Rider (Defenders M.C. Book 3) (8 page)

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head.

“I love you Lizzie although I know I’ll never be good enough for you.”

Lizzie burst into tears and buried her face in his shirt.

“I love you too Rider and I’m not really as good as you think.  I’m so much worse.”

He pulled her close and knew something terrible haunted her.  He looked up to find Shadow watching him.  The man looked worried and that scared the shit out of Rider.  Had the men who had taken her hurt her?

“Lizzie, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it won’t matter.  It won’t make me run away or think less of you or love you less than I do.  Whatever it is we will deal with it.  Whatever it is I have done worse.  Don’t worry baby.  Let me help you carry it.”

She clung to him as if she would float away if she let go,

“I want to.”

Fifteen

It took Lizzie three weeks to confide in Rider about what had happened in that house.  He had listened.  He made no judgments or offered no stories of his own.  This wasn’t about comparison.  She let it all out.  Every thought, every feeling.  When she was finished she shivered.

He pulled her close.

“Feel better?”

She nodded.  “A little.”

He kissed her head.  “Okay.”>

“Please say something.”

“You are amazing and I love you.”

“No.  I mean about what I did.”

“That is what I’m saying.  Baby you did that because you knew you were strong enough to handle it.  You did it because we have all seen Shad go ape shit crazy and that’s scary as fuck.  You did it because you have a big heart and I’m sorry you had to do it, but that is the life we live.”

Lizzie was speechless.  “You have gotten wise and I don’t mean a wise ass, you were always that.

“I think I finally grew up.  Do you mind?”

“No.  I think I can be happy now.”

“Good.  Me too.”

“It may not always be easy Rider.”

“Fuck easy.  Nothin’ is easy.”

“Rider.”

“Hmmm?”

“Tell me about you.  I don’t know anything really.”

“Not much to tell.  I had a shitty childhood.  Rode bulls in the rodeo for a few years.  Got busted up.  Couldn’t take the result.  Got in some trouble, robbery.  Lucky for me I was robbin’ a tattoo parlor owned by the Defenders.  Preach decided I’d be better as a part of the club than in jail.  I was nineteen.  That’s it.”

“It’s not.”

Rider laughed.  “What do you know that I don’t?”

“I know that you had a sweetheart.”  She raised up on an elbow so she could look down at him.  She smoothed the hair back from his forehead.  It was shiny again and as golden as the sun.  He was watching her face.  She knew the scars bothered him, but she didn’t mind them.

“I had a sweetheart.  Her name was Casey.  She talked about what we would do when we grew up and got the hell out of Texas.”  He shrugged and looked away.

“She wanted children.”  Lizzie knew it.  She knew it was something Rider struggled with. 

He nodded.

“And you thought she wouldn’t want you after…”

“Couldn’t ask her to give that up.”  He met her eyes and she knew he was thinking the same abou {thewouldt her.  “I was in the hospital for three weeks.  Fucked up my leg.  Explains the limp.”

Lizzie laughed so hard she rolled to her back.

“You don’t have a limp and there’s nothing about you that is.”

Rider laughed and rolled on top of her.  She felt him press into her and she caught her breath.

“Not when you’re around Baby.”

Lizzie sobered.  “I will always be around Rider and I’m not missing out on babies.  I’ve never wanted children.”

“Really?  I thought all women wanted them.”

“No.  I’m happy Rider.  This is all I want.”

“Good thing.”  He pressed all the way into her body.  “This is damned good.”

He loved her like a man who knew what he wanted.  There were nights when they wanted to take it slow and just enjoy the feel of skin, but there were nights when he took her as if his life depended on it.  There were nights when the darkness tugged at both of them until they felt like more animal than human, but there was acceptance.  They gave and they took, but most of all they loved.

Epilogue

Marty slid the plate in front of the mountain of a man that sat at the bar of the diner.

“Eat up and hit the road alright?”

“You always this nice to the customers?”

“When they wear those colors this is what you get.  If you don’t like it you can stop somewhere else.”

