Reckless: Backsteel Bandits MC (9 page)

Her heart pounded in her chest as she gazed up at Tyler. The tears burned at the back of her eyes. “You came back?”

“Yes, Miranda,” he murmured, leaning closer. She could barely breathe as hot tingles raced up and down her body. Tyler's arms curled around her, his lips on her ear. “And I'm never leaving you, again. I love you, Miranda.”

He caught her ear between his lips as delight exploded inside her. Her hands tangled up in his shirt, the leather kutte nowhere to be seen. She managed to piece her words together as hormones exploded over her thoughts, “I love you.”

Tyler worked his way down her jaw, nipping at her lips. Her knees felt like jelly. She couldn't piece together a coherent thought while his lips continued their onslaught.

Gently, his lips took hers and Tyler led her backward. As they stumbled, articles of clothing peeled from their bodies, dropping in their wake. Her heart thrummed so loudly, she just knew he could hear it. If he could, he didn't react.

His hands roamed over her naked body, pinching and fondling every inch of her. She clenched her eyes shut and moaned against his mouth. Her own hands grazed over his shoulders and down his chest. He shuddered as she ghosted down his abdomen. The bed jarred the back of her knees and the world flew out from under her feet. Miranda gasped, flailing for a second, before Tyler's hands caught her.

He eased her to the bed. As she sunk down into the mattress, Miranda realized it was far more cushioned than she remembered. And did she always have these pretty magenta blankets? It didn't matter. Tyler's lips were back on her, tracing a trail down her neck to her breasts. He tongued and laved her nipples, working them into hard beads. Pleasure arched her back and enjoyment strained at her thoughts.

Tyler smirked around her rosy nipple and, suddenly, his finger parted her slit. Miranda gasped as surprise and gratification teased at her thoughts Her fingers dug into the too-fluffy mattress. He pumped his digits in and out of her, slathering her wetness over her swollen lips. The fires of passion burned in her lower tummy, stoked by his ministrations.

Her breathing became ragged and her thoughts more disjointed. Reality slipped away and utter pleasure filled its wake. Miranda tossed her head from side to side, mewing and whimpering. Tyler's thumb stroked over her clit. Against her breast, his lips twisted into a satisfied smirk.

Molten heat and pressure crested inside her. It threatened to tear her apart with satisfaction. A small part of Miranda didn't mind. She squirmed beneath Tyler's talented hands. Her moans rang in her ears, getting louder as inhibition shattered beneath her impassioned need. Tyler murmured against her nipples, “Come for me, baby.”

Her moans turned to screams of delight. Her body rollicked and shuddered under her attempts to stave off the release. Pleasure crashed repeatedly into her, demanding acknowledgment. Her nerves fizzed and popped with erotic fire. She couldn't hold it down any longer and threw her head back against the mattress, arching her back under Tyler. He continued to murmur encouragements, naught and thought searing, to her flesh. She let out a scream and–

She shot straight up in bed, the keening warble of her alarm cock shattering dream-Tyler's last words. Miranda licked her lips as her heart rate lowered. An ache pounded through her chest as she realized it all had been a dream. A light sheen of sweat kissed her flesh and her panties felt obscenely damp. Her face flared with a blush. Frustration and anger puckered her thoughts as she slid out of bed.

Exhaustion sunk its fangs into her eyes as she gathered her clothes for the day. Nearly a month had passed since Tyler skipped town. The pain in her heart faded, but Miranda knew it would be back. It always came back. The throbbing ache was the same as the last time Tyler left. It lingered and threaded moments of her entire day. Last time, though, she found solace in sleep. Her heart hadn't learned its lesson and, worse, it seemed hurt more than last time.

Miranda shoved the thoughts out of her head as she headed to the shower. No, she wasn't going to think of Tyler. Not right now. She'd have enough woe to wade through over the course of the day. She didn't want to dwell on it, if she could help it.

After turning on the showerhead, Miranda stripped her nightclothes off and stepped under the torrent of water. The warmth eased the annoyance from her muscles. She closed her eyes and sighed happily. Her heart whined a little, thinking about how they never had a chance to have shower sex, like in her dream. Miranda's eyes snapped open. Her jaw stiffened and her teeth gnashed together as she mechanically went about her hygiene routine.

