Page 36 of Chaos Bound
She struggled for the memory, the training that had been drilled into her head when she and Ally had taken Doug’s self-defense class together. “I’m… supposed to step back.”
With his free hand he gripped her jaw, pulled her head against his shoulder, the gesture at once intimate and threatening. Arousal gave way to fear and she bit back a whimper.
“Let me go.”
He tightened his grip, holding her immobile. “I trusted you.”
“And I trusted you.” Anger surged through her, sending strength to her limbs. She lifted her knee and bashed her foot down on his instep, then elbowed him in the ribs where he’d suffered the worst of the bruises. She spun to face him as he doubled over in pain.
“I protected you. I looked after you. I trusted you, Holt, and you were going to shoot me. And now, I thought you were…” Her face flamed. “I’m done with this. Get your weapons and drop me at the nearest town.”
“Don’t be stupid,” he growled. “The Jacks are still around which is why the Sinners were up at Still Water. I saw Tank at the gas station. I should have fucking shot him when I had the chance, but I couldn’t do it.”
Despite her anger, her heart squeezed in her chest at the pain in his voice. God, that’s why he’d been so abrupt at the gas station. His best friend had been standing only fifty yards away. Except for her grandmother, Naiya had never had a real family, had never been part of something bigger than herself. What would it feel like to have it all ripped away? To have the people you cared about betray you?
“Of course you couldn’t. He was your friend.” She crossed her arms over her chest, clenched her T-shirt in her palms. “Maybe it wasn’t what you thought.”
“It was exactly what I thought.” The self-loathing in his voice sent a chill down her spine. “If it had been Tank missing, I would never have given up. Every minute of every day I would have looked for him. I would have told Jagger to fuck himself if he tried to stop me. I would have armed myself and blasted my way through the fucking Jacks’ clubhouse. I would have been happy to die if it meant he could be free. But he didn’t do the same for me. None of the Sinners did. No one had my back. I just gotta get it together. Get the job done without any distraction or worrying about someone stabbing me in the back.”
This was the Holt she’d seen down by the lake. Cold, determined, his eyes unnaturally clear. It was like a mask he put on that didn’t sit quite right, one that he didn’t want to wear. And it couldn’t hide his pain.
“If you really believed that, then you would have shot him, Holt. But part of you doesn’t believe it. That part held you back. He’s your friend, and you knew him well, so maybe deep down you know there’s a reason he didn’t come for you. Doesn’t he at least deserve a chance to explain? After what you had together, can’t you at least give him that?”
He took a step toward her, and she stumbled over the gun. Her body blocked the light from the window, casting him in darkness.
“Pick up the weapon,” he snapped. “I’ll fill the pack. Mad Dog left some cash with his sister, too. Viper’s cash. I put it in the boiler room out back. I’ll grab it and meet you here, then I’ll drop you off like you wanted.”
“I think that would be best.”
He jerked as if she’d slapped him, and then he turned and walked out the door.
***
“Hey baby, you lookin’ for a good time?”
Holt pulled his bike over to the side of the road and gestured the hooker closer. Except for the bright red dress and matching heels, there was nothing to make her stand out from the other prostitutes on the street, except that she happened to be standing near the traffic light when he slowed the bike. He’d dropped Naiya off at the nearest town and then headed into Missoula to stock up on supplies and do something about the fucking ache in his balls that just wouldn’t go away.
His stomach clenched, and he pushed away the memory of Naiya outside the cheap motel in Trenton, wearing her Bolton Beaver T-shirt, the red neon motel sign flickering on and off behind her. She’d refused to take the weapon he offered her or any of the money he’d taken from the Sinner cache, saying Ally had loaned her some cash to tide her over until she could figure out how to access her bank account without her ID. Her face crumpled when she said good-bye, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness he felt as he drove away.
By the time he’d reached Missoula, he’d thoroughly cursed his damn luck at always hooking up with people who abandoned and betrayed him. He resolved never to trust anyone again. After he got his revenge, if he was still alive, he would spend the rest of his life as a nomad, riding from town to town. Just him, his bike, and the open road.
“Man like you. Girl like me. I think we could find a way to spend the next hour that would make us both happy.” She slid her hand down his arm, her fire-red nails glinting in the streetlight.
Naiya didn’t wear nail polish. Or makeup. Or at least he thought she didn’t. He supposed she wouldn’t have dressed up to go to her mother’s funeral, and makeup wouldn’t have been her first priority once they were on the run. He couldn’t imagine her in makeup, not with that fresh, natural beauty. And damn, she’d looked beautiful standing in the kitchen at the cabin, her hair damp, feet bare, chilled and relaxed after fucking drugging him to save him from his own stupidity. He wanted to see her smile again. Hear her laugh. It didn’t make any sense. He’d only known her for a few short days.
“I’m doing a hot-guy discount tonight.” The hooker had a high, thin, childlike voice that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “And you look like a hot guy in need of some loving.”
Maybe that’s what he needed. These confusing feelings, unfamiliar emotions, were a need for release. He hadn’t been with a woman for over three months. If he just got back in the saddle, he would stop thinking about Naiya, and how soft she felt in his arms, and how desperately he wanted to unlock the passion he only glimpsed when he kissed her.
“You got a room?”
She smiled and flicked back her long, blonde hair. “Just down the street.”
Holt parked the bike and grabbed the packs. He wasn’t worried about the Jacks calling in the plates—bikers didn’t involve the police no matter what the situation—but leaving two bags filled with weapons on the bike was just asking for trouble.
He followed the woman to a low-rise, stucco apartment building and then up one worn flight of stairs. He dumped his bags near the door once they entered the bachelor apartment. Typical hooker hangout. Old, run down, sparsely furnished except for a bed, couch, and TV, no doubt owned by her pimp and rented out for use by his stable of girls. She reached for the light and Holt shook his head. He could see well enough with the streetlights shining through the cracks in the curtains. He wanted only one thing, and he didn’t need the reminder that he was getting it from the wrong girl.
“How much?”
