I’D HEARD THE SICK STORIES of how Stephens fucked every woman in his compound. I’d heard how he’d then hand them over to the other men to be used as pound toys. I knew he was a fucking pendejo. But her biological father?
Rage boiled in my veins, except I didn’t suck in a breath or tense my fucking muscles. I didn’t let her feel an ounce of the raw anger festering because I had her talking, and I needed her to keep it up. I needed every single piece of information she’d throw at me about River Stephens and his fucking cult, because, regardless if he was her father, I was going after him.
“Stephens is your father?” I asked as casually as possible.
She half snorted, half smirked, but she didn’t answer.
I switched tactics. “You never told me what your madre looks like.” I rubber her thigh once then put my hand back on the handlebars. “She got dark hair like yours?” I didn’t even know if her hair was naturally dark or dyed.
“I know what you’re doing.” She shifted against my back. “I’m not that easily manipulated.”
“Who says I’m trying to manipulate you, chica?” That’s exactly what the hell I was doing.
“You want information.”
Damn. I smiled when I answered so she’d hear it in my tone. “Am I that transparent?”
“No, you’re that alpha.”
“You think so?” She had no idea how alpha I could be.
She inhaled as I sped up and passed a few cars. “This is going to be a long fucking ride if you plan on bullshitting me the whole way.”
“Maybe I want a long ride with you, chica.”
She stiffened, and her reply came out mechanical. “That’s not going to happen.”
I didn’t throw words out. I didn’t say shit to women I didn’t absolutely mean. But this woman with her arms around me, the past she was running from, I didn’t have a game plan for this shit. I only knew I wasn’t gonna dick around with her.
“Because you don’t want it to happen?” I asked. “Or because you think it won’t happen?” I wanted her to clarify the distinction.
She didn’t answer.
“I’m not gonna let you slide on this one, chica,” I warned.
“It’s not like you have a choice. You can’t force me to answer your questions.”
I didn’t take offense at her sharp tone. She was a fucking rock star in my book for keeping it together as well as she was. Knowing what’d happened to her, I wouldn’t begrudge her a little attitude. But I would call her on it. “You don’t think I deserve an answer?”
“No one deserves anything in life, simple fact.”
“Not gonna lie, chica. That hurts to hear you say something like that.” I fought for eight years for my country because every single citizen deserved freedom.
She scoffed. “Don’t play the sensitive, enlightened marine for my part.”
“You think I’m not sensitive?” My trigger finger would argue differently.
“I think you’re full of shit as you try to talk your way around to the information you think I’m holding back from you.”
“Dios mio.” What the hell was I supposed to say to that?
“Do you think it’s less offensive when you take the Lord’s name in vain in Spanish?” Her tone completely void of sarcasm, she asked the question like she was one hundred percent curious.
It threw me so hard, my hand on the throttle slipped before I regained composure. I knew I shouldn’t go there, but I did it anyway. “You believe in God?”
“I believe in death. It’s inevitable, unchangeable, and absolute in its finality. That’s why no one deserves anything in this life. You were born. That’s the gift. Life is fleeting, and it’s up to you to make it count. There’s no room for egotistical justifications of what you should or shouldn’t be given. If you’re breathing, you’re lucky. Anyone who doesn’t realize that is an asshole.”
Jesucristo. I shook my head once.
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing, chica,” I hedged. “Just never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with you.”
Defensiveness bled into her tone. “You asked.”
“I’m not saying I don’t enjoy it.” She was fascinating. Like a beautiful creature so unattainable and broken, you wanted to pick up the pieces but feared breaking it further if you touched it.
“You suck at lying.”
“I haven’t lied to you once.” Unlike her.
“Give it time.”
“I’d like to.” That was the point. “And you still owe me an answer.”
“I don’t owe you shit.”
I didn’t serve my country to garner gratitude. I didn’t go into personal security to get kickbacks. My business wasn’t about some fucked-up high I got from risking my life. And I didn’t live my life thinking I was owed a damn thing. I did what I did because if you could help someone, you fucking stepped up.
But this woman on my bike? She wasn’t gonna understand that. Not now, maybe not ever. Her scarred arm around me, she came from a different world. So I spoke in a language she’d understand. “You’re on my bike. You’re under my protection, and it’s my life you’re risking by standing next to me. You don’t think that deserves an answer to one damn question?”
“You could’ve walked out of Candle’s house. You choose not to. You choose to carry his kill inside his garage and get in my car. But that’s what you do, isn’t it? You help people. That’s your driving force.”
Damn. “I think I underestimated you, chica.”
“Most people do.”
I had to ask. “Does Candle?”
She didn’t hesitate. “No. He knows my limitation.”
“Singular?” I should be so fucking lucky.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“What is it?” I didn’t expect her to answer, but I was quickly learning that expectation with her was a loaded weapon.
“A weakness,” she stated, as if that explained fuck all.
“Which is?”
“My father.”
Alarm and dread edging in, I kept my voice carefully even. “How is he your weakness?”
She was silent. Then, “I’m not going to deny him again.”
My fucking stomach bottomed out, and I didn’t want to ask. “Again?”
Her breathing sounded in my headset. Her hands gripped my waist, and her thighs against my hips flexed. Then she exhaled. “I’m going to give River Stephens exactly what he wants.”