17. Roxie
ROXIE
No, no, no!
“Hey, Rox.”
I glance around the room until my eyes land on Saint. He’s the only one here, which is perfect. He’s married, and Rae couldn’t care less if I rode on the back of his bike. She knows it means nothing. Screamer, on the other hand… he’s gonna learn that he can’t tell me what to do.
“Hey. You busy?”
“No, what’s up?”
“Would you mind taking me to the shop to pick up my bike?”
“Not at all. Gimme a few minutes to call Rae and let her know where I’ll be, and I’ll meet you outside.”
“Thanks, Saint. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, Rox.”
Thirty minutes later, he’s parking at the curb in front of the shop. When I glance inside, I spot Screamer immediately because he’s standing at the front and looking out the window. The glare on his face only makes me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Saint asks as he kicks his leg over the seat and helps me to my feet.
“Oh, you’re about to find out.”
We walk inside, and Screamer steps in front of Saint. “Aren’t you married?” he demands.
Saint’s eyes dart from him to me, and he chuckles. “Nice one, Rox.”
“What?” I say innocently, batting my eyelashes.
“Calm down there, killer,” Saint says to Screamer. “You know I am. Fuck, you know Rae, too. You seriously think I’d put another woman on the back of my bike if my old lady wasn’t okay with it?”
Screamer’s shoulders slump, and he focuses on me. “You said you’d be coming in the club’s SUV.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Saint beats me to it. “The SUV wasn’t there. It’s being used for club business today, so no one could’ve brought her in it.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I’m outta here,” Saint says, turning to the door but pausing his attention on me. “You good here, Rox?”
“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Screamer snarls.
“I’m fine, Saint,” I say. “I’ll see you back at the clubhouse.”
He nods once and leaves. After he pulls away, I shift to look at Screamer.
“First off,” I begin. “You don’t own me, which means you don’t get to dictate how I get from point A to point B.
Secondly, just because we swapped stories the other day, that doesn’t give you license to suddenly get all possessive.
” He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
“I’m not done. I know you say there’s a difference between possessive and controlling, so I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and call your attitude possessive, but make no mistake… it was controlling.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And furthermore,” I say, but then his words register. “What?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“I’m… oh. Well, good.”
Screamer chuckles and takes a step toward me.
“Fuck, you make me crazy.” He reaches out to cup my cheek, and when I flinch, he doubles down with both hands on either side of my face.
“Ever since you walked in here with your brother, I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.
Day and night, you’re all I think about. ”
“I’m not looking for a relationship, Screamer. It’s only been weeks since I left a toxic one, and I’m not ready.”
He rubs his thumbs gently under my eyes. “I know. I’m good with that, really, I am. All I ask is that you keep an open mind, and don’t shut me out.”
I contemplate what he’s asking. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about him, about where this could lead, but I’m definitely not lying about not being ready. Jace ruined me, incinerated my self-confidence, tore down my defenses, and made me unable to trust anyone, myself included.
My gut tells me that everything Screamer has told me is true, that he’s different and not at all like Jace or other asshole men. The problem is, my gut told me Jace was good, too.
Keep an open mind, and don’t shut me out.
Can I do that? I don’t know. But I owe it to myself to try. If I don’t, then Jace wins.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. You’re gonna have to be patient with me, though.”
“Sweetheart, patience is my middle name.”
I snort a laugh. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
Screamer shrugs. “Okay, so maybe it’s not, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“Fair enough.”
“Good.” He leans down and kisses my forehead softly before releasing me.
And just like that, I’m a goner. Forehead kisses are my kryptonite. Jace never once did that, which should’ve been a red flag.
“Gimme a few minutes, and I can follow you home,” he says, stepping away from me.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I don’t need an escort.”
“Not saying you do. But I wanna make sure you don’t have any problems with your Harley, so please, let me follow you home to make sure you get there safely?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Ten minutes later, we’re in the back parking lot, starting up our bikes.
I lead the way as we head to the LTMC clubhouse.
We make it to the outskirts of town, and as soon as we clear the city limits, I open up the throttle and fly, and Screamer right next to me with a giant grin lighting up his face.
There’s a fork in the road ahead, about fifteen miles before the clubhouse, and when it comes into view, the sunlight catches on something shiny. I squint, trying to make out what it is, and my stomach bottoms out when I realize what I’m seeing.
Bringing my Harley to a screeching halt, I lower the kickstand and jump off to scramble to the wreckage and Saint’s bloody and broken body.
“No!” I shout, my knees buckling.
Before I can hit the ground, Screamer’s there to hold me up. He wraps his arms around me, pulling my back against his chest.
“Shhh,” he croons as I wail.
“No, no, no! Not Saint!”
Screamer lowers me to the ground so he can check on my friend. He presses a finger to his throat, and when he finds no pulse, he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. He’s gone.”
“Oh my God, this can’t be happening. How is this happening?”
I twist and turn to take in our surroundings in an effort to find something, anything, that would explain the scene before me. Nothing jumps out until my eyes land on a piece of paper wedged sticking out from under Saint.
“W-what’s that?” I ask, pointing to it.
Screamer yanks the paper out and unfolds it. As he scans the contents, his eyes narrow, and his body becomes rigid.
“Son of a bitch,” he seethes.
“What?” I demand, crawling over the gravel toward him. “W-what is it?”
When he hesitates, I snatch it from his hand, but when I read the words, I wish I hadn’t.
This is what happens when you act like a whore. As if spreading your legs for the Texan hick wasn’t bad enough, you had to do the same for a married man. I thought you were better than this, Roxie.