“I’m not here for trouble.  I’m just looking for somebody and a meal and maybe, just maybe a little courtesy.  Used to be able to get that in here.”

Marty crossed her arms.  Could he really be that dense?

“Times change.  Who are you looking for?”

“Janie Cross.”

“What do you want with Janie Cross?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Since she was my mama, quite a lot actually.”

BOOM!  Marty wanted to laugh.  The man looked tota ~thewodiv heilly shocked.  She knew who he was.  She had his picture, and she also knew he had no idea that she existed.

“Your mama?”

She nodded and poured coffee for a customer who sat at the other end of the counter.

“How old are you?”  He asked when she came back.

“Nineteen.”

He nodded and took a sip of his coffee. 

“You know who I am?  That look on your face says you do.”

“I know enough.  I was told that if I see those colors on a cut that I should turn and walk away.”

“Your mama tell you that?”

He was looking her over now.  She knew he was seeing the resemblance.  Her hair was dark like her mama’s, but her eyes were all his. 

“My grandma.”

“I’d like to see your mama.”  He grinned.  “I’d rather not see your grandma.”

“Me too.  Mama died about eight years ago.  Nothing to worry about with grandma either.  She passed a few months ago.”

She regretted that.  He looked like she had punched him.

“Where do you live then?”

“Now she lives with me Ace.”  Janice stepped up beside Marty and crossed her arms.  “What are you doing back here Ace?  After all these years, why are you back now?”

“Guess I’m gettin’ old.”

Janice nodded.  How’s Preach doin’?  He ever marry that woman he was crazy over?  Claim his boy?”

“She was killed.  He raised the boy though.  Why didn’t anybody call me?  I could have done something here.”

“You did enough.”  She nodded toward Marty.  “Would you have come back?”

“I don’t know.  I could have sent money.  I’d have come for her when her mama died.  A kid needs family.”

“That’s a fact.  So now that you know, what are you planning’?”

He let his eyes fall on Marty.  “Whatever she wants.”

“You’d take me with you?”  Marty crossed hertysp; “Whr arms and studied him.

“If you want to go.  Get your shit.”  Ace had no idea what he was doing, but it felt right.

Marty hugged Janice and raced out of the diner.  She ran to a little house across the street and disappeared inside.

“Tell me about my kid before she gets back.”

“She’s smart Ace, damned smart.  Watch her.”  Janice grinned.

A little more about Amanda Anderson

I live in North Georgia with my husband and two children.  I spend part of my time teaching at a local preschool and writing, while the rest is devoted to my family.  Writing is new to me, but storytelling has been a life long hobby.  I love using words to create images and feelings for others.  I can honestly tell a story about almost anything.  Some of my favorite storytelling memories are of telling bed time stories to my children and nieces and nephew.  They would pick random things, such as the ceiling fan, and I would make up a story about it.  Those moments are treasures to me and I hope they will be remembered by those special children too.  In that way I hope to bring special moments to my readers as well.

Writing offers me an escape from the wonderful chaos that is my life.  Raising two small children takes a lot of energy and I often collapse in my office chair late at night and let my ideas flow.  I often write from an outline, but just as often I simply sit at the computer and type until I run out of ideas.  Then I go back to make sure it all makes sense and works.  Often I find myself captivated by the story as I read because in my mad rush to type it all out I don’t really embrace the story in the way one does when reading.  My husband often laughs at me when I am reading a book of my own while wiping away the stray tear or two.  I feel it is a pretty good sign that it can touch me in that way and I hope my readers can feel the emotion that I try to inject into my stories.

I find that I enjoy my self-published status because it gives me the freedom to write what I want, how I want.  I often choose characters who may not fit the norm of what most think of as a hero or heroine.  I like my characters unique and I like their story to flow from me instead of what someone else’s guidelines.

I hope you enjoy my stories.  I enjoy hearing from you.  I do read emails and I try my best to reply if necessary.  I would love to hear your ideas and all about the types of books you enjoy most. 
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Amanda Anderson (AmandaAndersonBooks.com)