The gentle insistence that had prodded me into his lap now buzzed wildly. My hips moved on their own, pushing against him, wanting more, needing to feel his body against mine.

He must have read my mind, because he yanked his shirt off with a sudden violence, revealing the tattooed landscape of his deeply muscled chest. I put a small hand against his warm chest, feeling his heart beat strongly beneath the muscle. My skin on his skin made me gasp slightly.

"What?" he wondered, following my gaze.

"I'm so pale," I smiled, brushing my hand across the warm chocolate skin.

"You need some color in those cheeks," he agreed and I was suddenly on my back looking up into his eyes. "I'll stop if you want me to," he promised, his lips inches from mine.

I pressed myself upward.

"I don't want you to," I murmured, and pulled his face down to mine. But he had other ideas. His fingers slipped below my waistband. I gasped in surprise, but his lips on my neck turned it into a gasp of pleasure. A low growling sound emanated from his throat, and he delved his exploring finger deeper. I closed my eyes, pressing myself into his hand, letting him closer and closer to the part of me he sought.

The brush of his finger met the ragged wound Robert had left me with. I tried to hide the pain, but the hiss escaped my lips. I sat up suddenly as the searing pain flared to life again, robbing me of the release I so craved.

J. jumped back like I had scalded him. Hot, furious tears burned my eyes and I knuckled them away hastily, before he could see me and think it was anything he had done.

But I was too late. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean, I shouldn't have...." His face was a contorted mask of hurt and confusion, while his desire pressed futilely against his jeans. Heat flamed ferociously in my cheeks and I turned away from him. Away from his concerned eyes. Away from the humiliation. Away from the frustration of having to stop when it was the last thing in the world that I wanted.

I heard a noise behind me. The creaking of the door and the rush of cool air let me know that he had left. I studied the wall through my tears. It was plywood, hastily painted. I could still see the streaks and brushstrokes. A long drip mark was right at my eye line. I knuckled away a tear angrily and focused on that drip. It bothered me. Someone should have noticed it by now. It shouldn't still be hanging there, frozen in mid-tumble down the wall. I pressed my index finger to it, pushing in. It was still soft in the bead. By pressing in, I saw I could smash it in with the rest of the paint. Pulling my finger away, I saw that my fingerprint was now indelibly marked into the wall.

"That always bugged me too." J.'s voice was a low rumble over my shoulder.

I jumped back, hastily blinking and wiping my eyes. He was standing in the doorway, watching me for I don't know how long. His shirt was off and the glint of droplets on his chest told me he had splashed water on his face. In his hand he held a tall clear gla.s.s of water, condensation already beading on the side. He extended it to me without a word.

I slid forward on the cot, trying to compose myself. Yanking down my shirt and adjusting my waistband helped me find some of the dignity I had lost.

"Thank you," I replied, and I was grateful that my voice sounded much more composed than my thoughts did.

He dropped to a crouch in front of me, his muscular thighs supporting him in a way that made me think of a ballet dancer. "That better?" he asked, placing his hands gently on my knees.

I took another sip to buy myself time. How could I tell him what Robert had done? He would think I was crazy for being with a man like that in the first place. h.e.l.l, I was beginning to believe that myself. All the hurt, all the betrayal, it had all led directly to last night, but I had been too stupid and too deluded to notice.

I hated myself.

"Yes, thank you." The lies were coming back. I didn't want them to, but they were so much easier than telling the truth.

He paused, searching my face, ready to speak some more. He had to know, it was written all over his face. The anger, the disgust, the trembling impotent rage were all feelings I recognized in myself. I squeezed my fists into the bed sheet, ready for his questions, ready to be picked apart. I should have fought harder. I should have run a long time ago, these were all things I knew to be true. I was ready to it hear from his lips. Ready to hear condemnation that matched that in my own head.

Instead he nodded. Slowly and with all the understanding in the world. Silently he reached for my hand, waiting for me to take it. When I finally did, he lifted me gently to my feet and tugged my shirt down over my stomach. Brushing the barest of kisses across my forehead, he then spoke in my ear. "When you're ready to say it, I'm ready to hear it."

