Ruthless Salvation

27

I knew what cynical looked like—I was a goddamn expert—but that was because I had firsthand experience with the ugliest parts of human nature. Could that be true of her as well?

Her freakishly cheery disposition made it hard to reconcile. When human depravity touched a person’s life, it marked them. Tainted the soul.

Storm was too goddamn perfect to be hiding that sort of corruption. Wasn’t she?

My thoughts consumed me throughout the night. I couldn’t be sure about Storm’s past, but I decided the one thing I could do was try to make her understand that she had nothing to fear from me. In the end, if she decided she wanted nothing to do with me, so be it. I could take rejection. What I couldn’t stand was knowing I’d frightened her. That had never been my intention.

I would find a way to prove she could trust me.

And what about you? Are you willing to trust her?

That was another matter entirely.

If you think that’s true, you’re a goddamn moron. How do you expect her to trust if you aren’t willing to do the same?

My palms tingled with a layer of sweat.

Was I actually considering this—letting someone in? How could I not? The thought of allowing Storm to walk away without attempting to change her mind felt like an epic failure. Worse, it reeked of cowardice.

I was no f*****g coward.

I stewed in my thoughts and fears for the remaining hour until close.

Each minute drew out into eternity until the last of the customers left.

My gut churned. My head pounded.

A small voice in the back of my head begged me to reconsider, but I ignored that little b***h and stood my ground. When Storm came to the front to leave for the night, I met her at the door.

“Can I give you a ride home tonight?”

I wasn’t sure what she heard in my voice, but she took in a slow steady breath and nodded. We went outside to where I parked my bike on the sidewalk. I unclasped the helmet lock and started working on the chin strap.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you ride with a helmet,” she noted thoughtfully.

“Helmet’s not for me.” I swept her hair over her shoulders and placed the helmet on her head.

“You’ve been riding around with it just in case?”

“Didn’t know when you might need a ride. I’m not taking any chances with you,” I murmured, embarrassed at my obvious bout of overprotectiveness.

“Wait.” She stopped me from climbing on. “You got this helmet … just for me … without knowing if you’d even need it?”

“I’m not leaving your safety to chance, Storm.”

Her delicate pink tongue peeked out as she wet her bottom lip.

I didn’t do kissing—it was too intimate for my liking—but I found myself craving her taste. The feel of her lips opening against mine. The sweetness of her surrender.

The need hit me with such vehemence that I had to steel myself to keep still.

“Okay,” she said softly.

That one simple word calmed me more than any drugs or alcohol ever could. It felt like hope, which was something I hadn’t experienced in a long damn time.

The drive to her place took all of two minutes. I helped her off the bike, my nerves amping back up to a debilitating state. My fingers felt so damn shaky, I could hardly secure the helmet back to the bike.

“I know I’ve f****d up, Storm.” The words tumbled out without preface like flood waters breaching a dam. “And I know it may have been too much for you. I get that. But I need you to know that I would never hurt you. I act the way I do because I prefer to keep people at a distance for my own messed-up reasons. It was never a problem until you came along. I’ve been so goddamn torn over wanting to be near you while needing to stay away. It’s made me look like a fuckin’ psycho, but I swear I’m not.” I sighed, my eyes drifting up to the starless sky in defeat as I heard how pathetic I sounded. It was exactly what a certified creep would have said.

I shook my head and brought my gaze back down to the frigid concrete at our feet. “All I’ve ever meant to do was keep you safe. I’m sorry that I managed to f**k it all up so badly.”

I couldn’t stand to look at her—to see the unease or pity undoubtedly etched in her kind eyes—so I was startled when her fingers trailed gently down the front of my jacket.

“Thank you … for your honesty.”

“I’m not going to tell you what to do about the job, but I will ask that you reconsider. Stay at Moxy. I can leave you alone. Hell, I’d rather quit running the club than know I was the reason you left.” I grimaced. “s**t. I’m making this about me when it’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not. I gotta go before I make a bigger mess of this.”

I stepped toward my bike when her hand reached for mine. The simple touch seared a scorching trail of sparks up my arm and back down my spine. I finally brought my eyes back to hers, my breath frozen in my lungs.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

I couldn’t speak. My voice had abandoned me.

All I managed was a brutish grunt with a nod before scrambling onto my bike and racing away. I felt strangely lighter and wondered at the cause until I realized it was because I’d left a piece of my heart on that sidewalk, wrapped in her tender fingers.

Please, don’t let this be an epic mistake.

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Present

THANK GOD I HAD THE DAY OFF BECAUSE I NEEDED TIME TO THINK AFTER Torin’s unexpected confession. Not that thinking had helped. My trusting nature and learned wariness were at war with one another. How was I supposed to tell if I was repeating the same mistakes of my past?

Some part of Torin spoke to my soul on an elemental level. I couldn’t deny that.

He was everything I shouldn’t want, though, wasn’t he?

Domineering. Yet thoughtful.

Gruff. Yet tender.

He pushed most people away. And was devoted to those he didn’t.

The man was a criminal. Says the woman who entered the country illegally.

Every argument my brain gave, my heart countered with an equally good point. When I peeled back the layers, it was evident that I was falling for Torin Byrne, and it scared me to death.

What if I was wrong about him? What if I gave him my heart just for him to rip it in two? How was I ever supposed to trust any man after what I’d been through?

It was times like these that I missed Honey more than ever. She’d have given me the perfect advice via a Southern metaphor about flowers or the weather, baked me some praline cookies, and made me feel like I at least had a tiny bit of guidance. Without her, I was stuck in a tar pit of self-doubt.

I spent all of Sunday distracting myself with important chores like sorting through old nail polishes and untangling charging cables. If nothing else, Blue Bell was entertained.