Rush - Blue Devils MC Book 2 (Book 1 Included FREE for a short time only!) (33 page)

~ Lain ~

As they roared along the freeway towards the border, Lain chewed over the day’s plans in his mind. Brock was getting antsy about Ella, and he hadn’t even heard about the library incident. He would’ve gone ballistic if he had.

So more than anything, this trip to Mexico was a way of getting Ella out of the way. If she wasn’t in Copper Lode, she couldn’t ask the wrong question of the wrong person, and bring a shit ton of problems down on her head.

After the internal debate up in Coronado, Lain realized he was no farther along in deciding what the fuck to do with the club and Brock than he had been before, and he sure as hell didn’t know what to do with Ella. She was leaving tomorrow - seven days in Copper Lode, and she’d managed to turn his entire life upside down.

She had her arms snuggled around his waist, stroking his abs and chest softly as they drove through the desert. Almost absentmindedly, as if she didn’t realize what she was doing. At first, it drove him to distraction and he wanted nothing more than for her hands to dive southward and stroke other parts of his body, but after a few hundred miles on the bike with her, he’d started to realize that her strokes were soothing. A balm. A loving caress to his soul that he never expected.

He hadn’t ever bothered to look for someone to become a part of his life. Some part of him - the part that had even bothered to think about this - just expected him to be single for the rest of his life, fucking any hot sheep that came through the club (and there were plenty of those to choose from) and riding his bike in the purest expression of freedom a man could make. And that was it, and that was enough, and he was content.

But now…now he wanted Ella by his side. He wanted Ella hanging onto him as he rode through the desert, snuggled against his back. He wanted Ella asking questions like, “How long do saguaro cacti take to grow their arms?” and “People intentionally sleep on the ground on a regular basis?” and “Are you
sure
about this restaurant?” when they pulled up in front of a particularly questionable establishment. He wanted her laughter and her intelligence and her love.

Fuck!

He punched the gas, pushing his bike to the limit. He was goddamned turned upside down by this goddamn New York reporter, and he didn’t know what the hell to do about it. He couldn't follow her back to New York - what the hell would a country boy like him do in New York City, away from his club? - and she sure wouldn’t want to move to “hell on earth,” as she jokingly called Copper Lode. Not that he blamed her. It was north of 100 degrees in Copper today, and would hit that temperature every day this week, and next week, and the week after that. Only masochists moved to Copper.

He pushed every last one of these thoughts out of his mind - Brock and the club and Ella leaving him. For today, this last glorious day, he was going to forget all of that. He was going to tell reality and the world to fuck off. He was going to enjoy this last slice of paradise with Ella, and then tomorrow…tomorrow he’d do whatever he needed to do.

But today was a day to be enjoyed, nothing more.

***

He pulled to a gentle stop at the parking lot, hating to wake Ella from her ride-induced sleep, and especially to make her stop stroking him through his t-shirt. And
especially
to cause her to pull her amazing rack away from his back, where he’d been enjoying them for so long.

“Ella,” he said softly, backing into a parking spot and putting the kickstand down. “Ella, you gotta wake up.”

Mumbling through her helmet and visor, she sat up, pulling away from him, and he instantly regretted stopping. Maybe they could just ride to the ends of the earth…

“Are we there?” she asked sleepily after she’d popped the visor up on her helmet. She swung her right leg off and stood for a moment next to the bike, trying to get her bearings. She unbuckled her helmet and pulled it off, releasing her gorgeous blonde hair. He curbed the impulse to wrap her thick braid around his hand and pull her towards him. He couldn’t give the border guards a show, no matter how much he wanted to.

They locked their helmets onto the bike and she grabbed her mammoth-sized purse and they were off. Crossing through the gates to Mexico was always the easy part - Mexico never quibbled about having people come in. It was going the other direction that was trickier.

“Why are we parking on the US side of the border?” Ella asked.

“The line to drive through to Mexico is much longer,” Lain said, pointing to a long line of vehicles that stretched out into the distance. “If you park on this side and walk to that side, you get through much faster. Nogales is literally split in two - Nogales, Arizona and Nogales, Mexico are the same town, split in two down the middle by the fence. So parking in Arizona and walking to Mexico is the fastest way to get from one country to the other. The good news is, on the Mexican side of the fence, shopping is a hell of a lot cheaper.”

She looked around, assessing his claim. There were vendors
everywhere
, hawking everything from blankets to baskets to sombreros to questionable pharmaceuticals. He figured they’d skip the drugs and stick with the legal shit today. He dealt with illegal shit often enough.

