courtesy of the cut I received from a broken beer bottle in the field behind the clubhouse.
Luckily, I was able to scale the club’s fence unscathed. Otherwise, I’m not sure I could push myself to go on.
For the moment, I’m safely alone on the street. Although my pulse has yet to find its natural rhythm. Partly because I’ve attempted to flag down two cars, and neither would stop, and a mere ten seconds ago a motorcycle roared to life. The throaty growl sent my heart galloping again.
With each second, I grow more desperate. I need to get away from here before Mav or Taz have a chance to hurt me more than they already have.
So this time when car headlights shine on the blacktop, I move to the left into the car’s lane.
I can’t afford to let this ride pass me by, which means I can’t afford to take no for an answer.
Biting my lip against the pain in my side, I wipe my hand on my shirt where it’s not drenched in blood and then stick my thumb out.
The car slows. Its headlights are a good width apart, which makes me hopeful it’s an older person. When it comes to a complete stop in front of me, I hold my arm over my forehead and ward off the bright lights in my eyes as I strain to see who’s inside the vehicle.
Not able to, I study the license plate and the model. Regular New Mexico plate. A Chevy. Maybe a couple of years old. I hear the window descending and walk to the side of the car. It’s a light gray, clean, and has four doors. Cautiously I bend to inspect the driver.
“You want to tell me why you’re barefoot and walking the streets?”
The flat voice and arrogant face worm their way through my blood like a shot of acid. Turning away, I stare down the street that leads to the clubhouse, my fingers curling into to fists. For a split second, I consider taking off toward the roar of the motorcycle I hear growing closer. But I wouldn’t get far with my side as it is, even if I could somehow able to ignore the cut in my foot.
Davis exits his car and circles around the front. He leans back against the front panel above the wheel and crosses his arms and legs. He must be off duty because he’s sporting dark jeans and a maroon NM State University T-shirt. “It’s been two weeks. So what do you have for me?”
“Nothing. They don’t talk about club business when I’m around.”
“I see.” He studies me and his eyes harden. His jaw muscle pops. “You know, hitchhiking and prostitution are illegal in this state, Ms. Pierce.” He pauses. “Unless you have something for me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to put your hands on the hood.”
Giving him what I know about the club would only make Mav’s accusations about me true. And I may be angry and heartbroken, but I don’t want to see him arrested or any of the other HOCs for that matter. Well, except maybe Taz.
I put both hands on the hood.
“You’d rather do time than give them up?”
“If those are my only choices, then yes.”
He pushes me further over the side of the front of the car. Then aggressively searches me. I close my eyes and breathe through the pain cascading through my right side. His hand travels up my leg, his fingers sliding higher than necessary up my thigh. Grinding my teeth, I move away from his touch.
He laughs. “What? You can let dirty bikers pound you all day long, but I touch you and you’re offended?”
When he finds my wound and his hand comes away wet and bloody, he shakes his head and smiles. “Guess they got sick of you already, huh? Or did they catch you trying to steal from them?”
