The Devil's Due (8 page)

“I’ll be doing the teaching, Wyatt,” he rumbled sternly.

Wyatt’s shaved head gave me a clear view of his temple as he clenched his jaw. He was almost as tall as Cade, but he was thin and wiry with muscles like coiled springs. He was no match for Cade’s massive, cut-from-marble physique, and you could tell by the tense fury in his eyes that he was weighing his options.

“She ain’t your old lady yet, big guy,” he sneered, voice dripping with menace. He was turned away from me, giving me a perfect view of the grinning skull tattoo that covered his bald scalp like a hood. “She’s still just some slut wanna play with bikes.”

Cade took a quick step forward, startling Wyatt and forcing him back on his heels. “Get the fuck out,” he snarled, drawing up to his full imposing height.

Please leave, please leave, please leave,
I chanted silently. If one of the men threw a punch right now, there was nothing I could do to stop it. I wished fervently that I’d kept my mouth shut. The need to mouth off was what always got me in trouble with Darryl, too.

But Wyatt didn’t look like he would be content with stopping after landing one blow. He looked like he could kill me if I crossed him any further. I was naked and had nowhere to run.

I could taste panic in the back of my throat when Wyatt stepped right up into Cade’s face. Their noses were practically touching and their teeth were bared like savage dogs. I saw Cade ball up his massive fist and hold it clenched and ready at his side.

Time stood still, and then something unseen passed between them.

“Fine,” said Wyatt shortly, agreeing to whatever silent agreement the two men had just reached. Turning from Cade, he headed back to the door. “We ride in fifteen minutes,” he announced, then turned to regard me coldly. “Better close your legs and put some clothes on.”

He gave one last eye-rolling sneer and then shut the door behind him.

I let a whoop of breath, suddenly realizing I had been holding it. “I fucked up. I’m sorry!” I started apologizing immediately. Cade’s silently furious face terrified me.

Cade grabbed his shirt off of the back of the chair and pulled it over his head. “Wyatt’s my brother. He won’t fuck with what’s mine,” he said slowly, in a voice so low I moved closer to hear him. I knelt up in the bed, waiting to be told what I needed to do next.

“What we gotta do now,” he continued in that same low tone, “is hurry up and make you mine.”

He touched my chin at those words, tipping it upward. His lips brushed against mine, soft and warm and safe. I kissed him back hungrily, begging him with my lips to stay here, here with me, here in this bed where it was safe. I wanted to stay forever right in this room with his arms around me, making love to me to keep the demons away.

But when the engines started up outside our window, I knew our peaceful little haven was lost.

I
grabbed my clothes from where they lay folded neatly on the bedside table, smiling privately at the sweetness of my massive biker folding my cardigan.

I stepped out into the cool dawn light and shivered, feeling silly in my little frilly sweater, lacy tank, and floral skirt. I crossed my arms around my chest.

Cade followed me out of the room. When he saw me standing shivering in my former Sunday best, his eyes softened immediately.

“I need new clothes,” I told him.

“I like you this way.”

“Thought you liked me without my clothes?” I struck a vampy pose.

His stony face broke out into a wide smile, the stubborn set of his jaw smoothing into genuine happiness. It was intoxicating.

“What I like,” he said, pulling me close, “is taking your clothes
off
.”

I pressed into him and he wrapped me in his strong arms. The parking lot melted away as I lost myself in his kiss. But no sooner had we started than a rough voice cut into the moment.

“Hey, Romeo! Can we get going here?”

Cade broke away from our kiss to nod. “Yeah, Jax, we’re ready.”

I turned to see who had spoiled my moment and froze. It was the other biker from my initiation. But instead of leering at me as Wyatt had, he merely raised his fingers off his handlebars in bored greeting. I hesitantly wiggled my fingers back and he nodded. I think I saw a smile twist briefly at the corner of his mouth.

We rode. I watched the landscape change as we put the miles behind us. The dusty brown earth of Flint Springs was already gone, changed to a deeper brick red. The morning sun was at our backs as we headed west on the deserted highway, casting long, deep shadows across the red land.

I watched in wonder at how big the world was, stretched out from horizon to horizon with us at the very center. The sky was rapidly changing from pale pink to deep blue, and off to the west I could see a faint line of hills rising to meet us.

The first sign of civilization was the steel gray bridge that rose into view. Behind it, low buildings grew out of the red earth and became a city.

Porter Crossing was slung low against a lazy brown river that we crossed just as the morning traffic was beginning to stir. I saw more cars than I had ever seen in my life, shiny and new, nothing like the dusty pickups driven by the men in my hometown. These cars looked like money. I swiveled my head from side to side, mouth hanging open in wonder.

We roared to a stop in front of a concrete building just over a set of train tracks. Cade swung his long legs over the bike and extended his hand to me.

I stepped off unsteadily; the vibrations of the seat had my legs in pins and needles, and I stumbled to the right. Cade caught me swiftly.

“You okay?” he asked worriedly.

“I’m fine.” I grimaced, punching myself in the thigh. “Legs are asleep.”

“Thought you were fainting on me again,” he said with a grin.

“I’m not as delicate as you think I am.”

“Oh yeah?” He loosened his grip on me and I promptly stumbled again.