Why couldn't she shake that redheaded troublemaker from her thoughts? Miranda grasped the shampoo bottle, spilling too much liquid into her hand. He had meandered through her thoughts, since he left. It didn't seem to lessen. The only thing she could do was focus on washing up, letting the tattoo of the water drown out her unwanted thoughts.

Autopilot led Miranda through her routine as she struggled to keep thoughts of Tyler far, far away. She had made it out of the shower, through getting dressed, and finished eating breakfast before more troublesome thoughts pummeled her head.

Where had he gone? Was he all right? Why had he even come back? The musings churned and whipped around Miranda's psyche. Even as she stood and cleaned her plate, the thoughts buzzed at the back of her head. After tonight, a long night at the bar sounded sublime.

As soon as she thought of the Firebird Bar, her mind coaxed memories from her head. She hissed and dumped her plates into the sink, the clatter dispersing the recollections. There was no time for this foolishness. She needed to get to work.

Stepping out of the motel, Tyler groaned and stretched his arms over his head. His vertebrae popped down his back. Pain skittered along his nerves, but he had gotten used to it. The chill of the early morning misted around his feet as he stepped onto the damp concrete. Cars trundled up and down the nearby highway, adding the scream of speed to the morning symphony. A melancholy tickled at his thoughts as his gaze drifted along the horizon.

Three weeks had passed since he stepped foot in Legacy. Miranda's face briefly flashed through Tyler's thoughts, but he shook his head. No, he couldn’t think of her. That would lead to aches and urges. He wasn't sure how long he could defy his whims. The same pain clamped on his heart the first time he left Legacy. This time, though, Tyler wasn't sure he could drown it out with cheap booze and loud broads in dank bars.

Hell, he hadn't even set foot in a bar since the 'incident.' Tyler bristled as his mind pictured the bar and the opposing bikers. They had been lackeys of Pete's and associates of the Backsteel Bandits, a local gang with more smarts in their cellphones than in their own heads.

But, brains weren't needed to lead two wayward brothers out into the parking lot to beat some sense into them. Outnumbered, four to one, Jack and Tyler had little choice. While two men held them, two more soundly throttled them with fists and steel-toed boots. The bruises, faded from weeks of healing, still ached across Tyler's body.

Luckily, Lloyd saved their asses. His hog roared into the parking lot, shattering the bloodlust in the air. When he cut the engine, a deathly silence descended, interrupted by Jack's bloodied hack. Lloyd was the favorite in line to inherit the Bandit presidency. Everyone knew Lloyd. That's why the local bikers lowered their fists and released the two men.

Although, it wasn't a reprieve. Lloyd demanded more evidence to take down Pete. And, while Jack and Tyler floundered for more evidence, Naomi and Miranda were guaranteed safety. Lloyd had the decency – or, perhaps, indecency – to write the women off as meaningless flings to the rest of the crew, but that wouldn't last too long. Especially if they returned to Legacy.

But, Tyler couldn't see any other option. They needed proof about Pete's trickery and Miranda had ties to her family's line of banks. Although, he couldn't be sure she could help, he was fairly confident. It was little known that her family owned most of the solitary banks throughout the nation. At one point in his life, the very fact made his stomach churn. Now, it would play to his favor.

The very thought left a bitter taste in Tyler's mouth.

Behind him, someone stirred in the doorway of the motel room. “Hey, you sure you want to do this?”

“Why not?” Tyler turned, shooting Jack with a look. The man healed slowly. His split lip was scabbed over, but the shiner on his eye and cuts along his arms still looked fresher than three weeks. The dark circles under Jack's eyes did him no favors, either. The man wasn't used to being on the run and dodging Backsteel associates. Despite his appearance, Jack was more at home with numbers and figures.

“Well, it puts the girls in danger again.” Jack shrugged as he stepped out of the room and onto the walkway. “And I doubt you left Legacy on good terms with Miranda.”

