I STOOD NEXT TO ANDRÉ in the underground parking of his garage and stared at his bike while he strapped a holster to the steering column. I’d ridden with Candle plenty of times, but never on a bike like this.
Those were my thoughts.
Not that I’d told André more than I’d ever told anyone about that day. I never even discussed it with Candle. I assumed he knew. He saw my arm, and he must’ve been told what had happened by those asshole ATF guys, but he never mentioned it.
I’d kept my secret so long, I should’ve been freaking the fuck out that I’d told André, but I wasn’t. I felt relieved, and that scared me more than when River was holding me down in a dirt-floored two-foot-high crawl space, cutting me while twenty armed ATF agents were above our heads. André Luna was a man with more integrity than anyone I’d ever met. He didn’t deserve to be dragged into my shit, but here he was, not even backing out.
I adjusted the heavy backpack that was making me sweat, and reached for small talk because I’d never been so uncomfortable. “What kind of bike is this?” I didn’t know anything about bikes beyond Harleys, because Candle had said there was no other kind worth riding.
André secured a 9mm into a holster on his thigh. “Ducati Streetfighter.” He straightened to his full height and adjusted the tactical vest he was wearing. Another 9mm was strapped to his chest on the left side. His gaze met mine. “I still want you in a vest.”
After I’d thrown on a pair of tight black jeans upstairs, he’d handed me a smaller vest with Kevlar. When I’d refused to put it on, he’d pulled the armor plate out and slipped it into the backpack. “Anyone who finds me won’t be aiming for my chest.”
Resigned, he nodded once. “I misunderstood. Earlier.”
I didn’t follow his cryptic comment. “I don’t need Kevlar.”
His hands went to his hips, and for a second, he looked down, but then his intense brown-eyed stare landed on me with determination. He tipped my chin. “I’m not talking about the vest.”
Despite every molecule in my body fighting a full-blown panic attack, everything hummed with desire the second he touched me. “You’re not the type to misunderstand.”
“No, chica, I’m not.” His throat moved with a swallow. “But you weren’t taking your dress off for me.”
I picked up on what he was getting at. “Who else was I taking it off for?” His scent, his strength, his presence, everything about him overwhelmed me.
His rough voice dropped an octave, and he growled out his next words. “You know what I’m talking about.”
I did. He’d thought I was throwing myself at him when I stripped. And in a way, I was. I selfishly wanted this man. I wanted him so bad that for the first time in three years, I wanted to fight my fate. “I don’t have any regrets.”
“Good, because this isn’t an apology.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine. “And this isn’t over.”
My heart flew into an irregular beat as soon as his lips touched mine, but I couldn’t ignore the facts. This was over before it’d started. “Lying won’t change anything.”
“That’s not a lie. That’s a promise.” He stared into my eyes like he could see the future.
“I don’t want promises I can’t collect.” I didn’t say it with attitude or accusation. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. The second he’d kissed me, everything had changed. I didn’t want to push him away. I didn’t want to pretend I was strong and resigned and fucking okay. I just wanted every second to count. “I want the here and now.”
André didn’t see past my words.
His muscles tensed, and he stood back up to his full height, dropping his tenuous hold on me. “You doubt my ability to protect you?”
If Candle couldn’t stop his MC from coming after me, what was André going to do? “You really want me to answer that?”
The what the fuck look on his face was only eclipsed by his flaring nostrils, and I stupidly kept talking.
“Not even Candle could protect me.” Not in the long run. I knew eventually some money-hungry murdering asshole would figure it out.
André’s expression shut down, and his face went stone-cold blank. “Do you know the difference between me and Scott?”
I bristled at the change in his demeanor, and the familiar defense I’d used for three years came back like a worn blanket. “Is this the part where you compare dick size?”
His voice took on an edge I’d never heard. “Every single fucking thing.” He enunciated each word. Turning, dismissing me, he started the bike. “Let’s go.”
Not wanting to fight but not knowing how not to, I planted my hands on my hips and tried to stall. “Where?”
His muscles rippling, he straddled the bike. “Key Largo.” He flipped the rear foot pegs down, then held out a black helmet to me. “Two hours.”
Two hours holding on to an alpha-as-fuck bodyguard who was pissed off at me. Two hours on a rice rocket Candle wouldn’t be caught dead on. Two hours with a man I wanted no time limit with. It wasn’t even a decision, but I stood there anyway because everything was falling apart faster than I could breathe.
Misjudging my silence, hell, reading it perfectly, he met my gaze with a hardened expression, but his voice softened. “It’s not an Escalade, but I’ll be able to maneuver quicker, and they won’t be looking for us on a bike. Come on.”
No cage between me and a two-million-dollar bounty was suicide. But being on the back of André’s bike was a chance at something I didn’t want to give up.
I took the helmet, gripped his giant biceps, and threw my leg over the ridiculous square of barely padded leather that passed for a passenger seat. I fit the heels of my boots over the foot pegs, jammed the helmet on, then yanked the straps on the backpack tighter.
He put on his helmet. “Ready?” His voice came through a speaker embedded in my helmet.
“As I’ll ever be.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and was forced to lean almost all of my weight against his back because the passenger seat was so much higher than the driver seat.
His muscles flexed as he pushed us back two feet before revving the engine and swinging the bike in a hard arc. He took the ramp out of his garage, and when we hit the street, he opened it up.
I didn’t know how I was expecting he would handle his bike, but it definitely wasn’t weaving in and out of traffic at twice the speed limit. This wasn’t the Cuban Boy who smiled like an angel. This was an ex-marine sniper on a mission.
“Reckless,” I murmured, not sure which André Luna I wanted more in that moment.
