Is this night ever going to end? I hang up the phone after a second call that involves way too much negotiating with Silas. My Prez is already calling me whipped for running off and shirking my day job in favor of protecting Angel. Sure, Silas slowed his roll when I mentioned the slip of paper with mine and Angel’s name on it, the Los Diablos pricks, and the part about dodging bullets. Still there was way too much haggling to call the man off the ‘you’re on the run because she must be the one’ ledge. During the first phone call, Silas also made me give my word that I would store my baby somewhere safe and figure out another ride out of town. No clubhouse and no bike? Fuck, deciding to go into hiding is turning into a serious sacrifice.

I take it all in stride. Things could be worse. For example, it’s purely coincidence that the diner is a few hundred feet from a gas station, and it just so happens that the owner has an old crappy rust bucket of a minivan for sale for four hundred dollars. The vehicle is a fucking piece of shit, but the engine is in decent shape, so I buy it on the spot, promising to set up the insurance and ownership the next day. After that purchase, I only have to drive my bike a mile up the desolate backroads behind the diner before I notice an abandoned farmhouse tucked away from the roads. It’s a risk leaving my baby here, but hell, it’s a better bet driving the minivan than motoring along on a ride that screams Satan’s Saints. My walk back to the gas station is quiet enough, so overall, an extra hour to keep unwanted attention away from us is not too big a cost.

Now that I’m back at the door of the motel, I can relax. Cracking the kinks out of my neck, I light up and take a slow drag on my cigarette. I let the smoke infuse my lungs for a good while before exhaling through my nostrils. Maybe it’s time to get back inside and crash for the night. I finish off my cancer stick and brace myself. Angel should be sleeping by now, but with the TV on, my guess is that she’s waiting up for me. It wouldn’t surprise me much. Who can possibly sleep on the first night their life gets turned upside down in five seconds flat?

I take a deep breath, half-choking on the leftover nicotine in my lungs. Shoving the key in the lock, I twist the doorknob and tentatively step inside. Angel is in the middle of the bed propped up by both pillows. She shoots me a cold glance before returning her gaze to the TV.

“Hey. All good in here?”

“Just awesome,” she answers, not bothering to look at me.

I kick off my shoes and line it up with hers near the door. “You must be exhausted.”

“Getting there.”

I walk over to the foot of the bed and take a seat, staring idly at what looks like a late-night infomercial. “I’m pretty much ready to turn in,” I tell her.

“Knock yourself out.” I only notice the reflection of a pillow missile in the TV screen. It flies out of Angel’s hand, and I can’t react in time. It hits me right in the back of my head.

“You’re still feeling playful this time of night?” I ask, reaching down to the floor to pick up the less than fluffy projectile.

Angel is staring right at me when I sit up and pivot around to look her in the eye. No, not staring. It’s more like glowering mixed in with what I imagine intent to kill would look like on a woman’s face.

“What the hell does it matter to you? Just because you’re staying in the room with me doesn’t mean you’re going to wife up, bro. Get your head on straight. I’m not your old lady. You’re fucking working here.” She turns her killer stare to the TV screen. “Trust me, I got the point loud and clear.”

Oh.

Okay, that didn’t go over well, hearing Angel flip the script and pretty much repeat exactly what I told Silas a while ago.

I run my hands through my hair and blow out an inaudible breath. “You weren’t supposed to hear that conversation.”

She gives me a fake smile. “Well too late, because I did. So grab that pillow and knock yourself out on that couch while you fucking work.”

“Shit. Come on. You’re taking things way out of context.”

She does not give me an answer.

It’s too late at night and I’ve done too much already. “Big fucking deal. So you heard me. I said some shit. Yeah, I’m a guy. We say dumb shit sometimes. What else?”

Angel’s eyes remain glued to the TV. “Have a good rest.”

“And what the hell did you expect me to tell my boss? That I’ve run away with a woman I just met who could be my old lady one day? Like you’d ever sign up for anything other than a few late-night booty calls with a low-down biker gang member. Give me some fucking credit.”

Suddenly, being here with this icy energy in the room only helps to box me in and make me feel trapped. Sleeping indoors is not a good idea.

“I’ll be outside. Thanks for the pillow.”

“Axe, wait,” she blurts out when my feet are back in my boots and my hand is on the door, ready to make my exit.

“What?” I bark, not releasing the door handle.

Next thing, she’ll be crying after this shit show. I only have myself to blame for getting too close, and way too fast. We both need a reality check.

Angel turns off the TV. “You’re right,” she says in a whisper. “I deserved that. I’ve not been kind or accepting of you, or even grateful to you for your help. For that, I apologize. And the truth is I’m not looking for a relationship with anyone right now, so you have every right to say what you did to your boss.”

At least she’s honest. “Exactly.”