Tyler stiffened and his scowl deepened. It took all his willpower not to shoot Jack a dirty look. Jack was the reason he had to say goodbye to her. Okay, well, that wasn't true. It was Lloyd's presence and Pete's overreaching law. Jack
was
the one who continuously shot Tyler annoyed glances and frowns after they left the town. Silently, he blamed Tyler for their rushed escape. Yet, Lloyd fed them a heaping helping of guilt with what happened after they left.

Miranda had come looking for Tyler. After a housekeeper told her about their check-out, she emotionally crumpled. She cried a good half an hour in her car. Not once did she notice Lloyd watching from across the parking lot. The very thought sent Tyler's stomach into a churn. He grunted, hiding his discomfort as he tore his gaze away from Jack. “We have no other option. We've tried everything else.”

“Yeah, but–”

“No buts. We either do this or go back to Pete. What do
you
want?” Tyler swung around and glared at Jack. He didn't flinch, though he stared coolly down at his brother. Tension and fire and unadulterated rage flickered between them, weighing heavily on their exhausted minds. Tyler's fingers tightened into fists, the urge to strike Jack rousing in his mind.

Three weeks of ducking in and out of towns, of avoiding other bikers, of crawling around hoping to stir up some evidence razed Tyler's thoughts. Maybe if he had stayed in Legacy longer, he could have gotten Miranda's help easily. A part of him knew that to be a farce, though.

“Fine,” Jack relented, his stiff shoulders sagging. He turned his back to Tyler and grunted, “I'm going to take a shower before we go.”

Tyler didn't have the chance to bite out a reply before his brother slammed the door shut. He cocked his head, ears listening for the telltale click of a lock. Thankfully, it didn't come. Tyler eased, knowing Jack wasn't that petty. He heaved an exhausted sigh and turned back to the parking lot and horizon.

His heart thrummed at the thought of returning to Legacy. The prospect sent his thoughts reeling into wishful fantasies, starring Miranda. A nodule of guilt rolled about his thoughts. She wouldn't want to see him. She wouldn't want to listen to him nor cooperate. The banks were her family's business.

Yet, Tyler couldn't help holding out his hope. The Groves had been lording themselves over Miranda for a long time. Under the neatly polished sheen, there was a rowdy, darker part of her dying to crash through. He ran a hand through his hair, over the painful lump on his skull from the attack. He could only hope she was ready to break out.

When Miranda stepped into the bank, a sudden chill brushed down her body. She rubbed at her arms as gooseflesh tickled along her skin. After flicking on the light and re-locking the front door, her stomach lurched. The counter and her office, where most early morning preparations took place, taunted her with memories of Tyler. They had done so for three weeks. Faintly, she wondered when her mind would stop the torment.

The thoughts of Tyler prompted her obsession. Where was he? Was he all right? Was he with someone? Her skin itched as her imagination provided answers to every question – some dirty stretch of road in the desert with his buddy, both with strange women in their back seats. The very thought made Miranda's stomach sour. She began the motions of opening the bank, trying to shove her thoughts into a dark crevice of her brain.

The chunk of the front door's lock sounded. Miranda's gaze darted to the door, her heart fluttering with insane hopes and curiosity. Her gaze flicked to the clock. Barely twenty minutes had passed from when she arrived. It wasn't opening time, yet, and no one was scheduled to come in for another forty minutes.

Miranda eased as Naomi step in. Her relief was short-lived as soon as her eyes focused on her face. Dark bags hung under Naomi's stark blue eyes, almost like dark shiners from a brawl. Her blonde hair was hastily pulled back into a ponytail. Her outfit, usually accessory-ridden and painstakingly crafted, was a typical dark skirt and white blouse number. Naomi flashed Miranda a weary smile, her strong tone softened, “Hey.”

“Naomi, you're early,” Miranda managed to force a smile to her lips, but concern swept through her head. She couldn't imagine what had Naomi so wearied. A suspicion itched at the back of her head. Was Naomi affected by Jack's departure? Sure, she hadn't spoken much about the man, but the few snippets were laved with wistful sighs and pinked cheeks.

“I couldn't sleep,” groaned Naomi. She teetered on her heels as she closed in on the office, where Miranda was checking through some online security notices. Her body wobbled, as if the blonde were made of solid wood. She slumped against the doorframe, dropping her purse unceremoniously on the carpet. “I feel like shit.”

