Biker B*tch Read online

  He also had to figure out what he was going to do about the meth lab at the trailer park and the Diablos Santos. Now that Skyler was back, it was even more important none of this shit touched Sebastopol. Not again.

  Deacon picked that moment to interfere even more and rode up and parked behind his truck.

  “Who the fuck told you where to find me?”

  The quiet of the redwood canopy and the rushing water belied the tension.

  “You’re not happy to see me, old friend,” Deacon said. “You’re not hard to find. It’s a small town.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to know that I’m not your enemy.” Deacon looked pained to be admitting that out loud.

  “How does that work?”

  “I can’t talk about it, but I’m trying to make things right.”

  “You can’t make things right by running drugs for the Diablos. You know that only ends in one of two places.”

  He and Deacon hadn’t spoken since Isaac’s funeral. Deacon had left town that night and hadn’t come back until recently. From what happened outside that trailer hellhole, it sure as shit looked like he picked up right where he and Isaac had left off.

  Deacon ran his hand over his bald head and paced in front of his bike. “You can’t let this go?”

  “You know I can’t. I promised him.” At Isaac’s funeral, Travis had stayed at the cemetery after his parents and their family had gone back to the winery for a reception. They’d put his brother in the ground during the early morning.

  The same fog that made this place so good for the grapes fit the day. Every time the fog rolled in, he thought of his brother. He thought about sitting at the edge of a mound of dirt and telling Isaac that he wouldn’t let anyone else in town get hurt because of the Diablos; he wouldn’t let anyone else die because of the lies Doc Clark sold his older brother.

  Travis shook his head and grabbed the other half of the gate. Deacon helped pull the massive piece off the flatbed and carried it over to where the other piece was laid down. He grunted in thanks, not sure what to do with Deacon’s claims.

  At one time, he’d trusted the other man implicitly. If he’d been with Isaac, that had been good enough. But now that the Diablos were active again and Deacon was leading the charge back into the drug business, he didn’t know where they stood.

  It was only recently Travis started worrying about his promise to Isaac. This shit with the Diablos was coming at the wrong time. He wished it had never come, but especially not when he had a chance to have Skyler.

  “Why should I believe you, Deac?”

  “I was there. When Isaac died. I saw him get shot, and I tried to hold his blood in his body.” They put down the heavy panel of metal; the rusted piece fit into the loamy ground and the canopy. “I’m not going to let that happen to anyone else. Anyone else who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “How do you think you’re going to pull that off?”

  “I don’t know, but I need you to back the fuck up with the Diablos right now.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that. Chevy, Bish, Gabe—they’re all in this with me. The Heaven’s Sinners are not the Diablos. We don’t betray a brother’s promise. Ever.” His friends wouldn’t let him fall off and throw in with Deacon, at least not until the other man answered a whole lot of questions.

  “If you don’t keep your nose out of my business, they’ll come after you. You know that.”

  “But you can stop it.”

  They were walking back over to his bike and the truck. The dirt road was quiet, but someone could drive by. Travis didn’t know how he’d explain himself if word got back to Skyler he was talking to Deacon way the hell out here.

  “If you really want to help, you need to clue me and Ethan in on what you’re doing here. Until you do that, we’re not on the same side.”

  Travis got back to work. Getting sweaty and getting Skyler to talk to him again, to let him touch her again, was the only way this meeting wasn’t going to completely fuck up his day.

  Three days. Three whole days since Skyler had bent over a table at Ed’s and come apart under Travis’s hands and body. And still not a word. Every time a car approached, she expected it to be him. She certainly wasn’t going to call him and beg for more. Because she needed to get involved in an ongoing sexual relationship with Abner Travis like she needed a hole in the head.

  She struggled with the empty barrel Roy had left in the middle of the bottling room. She’d told him to clean it and repair it, but God forbid he listen to her. Wine from last year’s harvest lingered in the wood. Some of it stayed to flavor the wine that came after it. That’s why some wineries aged wine in old bourbon barrels. The rich, smoky flavor seeped in and made something entirely new.

  But Skyler wanted to start fresh.

  She could move the thing if she felt like throwing out her back. She lifted with her legs. It was only a few feet. Her quads burned, and she considered taking up weight lifting. She lurched to the side, and the barrel hit one of the shelves. It knocked loose a case of equipment, which came down on her head.

  The universe had taken her request for a hole in the head seriously.

  The next thing she remembered was hearing voice. “Has to do everything her own damn self.”

  She rolled on her back with a groan. “Sonofabitch.”

  “Carrots, I’m taking you to the doctor.” Travis cupped her cheek, and she tried to move away. All it did was slice a knife through her brain.

  “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t keep a whine out of the question.

  “Shhh. You can order me off your land later. You might have a concussion, and you need a doctor.”

  He tucked one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. Her only choice, if she didn’t want shards of glass to rain through her head, was to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

  “Now Roy’s a pain in my ass and a pain in my head.” The movement of his chest when he laughed made her head hurt even worse.

  She must have winced, because Travis said, “Sorry, babe.”

  She didn’t like doctors, which was ironic considering she’d spent the first eighteen years of her life wanting to be one, just like her dad, in the same clinic Travis brought her to now. It was small, and only had room for one doctor.

