Don't Say It: Ronacks Motorcycle Club Read online

  He was right about her size. All woman with curves in the right places. Though, she was better looking than he'd imagined—beautiful. She had thick, long, black hair and wide eyes. He dropped his gaze to her ripped jeans that hugged her thighs. Thighs he could dig his fingers into and hold on. Her waist indented nicely above her wide hips. He raised his gaze higher and appreciated the full breasts contained in her tight shirt with a low front that gave him a nice rack to admire.

  "Sorry for disturbing you," she said, sidestepping to break his ogling.

  He jerked his gaze to her face and openly stared. Her full lips gave her a sad expression. A susceptibility that confused him. She'd pulled a gun on him and seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

  She turned her dark eyes away and walked toward the door, fifteen steps to his left, and slipped inside her part of the duplex. He shook his head at the turn of events and went inside. He had no use for a neighbor, especially not a female.

  The duplex was his, though he rented from the landlord, too. He'd made sure that nobody in their right mind would want to live on the other side of the wall from him.

  She better not come over and try to get him to fix every electrical socket that wouldn't work or bitch about the noise of the plumbing.

  It was a duplex. Not a condominium in Missoula. Shit broke down all the time, and he lived in the better half for a reason.

  Chapter Two

  Gia sat down on the scungy, shag carpet that reeked as if rats had died in the bedroom of the duplex. She held the cell phone she'd bought somewhere in Idaho at a Walmart store, and used cash to put twenty dollars on the account knowing she'd never use all the money.

  She only needed to make one call. Then, she'd destroy the phone.

  She punched in the phone number she'd memorized by heart and put the cell to her ear. The time of day or night she called no longer mattered. She had an emergency on her hands.

  The phone stopped ringing. "Hm?"

  "Please, please, wake up. It's Gia," said Gia on a whispered hiss of urgency.

  "I'm here. I'm awake," said Bianca, the female crisis worker who helped Gia escape Seattle and found her the duplex in Montana to stay in.

  "I arrived late this evening and met the man next door a few minutes ago. He said his name was Swiss, not Greg Jones." Gia let her chin fall to her chest. "I came all the way to a different state and the shelter sent me to the wrong place."

  "Swiss? Like the cheese?"

  "That's what he said his name was when I finally caught him outside the duplex in the middle of the night." Gia pulled up her legs and leaned her elbows on her knees. "What am I supposed to do now?"

  Bianca had gone over every detail with her on how to cover her tracks. Gia made sure she gave no verbal clues to her location.

  "Don't panic, yet. Let me think."

  Gia raised her head to the empty room. "Think fast. I'm freaking out and feel like screaming or crying, maybe both."

  "Okay, listen to me. The rent is paid for six months." A heavy sigh came over the phone. "It'd take me awhile to get the money together for you to go anywhere else. I'd have to go in front of the board again because we normally don't send women out of the state. Our budget is low. There are women who get turned down when all they need is a hotel room for a few days until a family member can help them find somewhere safe to stay."

  "I know, but you have no idea how scary it is here. The duplex is a dump. I'm not just slumming. It's a health hazard living in this place," whispered Gia. "And, Swiss is big. I'm not talking fat. He's huge. He wasn't even scared when I pointed the gun at him. If he's the wrong guy, I'm in more trouble staying here."

  "You showed him the pistol?" Bianca groaned. "Gia, I gave you the weapon off the record and went against the rules of the shelter. You're only supposed to take it out of your bag if you feel your life is in danger."

  "It could've been. I don't know the man or what he'd do to me." Gia pushed to her feet and paced the bare room. "I thought for sure when I arrived, the man you sent me to was here. There was a motorcycle parked out front and everything."

  "Wait. Why didn't you say he had a motorcycle?" Bianca scoffed. "Did you find out if this guy named Swiss is part of a motorcycle club?"

