Falling For Crazy (Moroad Motorcycle Club) Read online

  "No. Tonight, I'm staying in." He opened the door and talked softly to Bear and then closed the door. "The car still runs. Stache is going to drive it away. He's meeting Jeremy under the viaduct. They'll hide it and the kid will bring Stache back here."

  She stepped forward. "Shouldn't we let the sheriff handle it?"

  Jacko shook his head. "I don't want them involved."

  "Because you're scared of ending up back in prison?"

  He stopped his pacing. "Where did you get that idea?"

  "I just thought—"

  "I have no problem going back to prison. Though if I get caught, I don't plan on anyone catching me alive," he said.

  A knock kept her from asking what he meant by that statement. Jacko opened the door and took the two bottles Bear handed him. "Thanks, brother."

  "You want me to park in front of the room?" Bear glanced at Amy. "I got your back if you need me."

  "Yeah. I'm going to let Los Li think they've pushed us into holing up inside tonight." Jacko glanced down at the whiskey. "If you get tired have Johnson relieve you."

  "Got it."

  Jacko held up the bottle. "And, Bear?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Have one of the brothers grab us a pizza and bring it to the room." He shut the door without waiting for Bear's reply.

  The car crash, the information on Los Li, Jacko's calmness over the situation was too much. The whole ordeal seemed like a dream, and yet she was standing in a motel room with Jacko without any options. He held control over how she reacted to the danger.

  "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you sure you're doing the right thing?" She pointed at the bottles. "If I hadn't moved that car would've hit me. You bust out some windows and now you're here planning to have a one-man party. Maybe you should go track down the Los Li members and kill them all, since you're not planning on staying alive."

  He opened the whiskey and laughed. "Trying to get rid of me already?"

  "No, but you seem set on getting yourself killed by acting stupid." She eyed him drinking straight from the bottle. "You're going to get drunk."

  "Yep. That's the plan" He put the bottle between his thighs and opened the second bottle. "So are you."

  "What?"

  He held out the bottle. "Drink. Nothing is going to happen tonight. Los Li gave us their message. Moroad is watching the motel. I haven't slept for three days and if I'm going to be alert for when Los Li does show up, I need sleep and that ain't going to happen sober."

  She held the whiskey at her side. "Then go to bed."

  "Can't. You've already seen what happens when I lay in bed with you." He drank deeply from the bottle keeping his gaze on her breasts.

  His neck muscles constricted with each swallow. The vein at his temple throbbed. She moistened her lips as his chest expanded. Her pulse beat in her head. She lifted the bottle, because doing something, anything, was smarter than standing here noticing how fit and yet bulky Jacko had become when faced with any threat.

  His muscles showed through his tight T-shirt. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. She grimaced. Her throat burned from the liquor.

  "God, this is nasty," she mumbled, wiping her mouth.

  "Through the teeth, over the gums, watch out stomach, here it comes." Jacko grinned and clinked his bottle against hers. "Come on, Momma. For one night, let loose. Forget how you're supposed to have control of the situation, take care of me, and live dangerously."

  She took another sip. "That's not my style."

  "I'll take care of you tonight. Drink yourself into a good mood. Nobody can hurt you inside this room," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  She pressed her hand against her burning chest. "Why do you move that way?"

  "What way?"

  She imitated his sway as if rocking a baby on her hip. "You do it when you're thinking."

  "I never think." He sat down to prove he could stop moving. "Why do you chew your thumbnail?"

  "Nervous habit, I guess." She wiped a dribble of whiskey from her bottom lip with her hand. "Now answer my question about you swaying all the time."

  He drank hard from the bottle, held his breath, and said, "There's only ten feet across a cell and ten feet from the back wall to the bars. A bunk bed and toilet take up part of the area, plus there's always another person locked up with me. Where I stand is my space, and I'm going to use every inch of it."

