Loving Me, Trusting You Read Free

Beck's motto.
    We start to slow, filling the road with shining helmets and beautiful bikes, works of art in metal and chrome, curious faces and nervous twitching. You don't mess with another gang and walk away, no matter what they did to you. I don't even have to see their colors to know who we're up against.
    Bested by Crows.
    Great.
    Suddenly, I feel my chest tighten and my mind start to spin. With my thoughts rocketing into space, drawing me away, clouding me in blurry stars of distant memories, I almost miss the sound of a loud pop. Seconds later, I lose control of my bike and hit a dusty patch on the road with my wheels spinning every which way. The bike starts to roll and my mind goes blank.
    I remember leading the women out on a pride parade, flaunting that inner beauty and that hard wiring that all women have inside themselves somewhere. Tray never let on to me that he was going to take our bikes away, never even hinted at it. And then he caved to peer pressure and everything just went to shit. I remember pulling into the garage with the other girls, how my cheeks felt flushed, the smile on my face.
    And then I remember the pain. The violation. The horror.
    My bike slides out from under me and goes spinning, rolling down the road like a boulder in an avalanche. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. It turns and scrapes along the pavement, smashing and sliding and grinding until it hits the row of motorcycles in front of us, slamming into a sexy little custom deal with a crunch and a violent screech.
    I expect to go down after it, get trampled by the roaring rush of tires behind me, torn to pieces by my friends and family.
    That doesn't happen. Instead, I end up in front of Gaine, smashed against his chest with my mind running in slow motion, imagining faces I knew and trusted leering over me. My mind goes blank again, totally white, and I slump against the handlebars while we roll to a stop.
    I hear people shouting over the intercom, but I can't be bothered to listen to them. Vaguely, I recognize the voices, but I'm still lost in time, drowning in emotion. Each and every spot on my skin where Walker's blood touched me burns like fire, sinks into my flesh and poisons my bloodstream.
    “Bastard took a fucking shot at her!” Kimmi.
    “Which one?” Austin.
    “Guy in the front with the beard. Shot out the front fuckin' tire. Austin?!” Gaine.
    “I got him. Keep Amy safe.” Austin.
    “No worries, Pres. Watch your woman, I'll blow his friggin' head off.” Beck.
    “Keep it tame for now, Beck.” Austin.
    Gaine is shaking me, flipping up his visor with one hand and cradling my waist with the other. I have no idea how he grabbed me mid-fall like that, but it's impressive. Maybe later, I'll remember to thank him for it. But that's pretty doubtful.
    “ You gonna be my Old Lady or not, Sawyer? I ain't got time for uppity bitches.”
    Walker is dead, but I can still hear his voice. A decade later and I can hear it in my ear, unwanted, burrowing into my brain and scarring me in irreparable ways. Why, why, why? I'm tired of being the victim though. Thoroughly fucking exhausted by it.
    “Mireya! Wake the hell up!” Gaine grabs my helmet and tosses it to the pavement where it bounces and skids to a stop just inches from the boots of the man who fired a gun at my fucking bike.
    “I've always said it, but nobody listens,” the man in the front says. Will Walker. My mind goes white again, tries to cover up the pain and the hate and the anger. “Bitches can't ride. It's just a biological fact.”
    There's something inside every one of us that will make us snap, that will turn us from people into animals. For me, it was this. My rapist, the brother of the man that betrayed me, is standing up in front of my MC telling me I can't ride? Without a second thought, I'm pushing away from Gaine and spinning off his bike. I see Austin and Kimmi, guns raised, faces stoic. Beck stands perfectly still, a smile on his sweaty face, no weapons in his