She looks up at me. “But no one, yourself included, would want to overhear the person they just slept with hours ago, having a conversation like that.”

I nod and take a seat on the sofa, dropping the pillow beside me. “True. I agree. That was not okay.”

“All right.”

I watch all the anger physically drain out of her. She places her pillow flat on the bed and stretches out on one side, turning her back to me.

I take this silence as progress. Removing my shoes, I swing my tired legs over the side of the couch and relax my head on the pillow.

Blood.

There’s so much blood.

All over the walls, my toys, and sticky on my fingers where I touched the stair railings. Nancy still whimpers upstairs in the corner. She’s deafening compared to the silence around us, the silence that comes with death.

Whatever happened, I know with a weird, warped clarity that there’s no coming back.

At first, my vision can’t make out what I see in the living room. Like a puzzle, it’s too much to put together in my head, too complicated—but the second it starts to make sense I lean over the banister and puke onto the floor. It’s as if my whole stomach has turned inside out on me. A burning sensation goes all the way up into my lungs, like trying to hold lava in my throat while it eats away at my insides second by second. I force myself to look back again at our living room that’s distorted with red streaks, puddles, and drips.

I know there’s no way they could have survived.

Not in so many pieces scattered around the room.

Where’s Vincent? Why isn’t he covering his eyes as he did during this tragedy? Why is Nancy still at the top of the stairs when Vincent has lifted her up and carried her outside to his car? Why is this nightmare continuing to change? My stomach gives another hard lurch, fingers going tingly and numb. I ignore it all and step forward into the living room. On autopilot, I navigate through the squishy carpet and lean over the hand with my mother’s wedding ring still gleaming as if nothing has ever happened. I watch as my fingers reach out to the touch the stone—

“Axe.” The echoing female voice calls to me from a distance. “Wake up. I need you to get up for me now, Axe!”

I jolt up into a seated position on the sofa. For a heartbeat, the world blurs. I blink, rubbing my eyes to force the nightmare back, but still see my parents’ bodies sprawled across the motel room floor. My insides are burning again. A pounding headache behind my eyes that feels like someone is jabbing tiny needles deep inside my brain. I run a hand down my face. Blood is on it too. I try to ignore the shaking and the cold sweats dotting down my spine, but then a foreign hand presses into the back of my neck.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I roar, jerking back from this new female player with the blurred out face, trespassing into my waking dream as if she means to shoot me too. My hands fly up defensively and grip her hard around the neck. “I didn’t fucking say you could touch me! Who sent you?”

Her eyes damn near bulge out of her head, and I can feel her pulse pounding under my hands as she tries to say something. Right now, I don’t give a fuck what makes her shake like a leaf, or that she’s not actually armed, given her hands grip my fingers as she tries to get me to release her neck. And why is she calling my name, Axe? No one uses that name that night. The memories in my brain start to teeter like a seesaw. They layered over what is around me, but seem real enough to force me to act.

As this intruder’s body starts to go limp, and as her hands drops to her side, the threat of imminent death fades, as does the waking dream. That’s when Angel’s face comes back into focus.

Fuck.

Angel.

I hurriedly release her neck and help her to sit and catch her breath. “God. I didn’t know it was you…you just…” I try to say something to explain as Angel holds her neck and fights to suck in air. The fear in her eyes etches into my brain. I almost killed her because of this fucking flashback. If I was any rougher or used any more force, she’d be dead right now. Because of my past. Because of me. There’s nothing I can fucking say or do to make up for that. I can’t make it go away, and I can’t make it right. Grabbing a bottle of water, I pass it to her, then walk to the opposite end of the room. I don’t deserve to be close to her right now.

“Are you okay?” I ask, still feeling guilty as fuck. “I can get you to a hospital if you’re hurt. Fuck, I’m… Dammit, I’m sorry.”

If she’s okay, I’ll get the fuck outside and let her be so this can’t happen again. I swallow the frog-sized lump in my throat, hoping I have not done too much damage. I’ve never wanted to or had to sleep in the same bed with a woman before tonight. Even back in foster care after my parents died, they were careful to place my sister and me with smaller families so we could have rooms to ourselves.

Fuck.

Angel has the full picture now.

Talk about seeing me at my worst.

Now she’ll finally see how fucked up and broken I am, that I’m damaged beyond fucking repair.

“I’m fine,” Angel chokes out after gulping down the entire bottle of water. “Please. Just sit.”

Fuck, I barely recognize her voice. The guilt claws at my chest. I’ve hurt her. I’ve given her that choke mark, now layered over the bite on her neck. It’s all kind of sick, fucked up, and twisted now. I can’t help wanting to walk out the door and get as far away from her as possible.

Fuck. She isn’t supposed to see me like this—ever.

“No,” I ground out, backing away to the door. “Just tell me whether or not you’re okay. I can sleep in the van. You’re not safe around me, okay? Not while I sleep.”