  Maybe she was delusional, but his reason made sense. It was all about personal space and when that space was threatened, Jacko guarded himself. She raised her hand to bite her nail and stopped herself. Though his swaying was only one of the many habits he'd developed that made her question his sanity. "Was prison hard?"

  He barked out a laugh and rolled his eyes. "It's not as easy as sitting in a motel room with a beautiful woman drinking cheap whiskey and wondering if she tastes just as good with a little alcohol on her tongue."

  She stared at him, running his words through her head again. Not wanting to dwell too long on the fact he'd called her beautiful, she buried the statement deep inside of her and drank some more whiskey.

  Her body warmed with the drinks she'd taken and she relaxed. Her tongue loosened, too. "You're different."

  "Last time I checked, being different wasn't a crime." He straightened and spread his legs out in front of him.

  "I've heard stories about you," she said.

  "Mm." He grunted. "The ones about me being a killer or I'll fuck anything with tits?"

  She held up the bottle, judging how much she'd drank. He no longer shocked her, and while she believed herself sober, nothing stopped her from opening her mouth again.

  "Pretty much that you'll fuck anything with tits and the only kind of relationship you have with women is in bed." She lifted the bottle in silent victory and took another drink.

  The liquid went down smooth and wrapped her in a hug.

  "That's bullshit." He let his head fall back and gazed up at the ceiling. "I haven't taken a woman in bed since..."

  Her body stiffened, and she drank from the bottle searching for the numbness to take away the pain. Jacko left everything about her sister unsaid, but she knew. He'd treated Sarah with class, despite the lifestyle he led. He'd stepped up for Sarah's sake because he understood she was worth it.

  "Yeah, anyway, you heard right. Fuck 'em and leave 'em. Living in prison is a hell of a long time to rely on my own hand. I enjoy women when I'm outside the Cyclone fence." He straightened, winked, and took a drink. "What about you?"

  "What about me?"

  He pulled a joint from his pocket, lit it, holding the smoke in his lungs, and finally exhaled loudly. "How'd your life change the last five years."

  She stood, and the room swayed. "I lived a normal life. A job during the week and I had the weekends off."

  "What did you do on Saturdays and Sundays?"

  She glanced at him. "Do you want to hear how I went out with friends, had a couple serious relationships, and enjoyed taking care of the upkeep on the house you bought me?"

  He looked down at the spent joint forgotten between his fingers. "I'd like to hear the fucking truth."

  She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, set the half-empty bottle on the dresser, and braced her hands against the surface. "I mourned my sister and the life I had before I worried about who was outside wanting to hurt me, and when I finally woke up and decided I was strong enough to move on, it was too late. I'd created a routine that made life bearable alone."

  Jacko's arms circled her waist, and he pulled her back to his chest. She stiffened. Caught up in her own thoughts, she hadn't heard him cross the room.

  "Don't touch me," she said, her head swimming from the whiskey.

  Jacko put his lips on her neck. "Give me one good reason why not."

  Her head fell back against his shoulder. Warmth circled her stomach, and if he weren't holding her, she'd crumble at his feet. She struggled to come up with a good reason for him to stop what he
was doing to her.

  Her body screamed yes.

  Her mind whispered secrets of what she'd enjoy doing with him.

  Her heart panicked. There was only one reason she'd stop him from having sex with her.

  "Sarah," she whispered.

  Jacko's body hardened against hers. She held her breath. Slowly, he let go of her and stepped away. She turned to face him, shocked that she'd thrown her sister's name in his face when all she had to do was mention Sarah's name, and she could feel the pain living inside Jacko.

  "God, Jacko. I'm sorry." She stepped forward, reaching for him.

  His intense gaze held her away. "She's dead."

  "I know," she whispered. "You don't understand."

  "Then tell me."

  "I-I need to hold on to her." She closed her eyes an extra beat, and when she looked back up at Jacko, his face had gone soft. "You belonged to her and as long as I keep thinking you and her are—"

  "She's dead," he repeated.

