Running Wild (Hell Ryders MC Book 1) (7 page)

Wyatt’s gaze met hers. Jace released his hold on his neck and punched him in the gut. Wyatt doubled over, wrapping his arms around his waist, and groaned loudly. She let out a small gasp, then immediately put her hands over her mouth. Jace grabbed the front of Wyatt’s shirt and slammed him against the door again.

“That’s for puttin’ your hands on my woman. No one touches what’s mine. Let that be a lesson. And ’cause you’ve proved you’re a fuckin’ idiot, I’ll tell you this, a man, a real one, doesn’t put his hands on a woman who doesn’t wanna be touched. Now, don’t mother fuckin’ tempt me, asshole. Walk away, and don’t say another word. Don’t even look in her direction.”

Jace let him go.

With those last words and without sparing a glance in her direction, Wyatt straightened his shirt, opened her front door, and walked out.

Allie watched him go. For a long moment after, she stared at the door, wondering where the hell she’d gone wrong. She’d never wanted a relationship with Wyatt. From first glimpse, something about him turned her off, but her father pushed and pushed until she gave in. She ignored her instincts and fell for Wyatt’s lies. In the end, he showed her why she should’ve trusted herself. He showed her the real him—a monster.

“You okay?”

The muscle in his jaw jumping, and still, his voice had been tender.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you.”

Tears began to choke her. She walked away as fast as she could. Inside her room, she closed and locked the door behind her, and then she sprinted into her closet. Taking a seat in the farthest corner, she cradled her knees and dropped her head. Only then did she let the tears cascade down her face.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there crying, but it was long enough she started sobbing. She sobbed so hard there came a point she thought she’d never be able to stop. When the thought occurred, her bedroom door slammed hard against the wall, and she was forced to swallow her sobs. She wiped her tears and blanketed the emotion from her face just as he came to view. Tears choking her, the flutter in her stomach hit her with full force.

Handsome, even in a T-shirt and jeans he was handsome in a rugged biker kind of way, so different from anyone she’d ever dated and still too appealing. She bet her life he didn’t take an hour to get ready. She bet when he found the woman for him, he’d treat her like gold. She knew this because of everything he’d said. A man who couldn’t give himself completely to a woman couldn’t speak like he had.

His jaw dropped and that angry expression always there disappeared. What was left? A rugged biker looking at her in the tender way she’d seen men look at women who’d lost hold of their emotions.

In the haze of her grief as she looked into his tender dark eyes, she realized why every time she looked at him that flutter in her stomach came and what it meant. It meant he was a man she could fall for without so much as trying.

“I’m fine.”

Jace sighed heavily, closed the distance between them, and lifted her off the floor. Cradling her against his chest, he strode out of the closet. The feel of his body, the warmth permeating it, soothed her. She didn’t want him to let her go.

She sucked in a breath, knowing with certainty had she fallen for a man like him no one would’ve ever hurt her. “I can walk. I’m fine.”

He softly set her on the bed. “You’re not fine, Allie.”

“I will be.”

He sat beside her then nodded. “Yeah, you will, but you need to get that pent-up shit out.”

“I don’t need you here to do that. I was doing that just fine alone… You…you’re a biker, and bikers—”

“I’m a man, and no man likes to see a woman cry. A man with half a heart tries to console that woman, no matter who she is.”

Had he just said that? Jesus. He really made it hard for her. Angry most of the time, but then he said things like that and did things like lift her off her closet floor and hold her close. It made her think there was much more to him than her brother said. “What?”

“I get you’ve been surrounded by pricks, dickheads, and cheaters, so I’ll repeat it. A man with half a heart tries to console a woman who’s crying. A man who’s not a prick, dickhead, or cheater doesn’t tell a woman she can’t express how she feels.”

He was still looking at her that tender way, and it made her want to believe everything he said. Worse, it made her think he cared. Right then, she couldn’t look at him and not think these things, so she looked away.

Resting his elbows on his legs, he ran his fingers through his hair. Without meeting her eyes, he said, “You love him.” He said it like it pained him to admit it.

Wanting to know if in fact it had, she looked at him. She knew she’d know staring into his eyes. His head cast down, not looking at her. She said nothing.