I watch her visibly swallow.

“You’re safer in here than out there,” she rasps out. “After hooting hollering loud enough for people to hear you three states over, the cops are probably outside looking for you already. I’ve been trying to wake you for over ten minutes. We’re supposed to be laying low, remember?” Angel stands up from the couch and steps closer to me, meeting my eyes. She points at her neck. “Listen to me. This will heal. I know it wasn’t personal. It’s not your fault. Look, you don’t scare me, okay? Sit.”

I don’t believe this. I stand there, just looking at her. The muscles in my legs start to twinge and ache from exhaustion as she takes one more step toward me and offers her hand. Why isn’t she listening to me?

“Stay back,” I warn her. “What do you not understand about it not being safe for me to stay in here with you?”

“What I understand is that you had a bad dream. Big fucking deal. You don’t need to be alone right now, Axe. Sit. Please.”

“No.”

“So help me God, I’m not going to let you go out there. You went through something traumatic. How could it be any more dangerous than what those Los Diablos had in store for me earlier? I’ve seen your little secret. And I can add it to the fact that you’re a biker gang member. I get it’ okay? You have nightmares, and I see now why you wanted to sleep outside from the get go.”

“I could’ve…” I start, but can’t form the rest of the words.

“Yes,” she says with a nod. “You were about ready to choke the life out of me. But you didn’t. I’m fine. I’m over it. I’ve just got four words for you. Long-term PTSD counseling. Maybe that’s five words, but whatever. It works like a charm. Anyhow, I’m going back to bed, but if you step out that door, I’ll just follow you out there. Or I’ll pack my things and find another way to handle those people who are after me—without you.”

I scramble to play catch up with what has just gone down between us. There’s nothing gentle in me. My demons make me dangerous. I know that from experience. I can only bottle them up for so long before they explode. Tonight, they made Angel the inadvertent object of their fury. And now she’s getting ready to sign up for more surprise dream-phase blitz attacks?

“Is flirting with death a thing for you?” I ask without a sliver of humor.

“You’re not the only person in the world who’s seen shit. Now, get on that couch and tell me what happened. I need my beauty sleep.”

I’m not sure why I return to sit on the couch, and I sure as hell have no idea why my mouth starts moving, but that’s what I do.

Angel has that effect on me.

All I know is that I follow her voice, and somewhere deep down, it’s easier to do that with her.

For the next few minutes, I give Angel the shortest, least violent, least gruesome version of what happened on the night my parents died. Somewhere along the line, I close my eyes. The last thing I’m fully aware of is a blanket getting thrown over my legs and chest before I pass out.

For the first time in my life, I wake up and am not terrified out of my ever-loving mind. I blink up at the cracked, water-stained ceiling. Yes, this is still the sofa, but at the moment, my head is not on the pillow. No, I’m resting my head on Angel’s lap. How did she manage to get over here while I slept? Do I even want to move? She must have had the most awkward and uncomfortable last few hours of rest to have fallen asleep sitting up with my big, heavy noggin weighing her down. And now, I’m probably about to wake her up just by raising my head. That alone makes it a morning of firsts.

I smirk at the thought. Fuck, everything is starting off backward today. I rub my eyes, and notice that I’m not jittery or off-kilter as I usually am on mornings. Taking a chance, I carefully lift off Angel’s lap to sit up. She doesn’t stir, so I get up, stretch, and go to the bathroom feeling not too shabby. As I step into the shower, I have to acknowledge the obvious truth. There’s only one reasonable explanation for my first good night sleep in ages, and it has everything to do with the woman on the other side of this closed bathroom door. It doesn’t help that all this hot water slicking over my skin only makes me ache for her to be in here with me again, with her sweet warmth wrapped around me.

I huff out a breath, blowing a blast of shower water from my lips. Is this how it’s going to be now? Will my body and mind live on completely independent of my own control, utterly connected to Angel, submitting to this force between us? The idea scares the hell out of me. One small part of my brain is tempted to jump into that crappy minivan, get to my bike, and ride until this place is a distant memory.

But that’s not going to happen.

I’m not going anywhere without Angel.

She’s not just any smoking hot curvy woman.

She’s mine.

Stepping out of the shower, I toweled myself off and brush my teeth. We have a few hours’ drive ahead of us. While I get dressed, I tick off reasons in my head why it isn’t a good idea to kiss her on the forehead before I leave to get us breakfast. Then I dismiss the idea altogether. Smiling, I jot down a short note on the motel scratch pad on the night table in case Angel wakes up, slide on my leather cut, and leave.

Fuck. This beauty has broken the beast.

Either that or I’m getting soft.

Angel’s suggestion about counseling is starting to sound smart, if only to overcome this newer, weaker, more pathetic side of me rather than address anything to do with my childhood trauma.