  She recognized the receptionist as a girl a few years behind her at St. Agnes. When Travis carried her into the waiting room, she looked them up and down with a curled lip. Probably one of his many conquests.

  She tried to take a deep breath, but vomit started to come up along with carbon dioxide. Puking all over Travis wasn’t a good idea. He’d probably drop her, and she didn’t want to hit her head again.

  “Is Gabe in?”

  “What happened to her?” Gum snap.

  “Blow to the head.”

  “She finally mouthed off one too many times?”

  “You know I don’t hit girls, especially not this one. I was the one who taught her how to hit back.”

  “He’s in his office.” The receptionist pointed to Skyler’s father’s old office.

  Travis carried her into an exam room. They’d done some updates. It used to be straight out of the eighties. Her stomach rolled again when he laid her gently on the table.

  “Couldn’t we have first aided this?” she asked.

  “Nah, even Roy didn’t want you slipping into a coma and dying on his watch.”

  Laughing hurt, and it made the whole room roll. “I think that’s exactly what he’d want.”

  His response was interrupted by who she presumed was the doctor coming in the room.

  “Ms. Clark, is it? The nurse says you hit your head?”

  “Yeah, I think it was a case of empty bottles or equipment.”

  She couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. She just wanted to go to sleep. Travis sat next to her and held her hand. She wouldn’t even admit to herself how nice it was to feel his thumb brushing against her skin while the doctor—Gabe—ex
amined the bump on her head, shined a bright light in her eyes, and peppered her with questions she didn’t have the energy to answer.

  “You probably have a concussion.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  “Sarcasm isn’t helping, Carrots.”

  “Travis, you’ll stay with her tonight? Make sure she wakes up every three hours?”

  “No. He doesn’t need to stay with me. I’ll be fine.” The thought of having Travis with her—all night—made her want to puke for a whole new reason. She couldn’t deal with having him see her this way, weak and soft. He had walked away the last time he saw her this way, in that dusty, smoky barn.

  The thought of him in her space for a whole night woke her up a bit. She sat up on the edge of the table and waited for her stomach to settle.

  “I’ll take her home.”

  “Fuck you, Travis.”

  She scrambled up off the table and barely made it to the trashcan before she threw up.

  Travis told himself he wouldn’t head back to the trailer after running errands for his mom. Skyler had clearly said she didn’t want him around. Well, she’d moaned it after he’d made her down some food with her Advil.

  But what he told himself and what he actually did were two very different things. Without thinking about it, his bike pointed toward the old vineyard late in the afternoon. He worried that she had tried to get up and work the whole time he was away from her.

  As angry as she’d been, with her pale skin and shivering, she reminded him of that night in the barn. Defiant, even in her vulnerability.

  He got back to the trailer and tried to enter quietly. It wasn’t easy because the tiny, aluminum structure groaned as he stepped up and inside. He knew she’d have a conniption if he took her to his house, a much more appropriate space.

  Even though the circumstances weren’t ideal, he couldn’t help but picture her lying in the middle of his bed. But she wouldn’t just be curled up from a knock to the head. She’d want him to curl around her for warmth and so she could hold him back. He wasn’t familiar with this longing to have someone stay.

  Hell, he wasn’t used to being someone who wanted to stay. But Skyler brought out the protective instincts inside of him, the ones that made him want to prove to her that he could be counted on to keep her safe. It had him all knocked off balance. And kind of afraid.

  She slept on her side with her hand under her chin and looked so fragile he wanted to knock Roy Killan’s teeth out. That man shouldn’t be letting her do the heavy lifting; he should be doing his damn job. Instead of following his inclination to tear into the older man, he eased onto the bed.

  Not wanting to wake her, he sat down beside her with his back against the wall. When she stirred, he brushed her hair off her face, his fingertips lingering against her pale, freckled skin.

  She still needed him to protect her. She needed him, period. Even though she didn’t know it yet.

  Her eyes fluttered open after a spell. “What are you still doing here?”

  “Taking care of my girl.”

  “I don’t need taking care of.”

  “You’ve got a bump on your head that says different.” She tried to move and winced. Stubborn woman. “What do you need?”

  She didn’t answer him, but pulled her legs out from under his and over the edge of the bed. She only stumbled once or twice on the way to the bathroom.

  She came out and poured a glass of water. “The doctor said if I made it through the night without going into a coma, I’d be fine.”

  “Maybe I want to be here. Did you ever think about that?”

  “Look, Travis, we had a nice time at Ed’s the other night. That doesn’t mean you’re my emergency contact or my knight in shining armor.”

  “What if I want to be?” His stomach tensed as though he was bracing for a punch. She had it all wrong. What happened at Ed’s was what she needed at the time. And the day before, she’d needed someone to take care of her. “You may not be used to anyone being there for you—“

  She slammed her water glass on the counter. “This is not about my fucked-up childhood.”

  She swayed a little on her feet, and he stood. When he reached out to steady her, she stiffened, so he stayed about a foot behind her.

  “Needing some help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong.”

