Tease: A Kings of Korruption MC Novel (10 page)

Hoping to distract him from my obviously misguided assumption, I reach into the fridge and pull out another bottle of wine.
 
I turn toward him and hold it out.
 
“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Not a fuckin’ chance.
 
Would love a beer, though.”

Beer?
 
Why the hell didn’t I think of beer?
 
“Uh … let me check.”
 
I turn, rustling around at the back of the fridge, pulling out a beer like I’d just found a diamond.
 
“Ha!
 
I knew Daniel left some here!”
 
I twist the cap off and hold it out to him.

He doesn’t take it.
 
“Daniel?” he growls.

“Yeah.
 
My brother.”

He gently pulls the beer from my hand.
 
“Thanks.”

Was he jealous there for a minute?
 
Or is that just wishful thinking?
 
Turning back to the fridge, I set about getting supper ready again.
 
Once everything is dished up and heated, I bring it all to the table.
 
Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, I set it down.
 
“We can move to the living room if you’d like.”

“This is fine.”
 
His voice is gruff, but I’m slowly learning that this is just the way he is and it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s angry.
 
Travis is a man of few words.
 
He reminds me so much of the kids I work with – a little broken and needing some subtle motivation to put himself back together.

Nodding, I take my seat and another long gulp of wine.
 
This is so awkward.
 
It wouldn’t be so bad if he wanted to be here, but his demeanor and his lateness tell me he doesn’t, and I feel like an ass.
 
I don’t even know this guy.
 
What am I doing?

This is a date.
 
The fucking table has candles on it.
 
I can tell just by looking at it and the way she’s dressed that she thought it was.
 
I don’t fucking date, and I don’t know why I didn’t accept her offer to move to the living room.
 
Maybe it was the way her hair was shining in the candle light, or the embarrassed expression on her face when she led me into the kitchen.
 
It could have been the jealous feeling that took over when she pulled a beer from the fridge claiming that
Daniel
had left it here.
 
I know she’s pissed that I was so late, and I don’t fucking blame her.
 
She’d put some serious effort into this meal.
 
Too bad she’s wasting it on me.
 

I feel like a total asshole.
 
“Laynie?”

She jumps a little as if startled from her thoughts.
 
“Yeah?”

What the fuck do I say?
 
I don’t know if I’ve apologized to anyone since I was a little kid.
 
“I’m sorry I was late.
 
It was a dick move.”

“You?
 
A dick?
 
Never.”
 
She smirks, eyebrow raised slightly.

A snort of amusement escapes before I can stop it.
 
“Smartass.”

She sighs then and puts down her glass.
 
“Whatever.
 
You’re here now.
 
Let’s just eat.”
 
After a few minutes of silence, she clears her throat and takes a bite of her pasta.
 
“So … did you get your work shit taken care of yesterday?’

I pause.
 
I know she’s only trying to make conversation, but I don’t want to share anything with her.
 
Sharing shit with anyone has always resulted in getting knifed in the back.
 
I can’t trust her — I can’t trust
anyone
.

Her green eyes are focused slightly to the left as she waits for my answer, innocence clear on her face.
 
I’ve already hurt her feelings tonight, and that doesn’t sit well with me for some reason.
 
The least I can do is attempt to fucking talk to her.
 

“Yep.”

She chuckles.
 
“Did you work today?”

“I work every day.”

I watch as she nibbles on her bottom lip.
 
“I only work Monday to Friday for a few hours in the morning.
 
It’s a sweet deal.
 
The rest of the time, I blog.”

“Blog?”
 
What the fuck is a blog?

“Yeah.
 
I read, and I have a blog about reading and books.
 
It’s really fun, and I’ve made a ton of friends online.”
 

“Online.”
 
I think about that.
 
“How does that work exactly?
 
Reading and using a computer?”

She smiles.
 
“Since Apple products became more popular, my life has gotten so much better.
 
I use a computer with a voiceover option.
 
My phone and e-reader have the same thing.
 
And I listen to a lot of audiobooks instead of actually reading.”

I nod, only understanding part of what the hell she’s talking about.
 
I don’t use computers at all.
 
I only even have a cell phone because Gunner said I had to get one.
 
Curious about her, I ask another question.
 
“What do you do in the mornings?”

“For my other job?”
 
I nod, even though she can’t see me.
 
