Outlaw Road (A MC Romance) (16 page)

Flora's eyes sparkled. “But Claudine,” she said, “She told me that it was because of our struggles that we were stronger. That no one could survive a day in our shoes. That's what made us special. She taught me so much about the world and about myself. If I was ever in trouble, she would always find a way to help me. God, I looked up to her like crazy.”

“Sounds you still do.”

“Yeah.” Flora stared into her water sullenly. The crushing weight of her insurmountable task loomed before her.

That was tomorrow's problem, not today's. I'd always been of the mindset that it was best not to dwell on things that you couldn't, or wouldn't, change.

“Hey, I bet she didn't teach you to be crippled by doubt.” I lifted her chin with my finger and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Your sister needs you.” Then I offered a mischievous grin. “And from what I've seen of your interrogation methods,
I
wouldn't want to fuck with you.”

I felt terrible about encouraging her suicidal endeavor, but it was what she needed to hear. I'd learned by now that there was no changing Flora's mind. There was a small hole in my heart in knowing that she wasn't going to save anyone.

“You know all about me.” Flora palm-rubbed her eyes and smiled, stemming the budding tears. “What about you? You weren't born into that biker gang, were you?”

“I was born into the biker gang of life, but that's a long and boring story.” I finished my beer, stood up and grabbed my jacket. “Another time, maybe.”

“I didn't scare you off, did I, Mr. big tough outlaw-man?” Flora teased.

“Nah, but I do think it's your turn to pay. You got this one, right?”

“What?” Flora's eyes flashed nervously. “You know I don't have any money.”

I shrugged, slipping on the leather and affixing a grin. “Looks like you're going to have to roll up your sleeves and do some dishes.”

Flora shook her head. “You're unbelievable.”

I took a few twenties from my pocket and handed them to her.

She snatched the money and wryly smiled back. “Yeah, you better run.”

“No man can run from old habits.” I held up a pack of smokes and walked out.

****

O
utside by the dumpster, the kitchen entrance was blasting early ninety's rap music. I took a drag from my cigarette and tried not to think. The cool air had crisped since we'd been inside. It felt refreshing on my face, sobering, even.

I saw Flora turn the corner, jacket folded over her arm. “Those things will kill you,” she said.

“Not fast enough.” I tapped the cigarette to knock off some ash.

She looked side to side. “I wondered where you got off to. You weren't by your bike.”

“It's too busy out front, too much noise.”

“Noise, really?” Flora motioned towards the open kitchen.

I blew a line of smoke out of the side of my mouth. “You want me to ask them to turn it down for you?”

She eyed me uncertainly, perhaps wondering if I'd really do it. Her expression lightened. “You never finished back there. Explaining, I mean. What were you before the club?”

I wasn't looking forward to reliving that experience, but she had me cornered. I was out of places to run.

But not out of ideas.

I reached out a hand, hearing that the next song that was blaring through the washroom boombox was a slow ballad. “Dance with me.”

“What, here? Next to this dumpster?” Flora giggled nervously, then took a step backwards when she saw my sincerity. “No, no no. I can't dance.”

“Then I guess you'll never know my past. The mystery will eat away at you until you're old and gray.”

After a fair amount of deliberation, her face screwed up in mild embarrassment. She begrudgingly took a step forward, taking my hand. “Fine,” she whispered. Her inner battle with giving in to my ridiculous demand was fun to watch.

I tossed her coat onto a nearby fence, then pulled her into me. Flora squeaked at the abruptness of the motion. It was adorable.

It was... dangerous.

Why am I doing this?
I wondered. But wondering led to more questions. Hadn't I questioned myself enough these days?

I couldn't dance either, so we swayed like high school sweethearts. The last time she was this close without a set of wheels beneath us was when she'd tried to seduce me. It was an image that I'd never get out of my head.

Not that I wanted to.

I felt her breath on my collarbone. She was warm and soft in all the right places. My mind drifted, wondering what the rest of her felt like. Flora was a pretty girl, but I didn't realize just how badly I wanted her until now, on the eve of our demise.