  “Well, I don’t need you.” Her words left a bitter taste in the air. Why did he have to have feelings for this woman who didn’t want him? Why couldn’t he have kept his life simple? This feeling of wanting her and not being able to contain her made him feel out of control and week—probably about the same way she was feeling right now.

  So, he did the only thing he could to regain control—leave.

  “Fine.” He pulled on his jacket and walked to the door. “Don’t forget your follow-up with Gabe.”

  12

  A week and a half later, Skyler sat on the steps to the trailer, nursing a glass of The Prisoner that Michael had sent up in her latest care package. It was the kind of bottle you saved for a special occasion. She’d poured herself a glass as soon as she hopped out of the shower after trying to work off her growing disquiet all day in the vineyard.

  She couldn’t sit still and wait for Travis to show up and hope he never did all at the same time. There was a battle inside her under-utilized heart. The part that wanted to throw herself into something with him was beating up the lines of defense she’d built over the last decade to keep everyone out. Maybe because her feelings for him were in there first.

  She took another sip and wished she hadn’t given up smoking. Fucking stupid. Still, she hadn’t realized how much she would miss it when she was on edge. Maybe she should think about yoga.

  A case of American Spirits and a trip to an ashram wouldn’t give her what she really wanted. Her body craved Travis even though her mind told her it was better if he stayed away. She’d never done hard drugs, but she imagined this was what addiction felt like. She was jittery and hyper-alert for the promise of her next fix. She needed to feel her lips against hers like her next breath. Craving someone that much couldn’t possibly be healthy.

  His taking care of her after she’d bumped her head hadn’t made the situation any better. She wanted to see him as a jerk who just wanted her as long as she ran away. But she couldn’t reconcile that with the guy who’d looked worried while she swore at him and puked all over.

  She looked out on the expanse of budding vines, the green surrounding it. But she couldn’t feel grateful for the beauty. She wanted to be looking at his face while he pounded into her, sweat dripping off him, abs flexing.

  She drained her glass, and was about to get up and pour another when she heard a car coming up the drive. Not the distinctive sound of Harley pipes. Travis wouldn’t ride in a cage—an enclosed vehicle—if he could help it. It probably wasn’t him, but that didn’t stop her from hoping it was.

  When the black Yukon pulled closer, she realized it was much worse than Travis showing up in search of a repeat performance of their interlude at the back of Ed’s. It was his mother.

  Jesus. A pit of nerves grew in her stomach. Droplets of sweat formed on her upper lip, and not from her burgeoning Travis addiction. But now she looked and felt like an addict in withdrawal.

  Debbie waved and Skyler waved back, not sure what to expect. She didn’t know whether Debbie would be like Sara and Travis—welcoming and accepting—or like Merle and Roy. Debbie should blame her for Isaac’s death. She deserved it. If she had shown up instead of getting pulled over, maybe her eldest son would still be alive.

  Skyler stood on the steps when Debbie got out of the truck. She looked good. Debbie had always kept herself in shape. She’d had to, running after two boys as active and liable to get caught up in trouble as Travis and Isaac. Even with the frenetic energy coursing through her petite body, she’d been the stable center of the Travis family—and Skyler’s—for a long time.

  Skyler braced to feel herself pulled in.


  “Girl. You better be ready to do some groveling.” Debbie bounded toward her, holding a stack of Tupperware.

  Oh, shit. She’s still mad. Before she could stop herself, Skyler rushed forward and took the dishes. Debbie opened the door to the trailer and waited for Skyler to precede her. The Travises had never been big on fancy manners.

  She put the food down on the little table. It was so much that it threatened to tip that thing—almost the whole trailer—right over. “Thanks, Debbie.”

  In less than a second, Debbie wrapped her arms around her. “No need to thank me.” The older woman sniffed. “To think I wouldn’t make sure one of my chicks was fed.”

  “I didn’t think I was one of your chicks anymore.” Despite herself, Skyler melted into the warm feeling of being mothered again.

  Debbie sniffed again and pulled back so she was at an arm’s length. She looked Skyler up and down, like she was making sure she wasn’t injured. Skyler squirmed under the appraisal. It was just as unnerving as when Travis stared at her, but for an entirely different reason.

  “It’s a good thing I brought food. You clearly don’t eat enough.”

  “I eat plenty.” It was Skyler’s turn to sniff. “I promise I haven’t been missing any meals.”

  “Well, you must not be eating any carbs.”

  She laughed. Truthfully, her French fry and ice cream consumption had grown tenfold when she got back to Sebastopol. Turned out, eating her feelings for Travis didn’t work. “You wouldn’t believe how many carbs I eat if I told you.”

  “Then you must be working too hard.” Debbie stopped staring and let her arms go then turned her attention to the interior of the trailer. “Nice place. I read about this in a magazine—‘glamping.’”

  Skyler started opening containers of food, recognizing Debbie’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes. The knot in her stomach unraveled and gave way to hunger.

  Debbie found the dishes and shoved two plates and some utensils at her. “Dish up.”

  Skyler followed instructions as quickly as she could, and they sat down at the makeshift table after Debbie tucked what would be enough leftovers to feed her for a week into the fridge.