Nowhere (Crimson Outlaws MC #1) Page 3

  Possessively, Kelly lays her hand atop Nash’s. “Oh, I know, Susan. You should see the rest of his body. It’s like a bear tried to maul him.” Annoyance hangs from her every word.

  “No, Kelly. I mauled him!” I want to yell. Instead, I clamp my mouth shut.

  This is fucking bad. The sudden itch to run away, and never look back eats at me. I can’t believe I hurt him like that. I’m a monster!

  This morning, I woke up like I do every night I stay at Nash’s—alone and dressed in one of his t-shirts. It’s nothing, if not repetitive. Some time after he carries me to bed he undresses me, washes me, and then slips me into one of his many shirts. In the morning when I awaken, he’s nowhere to be found. On the nightstand beside his bed sits a bottle of water, Tylenol, and a pair of sweats in my size. A note hangs from his lampshade.

  This morning’s one read…

  See ya at Mom and Dad's for lunch.

  Xo- N.

  In no way, shape, or form did I expect to see him in that condition when I arrived. I knew that I’d be sore. That my pussy would be tender, yet delightfully so—just like a night of hard sex always leaves you feeling. I also figured I’d bear the mark of many bruises. Most of them on my thighs and ass. It’s something I’ve grown accustomed to; finding bruises in places I didn’t even know you could get them. After about a week, they’ll be gone, and in my own twisted way, I’ll miss them. Sadly, I enjoy the constant reminder of the pleasure I felt, even if I know it’s sick. But, hey, at least I found something to embrace about the aftermath that doesn’t include stifling shame.

  Nash rubs the side of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. “It’s not a big deal, babe,” he grumbles, eyes staring at the countertop. Fuck, he’s gotta be feeling the heat right about now. I know I am.

  “The hell it isn’t. Those stupid club whores need to leave without biting and scratching at you like that. That mark on your chest … I’m surprised it didn’t bleed.” She’s full of fire and ice, having none of this.

  Club whores biting and scratching him? God, he sucks at lying. At least this one is plausible, though. Last month, he told her he’d gotten hurt working under someone’s car. Not sure if Kelly is that gullible, or trusts him wholeheartedly. I guess if I’d ever dated a man for nearly three years I’d have to trust him, too. And Nash is a pretty trustworthy man, even if he’s rough around the edges.

  Avoiding a conversation that is going to leave me more upset than I already am, I ignore them and continue with my meal preparations. Twenty minutes later, my dad emerges from his office and takes the seat at the end of the table. The rest of us filter over, carrying enough food to feed a small army. It’s time for lunch.

  Taking a gulp of ice water, I silently listen to Dad and Nash hashing out a flower purchase my mom wants. Something about annuals that he’s trying to force my brother into planting. At the same time, Nash is shaking his head in a ‘hell no, old man’ gesture.

  “Dad. No.” Nash finally puts his foot down, literally stomping on the floor.

  Glowering at him, Dad tucks his arms across his chest—like father like son.

  Ya see, even though Patrick isn’t technically my birth father, he’s the only man I’ve ever had in my life. My real dad died in a car wreck when I was six months old, leaving my mom a widow and single mother for many years to come. During that time, instead of dating, she became a seamstress and started her own small business. It’s a cute little shop in downtown Charlotteton. It’s become a place where the Crimson Outlaw brothers go to have patches sewn on their cuts, as does the neighboring club, Corrupt Chaos.

  When I was nine, my mom and a few of her seamstress girlfriends attended a convention for crafters in Las Vegas. That weekend, she left a single mother and returned with a brand new husband and son.

  I’m sure you can already guess where I’m going with this.

  To hear Mom and Patrick tell their story, it was love at first sight at a craps table inside the Golden Nugget. She blew on his dice, probably something else a little more south, and then twelve hours later they were hitched. It was way out of character for my mother, who’s always been the sensible one. Nonetheless, it must have been dumb luck, or a strike of fate because those two, love-sick fools have been together ever since. Patrick and Nathaniel packed up everything and moved from their tiny apartment in Virginia into our old Victorian home in Kentucky. The same one I’m seated in right now.