“Do you?” He turned to her. His brows furrowed, his expression pained, really like it hurt him to have her admit it.

The flood of tears came and slid down her face. She let them. “I loved him. I never…” She let the words trail off. “We were introduced by my father. There was something about him I didn’t like, but my father insisted I give him a chance. I did. We dated. After a while, I fell for the lies.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be the woman who blames herself, but I do because a part of me knew. I let my father make the decision for me like I let him make every other decision in my life.”

With one swift movement, he hauled her toward him. Cupping the back of her head with one hand, the other firm on her back, he pressed her against his chest.

“Cry, Allie, fuckin’ let it out.”

She did.

After several long moments, he said, “I meant what I said.”

She pulled away from him. Still close, so close if she moved a fraction of an inch, his lips would touch hers.

“You—”

“I know. If I feel it, I show it, right?”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t say or do anything for several moments, and then as if reluctantly, he nodded.

Chapter Eight

Allie crying in his arms, crying those silent tears, holding back the gut-wrenching sobs he’d heard before. Her small body, pressed against his, trembled.

He was helpless, powerless to undo what had been done. The only thing he could do—beat the shit out of the asshole who’d hurt her. He would have, too. He’d wanted to bash the bastard’s head against the door repeatedly until he physically suffered the pain she felt inside, but the fear in her eyes held him back. She was class, beyond fist fights, blood, and revenge.

Pressing her tighter against him, feeling like the luckiest trailer trash on earth, he whispered, “I meant what I said.” He admitted it because he wanted her to know all he said, he meant. More importantly, he wanted her to know her worth.

She pulled away from him slightly. Still, she was so close if he moved a fraction of an inch, he could press his lips to hers.

He hadn’t finished his thought. Meaning to elaborate, he began, “You—”

“I know.” She smiled the saddest smile he’d ever seen. “If I feel it, I show it, right?”

He meant that too, but that hadn’t been what he wanted her to know. He wanted her to know he meant what he said to her ex-fiancé. She was classy, smart, sweet, and fucking beautiful beyond words. He wanted her to know, and yet he knew he made a mistake, acted irrationally, letting how he felt act for him instead of rationale. Knowing he should have never done what he attempted, he hesitated.

To keep the words at bay, he clenched his jaw, and so he wouldn’t be tempted to say it again, he didn’t speak for several moments. Then, finally and reluctantly, he nodded.

Coward. Scared. Tempted.

He was all of it.

He hated not having the guts to tell her, but knew he’d done the right thing. She was grieving for the man she’d loved and lost and didn’t need another man proclaiming shit. She was off limits, and most importantly, her ex was right. She was out of his league and deserved better than him.

It had been clear to him from first glimpse, but one look at the apartment building where she lived with a doorman and reception area, and the knowledge slammed into him. One step into her apartment, and it seared his soul. Because her Manhattan apartment wasn’t an apartment but a penthouse. Extravagant and lavish, the type of stuff he’d seen in movies: two bedrooms, two baths, full kitchen, dining room, living room, and a study. Lined with floor to ceiling glass windows that gave you an amazing view of the city no matter what room you were in. Everything in it expensive. Expensive in a way you didn’t have to know anything about designers or décor to know its value.

“Allie,” he managed. “You’ll find someone one day who’ll think the sun rises and sets on you, and you’ll think the sun rises and sets on him.”

She smiled. “Is that biker philosophy of some kind?”

Fuck, no. That was him being a wuss, but he wouldn’t admit it. He wiped her tears with his thumbs, then chuckled. “Naw, just me.”

Staring into her eyes, he savored the feel—her against him, her eyes on him, giving him that sad, fake smile.

Woman like her, faking a smile for him made him feel like the luckiest trash on earth.

The moment broken with a single knock on the door. His protective instincts jumped to the forefront, he tore himself away. “Go in your closet. Take your phone. Stay there. Don’t come out.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t ask questions. She nodded like she trusted him to take care of anything.

Luckiest trash on earth.

He dashed to the front door and looked through the peephole then swung it open.

“Brother, what took you so long?”

“Hiding Allie.”

Army tensed. “What?”

