Page 35 of Spooked (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #13)

Picking up on my abrupt change in mood, she reaches for me. “Hound, this thing between us… I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose you, but I’ve got a job to get back to and responsibilities.”

Oh fuck! I know nothing about her. “Husband? Boyfriend? Kids?” Then, remembering what the nurse said, think if she has another man, I’ll hunt them down and kill them for not coming to Tucson to be with her.

She puts her hand on my arm. “Nothing like that. I’m completely single.

” As I let out a breath in relief, she continues, “We don’t know each other at all.

You don’t know what I did to keep myself going when my gramma died and left me penniless, but I can tell you it wasn’t pretty.

” She shudders. “If you knew I had to live on the streets and what I had to do to survive, maybe you wouldn’t want me.

” My gut clenches as I read between the lines, but she doesn’t give me a chance to answer her.

“I was lucky. I was given a way out. I’ve never been in a relationship, as I’ve worked my ass off, never wanting to be destitute again.

I’ve got a good job, and I owe everything to the people who gave me a chance.

I don’t want to let anyone down.” She swallows, and I see her throat work.

“I’ve got clients who’ve stayed with me for years, and they depend on me. ”

“What do you do?” It’s an innocent question to ask, and one that solidifies how little I know about her.

All I really know is I admire her character, her looks, and that her body was made for me.

But I can’t convince myself that if I knew more, it would make me want to walk away from her.

Even the thought that she had to whore herself out means nothing to me.

At least her reason was honest, to make money to live.

What excuse have I got for the years when I fucked anything with a pussy, just because I could?

There’s a spark in her voice as she answers. “I’m an accountant.”

Well, fuck. Looks like she did make something of herself.

It’s confession time. “I’m a biker. I’m a member of an MC.

” She nods as she already knows that. I grit my teeth.

“The Satan’s Devils still wear the one-percenter patch, the yellow diamond on our cuts, even though nowadays we earn our money honestly.

But, babe, won’t kid you, there are times we don’t abide by citizens’ laws, but only when there’s a need to protect our own.

” I decide not to tell her about Road’s track.

I feel her tense, so I say quickly, “Our club is all about family. We’ve grandparents, parents, and kids.

Hell, the second generation is heading the joint now.

Drummer, who you met, well, his son is the VP.

” I try to make a hard sell. “We live in what was an old vacation resort. So much room, a lot of us have built our homes there. I’ve got my own house. You can come and live with me.”

“Hound!” she barks, stopping my flow. “I’ve never been able to throw caution to the wind.” As she glances at me, her eyes soften. “I’ve got deep feelings for you, but a deeper fear of things going wrong and me being left alone.” Her head turns away as she says softly, “Everyone leaves me.”

“Not me.” I emphasise the words.

“I can’t take the chance. Or, not immediately. Perhaps we could try a long-distance relationship…”

The door opening interrupts her. “Here’s a charger!” the nurse announces triumphantly. She’s even so helpful as to plug the phone into the socket and hand the now-charging device to Maeve.

“Thank you,” Maeve tells her.

Taking her cue, the nurse leaves.

Picking up where we were interrupted, I ask, “Maeve, have you ever just lived?” As she goes to speak, I place my hand over her lips.

“You were just a teenager when you learned you were going to lose your mom. Then, not long after she died, your gramma left you, too. Seems to me you’ve never had a chance to be free and just be. Why don’t you…”

I’ve lost her attention as her phone beeps, coming back to life. She holds up a finger, indicating she wants me to be quiet.

Knowing it’s useless for me to continue while she catches up with her life, I let her tap in her code, then shift to her emails. As she continues to read, I stare at the wall. I can’t let her slip through my fingers. How can I convince her to stay with me?

“No!” she suddenly exclaims, throwing her phone down onto the bed. She places her head in her hands, and a sob comes from her mouth.

Guiltily, knowing I’m invading her privacy, I pick up the device and skim through the last email she was reading.

In essence, it says she’s exceeded her agreed-upon week’s leave, has failed to contact her company despite numerous communication attempts, and therefore her employment has been terminated.

I deserve to burn in hell for the pleasure that sweeps through me.

Though it goes against every part of me, I offer her hope. “They can’t do this under the circumstances. You were in a coma. Once they know, they’ll reconsider. We’ll get Alex onto this as well.”

She rallies. “You’re right. I’ll message back and explain.

” And now I have to try to be supportive as she types out a lengthy reply.

By the way she’s biting her lip, I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully, and making her case as best she can.

Then she says the words that send a dagger right into my heart.

“I can’t afford to lose my job, Hound. My whole life’s in LA. ”

Her life’s in LA. She speaks as though there’s nothing for her here.

As though the connection we feel is nothing.

Although today’s been the first real interaction we’ve had, I feel that through everything we’ve experienced, the horrors, the supernatural, people returning from the dead, the thought we could have been facing death together meant as much as having spent a lifetime with each other.

What does it matter what background you have or where you grew up, when you’ve got to know the deep inner essence of the person you’re with?

All the rest are niceties that can be learned in time.

Moments ago, she was afraid I’d disappear. Now it seems I’ve got no ongoing place in her life. I’m wishing that I could say I’m having a hallucination, but this is one nightmare from which I’ll never wake up.

I thought she was my one.

She obviously does not.

Fuck it. I glance at her, but her attention’s not on me.

It’s on that fucking email app on her phone.

She’s biting her lip and staring as though she can make a response appear with just her will.

That the answer has become the most important thing to her is obvious as she doesn’t seem to notice when I leave the bed, nor when I pull my crutches toward me.

“I’m going to go get something to eat.”

She barely acknowledges my words, nor looks up as I leave.