Own the Wind (2 page)

If you had a Harley, you took care of it. You treated it like a woman, lots of attention, lots of TLC. No excuses. If you didn’t do that, you didn’t deserve to own it.

There were also a couple of new souped-up muscle cars, which meant whoever owned them put every nickel into keeping up the cool.

But there were more junkers and classic cars, the latter in the middle of restoration, all of it loving. Whoever owned them was taking their time, doing it right, saving up and taking care of their baby before they moved onto the next project in line to make their Mustang, Nova, Charger, GTO, or whatever cherry.

Those cars meant that not everyone in that house was a loser.

At least that was something.

Shy angled out of the truck and moved toward the house. Once in, he shifted through the bodies, ignoring looks from the girls and chin lifts from the guys. He was on a mission and wanted it done.

It didn’t take long to find her. She was in the living room sitting on a couch, a cup of beer in her hand, her head turned away from him, her pretty profile transformed with laughter.

When he saw her it happened like it always happened. He didn’t know why he hadn’t learned, why he didn’t brace. He always expected he’d get over it, get used to it but he didn’t.

Seeing her hit him in the chest, the burn in his gut moving up to flame in his lungs, compressing them, making it suddenly hard to catch a breath.

He didn’t get this.

She was pretty. Jesus, she was pretty. All that thick, dark hair and those sapphire blue eyes, her curvy, petite body, perfect, golden skin still tanned from the summer. Any guy, even if they didn’t get into short women with dark hair, could see she was pretty.

It was more and he knew that too, had been around her enough to see it and often. Her face was expressive, she was quick to smile and laugh. She was animated. She was just one of those chicks it was good to be around.

She could get pissed off. She could get feisty.

Most of the time, though, she was in a good mood, but her good moods were the kinds of good moods that filled a room. Even if you were having a shit day, if Tabby Allen wandered into the common room of the Compound wearing a smile, some of that shit would wear off and your day would get better.

But she was his brother’s daughter and that was reason number one not to go there. Further, she was too young and too immature. She did stupid shit, like her being with this crowd, drinking beer underage and laughing rather than home studying or hanging with kids from college. So regardless that she was fucking pretty, had a sweet little body, and could light up a room with her mood, he was never going there, but even if he could, he wouldn’t, because she was flat-out trouble.

And yet every time he saw her, it somehow rocked him.

He ignored this feeling that he didn’t want and didn’t understand, and his mouth tightened when he saw how she was dressed. Tight skirt, short. Tight top, cleavage. Lots of leg on show even if she wasn’t all that tall. Nice leg. Shapely leg. Fucking great leg.

Shit.

And fuck-me high-heeled sandals that even if she was too young and his brother’s daughter, the sight of them Shy still felt in his dick.

Damn.

He ignored this too and moved through the room, eyes on her, determined.

She must have felt his approach because she turned her head, looked up, and that burn didn’t lessen at all when her unbelievable blue eyes ringed with long, dark lashes hit his.

He was not surprised when her smile faded, the animation left her face and she snapped, “You have got to be shitting me.”

That pissed Shy off too. He fucking hated it when she cursed. Tack didn’t give a shit, even when his kids were younger. Shy, though, detested it. There was something just very
wrong
about words like that coming from lips as beautiful as hers.

“Let’s go,” he clipped.

“Shy—” she began but didn’t finish, mostly because Shy grabbed her beer, set it aside, then grabbed her hand and hauled her ass off of the couch.

Surprisingly, she didn’t fight.

She followed.

Good,
he thought. He wanted this done.

He got her out of the house, down the walk and opened the door of his truck for her. He was pulling her by her hand to get her close to the cab when she finally spoke.

“Shy, I keep telling you guys that this is not what you—”

He leaned in, nose to nose with her and cut her off. “Shut it.”

She blinked even as her head jerked. This wasn’t a surprise. Brothers respected brothers, and one of the ways they did that was by showing respect to their kin. Chaos was Chaos, it was all family. Brothers, old ladies, kids. Shy had never spoken to her that way. None of the brothers had. Not to her.

“Get in the fuckin’ truck,” he went on.

