Page 36 of Screamer
“I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“I’m… oh. Well, good.”
Screamer chuckles and takes a step toward me. “Fuck, you make me crazy.” He reaches out to cup my cheek, and when I flinch, he doubles down with both hands on either side of my face. “Ever since you walked in here with your brother, I haven’t been able to get you off my mind. Day and night, you’re all I think about.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship, Screamer. It’s only been weeks since I left a toxic one, and I’m not ready.”
He rubs his thumbs gently under my eyes. “I know. I’m good with that, really, I am. All I ask is that you keep an open mind, and don’t shut me out.”
I contemplate what he’s asking. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about him, about where this could lead, but I’m definitely not lying about not being ready. Jace ruined me, incinerated my self-confidence, tore down my defenses, and made me unable to trust anyone, myself included.
My gut tells me that everything Screamer has told me is true, that he’s different and not at all like Jace or other asshole men. The problem is, my gut told me Jace was good, too.
Keep an open mind, and don’t shut me out.
Can I do that? I don’t know. But I owe it to myself to try. If I don’t, then Jace wins.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. You’re gonna have to be patient with me, though.”
“Sweetheart, patience is my middle name.”
I snort a laugh. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
Screamer shrugs. “Okay, so maybe it’s not, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“Fair enough.”
“Good.” He leans down and kisses my forehead softly before releasing me.
And just like that, I’m a goner. Forehead kisses are my kryptonite. Jace never once did that, which should’ve been a red flag.
“Gimme a few minutes, and I can follow you home,” he says, stepping away from me.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I don’t need an escort.”
“Not saying you do. But I wanna make sure you don’t have any problems with your Harley, so please, let me follow you home to make sure you get there safely?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Ten minutes later, we’re in the back parking lot, starting up our bikes. I lead the way as we head to the LTMC clubhouse. We make it to the outskirts of town, and as soon as we clear the city limits, I open up the throttle and fly, and Screamer right next to me with a giant grin lighting up his face.
There’s a fork in the road ahead, about fifteen miles before the clubhouse, and when it comes into view, the sunlight catches on something shiny. I squint, trying to make out what it is, and my stomach bottoms out when I realize what I’m seeing.
Bringing my Harley to a screeching halt, I lower the kickstand and jump off to scramble to the wreckage and Saint’s bloody and broken body.
“No!” I shout, my knees buckling.
Before I can hit the ground, Screamer’s there to hold me up. He wraps his arms around me, pulling my back against his chest.
“Shhh,” he croons as I wail.
“No, no, no! Not Saint!”
Screamer lowers me to the ground so he can check on my friend. He presses a finger to his throat, and when he finds no pulse, he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. He’s gone.”