  "Yes, I asked him. He said Rowacts or Ronacks. I'm not sure what the guy said because I was shaking so bad I couldn't even hear, and it was dark out so I couldn't read the patches on his vest." Gia peeked out of the bedroom into the living room and lowered her voice. "You don't get it. This place is nothing like back home, and the men do not wear suits or look like yuppies."

  "What's he look like?"

  "I told you, big and scary. Rough and physical. He's got tattoos, and he probably beats people up in his spare time." She walked back into the room. "I don't know anything else about him. It was dark, and I could barely see."

  Even the lack of light couldn't hide what she had seen.

  Swiss had arms on him bigger than her thigh—that was saying a lot. Her legs weren't skinny. He'd shown no fear at having a gun pointed at him, and that bravery in the face of danger frightened her more than being alone with him. Who knew what he was capable of doing.

  She'd barely got a good look at him before he turned on the light and she had to look away from his face. All she knew was he had short hair, almost a military cut, and a dark goatee. He had black tattoos over both shoulders and at first glance, she thought he wore a black T-shirt, but when she looked longer, she made out a flannel shirt with the arms cut out under his vest.

  "Did he have a scar on his face? On his cheekbone?" asked Bianca.

  Gia pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose and tried to picture the man's face. He had a wide forehead, broad nose, and he squinted. She dropped her hand, excitement filling her.

  "Yes," she said, echoing in the empty room. "I think so. I can't be positive, but he squinted, even when he wasn't talking or looking at me."

  "It's him. It's Greg Jones."

  "You're sure?" she said, stepping away from the dirty, curtain-less window. "This isn't something to guess about. I'm living in a disgusting room and worried about not having a current tetanus shot. You need to be positive."

  "Gia." Bianca's stern voice got her attention. "If he has a scar that affects his eye nd it makes him look like he squints, it's him. He got shot. It's not the kind of scar a person would get from falling and smacking their head on the coffee table or from a bar fight."

  "I'll need to see his face in the daylight. I'm not taking any chances." Gia swallowed, not looking forward to the sunrise.

  "When you do get another look at him, call me back."

  Gia groaned. "I can't. I'm going to get rid of this one. You'll have to wait until I can get another phone or find somewhere to make a call."

  "I hate that you're in this situation, but you need to stay safe. Be extra careful."

  Tears gathered in Gia's vision, and she swallowed the weakness. She had to remain strong. With no one else around to help her, she'd need to set everything up herself and make sure the man on the other side of the duplex was the right one without screwing up. "I will. I'm too afraid to do much."

  "You're going to be all right."

  Gia inhaled deeply. "I hope so."

  "I'm serious. Repeat after me, you're going to be all right."

  "You're going to be all right," Gia mumbled.

  "Smartass." The voice on the other end of the phone softened. "One day at a time, Gia. Be aware of your surroundings and don't ever go anywhere alone. When you must go out, stay where there are crowds and don't be afraid of yelling for help. Don't talk to too many people or raise any attention to yourself in the meantime. You want to be forgettable."

  "Okay. I don't even want to leave the duplex. Though it stinks in here and I'm surprised the building hasn't been bulldozed."

  "Don't focus on the living conditions yet. A lot can be fixed by soap and water."

  Gia rolled her eyes. Bianca had no idea what the place looked like.


  "Be smart, Gia. Call me when you can, okay?"

  "I will. Bye." She lowered the phone and disconnected the call.

  Before she fell apart, she walked into the living room and dug through her bag until she found a screwdriver. Then, she laid the phone on the carpet and stabbed it over and over, until the screen broke, the back came off, the battery flipped out. When she'd broken the cellphone in enough pieces, she felt confident that if the phone had somehow been trackable, she'd successfully stopped anyone from finding her.

  She put the pieces in a bag and set the garbage by the door. Tomorrow, she'd find a place to throw the broken phone away where nobody could find it.

  Chapter Three

  By six o'clock in the morning, Swiss could no longer stay inside the duplex after returning from the bar, running into his new neighbor, and unable to go back to sleep. He walked out the door swinging his keyring on the tip of his finger. His work day started at eight when Watson's Repo and Towing opened for business, and he planned to waste time grabbing a couple of cups of coffee at Brewers beforehand. Hell, maybe he'd grab breakfast, too.