  "I know," she said on an exhale.

  "You're alive."

  She shook her head, arguing his point. "If someone else were in the room, you'd be drinking and touching whoever was with you."

  "Would I?" He stepped closer. "Your sister is dead. She's gone."

  "I won't be her replacement," she said.

  Jacko weaved in front of her and for once, it was her vision and not his movements.

  "No one could ever replace her," Jacko said, his voice hard and low.

  Swallowing hard, past the lump in her throat, she looked away from him.

  "Do you hear me?" he asked.

  His harsh tone filled the room. She opened her mouth and rocked back a step.

  He shot forward, grabbed her arms, and roared, "No one will ever replace her."

  She nodded, understanding his statement and yet still confused about his need to drill that fact into her head.

  "Jacko," she whispered.

  His chest brushed her breasts. She panted. God, what was wrong with her.

  Los Li could've killed her today. Jacko yelled at her. She was drinking when she should be running to the sheriff for help. Even with all those things on her mind, her body had other thoughts. Jacko's nearness had her feeling things she had no right to feel.

  "Right now, it's you and me."

  His declaration hung in the air. She desperately wanted to grab him and hold him to his promise and in the same breath, he scared the absolute shit out of her.

  Their conversation came to a standstill and meant something.

  She just didn't know what.

  He hooked her neck and brought her to him. She arched her back, bracing her hands on his chest. He lowered his mouth, and she moistened her lips, knowing she'd let him kiss her.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  She screamed, jumping toward Jacko. Her throat closed.

  Jacko kissed her forehead. "It's someone at the door.

  She sagged in relief. For a split second, she thought they were gunshots.

  Jacko stepped back, dazed, and stared at her.

  "Hey, Jacko. Pizza," Bear called through the flimsy door.

  His sober blue eyes warmed before shutting down on her. He turned and opened the room to Bear. "Change of plans, brother. I need to get out of here. Watch over her. Make sure she eats and then leave her inside the room to sleep...alone. She's drunk."

  Drunk?

  She shook her head, and the room wobbled. Shit. She was drunk.

  Jacko left, and Bear stepped inside and kicked the door closed. She walked over and sat on the bed, the only place in the room besides the chair to sit. What exactly happened between her and Jacko, and why was he leaving her alone again when he promised he'd stay in the motel room all day?

  Chapter Eleven

  Jacko sat on his motorcycle in the dark. He fingered his Get-Back Whip and stared up at the stars. Kissing Amy earlier had the acid in his gut eating a hole inside of him.

  Every second he wasn't thinking about killing Flores and Quijada, he thought about Amy's sweet mouth and how much he wanted to touch her, hold her, fuck her. Hell, he wanted to do whatever he could with her, because being around her made him feel good. With Amy, he could concentrate on the moment, and expand that moment for a long time, rather than obsessing over his need to kill.

  "What the fuck am I doing, Sarah?" he whispered.

  Sarah never answered. He flung his whip and let it swing from his handlebar. He talked to Sarah more than he talked to himself and each time he waited, expecting her vibrant laughter, her confident voice, her mischievous eyes to tell him what he needed to do.

  Five fucking years, and he never gave up trying to find a solution. But, Sarah was dead. She was never coming back to him. She'd never give him the answers.

  Amy was right. If Sarah had lived, the chances of them still being together were slim. He'd loved her at the time, but he understood she was young. Her carefree spirit would've taken her away from him, and he hoped he would've wished her well, been happy for her. She would've deserved to be happy.

  "I wish..." he whispered, shaking his head to stop himself from going down that road.

  Amy was so much like Sarah. The similarities messed with his head. He placed his boots on the pegs and leaned forward to brace his forearms on the handles. Personality wise, the sisters were total opposites.

  At his age, he appreciated the calm Amy brought him and her need to know what was going on, to help, to make decisions. Hell, he enjoyed her bringing him a plate of food, handing him his vest in the morning, and around the club the way she looked after him as if she would stop anyone from making fun of the way he acted.