He ignored it. He needed to get Allie first. Not wanting her to worry, he headed to her room, opened the door, and instructed her to come out.

“Trig, what the fuck?”

Trig caught sight of Allie coming out of her closet, wiping her face before he responded. “Ex showed up.”

Army unceremoniously dropped the take out bags on the dining room table. “What?” His gaze snapped to Allie and hardened. “He touch you?”

Allie’s gaze shot to his. He nodded, knowing she’d understand his silent command. He gave her free rein to tell him first, whatever she wanted, whatever she didn’t. Why he did that, he didn’t know. Army was his brother and hers, and he should know the bastard put his hands on her.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

Army’s hands in fists, his jaw hardened. “Alyssa Marie Holden, a man puts his hands on you, it’s a big fuckin’ deal.”

“Ty, he grabbed my wrist. It wasn’t a big deal. Besides, Jace handled it.”

Army’s gaze shot to him.

He nodded.

“Jace slammed his head against the door several times, then punched him. Oh, and he thinks Jace’s replaced him.”

Trig tore his gaze from Allie to look at Army, wondering how he’d take this piece of information. The pent up anger had to go somewhere, and he didn’t think Army would be opposed to beating his ass, considering he made it look like his classy baby sister was dating a biker.

“He looked scared. I mean, he didn’t even try to fight back, Ty.” Allie’s voice alight with amusement.

The tension coiled around Army faded.

Allie closed the distance between her and Army. She smiled big, thrilled he’d roughed up her ex. “He won’t be coming back.”

Army crossed his arms over his chest. “May I ask why you were crying then?”

She crossed her arms, mimicking her brother. “May I ask why it took you more than an hour to bring dinner when you know I’m starved?”

Trig’s lips twitched, hiding a smile. He knew her game. She wanted to keep the details from her brother because Army, in an instant, would find her ex and beat the living daylights out of him. That would probably get him arrested.

Her game, though, would only succeed in riling him. Army should never be riled, especially since he’d been practically foaming at the mouth moments before. Nonetheless, she did it and in the cutest possible way, proving he’d been right. She wasn’t scared of her brother in the least.

His gaze shifted to Army.

Surprising, Army too, fought a smile. “Alyssa, don’t rile me. Answer the question.”

She lifted a brow. “Tyler, don’t rile me, and let me eat.”

Army threw his head back and laughed, then shook his head. He pulled out his chair and sat mumbling, “Damn woman, you’re the only one who gets away with pulling this shit with me.”

She smiled, cheekily. “I know.”

Shocked as shit, Trig smiled, then followed her into the kitchen.

“Ty, you know you could help,” she said over her shoulder.

“I got dinner.”

Trig helped her grab plates, utensils, and headed back into the dining room. The square table, made from a deep, dark wood, seated four. Allie sat to her brother’s right, he to his left. They dug into the food immediately. For several moments, no one spoke.

Allie broke the silence. “Both of you should take the beds. I’m smaller and can sleep on the couch.”

Trig, in the process of swallowing, almost choked. He gave her his best angry, disbelieving gaze. “Fuck, no.”

“What the fuck?” Army said, simultaneously.

“You have to admit it makes perfect sense. I’m smaller. A lot smaller. Both of you are—”

He shook his head.

Army shoved a fork full of meat in his mouth. “Allie, I’m not letting you sleep on a couch.”

“No—” She began to protest.

Trig took a sip of beer. “I’m taking the couch.”

Allie’s gaze snapped to her brother. “Why don’t you let me take care of you for a change?”

“I’m a man, Allie, and I’m your older brother. I take care of you. Always.”

She shrugged. “Fine, be stubborn.” Her gaze shot to him. “Both of you can sleep on the couch and wake up grumpy.” She shrugged. “See if I care.”

Trig took a bite, and then, because he couldn’t help it, he chuckled.

Allie lifted her brows. “It’s not funny.”

He swallowed before he answered. “A man doesn’t let a woman sleep on the couch.”

Her eyes softened, and she turned her attention to her plate. After a moment, she met his gaze. “Thanks for beating up my ex.”

“I didn’t beat him up.” He wished he would have, but he couldn’t. Even knowing she wouldn’t mind, he wouldn’t have.