She'd wormed her way inside of me. I'd promised myself I wouldn't let that happen. Yet here we were, swaying together. It was ridiculous.

I didn't want it to ever stop.

Throughout this whole trip, I think I'd always known I was falling for her. I'd been trying to keep my distance so that I wouldn't become too attached. Having Flora finally in my arms made all that imposed detachment so pointless.

Looking down at her, capturing her stare, I studied the centers of her eyes. The static boiling in her black centers said she wanted this, too. I had one hand in hers; with the other, I squeezed her closer to me, running my fingers down the curve of her spine.

Touching her, reminding myself of her existence—
our
existence—was addicting.

“Ronin...” Flora's voice was weak, on the verge of trailing off completely. We stopped moving, but stayed just as close. “I don't even know your real name.”

Inside the kitchen, a dish shattered; there was cursing and shouting. Outside, dull chatter from joining or parting friends mixed with the coughing engines turning over.

“Maybe it is my real name,” I said. Her steady stare said she knew better. “Alright. Then, does it really matter?”

Soon, we'd never see each other again.

Flora challenged me, reading my face and the reckless edge we balanced on. Then she deflated, pressing her head against my chest. “No. I guess not.” She hugged me tightly, fingers locking into my back muscles; the grip of someone who worried this was our only moment of peace in this damn world. “What are we doing?” she asked softly.

I didn't know the answer to that... so I said nothing.

The rise and fall of her every breath rang through me. Outside of that small diner on the fringe of Georgia, the cacophony of noise faded away.

There was only Flora and I.

Caressing the side of her face made her turn her head to look up at me. The pull between us yanked harder, fiercer. Who was I to resist?

“My name is Connor.”

I leaned in and did what I shouldn't have.

I kissed her.

Flora

––––––––

I
couldn't remember the last time I'd kissed anyone.

Ronin's warmth, his life, pushed out every old memory I had. His presence crept deep, picking out the cells in my brain until all that was left was this moment between us. No one before he'd entered my timeline mattered.

I wondered if they ever would again.

There was a dumpster nearby, people gossiping in what had to be a filthy kitchen. In spite of everything working against us, this slice of our world was pure and heated and perfumed by desire.

How easy it was to forget all of my troubles when I was in his arms.

He'd said his name was Connor—his real name. There was a specialness to this secret, a treasure that was so fragile, but trusted with me. Selfishly, I actually wanted to hear him say my name. Again and again. How sweet that would be.

Life is good at stealing sweetness away.

“Flora,” he hissed, but he was strained from panic, not lust.

His fingers that had clutched me, claimed me, now held me away. Looking up, I watched as the centers of his eyes turned frantic with tension. Then I heard it, too, and I knew why he was so worried.

“Bikes,” I whispered, looking around for the source of the motors.

Grabbing my jacket, he shoved it at me. He didn't need to say it, it was clear from the firm tilt of his jaw.

We needed to run.

Together we hurried, the darkening sky revealing the headlights of motorcycles up the road. Ronin nearly threw me on the bike, flooring the chrome vehicle around the side of the diner. Our only advantage was that we were leaving from the opposite direction of their arrival.

I didn't consider myself lucky, far from it, but maybe...

Maybe they wouldn't even see us.

“Hang on tight,” he snapped, just loud enough over the engine. I obeyed, clutching my arms around his middle. The velocity of our speed was dangerous; we were shooting like a bullet, piercing the late hour with the teeth of danger on our heels.

It was so easy to forget that minutes ago, we'd been dancing.

Kissing.

Holding Ronin tight, I screwed my eyes up and promised myself that no matter what happened, I
wouldn't
forget that moment. It had been a fraction of my mortality, but it would remain fuzed into my very atoms until I found my end.

There was a cruelty to all of this. Ronin had found his way into my life and brought so much destruction, even while my own path had led me here. Pain swallowed and stalked us, like we were planets caught up in orbit. But without such pain and tragedy, we would never have met.

Destiny deserved a punch to the jaw.