“Dammit!” I shouted, and he laughed another of his beautiful laughs.

“You need road leathers. Helps protect from the vibrations.”

I smoothed my stupid floral skirt. “I need new clothes, period.”

He nodded, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a battered old wallet. I gasped in shock when he opened it. Crisp bills were folded neatly inside in a stack at least an inch thick. He pulled two out and handed them to me. Two hundred dollars, more than I had ever seen in my life. I stared at him in disbelief.

“I can get a whole wardrobe with this at the thrift store,” I sputtered.

“Don’t go to the thrift store, then. You need boots, jeans—stuff that’s gonna hold up and protect your skin if we flip.” He gestured to the low building. “Jenks in there will hook you up.”

“Where are you going?”

“Business,” he said in a low, warning tone. I clamped my mouth shut on my next question. It was clear I wasn’t going to be included.

“I’ll bring you change,” I said instead.

He smiled at me and my heart leapt. “Don’t you dare,” he rumbled, brushing my windblown hair back from my face. “I’ll meet you back here by noon. We ride out then.”

And with the softest brush of lips to mine, he was gone. Jax and Wyatt thundered behind him with no looks backward for me. I was alone in an unfamiliar city.

F
rom the angle of the sun in the sky, noon was still very far off. I turned to check the door of the outfitters, but it was locked. “Open 9am to 7pm,” read the sign on the door.

It clearly wasn’t nine in the morning yet, and the noise and bustle of the big city was piquing my curiosity. It wouldn’t harm anything to have a look around.

I turned quickly, taking note of where I was. If I kept the train tracks on my right, I could navigate my way back to here just like I would with the dry streambed in Flint Springs. Who says a country girl can’t survive in the city?

Feeling bold, I started towards the glinting buildings ahead of me. I passed shops as they opened, revealing the assortment of options inside. I tried not to let my amazement show, but every time a horn blared or a car whizzed by me, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

It was so
noisy
here; the air full of mysterious clangs and shouts. The smells were wrong too; noxious and fetid scents wafted in the air right alongside the mouthwatering smells of the cafés and bakeries of the neighborhood I had somehow wandered into.

Something about this area felt familiar. I looked around carefully, the strangest sense of déjà vu pricking at my scalp. That green awning over the café on the corner—I remembered that from somewhere. A dream, maybe?

But then I saw the red painted bike rack in front of the plate-glass fronted store next to it and gasped aloud. I had seen that before, too. I knew where I was.

I turned slowly, nearly bumping into a businessman rushing by in his suit, and saw it exactly where I expected it to be.

First Bank of Plank County. The scene of the biggest story to hit our area since time began. News teams from all over the country had camped out in front of the standoff, parking themselves in front of the bike rack, the green awning. And Cora and I had watched, riveted, on Darryl’s crappy little TV.

The memory of what had happened here came flooding back. Two unknown men held five hostages inside the bank for four excruciating days. To end the standoff, the police had to use tear gas and shot one of the robbers as he emerged from the building, gasping for air. But the other man disappeared, along with the fifth hostage.

Her face was etched in my memory. Pauline Cornwell. She was only twenty-two, hardly older than me, and she had been at her job as a teller for all of three months when the hold-up occurred.

The news reports showed the same picture of her over and over again; her brown hair and pale skin were nondescript, but her huge, wide-set brown eyes had peered out of the television set and straight into my soul.

I knew the picture was older, that it had been taken before the terrible events had occurred, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that those eyes were already frightened. She had the look of a newborn fawn still learning to walk in the big, dark forest.

I wasn’t the only person captivated by her. The national media had taken the story of this innocent-looking girl held hostage by madmen and run with it. The fact that she disappeared without a trace only added fuel to their fire.

The Porter Crossing police force was resoundingly condemned for botching their job and failing to protect her. A nationwide manhunt was set up, her picture plastered on telephone poles and bulletin boards all over the country. Her parents made several appearances on cable news. They believed their daughter was dead, and they placed the blame squarely at the feet of the police department.

When the months went by with no answers, interest in the story of the hold-up died, but the search for Pauline raged on. Cable news shows loved it. The wide-eyed, frightened looking girl was always a sure-fire ratings magnet.

And I was ashamed to say I had watched all the specials. Cora and I had devoured the news, even heading over to our school library to use the wheezing Internet connection to look up articles on her from across the country. Cora believed she was dead too, that the men had disposed of her body out in the desert.

But I wasn’t so sure. Or rather, I didn’t want her to be. I hoped she had survived somehow and that her eyes were less frightened for having been through hell and making it back alive.

It seemed so strange to see people walking in and out of the bank like normal this morning. I felt like it should still be as it was when the hold-up happened. I felt it should be a shrine of some kind; a monument to Pauline, wherever she was.

I snapped out of my reverie and turned back to the café with the green awning. On the news reports, in had reminded me of something you’d see in Paris. I was disappointed to see that it looked so small.  But when I went inside and saw the fancy pastries and decadent coffee, I wasn’t disappointed.

I inhaled the scent of freshly baked bread and my stomach immediately rumbled. Everything looked delicious, and Cade
had
told me to make sure I ate. I was sure he wouldn’t mind if I got myself some breakfast with his money.