They wandered up and down the aisles, listening to the vendors cries, “Best prices in Nogales! Blankets for cheap!” as they walked. It was a dusty town, much like Copper Lode, and wouldn’t make it on the Gorgeous Vacation Site of the World list, that’s for damn sure, but there was an energy in Nogales that he liked.

They stopped for a couple of ice-cold Coronas at a street vendor - even Lain, who stuck with Jack and Coke at any bar in the US, acquiesced to drinking a Corona while in Mexico. They wandered farther down the street until Ella stumbled upon a booth selling feminine sombreros. Instead of the typical sombreros with red, green, and white stitching on them (the colors of the Mexican flag) these sombreros had giant purple and pink flowers stitched all over.

“Oh Lain!” she exclaimed, picking one of them up and plunking it on her head. “What do you think - should I start practicing the Mexican Hat Dance?” He grinned down at her. Gods, she was gorgeous, with her blonde hair and green eyes and pink lips that he wanted to suck on for hours on end.

“I think you’d make a great
bailarina folklorica,
except for your white skin and your blonde hair and your green eyes,” he teased her. “But other than that, I’m sure you’d do great.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and carefully placed the hat back on the table. She ignored the vendor’s increasingly cheaper prices for the hat as they walked away. Lain steered them towards a tamale vendor.

“Two beef, two chicken,” he said to the vendor, who quickly served them up. Ella carefully unwrapped the tinfoil on her chicken tamale and raised it to her mouth when Lain grabbed her arm in shock.

“What are you doing?” he half-yelled, and then began laughing. He pulled her over to the shade beneath the overhang of a building so they could eat in relative cool.

“Did you eat
any
Mexican food in New York City?” he asked drily before taking the tamale from her and unwrapping one end. “This is a corn husk. You could chew that all day long and just end up with a jaw ache for your efforts. It’s what’s inside that you’ll love.”

“Oohhhhh…” she said, accepting the tamale back from him. “So, is there
any
chance that I can leave Arizona without having ‘Gringo’ tattooed to my forehead?”

“Yes, a great chance actually. ‘Gringos’ are male. Don’t you worry, darlin’, you’re gonna leave with ‘Gringa’ tattooed to your forehead.”

“Perfect!” she laughed. “Just what I’ve always aspired to.”

They leaned against the building, the cool cement brickwork a stark counterpart to the heat of the city. After splitting the last tamale, they began wandering again.

“We should go sit in a cantina for a bit - get out of this heat,” Lain suggested. He was a little worried about Ella’s health in the heat and sun.

“That’d be great,” Ella agreed, a little too quickly, and Lain wondered if she wasn’t feeling top-notch. She wouldn’t complain until she dropped, which made him even more aware of her every move.

They walked into a dark, cool bar, and he heard Ella’s happy sigh of relief at the conditioned air pouring over them. TVs showing soccer games plastered the walls, and Spanish surrounded them, enveloping them, but Lain was sure that this close to the border, the bartender would speak both Spanish and English. Their livelihood depended on it.

“Two Coronas and two waters,” he ordered at the bar, and then wound his way back to the table Ella was sitting at. She looked a little tired, a little worn down, and Lain vowed to himself to take better care of her.

“Welcome to Mexico,” he said, toasting her with his Corona. They clinked beer bottles and began sucking the cool liquid down.

“Sooo…” Ella said slowly, and he instantly knew that she was debating whether he’d love her news, or hate it. He kept a neutral face as he looked at her, but inside, he was worried. Nothing good ever started out this way.

“I asked my boss last night for some more time here,” she said. “He told me yes, but only until Wednesday. I just don’t feel like I have enough yet for my article, and I…I didn’t want to leave yet.”

He held his breath, watching her face. She didn’t want to leave because she didn’t have enough for her article, or because she didn’t want to leave
him
? She’d never so much as said, “I kinda like you,” let alone, “Hey Lain, you make my heart go pitter-patter every time I look at you,” or even better, “Lain, I never want to leave.”

But then the timeline of it hit him like a punch to the stomach.

Goddamn motherfucking son-of-a-bitch
.

Ella was going to be here on Monday.

The
Chupas
were going to be here on Monday. With large guns. And a very angry Brock, who was going to be freaking out about having a reporter under foot.

This
so
wasn’t going to go well.

Lain gave a pained smile and said, “Well, that just leaves more time for us!” He attempted to inject a note of happiness into his voice when he said it, because truly, he was happy. He didn’t want Ella to leave -
ever
, he silently acknowledged to himself - but at the same time, how did that fit with the club? How did she fit into the club? And his life?

Goddamn motherfucking son-of-a-bitch
.

Chapter 19

~ Lain ~

Lain dropped Ella off at El Rancho with all of her many purchases (although, sadly, not the sombrero - Lain couldn’t figure out how they’d strap the damn thing to a Harley) and then with some gruff excuse that he had “club business,” he roared off to the clubhouse. He had to talk to Brock before things got any worse.