For awhile we just rode, my ears working to hear anything over the constant rumble. I glanced back several times, anxious to see if there were lights behind us. I never saw anything, but if I was comforted by this fact, it still took Ronin hours before he agreed to slow down.

It was the needle waving at us on his gas tank that had the final say.

The rickety, self-serve gas station we pulled into would have fit better in a horror movie. I kept expecting some guy with a chainsaw to stumble out of the bushes, ready to slice us up.

A hand touched my shoulder; I jumped a fucking mile. Ronin smiled, but he had the look of a man putting on a show. “Go inside, pay for the gas and grab us some water.”

Taking the money he offered, I clutched it. “Those men back there, who were they? Guys with old grudges?” He'd told me people would be after him, but to face it so suddenly...

He turned, focusing on the pump. “They weren't the Girl Scouts.”

I looked at him hard.

Ronin shrugged with his famous half smile. “Honestly, it's hard to even narrow it down.”

The back of my tongue burned. I wanted to argue, convince him to stop leaving me in the dark. One step forward, two steps back. That was us.

Sighing, I walked across the dim lot, making sure the pistol I had from Roach's place was still hidden in the back of my pants. I didn't doubt that anyone running a business like this would take one look at my weapon and aim his own at me.

The door jingled, a slim, leathery man looking my way. His bushy brows waved upwards. “Ho ho,” he said, revealing too few teeth. “Late hour for company. Need directions, Missy?”

“Nope.” I snagged two cold water bottles from a dusty cooler, setting them and the cash on the counter. “Just these and some gas. Thanks.”

Nodding, the hard nub on his turkey-throat wiggling, he grabbed the money. I tucked the waters in my purse, wiping my palms on the front of my jacket. He followed the motion, acting overtly creepy. The man was about to say more, and there was a good chance I didn't want to hear it—but a new noise shut him up.

Engines.

Together we turned, my blood going electric. “Friends of yours?” the man whispered, turning pale as three motorcycles rolled into the lot.

“No,” I said softly, reaching back to touch my gun's hilt. “I think you should call the police. Those men...” I didn't bother to finish my warning. I watched as the clerk ducked, flying into the back room faster than a man of his age had any right to move.

I knew the sound of a lock when I heard one.

Shit.

Terror made me walk on stiff knees, my vision heightened from my adrenaline. Through the window, I could see that the men had dismounted. He must have run for cover when he heard them coming down the road, because I had to search a moment before I spotted him across the dirt.

I didn't know if his plan had been a surprise attack, or just to gain some distance. Whatever he'd been hoping for, the bikers still migrated in his direction, quickly surrounding him.

They were out of the line of sight of the front door. I took some comfort in knowing I could go through, unseen. But peeking past the cracked, dusty glass, I was trembling at the idea of letting Ronin out of view, even for a second. The idea that I might turn away, and in that instant, hear the gunshot that finished him off...

It turned my stomach to ash.

Can I shoot them from here?
Pulling out the pistol, I debated my chances. The angle was bad, and the three men were too close—I might hit Ronin. He had his hands in the air, that familiar smile glistening as he said words I didn't hear.

I imagined him trying to talk them down.

Their sneers said he would fail.

Summoning my confidence, I hurried out the door. The air was chill, the same as when Ronin and I had shared our kiss. I could still taste him, and that was torture.

I won't let him die. Not without trying to save him.

It was as close to a promise as I could make.

Looking around, I studied the scene. The lot was barren; nothing but the single, rusted pump and Ronin's bike sitting beside it. He'd started to fuel up, but now, the nozzle dangled in the dirt, the acrid scent of gasoline permeating my nose.

The keys dangled in the ignition. Had he planned to ride away, to abandon me? Or to lead them away for my benefit? The men had rolled up so abruptly, he'd clearly chosen another option, leaving the bike where it was.

Wait.

Wide-eyed, I focused on that motorcycle.

I knew what I had to do.

I'd found our one chance.

Stealthily as I could, I darted over to the vehicle. Here, I could almost see the men around the building. One of them was talking softly, I picked out his smug tone.