“I'm sorry. You don't look that sick, just tired.”

“I ache all over and I couldn't keep anything down this morning,” Naomi bemoaned, leaning more heavily against the doorjamb.

“Sounds like the flu. You should go to the doctor.”

“But I don't feel icky. Just my body is mutinying against me.” Naomi jutted her lip out, setting her jaw in a stubborn grimace.

Miranda knew there was no arguing with her. “Well, how about you sit down and relax until the bank opens?”

Naomi's shoulders slumped, but she nodded in a grateful fashion. She shoved off the doorjamb and toddled to the lobby area to slump into one of the cushioned chairs.

A twinge of sympathy echoed in Miranda's heart. Naomi wasn't the best, attendance-wise, but she knew her limits. If she felt well enough to work, she could handle it. That didn't keep the little worry at the back of Miranda's brain silent, though.

She tried to shove her concerns down as the minutes ticked by. Instead, her head became split along three avenues: Tyler, Naomi, and work. Miranda barely finished the morning routine before the first, impatient knock sounded on the bank's door. She ducked her head over the counter, hiding her wince of displeasure.

Old woman Curtis stood on the other side of the glass. Her face, wrinkled like a dried apple, puckered around her scowl as she rapped her knuckles along the glass. Miranda sighed and went to the door. Mrs. Curtis was a well-respected, long-time patron of the bank and her family insisted on treating her a margin better than others. As she unlocked the door and swung it open, she plastered a smile across her lips, “Mrs. Curtis, come in.”

“About time you opened,” complained the elderly woman as she scuttled past Miranda. She clutched her purse in her hands, like a rat holding onto a piece of cheese. Miranda sighed and followed after Mrs. Curtis, sucking down the urge to roll her eyes. Mrs. Curtis's eyes landed on Naomi, who slumped in her chair with her arm over her eyes. The old woman inhaled sharply, before squawking, “What are you doing sitting around? Come now, come now, get behind the counter!”

Naomi jolted from her seat. She blinked a couple times, her large blue eyes taking a second longer to focus. When recognition passed over Naomi's face, Miranda could spot the slight wrinkle of her nose. However, the blonde skittered around the counter, taking her usual position. “Mrs. Curtis, I can assist you here.”

With the knowledge that Naomi could handle Mrs. Curtis, Miranda made her way to the office. She glanced over the day's work schedule, which she had printed off earlier. Within the hour, two more tellers would arrive. Miriam had the day off, but the woman would certainly come in, if called – not that Tuesdays were extremely busy bank days. Yet, it paid to be prepared.

Mrs. Curtis's shrill demand cut through Miranda's thoughts, “Are you even paying attention!”

Miranda's head snapped up. Naomi wasn't feeling well. Warning bells ricocheted through her head as the atmosphere shifted. Her arms broke out in gooseflesh as she raced to the open doorway. As Miranda ducked into the lobby, she caught the sight of Naomi.

The color slowly drained from her face as she braced herself on the counter. Her eyes lashes fluttered, as if she were trying clear an obstruction in her vision. Naomi's body crumpled. Her head bounced off the wooden counter then she slid off the surface. Her body thumped to the floor.

Mrs. Curtis let out a shriek and scuttled backward as Miranda rushed forward. She knelt beside Naomi, cellphone out and 911 ringing.

Miranda was sputtering directions just as Naomi's eyes fluttered open. Her eyes rolled back and forth, shiny in her pale face. She grasped Miranda's wrist, gaining her attention. Managing a weak smile, she said, “I'm fine.”

Miranda's expression hardened as she stared down at Naomi. A stream of blood oozed from the gash on Naomi's forehead. Averting her gaze, she finished her instructions, “Yes, the Legacy bank. Yes. Thank you.”

Naomi weakly dissented throughout, her grip on Miranda tightening. Miranda ignored her protests. The longer she talked, the weaker her voice became until she could barely whisper, “I swear, I'm all right.”

Miranda snapped her phone shut and pocketed the phone. When her gaze flicked back to Naomi, the heat of determination flared. “I'm taking you to the hospital. No arguments.”