  He'd need food to keep him going while he put in his time running security at Watson's during working hours while the owner dealt with a lawsuit from two brothers who thought they'd do a little pushing around in the form of vandalism and threats. His job was to make sure the brothers never set foot on Watson's property.

  Metal clanked by the car at the curb. He walked around his bike and found the woman from the middle of the night on her knees struggling with a tire iron. Beside her sat a wienie balloon spare that wouldn't take her a mile down the road without throwing off the front alignment on her car.

  "Hey," he said.

  She startled and fell back on her ass. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

  "No." He leaned over and peered under her car. "Where's the jack?"

  "I don't have one." She pushed to her feet and held the iron at her side.

  "How did you plan on changing the tire?" He rubbed the back of his head and checked out the curve of her hip.

  She made a soft mewl sound as if she were thinking the question over. Attracted to the sound, he raised his gaze to her face.

  "I thought if I could manage to get the nut-bolt things loose, I could use those concrete blocks in the flowerbed and maybe it would give me enough height under the car to wiggled the tire off." She half turned and pointed toward the duplex. "I'd put the blocks back when I was done, and straighten up the dirt. All I need is something strong enough to hold up the car, but so far, I can't budge these nuts loose."

  At least she had the basic idea, though an impossible task with the lack of tools. He stepped away and walked back to his side of the duplex, went inside, and found a jack in the pile of tools in the corner of his living room, then returned to the car.

  The woman jumped out of his way when he stepped in front of her. He held up the jack. "I'll do it."

  "Oh, thank you," she said with an exhale. "I appreciate the help."

  He squatted down, found the frame, and placed the jack on the ground. "Iron?"

  She passed him the tool. He stuck the end on the lever. A dozen pumps and the flat tire lifted off the ground, giving him more height to prep for the new tire.

  "Is that the only spare you have?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  He pulled out his cell, pulled up the contact number for the Ronacks Vice President, and put the phone to his ear.

  "Yeah?" said Rod.

  "Are you working at Leery's today?" He gazed at the woman's hands until she crossed her arms and kept them from his view. She wore no wedding ring.

  "I start at eight."

  "Do me a favor and roll aside a 70R13 for me." He peered at the condition of her other tires. "Better yet, if you have a used one with enough tread to make it safe, I'll take it.

  "Will do. I've got a delivery at four thirty this afternoon and will be out with the truck. Do you want me to drop it at your place and save you a trip back to town?" asked Rod.

  "Yeah, that'd be good. Thanks." He disconnected the call and directed his attention to the woman. "I'm not putting the spare tire you have on the car."

  "Why not?"

  "Unsafe."

  She sighed. "Well, I can't help that. It's the only spare tire I have, and it came with the car. It's inflated and holding air."

  "Still not going to put it on."

  "But, you...I can't..." She blew out her breath, sending her hair away from her cheek. "I can't afford a new tire at the moment, and it sounds like you just asked someone to get me a new one."

  "Never asked you to buy it." He picked up the jack, handed her the tire iron, and stepped away. "I'll put it on around five o'clock when I get back from work."

  She stepped toward him. He turned and walked away, leaving her by her useless car.

  "Wait," she called. "You really can't buy me a tire."

  "Already done."

  She tugged her shirt over her flat stomach. "Can you wait a couple of weeks until I can pay you back?"

  "Never asked for money, —" He frowned. "What's your name?"

  She worked her lips in worry and finally said, "Gia."

  "Gia," he said and nodded. "Fits you."

  Swiss turned and unlocked his door, set the jack down inside, and went back out. Gia stood in the same spot frowning at him. He walked to his motorcycle. It wasn't his problem if she hadn't liked him getting her a new tire. He wasn't going to be responsible for not stopping her from driving around on a spare that could abandon her at any time. Probably in the worst place.