  Like me, Nathaniel’s only ever known my mother, Susan, as his own. From what I’ve been told, his birth mom skipped out on them when he was five, and never looked back. Maybe a bit more of that dumb luck sprinkled over our lives, so we were able to come together like we did. Nash needed a mom while I needed a dad. And unlike many other blended families, ours doesn’t feel off balance. We’re all each other has.

  “Come on,” Dad grumbles, trying to wear Nash down with his fatherly stare. You know the one I’m talking about. The ‘I mean business’ one. It works on me, but he should know by now it’s not going to work on Nash. It never has.

  Seated next to him, Kelly elbows her boyfriend in the side. “Yeah, Nash, come on. It’s just a few flowers.”

  Why can’t she stay out of it? I’m all for Nash helping our parents, but he’s not unreasonable when he does say no. As much as I try to like Kelly, this is none of her business.

  “Try two fucking truckloads,” he growls under his breath, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He sounds oddly erotic when he does that. I shouldn’t feel that way about it, but I do. It’s kinda hot. Don’t deny it, you think so, too.

  “Can’t some of the brothers help?” she suggests, and I ignore anything further she says, in fear that I’ll blurt something rude in retort.

  With those marks adorning Nash’s neck and under his shirt, I don’t need to come across any more overprotective than I already do. Not against his girlfriend, at least. He can handle her just fine. No need to raise possible suspicions.

  Trish returns to the table from helping her grandma in the kitchen. As usual, I help prepare the food with my mom, and Trish cleans up afterward. Not sure why, after nearly three years of this, Kelly hasn’t been given a duty as well. But Mom hasn’t delegated one. Perhaps she realizes that Nash will eventually get bored and dump this chick like he did the last four. One of which he’d dated almost two years before she gave him the marriage ultimatum. That was when he finally told her to kick rocks.

  Seriously, you’d think being an attractive biker, that he’d fuck a bunch of women. Oddly enough, he’s not that type of man. He’s what I’d call a serial monogamist. Bouncing from one serious relationship to the next, until one of these chicks finally pins him down. At thirty-eight, he hasn’t taken the plunge. I’m not sure if he ever will.

  Beside me, Trish clears her throat like she has something to say. Except, nobody is listening as Nash continues to fight with Dad about these stupid flowers, and Kelly won’t shut up. It’s starting to get heated in here, the air clouding with masculine energy. When those two thick-headed men go at it, it’s nearly impossible to break them up. Most of the time, Nash ends up storming from the house, and I’m sent to calm him down. It’s a vicious cycle.

  Trish clears her throat once again, slapping her hand on the tabletop. “Hello!” she raises her voice. Still, Dad and Nash continue their bullshit, and I’ve had enough. They’re ignoring my daughter.

  “Hey, you two assholes, will you stop your bickering for just a minute?!” I yell, cupping my hands on either side of my mouth to funnel my voice like a makeshift megaphone.

  It seems to work when both men freeze and swing their gaze my way as Kelly glares. If I weren't as nice as I am, I’d reach across the table and slap that attitude right off her fucking face. She’s really starting to get on my nerves today.

  Calming myself with a much-needed breath, I look to Trish and offer her a sly wink. “They’re all yours.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” She smiles at me before turning her sights on the three idiots. “S
o, I wanted to talk to everyone about this together.” She pauses, and tension rises within me, gurgling beneath the surface. Talk to everyone about this together? Shit. I hope it’s nothing bad.

  Nash’s attention glues to Trish, and he smiles kindly, gesturing with his hand for her to continue. Kelly leans on him as he does this, laying her stupid head on his shoulder.

  God, what is my problem today? Generally, I like Kelly. Even if she is almost six feet tall, lean, with big, cosmetically enhanced boobs, and has an abundance of long, stick-straight, platinum blonde hair. I’ve always thought she looks like a Barbie doll, or maybe a Bratz doll since her lips have been injected one too many times. Regardless of her semi-fake appearance, I’ve always been taught not to judge someone by their looks. Nash has always been known to date exceptionally beautiful girls. The last one was a Playboy Bunny. So, Kelly wasn’t a surprise when he met her at a club rally years ago. She’s honestly a nice person. One who loves my brother with her whole heart. The only thing that’s ever bothered me about her, which has nothing to do with her looks, is the fact that she has zero aspirations in life. She’s content being a strip club waitress here in Charlotteton. She doesn’t dance at the club since I know she has two left feet. But at thirty, she doesn’t seem to want to do much else with her life. I’ve never heard her talk about kids. Getting a better job. Going to college. Nothing, but working at the strip club. Which is fine for now, but those looks are going to fade and then where’s that going to leave her? My brother's sole responsibility, that’s what- and I’m not cool with it. Even though that’s none of my damn business.

  Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Trish rubs her palms together in her lap. To give her a boost of confidence, I lay my hand on her shoulder for moral support.

  “I have a boyfriend!” she blurts exceptionally fast. “And I want him to come to lunch sometime soon.”

  Mom must hear the news from the kitchen because she silently takes her seat at the table. Everyone’s eyes are not fastened on Trish. They’re on Nash, who went from okay to pissed in two seconds flat. I knew this day would come, and I knew he’d flip. Apparently, Trish knew this as well and timed it accordingly. Smart girl.

  Nash takes a deep breath, his jaw working. You can hear his molars grind as he stares at Trish with pinched brows.

  Undeterred, Trish continues, those hands still working in her lap. “His name is Joshua.”

  “What kind of fuckin’ name is that?” Nash snarls, sitting forward, laying his fisted hands on the table.

  Jesus, you’d think that being her mother, I’d be the one worked up. But I’m not. I’m very happy for her. She’s responsible, still a virgin as far as I know, and is growing into a wonderful young woman. What more can a mother hope for?

  “I-it’s his name,” she stutters, her voice shrinking to a quivering murmur. “He … um … goes to college with me. He’s a … um … freshman. He … um … asked me out for coffee a month ago, and we’ve been … um … dat—”

  Nash slams his fist against the table, making us recoil. “You’re not dating anyone!” he roars, eyes moving to mine to back him up in this. No way in hell. I’m not doing that. He can have his overreaction. Then we’ll talk in private. A place where I can kick his ass for scaring the piss outta Trish. I’ve never fought in front of her before, and I’m not about to start doing that now.

  “I’m … I’m…” Trish blubbers.

  Son of a bitch, he’s making her cry. That’s it! Powerless to control it, furious mama bear rises within me, and I stand from the table, pointing directly at the dickhead.

  “Spare bedroom. Now!”

  I don’t pause for him to respond when I huff my way down the hall, into the room at the very end. Leaving the door open, I wait for him to join me. Only, it takes him a minute as I watch him argue with Kelly, who apparently thinks this is the time to be clingy. This is none of her business. This is my fucking daughter he made cry. Not hers. She needs to stay the hell put!

  Down the way, I see him grab her shoulders, forcing her to stay back as she tries to slip past him. I’m unable to hear a thing he says through the pounding in my ears as my heart races, I fist and unfist my hands at my sides, wanting to hit something. Shit, between him and Kelly, they’re working my last nerve.

  Inhaling deeply, I attempt to regain my wits. It does nothing to help.

  Ten more seconds tick by, as Kelly continues to fling her hands in the air, causing a big show. That’s it.

  Incapable of waiting another second for him to convince the baby that he needs to talk to me, I pause inside the open door, cuffing my hands on either side of the frame as I lean forward. With nostrils flaring, and adrenaline coursing through me like a freight train, I lose it. “Kelly, this is none of your fucking business. Three years with someone doesn’t make it your business. I need to talk to Nash. So you better sit your ass down or leave. Make a choice!”

  In my direction, her eyes blaze like liquid fire, and just as she opens her mouth to argue, my Dad grabs hold of her shoulder, steering her away from a fight she was about to lose. Taller than me or not, skinnier than me or not, I would have put her on her ass. I have no tolerance for this shit when I’m furious. It might take me a lot to get there, but fucking with my daughter and making her cry is the first way to push me straight into crazy bitch mode.

  Now that Kelly’s under control, Nash pivots on his heel and thunders his way down the hall. He’s just as angry as I am. Good. It’ll make for an interesting fight.

  I back away from the door when he enters, and it slams shut in his wake. He flicks the lock. For a moment, we glare at each other, circling in the middle of the room like lions in the wild, ready to pounce. Out of habit, I bounce on my toes, shaking my hands loose at my sides, ready to sucker punch him if the need arises.