The tears that sprang to my eyes were a completely different kind of sadness. I nodded and bit my lip.

He nodded again, the stepped back. Suddenly his voice boomed out, completely changed, "So I betcha didn't know you were showing up for a party!" he called out for the benefit of anyone who may have been listening.

"Party?" This was not what I had expected at all.

"Yeah we got another MC rolling through town on their way to a gathering up in Maine." The grin was starting to creep back into his voice, and with that came the reappearance of his dimples. I couldn't help but smile back.

He pulled his shirt on over his head as he continued speaking. "They're going to come by. See if we get along. It's been too long that we've been a solitary club." He pulled his shirt down and my heart sank to loose sight of those ridiculous abs. His voice rose higher and took on a note of false jocularity. "Teach thinks it's time we branched out, belonged to something bigger, that sort of thing."

I was fascinated. "And what do you think?"

He shook his head and dropped his voice lower. "I like things the way they are. The less people in your world, the less they can hurt you, know what I mean?"

I nodded emphatically. "Yes I know exactly what you mean."

"But this club is a democracy. One man, one vote. My side lost." He chuckled grimly. "Mainly 'cause I was the only one on it."

"So what now?"

He took my hand and made for the door. "Time to meet the boys."

Chapter 24.

Emmy "What the s.h.i.t is this?"

Case looked a whole lot different in the daytime, and a whole lot better with his shirt off. His tanned torso glistened with sweat in the noonday sun. He knocked back the rest of his can of Yuengling and swore again.

"Hang on Emmy," J. muttered. "Case, what's the problem?" he called across the garage. I followed a few steps behind, squinting in the ferocious light.

For his answer, Case just pointed accusingly at the pile of wobbling yellowed magazines. I looked more closely and wished I hadn't.

J. squinted at the pile of paper. "Well, that appears to be p.o.r.n, Case. What's the matter, you offended? Want me to call your priest?"

"f.u.c.k off," Case rumbled and poked the pile with his boot. "How old is this s.h.i.t? Why do we have it?"

"Judging from the hairiness, I'd say it's from the seventies." I giggled.

J. and Case both snapped their heads to look at me. Case's mouth was a perfect 'O' of shock.

"Emmy, right?" he nodded. "I'd shake your hand, but I touched it." He poked the pile gingerly with his boot. "And it was sticky."

I wrinkled my nose. "Yeah, thanks, don't."

J. crouched down appraisingly. "I'd say this would be worth something, if it were in, er, better condition."

"Teach tells us to clean up the place and doesn't warn us about the pile of full-bush p.o.r.no mags in the corner?" Case wiped his hands repeatedly on his jeans. "Jesus, I think I caught chlamydia just standing here."

A heavy tread on the floor made us all turn. The older man J. had called MacDougal stood there, arms folded, his face a stony grimace. Without a word, he stepped to the pile and threw a stained bed sheet over the top. "Leave it," he grumbled, voice hoa.r.s.e with disuse. Then he stalked away to the front of the store.

J. looked at Case. Case snorted and socked J. in the arm, then the two of them burst out into peals of laughter that echoed off of the metal ceiling. "Mac, you perverted old f.u.c.k!" Case called to the retreating man.

"There's p.o.r.n on the internet, dude!" J. called. "Whole videos, for free!" He turned to me. "Whoops, sorry Em."

"If he likes the hairy stuff, he's gonna hate Internet p.o.r.n," Case noted.

J. punched him in the arm. "Mixed company, a.s.shole."

I laughed in delight. "I haven't been around people just shooting the s.h.i.t and having a good time in a long time," I declared. "Please. Pretend I'm not even here."

Case looked at me pointedly, up and down. "Gonna be hard for me to do that," he said seriously, his eyes fixed on my cleavage.

J. punched him again. "How about you try not being an a.s.shole for once?"

"Casey? Jeremiah? You gentlemen back there?" I turned to the front of the store, surprised to hear a female voice cut through their brotherly banter. I looked back and had to laugh at the sight of them both standing straighter.

"Jeremiah?" I asked.