“Where’s Brock?” Lain demanded, as soon as he got there.

“Back in the chapel, last I seen,” Chili slurred, nursing his usual whiskey as he sat at the bar.

“Thanks,” Lain said as he brushed by and made his way back to the chapel. He gave two short knocks and then opened the door, hoping to find Brock alone.

Well, at least one thing went right today.

“I’ve been waiting for you all goddamn day!” Brock shouted, half rising from the head of the table. He glared at Lain. “Where the fuck you been?”

Shiiiittttt
.

“I took Ella down to Mexico for the day. She hadn’t been before, and I figured it was a good way to get her out of the club’s hair.” Lain shrugged nonchalantly. He would only be able to keep shit together if he was able to convince Brock that Ella was nothing more than a garden-variety fuck, one of the many sheep who threw themselves at the legendary Blue Devils. That was something Brock could understand.

Feelings…not so much.

“Well, you coulda fuckin’ told your prez,” Brock fired back.

“It was spontaneous. I didn’t think about it until we were already in Mexico and the cell service was shit down there.” Actually, Lain didn’t trust Brock not to send another member after them to tail ‘em and report back to Brock. The last thing he’d do is broadcast his movements to Brock.

“Well, you better get that hot piece of ass back to New York City, where she belongs. Tonight. I don’t want her snooping ‘round here anymore. She apparently went down to the library and was asking the librarians about the death rate from having the Blue Devils in town. Goddammit, I knew having a reporter here was a bad idea! Fucking New York liberals don’t know a damn thing about us. I don’t know why the hell you let her nose around in our club, but I want her out. Now!”

Lain bit down on his tongue so hard, he was sure he was going to chew it in half. Fucker never remembered it when he made a mistake - it was
always
someone else’s poor choices that caused the problems, never Brock. He shoulda known this was coming.

“Well, she’s supposed to leave tomorrow. Is
that
soon enough?” Lain fired back, his anger making it hard not to end that question with a choice swear word. Or six.

“Tomorrow? Hell no! Who knows what shit she might get into between then and now. In fact, where the fuck is she right now?” Brock craned his neck, looking around Lain as if expecting to see Ella leap out from behind him.

Ella’s short, but not
that
short…

“She’s in the hotel room, taking a nap.”
At least I hope she’s still there, and not off at the library again. Wouldn’t that just be a clusterfuck.
“It’s been a long coupla days, between the charity ride and the trip to Mexico. She’s not used to being on a bike for hours at a time.

“But anyway, it doesn’t make much sense to send her back tonight. All that’ll do is raise suspicions. She’ll want to know why she has to leave tonight instead of tomorrow, and her boss will too. It’s better to just let her stay the night, and I’ll personally escort her to the airport tomorrow. She’ll go back to New York none the wiser.”

Brock paused, thinking. Normally, he didn’t let anyone influence his decisions, so Lain took this as a good sign.

“Fine,” he finally barked. “Tomorrow, get her ass on a plane and don’t leave until that plane is high in the sky.”

Lain nodded abruptly and headed out.

He had no idea what to tell Ella. He sincerely doubted she’d take this lying down, but he also didn’t know how to persuade her without telling her that Brock was as mean as a copperhead snake, and about as trustworthy.

Oh, and the Blue Devils were running drugs and guns in semis.

And that a huge deal was going down with the
Chupacabras
in just a few short days.

Yeah, without telling her any of that.

Goddamn motherfucking son-of-a-bitch
.

He pulled up in front of Ella’s motel room, and sat there, thinking. He wanted one more night before the shit hit the fan.

One more night to hold Ella in his arms. One more night of biting back the words he was dying to say. One more night to treasure when she was gone.

Did that make him a heartless bastard?

Probably
.

He gave two short knocks on the door and then turned the doorknob to go on it, but couldn’t. She’d locked the door.

Good girl.

She opened the door with the chain still in place, peered out at him, gave a happy yelp of surprise, and then reopened the door, this time with the chain gone.

“I didn’t know I’d get you back tonight!” she said enthusiastically, throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her wet, cold hair pressed against his cheek and he breathed in her shampoo deeply. She smelled amazing. She always smelled amazing, but somehow tonight, even more so.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said casually, swooping down to kiss her on the forehead before walking in and closing the door behind him. “There was a problem with a semi load going to the wrong customer, but I got it straightened out. I thought I’d come by and see how you were feeling.”

“Much better after my shower.” She looked down at her magnificent thighs that Lain wanted to kiss his way up and said ruefully, “I think I’ve had a bit too much sun.” Lain looked down again, only then realizing how pink her skin was.