  Thankfully, he’s the first to carve through the mounting tension. “She’s not fuckin’ dating.” His tone is low—menacing, as his lip curls in aggression.

  “You made her cry,” I growl my frustration at him as we continue our little dance. “It’s none of your business who she dates. She’s eighteen. You’re just gonna make her close up, and not tell us a damn thing ever again. Do you want that, asshole?”

  Nash’s face falls at my words, and his shoulders deflate. He stops moving. Lifting his head, those tender green eyes reach in to fuse with mine. Every part of me wants to melt with just one look. That look. I’ve seen it before. It’s not often that his vulnerable side surfaces. That he exposes these kinds of emotions. He’s lost, and looking to me for direction. Fuck. I can’t stay mad at him anymore. I wish I could. But those eyes, that face, and how he tugs the band from his hair, letting it fall to his shoulders. I know what he needs.

  My stomach clenches as I walk toward him, opening my arms wide.

  “Oh, fuck, Gwennie-bee,” Nash murmurs, bursting with pain as he steps forward into my embrace and wraps his arms around my middle.

  His massive body jostles me, forcing me to take a wobbly step backward, then another and another as he tries to crawl into me. To hold me tighter. To get the comfort he desperately seeks. As my back collides loudly with the door, I’m finally able to brace myself for his intensity. His head tucks into the crook of my neck, and he sniffs me as his body trembles in my arms. My breasts smash against his ripped abs. I can feel his pulse throbbing through them, blending with my own manic beat.

  Knowing exactly what he desires most, my fingers slide up the planes of Nash’s muscled back, and he groans. It’s so sexy to hear as it vibrates on my neck, sending a tingling sensation through my skin where it catches my bloodstream and stops to pool in the juncture between my thighs. With considerable effort, I suppress a shiver.

  Mother-shit-fuck. This isn’t how things were supposed to go down. Then again, the hankering to lash out at Nash has vanished and has been replaced with this deep-seeded need to take care of him like he’s always done for me.

  Slipping my hand underneath Nash’s hair, the tips of my fingers br
ush along his neck until they glide into the base of his thick mane. He breathes a sigh of weighted relief as I comb through, feeling the silky strands caress my sensitive flesh.

  Nash’s nose nuzzles the edge of my jaw. “I don’t want her to end up like you,” he finally expresses.

  Of course, that’s why this is bothering him. Why he’s acting this way.

  “She’s an eighteen year old adult, Nash,” I soothe. “She’s not some innocent, fifteen year old girl at a party she shouldn’t be at. Acting like she’s older than she is.”

  “Fuck. I know. But…” His mind seems to drift into darkness, following the same path that mine is headed. I didn’t want to deal with this today. Sometimes, the past is better left buried.

  My fingers continue their job, and I dampen my lips with the sweep of my tongue before speaking. “Yeah, I know.” A sigh escapes me. “I lived through it. I survived. And now I’ve got a beautiful daughter to show for it.”

  For a moment, his body stiffens. “I know that,” he grumbles. “But you were raped.”

  Yes, I was, and I’ll never be able to forget it.

  “Not by my boyfriend,” I remind, so he realizes Trish and I are not the same. “You wouldn’t let me have a boyfriend then either.” Weighed down by painful memories, I exhaust another sigh.

  It’s true. Nash never let me have a boyfriend. Then again, that didn’t stop what happened from happening. It was a Friday night, and our parents were out of town for a weekend getaway. I was barely fifteen when Jenny, an older girl in school, invited me to her cousin’s Frat party. At that age, I knew I could easily pass for a senior. Like most kids, I ached to be one of the popular crowd, so I agreed to go. It’s not that I was a social outcast. I wasn’t. But I was tired of being labeled as Nathaniel, the bad boy’s, younger sis. It gave me a certain credibility by the time I entered high school, which kept me from being picked on. And I should have appreciated that. Instead, I hated it. Hated the way my peers eyed me warily in the hall. The way boys refused to flirt with me. I desperately wanted my own identity; not one Nathaniel had constructed to keep the guys away. In the end, it hadn’t worked anyhow.