J. looked down. "Jeremiah Johnson. My sister's name is Janelle Johnson. My mother only knew one letter, apparently."

"You have a sister?"

"Long story," he waved his hand and I bit back my questions to look at Case.

"Your name is Casey?" I looked at him, huge and bearded. He looked like an ill.u.s.tration of the Viking conquerors. Definitely not a 'Casey.'

"Ugh, I know," he grumbled petulantly. "We're back here Mallory!" he called to the front.

"Could you gentlemen help me?" came the call. She sounded older, and her voice dripped with the authority of the cla.s.sroom. J. and Case moved with the nervousness of schoolboys, and I followed behind in wonder.

She was indeed an older woman, though I would have put her age anywhere between forty and seventy. Her cocoa skin was unlined, and her eyes were clear and sharp. Only her waist length dreadlocks gave her away, the dark coils shot through with silver. She wore riding leathers without the patches of the rest of the club, and a helmet was tucked under her arm. Her voice had made me think she was a large woman, but upon reaching the front of the store, I saw just how tiny she was. Her head barely reached J.'s shoulder. She could have fit neatly under my chin.

When she saw me emerge from behind J., her eyes widened. Setting her helmet down on the counter, she extended her hand. "h.e.l.lo dear, I'm Mallory."

Her forthrightness took me aback. "Uh, hi. I'm Emmy. Emilia. Call me Emmy," I stammered, pumping her hand up and down like an idiot.

"She's with me," J. interjected.

"On you?" Mallory asked pointedly.

"On me," J. nodded firmly.

Once again I was left wondering about that exchange, but had no time to ponder. Mallory clapped her hands. "Is this place clean?"

"Clean as it's going to get, Mal," Case replied.

She tilted her head at him. "Clean?" she repeated.

Case nodded. "We're good."

I shot J. a questioning look, but he shook his head.

"Okay," she clapped her hands. "Where're the rest of the guys?"

"Only Mac is here right now. Crash'll probably show up right beforehand." Case shook his head incredulously. "He volunteered to 'bring girls.' G.o.d help us."

I stifled a laugh, but Mallory barely reacted. "Fine, then it's the five of us. Liquor and beer are out in the pickup. Food's in the front seat."

"Mac!" J. hollered back into the garage. "Mal needs you." The older man appeared in the doorway immediately. "How come you never come that fast when I call you?" J. grumbled. Mac just shot him a withering look and stalked out the front door.

I followed the group like a little lost puppy, unsure of my role until Mallory plopped a box filled with red Solo cups in my arms. "Got that, Emmy?"

"Uh, yeah of course." I shifted the burden in my arms. It was light, but unwieldy.

J. rounded the pickup with a box full of clinking liquor bottles in his arms. "Follow me," he called.

I scurried after him, a smile threatening to overtake me. I wasn't used to being treated like a competent adult. Robert would scoff at something so simple as me attempting to lift a box. I had forgotten I was capable.

A tiny little bud of pride bloomed in my chest.

"Watch your step," J. called over his shoulder, and I looked down just in time to step over the threshold into the garage. "Just stick that on the table," he grunted, lifting the heavy liquor bottles onto the shelf in the kitchenette.

I plopped my burden down, suddenly eager to be useful again. "You want me to take the plastic off?"

He grinned at me for a moment before replying. "What?" I asked.

"When you woke up this morning, did you think you'd be getting ready for a biker party in the afternoon?"

I swallowed, remembering my thoughts this morning. "It's honestly the best outcome I could hope for," I said, hoping my tone was lighter than my words.

The way he looked at me made me feel bold. "So, 'on you.' What's that?"

He looked at the floor. "Heh, I was wondering if you'd notice that."

"Yeah, sounds kinda ominous."

"It's not," he answered hurriedly. "It means, well, I vouch for you. You're my responsibility. I say you're okay, and am held to my word."

I leaned against the table, holding tightly. If I didn't I was afraid I would float away. Feeling like my smile would break my face open, I struggled to find the words. I finally settled on, "Thank you."

He bent down and brushed a kiss across my lips. "I'm glad you're here," he whispered.

Chapter 25.

J.