“Not reckless, chica.” His voice filled my head in stereo.
It was a thousand times sexier than anything I’d ever heard. “Then what do you call weaving in and out of traffic?”
“Skill.” Tension bled out of his voice the faster he drove, and a hint of the sexy flirt returned. “I drive like I aim. Only two things I’m better at.”
Despite the heat, goose bumps crawled up my neck. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask what those two things are?”
He took a sharp corner and half chuckled. “If you think you can handle it.”
Cocky shit. “You know you want to tell me.”
“Only if you ask nicely.”
His voice, his banter, the speed of the bike, it was fucking glorious. “There’s nothing nice about me.” Hadn’t he figured that out yet?
“Maybe not.” He took another turn, then placed a hand on my thigh. “But your mouth’s sweet as hell, chica.” He squeezed, then let go.
Traitorous need pooled between my legs. “Still not asking.” Bastard.
“I got two hours. I’ll wear you down,” he said confidently.
I gave a small grunt to hide my arousal. “Good luck.”
“I don’t need luck. I got skills.”
I almost asked like what. “Nice try.”
He chuckled in earnest, as if the speed of the bike had relaxed him too. “This isn’t me trying, woman.”
I closed my eyes and soaked in the sound of his quiet laugh. I’d never laughed like that. Growing up, life on the compound wasn’t about humor, or happiness or joy.
“No comment on that one?” André asked, smug.
I mentally shook away the past. “You won’t break me.”
He instantly sobered. “I’m not trying to break you, chica.”
Maybe not now, but all men had an agenda. I’d learned that the hard way.
“You wanna talk about it?” he quietly asked.
“About what?” That I didn’t laugh or that I was trying to figure out his agenda or that a small part of me was dangerously beginning to place hope in him?
“River Ranch. How you grew up?” He pulled onto the highway.
“I think you should concentrate on driving.” I loved motorcycles. I loved everything about them. The first time Candle took me for a ride, I instantly understood the draw. It was total freedom on the road, but at the same time, a delicious amount of danger curled into you like hooked claws, letting you know you were still alive.
“I’m not gonna put you in any danger, chica. I can multitask. Tell me about your madre.” He checked both rearview mirrors for the fifth time.
A strange sense of sorrow hit my chest, one I’d never had until after I was off the compound. “I don’t have a mother.” The half-truth that would never make sense to an outsider soured my mouth as a memory pushed its way in unwanted.
Soft fingers stroked my cheek, rousing me from sleep.
I blinked against the darkness. “Is it time to wake?”
“You look so much like him” Her whisper carried an anguish I didn’t understand.
Afraid to move, I inhaled the still air in the quarters. The sweat of a man that was not Father’s mixed with a strange odor more sour and bitter than Spanish moss before it twisted into the scent of my birth mother’s contraband soap. I didn’t ask where she’d been. I didn’t have to. She left every night after curfew, only to come back smelling like a version of what she smelled like now.
Her finger trailed down my cheek. “Never love a man, little one. Never give your heart away.”
“Mother.” Using the proper title all women of her age held, but one that gave me no ownership of her, I choked on a sorrow that wasn’t mine.
“Sh, go back to sleep, but remember what I tell you. Save yourself, little one.” Her whisper turned softer than the air. “Because no one else will.”
“Everyone has a mother,” André claimed, pulling me from my childhood.
I inhaled, pushing the memory down deep, back where it belonged. “I didn’t have one like you have one.” That wasn’t how things worked on the compound.
André didn’t let it go. “Does she have your pretty eyes?”
“No,” I admitted. “Hers are brown.”
“I bet she’s gorgeous.”
Until that second, I hadn’t realized how disarming André’s charm was. He’d coaxed information out of me without me even thinking about it. Pulling my lips into my mouth, I vowed not to say anything more.
Not deterred by my silence, he asked another question. “Does she have your dark hair?”
I didn’t tell him my hair was dyed.
He chuckled. “How about your attitude?”
I kept silent.
He switched from the fast lane to the traveling lane, and his hand landed on my thigh again. “Come on, chica. There’s no harm in telling me. I made you a promise. I’m not gonna say anything to anyone. Whatever you tell me is in confidence.”
I could trust him all I wanted, but that wouldn’t mean shit if he was captured by the hunters at River Ranch… or my father. They’d torture him until he told them what they wanted to hear. I shivered.
His hand tightened. “You cold?”
“I’m fine.” I was sweating in the midmorning heat.
“Ah, she speaks.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at me, and I could practically see his smile behind the one-way glass of his tinted face shield.
I gave him the hard truth. “If anyone at River Ranch finds out you’re helping me, they’ll come after you.”
“That’s why you think you can’t tell me about your mother?”
Frustrated, I sighed. “There’s nothing to tell. Everything is different on the compound. It’s not like life with….” I refrained from saying life with the cursed. “There’s no traditional family structure.” Even now it seemed strange to call what people called families traditional.
“How so?”
“Everyone is your mother.” Everyone except my own mother.
André paused a moment. “Everyone?”
“Every woman a generation older than you is your mother. All the women take care of all the children. There’s no… delineation.”
“You don’t know who your birth mother is?”
I knew who she was. My mother was the least motherly woman on the compound. All she’d cared about was who she was going to fuck that night. I’d hated what she did until I understood the escape. “I did, but it didn’t matter.”
“What about the dads?” André asked.
I closed my eyes. “There’s only one father.” The mastermind behind the entire River Ranch. The man who fucked every woman on River Ranch once they got their period. The man who built an entire world of demented followers and brainwashed them into believing his sickness was bible. The man who’d fucked my mother, and the man I narrowly escaped being a victim of. “River Stephens.”