“Oh damn, does it hurt?” He reached out with his oil-stained fingers and brushed against her skin, feeling the warmth radiating off it. The contrast between his stained fingers and her sexy pink skin…

What the hell is a chick like this doing with a guy like me?

“Nah, not too bad. I’ve just slathered on some more aloe vera.”

Lain was suddenly found himself in the odd position of being stupidly jealous of aloe vera. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position in his jeans.

“You want to go out and grab a bite to eat? We haven’t eaten in hours.” Lain tried not to sound like a worried mother hen, but fuck all if he was going to let Ella pass out from lack of food again on his watch.

“Oh, that’d be great! I’d been thinking I’d wander down the street and see if I could find a place to eat, but I’d love to go with you. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing with flip-flops and her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

He realized that tonight was the first time he’d ever seen her without makeup on. And unlike, oh say, 99% of the women he’d fucked before, Ella was just as gorgeous without it. He’d always gone for the sexy whores who glammed it up, slathering on the makeup and the hairspray and the fake nails. Ella wasn’t any of that. How the hell did a cool chick like her come out of New York City?

After they were seated in the diner, Lain asked her just that.

“Oh!” she said, laughing. “Well, I guess it’s because I’m not actually from the city. I grew up in a small city about two hours outside of the Big Apple - a place you’d never heard of, I promise. Anyway, people think of New York state as being New York City and then…well, that’s it, but actually, there are some really rural parts of the state with cows and horses and hay fields and whatever. I went to college at Syracuse University, which is in New York state, and then moved to the city after I graduated because, well, that’s where all journalism graduates in the area move. You can’t make it big in rural New York.

“And, I wanted to live in the big city. I wanted the energy and the excitement and the fun that came from living in the coolest city in the world. I mean, who wouldn’t want to live in New York City?” She laughed a little bitterly.

“But I’m not sure I ever quite fit in. I mean, I loved all the cool restaurants and museums and whatever, but the friends I did manage to make all wanted to go out clubbing every night, and that’s just not my style. And it doesn’t help, working at
Pout
. I mean, my God, you couldn’t find a more celebrity infatuated group of people outside of Hollywood. The fashion choices…hell, I’ve seen better dressed farmer’s wives. At least they don’t wear ridiculous platforms that make it hard to walk down the street.”

She stopped abruptly, clapping her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish grin. “I really have no idea why I just told you all of that.”

Lain grinned at her, stupidly happy that she apparently struggled with the same thing that he did - shutting up around the other person. At least they were equally afflicted.

“I liked it,” he said. “You make a lot more sense to me now.” She stared at him, cocking an eyebrow in confusion. He stumbled on.

“You just…don’t always match up. I was expecting a short-haired bitch with a long-haired Chihuahua named Princess in her purse at all times.”

Ella bust out laughing, and encouraged, Lain went on. “One of those scary skinny people that I’d break in half just by looking at them wrong, and fake fingernails.”

She bent over, laughing so hard she was struggling for breath. The two other tables in the restaurant turned around and stared at them. Lain sent them a death glare, and they all turned back to their dinners, suddenly no longer interested in them.

They spent the rest of the meal chatting about anything and everything, and Lain realized at the end of it that he’d never spent an evening so…relaxed around a woman. Women normally were for fucking and that was it. Ella was so different. He’d never met another woman like her.

And I never will
.

Lain realized that when Ella left tomorrow - and he’d make sure she did if he had to drag her onto the plane himself - he was saying goodbye to his one chance at happiness. He had to make tonight a night to remember, to keep him warm when he was 50, and alone.

They tumbled through the front door of the motel, hands searching, tongues entwined. Lain picked up Ella and she wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him as he walked towards the bed. He tossed her onto it and she bounced, all of the most delicious parts of her jiggling as she hit the bed. She laughed and threw her arms up, beckoning him to her. With a growl, he pounced on her and began nuzzling her neck and then kissed his way down her collarbone, to her tits.

For the first time, Lain made love to a woman, and did so intentionally. As he slowly thrust inside of her, he thought with every push:

I love you.

I love you, Ella.

I will always goddamn love you
.

They climaxed together, his breath coming out in a strangled cry that mingled with hers, rising to the ceiling and then disappearing, as ephemeral as their relationship.

Lain pulled her back to his front and threw his arm around her, snuggling her up against him.

“Ella,” he said softly.

“Yes?” Her voice was thick with satiated lust and bone-deep exhaustion.

“Baby, I need you to go home tomorrow.”

“Wha—what?” She turned in his arms to face him, her eyes searching his.

“I need you to leave Copper Lode and go back to New York City tomorrow, and never come back.”