  He straddled the Harley. Out of his peripheral vision, he watched Gia step toward him. He slipped his key in and looked at her.

  "Anything else?" he asked.

  She glanced away and studied the road. "Is there a coffee shop within walking distance?"

  "You don't have coffee?"

  She shook her head.

  He removed the key, hopped off the bike, and walked past her to his side of the duplex. He left the door open behind him. She could follow or not, that was up to her.

  He could take the time to make enough coffee for two people easily enough. Usually, he stopped at the coffee shop in the morning, because it was one of the businesses Ronacks protected. He dumped a half a pot of water in the maker, filled the coffee filter, and pushed the power button.

  Gia cleared her throat behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. She stood in the doorway watching him.

  "You might as well come in and wait." He removed two mugs from the cupboard and turned around. "It won't take long."

  Gia inched her way in, looking all around. For the first time, he picked up her shyness. What she'd given him during the middle of the night and that morning was fear. A fear he couldn't pinpoint the cause.

  "Wow, your place is nice." She peered around the room.

  He grunted. "Nobody has lived in your side for a long time."

  "Right," she whispered, frowning.

  "Where are you from?" he asked, not caring where she originated, only that he wanted her gone from living beside him.

  Gia stepped up to the other side of the open-faced counter. "All over. I was an Army brat until I went to college at U of W. Then, I lived in the Seattle area and...I'm living in Montana now."

  "Yeah?" He pulled the container of sugar toward him. "What are you going to do in Haugan? Not much around here requires an employee with a college degree."

  "I don't know yet. I have some time until I have to make a decision." She glanced down at his arm. "You were in the service?"

  He looked down at his squadron number tattooed on his upper arm. "A long time ago. Learned enough skills to survive and left the career side to better men than me."

  She bobbed her head and glanced at the counter. "Coffee smells good."

  "You probably don't have much in the way of groceries yet." He turned at the sound of the last gurgle and shut the maker off. "Only have sugar and milk."

  "Sugar is perfect."<
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  He handed her a filled mug and motioned with his chin toward the canister in front of her. "Help yourself."

  Without any hesitation, she removed the lid, reached in for the spoon stuck in the sugar, and loaded three mounds into her coffee. Amused, he grinned at her eagerness and guiltless calories. He enjoyed a woman who could also enjoy eating good food or drinking flavored coffee.

  She glanced up at him, set the spoon on the counter, and lifted her mug. Her eyes closed as the aroma of coffee hit her and her mouth opened. He forgot about his coffee. He forgot about getting to work. He forgot about his dislike of neighbors and keeping to himself.

  Her lips puckered, and she blew the steam away from the hot coffee, gingerly putting her lips on the mug. His cock pulsed, hardening in his jeans. He stood enraptured at the way her lips sought the liquid, teasing and tempting.

  Gia moaned at the first sip and opened her eyes. "God, that's good."

  "How long has it been since you've had coffee?" He widened his stance, easing the pressure in his crotch.

  "A couple of days." She shrugged. "With the move, the flat tire, and everything, I haven't made it to a grocery store. Actually, I don't even know where one is in town."

  He pulled out his phone, glanced at the time, and took a big drink of coffee, scalding the tip of his tongue. "I need to get going."

  "Oh." She drank a bigger swallow, grimaced, and set her cup down on the counter without finishing the drink. "I've taken up too much of your time."

  "Hey," he said, grabbing the pot and filling her cup to a hair of the brim. "Take the cup. When you're done, you can leave it in front of my door. I'll get it tonight after I put your new tire on."

  "About that..." Her brow furrowed. "I'm serious. I can't let you purchase a tire for my car. I'll figure something out."

  "No worries. It's already done." He walked around the counter. "I need to get to work."

  She walked ahead of him. He ogled her ass and his fingers curled into his palms. She had hips with a nice flare he could hold on to and keep her close.

  Gia stopped in front of the door. Swiss followed her gaze to the right. All that was there was his television, a couple of empty beer cans, a picture, and a helmet he rarely wore sitting on his console.