“I work as a Vision Loss Counsellor at the children’s hospital.”

Admiration for her washes over me.
 
“You work with blind kids?”

“Yep.
 
Sometimes, when they become blind, people have a hard time letting go of the idea of being sighted.
 
I help them embrace themselves as they are.
 
They need to learn that they can still have an incredible life without vision.”

The way she talks about being blind like it’s no big deal floors me.
 
And using it to help others?
Who is this woman?
 
I’ve never met anyone like her.

“What do you do for a living, Travis?”

I snort.
 
“Well, I ain’t savin’ blind kids from themselves, that’s for sure.”
 
She says nothing while she finishes the last of her meal.
 
I look around the room at her frilly apartment and wonder once again what the hell I’m doing here.
 
To an outsider, we would look like a fucking modern day Beauty and The Beast.
 
She needs to know who I am.

“I’m a biker.”

Her head tilts slightly to the side, a small line forming between her eyebrows.
 
“OK.
 
A biker.
 
I already knew you rode.
 
I can smell it on you.”

“An outlaw biker.
 
One of the Kings of Korruption.”
 
I take a swig of my beer and watch her face for any reaction, but she gives away nothing.
 
Any second now, I know she’s going to freak the fuck out and kick my ass out of here.

Her face breaks out into her wonky grin, eyes shining brightly in the candlelight.
 
“Now that is the sexiest fucking thing I have ever heard.”

I choke.
 
Beer shoots from my lips and my nostrils burn.
 
“What?”

She giggles.
 
“I told you … I read a lot.
 
Biker books are the sexiest books I’ve ever read.
 
I thought you were going to say you were a mechanic or something.
 
Biker is way better.”
 
That wonky grin returns to her face and I can’t help it – I chuckle, knowing full-well that her biker books and my biker world are not even close to the same thing.

“You’re a fuckin’ nut, you know that?”

She laughs, the sound of it filling my ears and settling somewhere deep inside my battered soul.
 
Standing, she takes my plate and hers to the kitchen and offers me another beer.
 
I was going to leave as soon as we finished eating, but I can’t bring myself to go.
 
I want to know more about her.
 
I want to know what she’ll say next.

With a full beer and a fresh glass of wine, we move to the living room and sit side by side on the couch.
 
I think about her job and wonder how she does it.
 
How can she live her life so happily after having that shit handed to her?
 
I may not be blind, but the night I got my scar, I changed forever.
 
It’s turned me into the monster I am.
 
I
had
to become that to protect myself.

“Have you always been blind?”
 
The question escapes my lips before I can stop it, and I think it takes us both off-guard.
 

She turns to face me and tilts her head to the side.
 
“No, actually.
 
I lost my sight when I was seventeen.”
 
She smiles wistfully and takes a small sip of wine.
 
Silently, I wait for her to continue.
 
“My older brother, Garrett, was only eleven months older than me, and we were really close.”

My heart clenches.
 
I already have a sense of where this story is going, and I can tell by the sadness on her face that she’s going to tell me something that will hurt her to tell.

“It was prom night, and Garrett was driving.
 
We’d just dropped off the last of our friends and were making our way home when Journey came on the radio.”
 
A tear slips down her cheek.
 
“’Don’t Stop Believin’.”
 
Her wobbly smile punches me right in the chest.
 
“It was one of our favorite songs.
 
We used to do a wicked duet to it.
 
Garrett cranked it up, and we were singing like a pair of idiots when a drunk driver crossed the yellow line and hit us head on.”

More tears start to flow, and she takes a deep breath.
 
I can’t stand watching her struggle like this, but I have no fucking clue what to say.
 
As she takes a fortifying sip of wine, I place my hand on her knee, offering her whatever support I can as she finishes her story.

“I smashed my head in the collision and suffered severe optic nerve damage.
 
I’ll likely never see again.”
 
She places her hand on mine, giving it a squeeze.
 
“I’m lucky, though, really.
 
I’m still here.
 
Garrett wasn’t so lucky.
 
He died on impact.”

I squeeze her hand back, heart heavy with an emotion I can’t explain.

“We were in that car for two hours before someone found us.”

“You’re so fucking brave.”
 
The words come out like a growl, thanks to the gigantic lump in my throat, but I fucking mean them.
 
How she can sit in front of me with a smile on her face and tell me that fucking story is a goddamned mystery to me.