Tabby rallied and started to say, “Can I just explain—?”

Shy interrupted her again. “Get in it or I plant you in it, Tab.”

Even in the shadows of night, he saw her eyes flash before he saw her clamp her mouth shut. It was with jerky movements that she yanked her hand from his, turned, and climbed into the truck.

Shy slammed her door, rounded the hood, and folded in.

They were on their way when she tried again, her voice quiet. “Shy, really, those are my friends. It’s all cool. Just a couple of beers. A few joints. I’m not smoking and I’m driving so I wouldn’t—”

“So all of those kids are nursing students?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “They’re friends from high school.”

“You’re not in high school anymore, Tabby,” he pointed out, and felt her eyes come to him but he kept his angry ones on the road.

“You’re right,” she snapped, the quiet in her voice gone. “I’m not. That doesn’t mean they aren’t still my friends. We’ve had a lot of good times together. We’re close. What? You think I should just scrape them off?”

He didn’t glance at her when he replied, “Uh, yeah, Tab. They’re trash. You aren’t. Jesus.” He shook his head. “I do not get you. I know your mom’s a bitch, but for the last three years you’ve had Cherry in your life. It isn’t like you don’t have a good role model. Why the fuck you can’t be like her is beyond me.”

He heard her swift intake of breath before she returned, “Maybe it’s because I should be like
me
and, by the way, Shy, Tyra would want me to be like me too.”

The members of the Club called Tack’s woman Cherry but Tack called her Red. His kids and everyone else called her Tyra or Ty-Ty.

“Anyway,” Tabby went on irately, “they’re not trash.”

“They’re trash,” he stated firmly.

“They. Are.
Not!
” she stated loudly.

There it was. That gave him his opening.

“You want that life?” he asked.

“That life?” she shot back.

“Booze and bodies, booty calls and bust-ups,” he explained.

“Um…
hello,
Shy. That
is
my life.”

“So you want it,” he concluded.

She ignored his question and pointed out, “It’s
your
life too, you know. Nothing wrong with it. Never was, never will be.”

A nursing student.

Right.

On this path, she’d never make it. On this path, she’d end up like those bitches in his bed. On this path, Tabby was pissing her college education away, and Tack might as well be pissing that money into the wind.

“You want that life,” he said softly, “you think that’s cool, baby? Then let’s roll.”

It was perfect timing because he’d flipped on his turn signal to turn into Ride.

“What the hell? Why are we here?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

He drove around the store and through the forecourt of the garage to park in front of the Compound. He didn’t delay in folding out of the truck, rounding the hood, and yanking open her door.

“Shy, what are you—?” she started but stopped since he leaned into her, undid her seatbelt, tagged her hand, and hauled her out of the cab. “Dammit! Shy! What are you doing?” she clipped.

Again he didn’t answer. He just tugged her into the Compound and straight behind the bar. He nabbed a bottle of tequila off a shelf at the back then pulled her in front of him.

“Ready to let go of that little-girl-beer bullshit?” he asked, holding up the bottle.

Her eyes went to it then to him. He saw the confusion and he sensed her unease.

He ignored that too.

“Tab, asked you a question. You like to party. You aren’t in high school anymore. You wanna grow up and learn how it’s really done?”

She ignored him this time and asked, “Why are you being so weird?”

He pulled her closer and tipped his chin down to hold her eyes, now ignoring that it was starkly apparent she wasn’t breathing and her body had gone still.

“Didn’t answer my question, baby,” he said softly and watched her swallow then lick her upper lip.

Jesus. Shit.

He’d never seen her do that. Definitely not this close.

The tip of that pink tongue on the perfection of that rosy lip.

Shit.

“Tab,” he prompted, his hand squeezing hers.

“I want to go home,” she replied quietly, being smart for a change.

“Too late for that,” he muttered then moved away, pulling her with him as he moved from behind the bar, through the room, and into the back hall.

She tugged at his hand and called, “Shy. Seriously. You’re more than kinda freaking me out.”

Hopefully, in about two seconds, she’d be a lot more than kinda freaked out. She’d be scared straight and out of this bullshit she kept pulling.