  He let his chin drop to his chest. Nothing he'd done pushed Amy away. The more fucked up he acted, the more she pulled him closer. He never wanted her pity, but tonight he'd seen a look in her eyes that pissed him off. Anger boiled inside of him, and he wanted to prove to her there was no place in his life for her to feel regrets.

  He wanted her. His need to get closer to her had nothing to do with Amy being Sarah's sister. He wanted her because she was Amy.

  He gazed straight ahead. "I want Amy," he said out loud.

  Only silence answered him.

  "I guess until I figure things out and understand how Amy will handle me being in her life, I need to give her some answers to questions she's had about me." He paused and when no sign of a response came, he continued. "If you don't hear from me, don't worry. I...I just need to do this, for Amy's sake. She deserves more from me."

  He started his bike, pushed the Harley backward with his feet, and rode away. Away from the memories of his past and toward Amy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Amy's upper body slumped against the wall and refused to move. She wiggled her toes and groaned. The prickles from her legs going numb shot up her calves jolting her fully awake.

  After Bear had left with the rest of the pizza; she'd fallen asleep. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, she'd woken to the rumble of a motorcycle. Determined to talk with Jacko when he returned, she'd stayed awake.

  Except, he never came back to the room.

  The sun broke through the curtains. She straightened her legs, suffering through the agonizing nerves protesting her movements. Hobbling over to the dresser, she chose a pair of shorts, a tank, and got dressed.

  "Just let me get through one more day without getting kidnapped, killed, or kissed," she muttered.

  She made the bed and grabbed the hairbrush and makeup kit Katie gave her. Thank God the handheld mirror only showed her a tiny version of her bagged eyes and dark circles. She slapped on some liner, mascara, and threw everything back into the bag. The less she looked at herself, the easier it was to ignore the pounding headache and nausea.

  It wasn't the whiskey she drank making her feel like shit, but Jacko making her sick.

  Anytime she thought about him, spent time in the room and he touched her, she got a queasy feeling and burned up. She pressed her hand to her forehead. Maybe she ha
d a fever.

  The door swung open, and Jacko stepped inside. His gaze went down, then up. She lowered her hand, the tension in her muscles multiplied.

  "You okay?" He removed his gloves and stuffed them in his back pocket.

  "Yep." She pressed her hands against her stomach, smoothing her tank. "You?"

  He lifted his shoulder in a non-answer. "Have you ate?"

  "I think I'll skip breakfast." Her stomach held strong, but she wasn't going to tempt fate by eating.

  Jacko walked over to his duffle, removed some cash, and shoved the money in his wallet. She strolled over to the door and stepped outside.

  Fresh air hit her. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, testing her reaction. Luckily, her headache eased.

  Bear and Johnson stood three doors down from her. She attempted a smile and gave a small wave. It appeared she'd spend another day camped out in a motel with nothing to do but tag after the bikers. Though she'd heard some of the Moroad members worked at the silver mine, the ones who hung around the motel seemed unemployed, including Jacko.

  She turned around. "Hey, do you have—?"

  "What?" Jacko stood within a foot of her.

  "Sorry, I thought you were still inside." She stepped away. "Do you work at night?"

  "Depends on what you call work." He motioned her back inside and shut the door. "Club business happens when it happens."

  'Did you have club business last night?"

  "No." He stepped over and picked up the spare pistol he'd set on the nightstand yesterday. "I had unfinished business."

  "It's over now?" She gripped the gun.

  "Yeah, it's over." He grabbed her hip and spun her around. "Untuck your shirt."

  She pulled on her tank and held on to the material. "Why?"

  "I want you to keep the gun on you every minute." He slipped the steel of the barrel against her lower back.

  She shimmied away. "That's cold."

  The pistol fell into the back of her shorts. She slapped her hand, catching it from sliding all the way through her shorts to the floor.