Infatuation
Page 2
“Miss, did you hear me?” The cab driver’s question rips me from the nightmare and brings me back into the here and now.
“Sorry?”
“We’re here.” I look up at the large building and gather my nerves. Briefly, I second-guess my reasons for coming here but then shake those thoughts out of my head.
You need his help, Mackenzie.
“That will be fifty-seven.” The cab driver turns in his seat, looking back at me. I reach for my bag and pull out three twenties and two one-dollar bills.
“It’s all I have.” I cringe at the tip, but his soft grin tells me he doesn’t mind.
“You okay with your bags?” His head moves toward the clubhouse and my gaze follows.
“Yeah.” I nod and reach for my backpack. “Thank you.” I force something I hope resembles a smile, but only end up wincing in pain.
“Stay safe, sweetheart.” I don’t reply, just close the door and turn to face the large brick clubhouse. The old building stares back at me, calling to me like a long lost friend, so I give myself a moment to take it in. The place is huge, bigger than what I had pictured in my mind. Turning to gaze to the right, I notice a shed nearly the same size as the clubhouse. The roller doors are pulled down, and a low light shines from a small gap where the door and the concrete meet. Multiple motorcycles are lined up in front of it.
Coming from a life like mine, and marrying a man like Chad, the last place you would ever expect to find me is here: standing out the front of Rushford’s very own MC clubhouse needing help. But life has a funny way of putting everything into perspective.
“Can I help you?” A man’s voice startles me and I lose my composure for a second. Doubt coils in my stomach and catches me off guard.
No, this is a bad idea.
My flight reaction sets in, and I twist back toward the cab, but the distant glow of the red tail lights stare back at me.
Too late now, Mackenzie. You’re stuck.
Turning back around I take a deep breath and will myself not to lose it.
“My name’s Mackenzie Morre and I’m here to see Beau.” I force confidence into my voice, hoping he doesn’t see how afraid I truly am. The guy is a lot younger than Beau, maybe by twenty years. His dark gray eyes roam over my face, before traveling down my body then back up. I want to say he looks like a nice young guy, but from his annoyed stare, I could be wrong.
“Come with me.” He turns and guides me to the front door. Not wanting to be left behind, I pick up my pace. “You hurt bad?” He pushes the door open and shifts to the side, letting me step past him into a dimly lit hall.
“No, I’m okay,” I tell him as he guides me down to a large open area. The smell of leather and smoke fill the air, the scent reminding me of Beau.
“He’s out back. Wait here.” He holds his hand up for me to stop as he steps forward. Not wanting to disobey any orders, I hold back and take a look around.
The place is enormous with the open living area taking up most of the floor. A fully stocked bar runs along the right side of the clubhouse with a pool table to the left. The wall above the pool table holds pictures of members in their cuts, some mug shots, but more family shots. The Club’s insignia, carved in a large wooden display, sits in the center of the wall, Knights Rebels inscribed above the skull head. A few young men standing around the table look up as the young guy calls out across the room.
“Umm, boss, we have a big fucking issue.”
“What the fuck now?” The annoyed grumble of the man I’m assuming is the boss has my stomach shifting with unease.
Beau might not be dangerous, but maybe coming here was.
“Spit it out.” The deep timbre of Beau’s voice calms me instantly and my feet move forward and step in view.
“Mackenzie?” He stands instantly, and the loud thud of his chair falling back has my eyes dropping to the ground in front of me. I’m not sure if he’s angry, or shocked, and I can’t bear to look and find out.
“Beau, I’m so sorry I came, but I really need your help,” I rush out, hoping it’s just shock. Seconds feel like minutes before the same two hands that carried my broken body out of my hometown of Redwick and away from an abusive husband eighteen months ago, come to either side of my face forcing me to look up.
“What the fuck happened?” His deep blue eyes roam my face, inspecting the damage. I don’t answer right away, my own eyes reacquainting themselves with his. His dark brown hair is still long, and pulled back away from his face. Instead of a low ponytail like I remember he wore it, it’s up in a messy sort of man bun. His beard has grown longer and possibly more gray. Not that he looks old, far from it. He looks good.
Too good.
Dark wash jeans, black Henley pulled tight across his chest, and a Knights Rebels leather cut—just how I remembered. It’s as if eighteen months haven’t passed. I’m looking at the man who saved me, the man who gave me a second chance, and hopefully can save me again.
“He found me, Beau.”
Two
Beau
“You have any jobs this week?” Brooks asks, handing me a beer.
“Haven’t heard anything yet, but we’ll see.” I take a pull of my beer and stretch my legs out in front of me. It’s a Friday evening and because I’m on call for Tiny, it’s my first, and only, beer for the night, so I’m going to savor it.
“I’m free to help out if you need a hand,” he offers and I know I’ll probably take him up on it. Between the club and Tiny putting more work on me, I need all the help I can get.