Therefore, two seconds later, he yanked her into his room, tugged her to a stop and flipped the light switch.

The two women were still naked, lying head to foot on the bed, having, since he was gone, tangled with each other.

Briefly, he tried to remember their names.

He stopped trying when he felt Tabby’s hand spasm in his and she gave a rough pull to try to break away but he just held her tighter and turned to her.

“Usually, we throw some back, get loose, in the mood,” he educated her, lifting up the bottle. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, baby, so if you wanna just get naked and go for it, I’m up for that too. They’re out but, we go for a while, no doubt they’ll rally and join in. Sounds extreme but, trust me, you try it, you’ll like it.”

When he started talking, her eyes were on the bed but they moved slowly to him and he saw she was pale beneath her tan. Her eyes were also wide with shock and something else he didn’t quite get, and her full lips were parted.

“What’s it gonna be?” he asked. “You wanna loosen up or you wanna just go for it?”

“Why are you doin’ this?” she whispered, and Shy shrugged.

“This is who you are or who you’re headin’ to be. Might as well quit fuckin’ around, babe, and go for it.”

Her eyes slid to the side then to him before she stated quietly, “This isn’t who I am.”

He looked her down and up and pointed out, “Short tight skirts, too-tight tops. I know it’s not lost on you that I can see most of your tits not only through the shirt but spillin’ out of it, Tab. Then we got your high heels, lots of hair, lots of makeup. You scream you got a wild side, baby. Quit fuckin’ around. You been wantin’ to explore it since you were sixteen. The time is right. The stage is set.” He pulled her closer to him and lifted the bottle again. “Let’s go.”

When he said the word
sixteen
, she flinched and her hand jerked at his again.

Also, the look in her eyes he couldn’t quite place came clear.

Hurt.

It sucked. He didn’t like to do this to her, but he reckoned that emotion stark in her gaze meant he was getting through.

“Take me home,” she said softly, and he shifted closer to her

She swung slightly back, but her movements were wooden.

“Come on, baby. Don’t bullshit me,” he coaxed in a gentle voice. “I’ve seen the looks you give me. Now’s your shot. You’re hot, you like to have fun, you shouldn’t waste this opportunity.”

“Take me home,” she repeated.

“If you don’t want an audience or this to be a participation sport outside us two, I can rouse those bitches—” he jerked his head to the bed “—send them on their way before we get goin’.”

“Take me home,” she said again.

“Or we can let ‘em sleep. Go to your dad’s room,” he suggested, and that did it.

With a violent wrench, she tore her hand from his, turned on her foot, and raced from the room.

Much more slowly, Shy put the bottle on a dresser, snapped off the lights, and followed her. He wasn’t alarmed. She didn’t have wheels and she was in high heels, there wasn’t far she could go.

Surprisingly, when he exited the Compound, she was sitting in the passenger side of his truck, her head turned to look out the side window.

Yeah, she was ready to go home.

He didn’t delay in moving to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting her up. Tabby didn’t look his way as he reversed out and headed toward Broadway.

They were well on their way through Denver to the foothills where Tack and Cherry lived, where Tab still lived with them and their two new boys before he spoke into the heavy air in the cab.

“You’re a good kid, Tabby. Don’t let your mother treating you like shit kick your ass. Get off that path.”

“You’re on that path,” she whispered to her window.

“Babe, I’m not. I’m a man and I got brothers. I chose a lifestyle and a brotherhood. It’s different for you and you know it. The bullshit you’re pullin’, the path you’re on, no joke, even if you wanted the life, wanted to be an old lady, that wouldn’t work for you no matter what respect we got for your dad. The path you’re on heads you straight to bein’ a BeeBee, and you know that too.”

She didn’t speak but Shy figured his point was made. Tabby knew BeeBee, everyone did. BeeBee had been banned from spreading her legs and spreading her talent throughout every member of the Club after she stupidly went head to head with Cherry. But even gone, she was not forgotten. Back then, Tabby had been way too young to know BeeBee in any real way other than seeing the way BeeBee hung on and put out. But there was no way to miss her use to the Club, even for a teenage girl.