Page 79 of Tormented
TWENTY-THREE
Abbey
Never did like long-distance drives. Brings back too many memories of my first interstate trip as a toddler. Not quite as fun as you’d think when you aren’t cozied up in the backseat with a pillow and pretzels. A memory that also gives me a fucking good reason to freak the hell out when I’m in confined spaces.
Rain peppers my face as I tear up the freeway, windows down. I should roll them up, but that means confinement, and unless Sawyer fancies pulling over to wait out a panic attack, then yeah, I’ll keep the windows down.
If I can touch all four sides without moving, it’s too small, remnants of five hours locked in the trunk of a car while we made that interstate journey on my fourth birthday.
“Evan! You can’t fucking do that to her,” Mom wails as he shoves me into the dark confines of the trunk.
“Maybe then the little bitch will think twice about wetting her fucking panties.”
“She’s still training,” Mom hollers, trying to get past him to pull me out. “It ain’t like she did it on purpose.”
My barely contained sobs cause me to hiccup, but I don’t want to make a noise. That only makes him angrier, and I don’t want him to take Flopsy too. I cuddle my toy bunny to my chest as he steps back and hits Mommy in the nose with his fist. She cries for the shortest second before standing tall, blood trickling over her lips, and the saddest look in her eyes as he slams the lid closed on me.
I love my momma, and I know she loves me. I just don’t understand why she loves him more.
Fuck these tears. It’s the whole goddamn reason I don’t think about the past anymore. But fuck it if this . . . connection? Whatever it is with Sawyer hasn’t got me mulling over why it is I’m so unhinged. What’s he going to want with someone as equally messed up as he is? Yin and yang and all that bullshit—two wrongs don’t make a right. I’m more delirious than I thought if I think he’s going to want anything more than a quick fuck out of me.
It really is best that I keep my secrets buried if I want a chance.
No one looks for anything meaningful with me because of my wild reputation, and it’s fair to say I’m a little tired of it. I read once that everyone we meet is meant for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. So far most people I’ve met have been nothing but a reason—a reason to fuck me up a little more before they go. But then there’re Fingers, Apex, King, and Hooch. Those brutes were my season. They stuck by me while I grew up, a kid too scared of her own shadow to be left alone in a room for too long. The other men at the club used to call me “that savage kid.” They had damn good reason to as well. Pretty sure I lost count in the first year how many times I scratched and bit my way to safety when one of them got too close.
All I want, though, is a lifetime.
I want that love, endless and unconditional that promises to keep me safe from the memories that assault me when I’m alone . . . like now. I want a companion. A lover. A perfect match.
I want to be whole.
Blue sky peeks through the gray clouds on the horizon as I swipe the remnants of my unwanted tears away. The change promises a respite to this midsummer rain. It’s not cold, though, and that’s a start. I could be driving through a torrential winter downpour, so at least there’s that if I want to look for the positives.
By the time I’d gone through all my checks, just like Fingers taught me, we didn’t set off until close to lunch anyway. At this rate it’ll be midmorning tomorrow by the time we pull into Lincoln.
I glance in the side mirror at Sawyer as he trails behind me, helmet on and a skull-printed bandanna covering his face. He looks like a demon straight from hell, chasing me down.
I’ve never felt safer.
Why is it that a man everyone’s so damn afraid of makes me feel secure enough to want to curl under his massive arm and find my home against his side? Perhaps that’s just it? When angels fear to tread in your presence, then only a devil will bring the calm you desire.
He swings the bike toward the centerline and accelerates up level with my window. I look over at him, terrifying and overbearing, yet everything I wish I could have for my own. His hand lifts and he yanks the cotton down over his chin to reveal his full lips.
“Hungry?” he hollers over the road noise, eyes squinted as the drizzle pelts his face.
I nod, and he gives a thumbs-up in response before replacing his mask and tearing ahead of the Ford. We drive with him leading the way for another twenty miles before he indicates off the freeway and takes us several blocks down to a diner I wouldn’t have known was there if it weren’t for him. An oasis in miles of farmland.
I park the truck a few yards from where he backs his bike in, and wind the windows up before jumping out. Although the rain wasn’t heavy, it’s enough to have dampened my tank to the point it’s stuck to my skin. Sawyer approaches as I’m bent over at the waist, shaking the fabric off me and doing what I can to wring the side of my top out.
“Why didn’t you put the window up earlier?” he asks.
I straighten, running my palms up the side of my ponytail to smooth down the wet hairs. “Habit.”
“Of what?” he asks with a chuckle. “Gettin’ soaked?”
“Of having freedom.”
His eyebrow quirks, and I shoulder past him, heading for the diner. Don’t really feel like now is the time when I finally explain. I’ve only just got my shit together as it is.