“Sorry?”
“We’re here.” I look up at the large building and gather my nerves. Briefly, I second-guess my reasons for coming here but then shake those thoughts out of my head.
You need his help, Mackenzie.
“That will be fifty-seven.” The cab driver turns in his seat, looking back at me. I reach for my bag and pull out three twenties and two one-dollar bills.
“It’s all I have.” I cringe at the tip, but his soft grin tells me he doesn’t mind.
“You okay with your bags?” His head moves toward the clubhouse and my gaze follows.
“Yeah.” I nod and reach for my backpack. “Thank you.” I force something I hope resembles a smile, but only end up wincing in pain.
“Stay safe, sweetheart.” I don’t reply, just close the door and turn to face the large brick clubhouse. The old building stares back at me, calling to me like a long lost friend, so I give myself a moment to take it in. The place is huge, bigger than what I had pictured in my mind. Turning to gaze to the right, I notice a shed nearly the same size as the clubhouse. The roller doors are pulled down, and a low light shines from a small gap where the door and the concrete meet. Multiple motorcycles are lined up in front of it.
Coming from a life like mine, and marrying a man like Chad, the last place you would ever expect to find me is here: standing out the front of Rushford’s very own MC clubhouse needing help. But life has a funny way of putting everything into perspective.
“Can I help you?” A man’s voice startles me and I lose my composure for a second. Doubt coils in my stomach and catches me off guard.
No, this is a bad idea.
My flight reaction sets in, and I twist back toward the cab, but the distant glow of the red tail lights stare back at me.
Too late now, Mackenzie. You’re stuck.
Turning back around I take a deep breath and will myself not to lose it.
“My name’s Mackenzie Morre and I’m here to see Beau.” I force confidence into my voice, hoping he doesn’t see how afraid I truly am. The guy is a lot younger than Beau, maybe by twenty years. His dark gray eyes roam over my face, before traveling down my body then back up. I want to say he looks like a nice young guy, but from his annoyed stare, I could be wrong.
“Come with me.” He turns and guides me to the front door. Not wanting to be left behind, I pick up my pace. “You hurt bad?” He pushes the door open and shifts to the side, letting me step past him into a dimly lit hall.
“No, I’m okay,” I tell him as he guides me down to a large open area. The smell of leather and smoke fill the air, the scent reminding me of Beau.
“He’s out back. Wait here.” He holds his hand up for me to stop as he steps forward. Not wanting to disobey any orders, I hold back and take a look around.
The place is enormous with the open living area taking up most of the floor. A fully stocked bar runs along the right side of the clubhouse with a pool table to the left. The wall above the pool table holds pictures of members in their cuts, some mug shots, but more family shots. The Club’s insignia, carved in a large wooden display, sits in the center of the wall, Knights Rebels inscribed above the skull head. A few young men standing around the table look up as the young guy calls out across the room.
“Umm, boss, we have a big fucking issue.”
“What the fuck now?” The annoyed grumble of the man I’m assuming is the boss has my stomach shifting with unease.
Beau might not be dangerous, but maybe coming here was.
“Spit it out.” The deep timbre of Beau’s voice calms me instantly and my feet move forward and step in view.
“Mackenzie?” He stands instantly, and the loud thud of his chair falling back has my eyes dropping to the ground in front of me. I’m not sure if he’s angry, or shocked, and I can’t bear to look and find out.
“Beau, I’m so sorry I came, but I really need your help,” I rush out, hoping it’s just shock. Seconds feel like minutes before the same two hands that carried my broken body out of my hometown of Redwick and away from an abusive husband eighteen months ago, come to either side of my face forcing me to look up.
“What the fuck happened?” His deep blue eyes roam my face, inspecting the damage. I don’t answer right away, my own eyes reacquainting themselves with his. His dark brown hair is still long, and pulled back away from his face. Instead of a low ponytail like I remember he wore it, it’s up in a messy sort of man bun. His beard has grown longer and possibly more gray. Not that he looks old, far from it. He looks good.
Too good.
Dark wash jeans, black Henley pulled tight across his chest, and a Knights Rebels leather cut—just how I remembered. It’s as if eighteen months haven’t passed. I’m looking at the man who saved me, the man who gave me a second chance, and hopefully can save me again.
“He found me, Beau.”
Two
Beau
“You have any jobs this week?” Brooks asks, handing me a beer.
“Haven’t heard anything yet, but we’ll see.” I take a pull of my beer and stretch my legs out in front of me. It’s a Friday evening and because I’m on call for Tiny, it’s my first, and only, beer for the night, so I’m going to savor it.
“I’m free to help out if you need a hand,” he offers and I know I’ll probably take him up on it. Between the club and Tiny putting more work on me, I need all the help I can get.
