Chapter 8
Mia
Cold doesn’t even begin to describe the state I’m in right now.
Chilled to the bone and near hypothermia is a much better description, but even though I can no longer feel my feet in the borrowed mud boots I found on the back porch of the clubhouse, I keep on walking.
My mind doesn’t clear with the distance I create between myself and the clubhouse. My body doesn’t grow more relaxed the further I get from Ryan. I’m only filled with dread and a constant feeling that’s been telling me I’m an idiot and making a huge mistake since I took the first step off the property.
It has to be below freezing, and after being in Miami and before that balmy Louisiana, my body is in no way able to deal with the frigid wind beating against my face as I stay off the road, hovering near the tree line.
I don’t know north from south or east from west, and even if I had a clue which direction the nearest town was in, I’m so directionally challenged that I’d probably still miss it.
I didn’t really think this through. All I know is continuing to be a burden to Ryan, and every other member of the Cerberus MC ends today. I’ve taken over their lives. Even Rocker couldn’t stumble to the coffee pot shirtless without me freaking out and Ryan insisting that he leave. If their bitterness about me being there hasn’t started yet, it will soon.
Ryan, with his phone call to his girlfriend, was the final straw. I’m not his responsibility, and yet I’ve clasped on to the man and turned his life upside down.
No more.
No more neediness.
No more being afraid of my own shadow.
No more upending people’s lives because I can’t get my shit together.
Just, no more.
I should’ve gone back home to Louisiana with my parents. Ma wouldn’t bat an eye if I didn’t want to leave the house. Hell, she never wanted us to grow up and leave in the first place.
The rumble of an engine coming from the direction I began walking what seems like years ago fills my ears, and I duck further into the trees, crouching low to the ground because the leafless timber doesn’t provide much cover. Thankfully, the dark clothing I’m wearing helps me to blend in with my surroundings. An SUV rolls past slowly, but I drop my head down before they pass, making it impossible for me to tell who’s inside.
I plan to watch their taillights until they’re a safe distance away and I can start walking again, but before they get a couple of feet past my location, the brake lights flash.
I keep in my hunched-over position, whispering prayers that they’ll keep going, but just like the day I was taken from the mall, my luck runs out. A man climbs out of the passenger seat, the interior light making it easy for me to see the outline of his form. At least he was smart enough to dress for the weather. The hood of his thick jacket is pulled up over his head, and it obscures his face, making it impossible to see who he is.
He looks down at some small machine in his hands, but then his eyes snap up in my direction as if he can see in the dark.
The tremble that’s been racking my body from the cold turns into something more. Fear like I’ve never felt before washes over me.
Fear is a healthy emotional response. It activates the fight-or-flight part of your brain, but when you’ve already faced horrific things, it’s enough to make you shut down completely. Fear of the unknown is one thing. With the experiences I’ve already had, knowing what could happen if I’m taken again is enough for me to pray for a quick death. I’d rather curl up and die right here on some desolate road in New Mexico than end up in another compound as a plaything for sick, sadistic men.
“Mia?”
Ryan’s voice startles me, and I want to run to him, but the illusion of him isn’t real. He would be the first person grateful that I left, no doubt having been counting down the days until I get my shit together and disappear. I’m only wishing the man standing at the side of the SUV is once again my tattoo-covered white knight.
Before I have the wherewithal to turn and run deeper into the trees, he turns, placing the machine down on the seat, before turning and walking in my direction.
I’m frozen solid, seemingly in the real sense of the word due to the weather as well as the proverbial.
“Sweet Mia,” he says as he crouches in front of me, staying on my level but not reaching for me. “What are you doing out here? You’ll end up with pneumonia and frostbite.”
I shake and shudder, my teeth clacking together, and no matter how hard I try to make it stop, my efforts only make things worse.
“I’m picking you up,” he warns as he reaches for me, and for a moment when the moon shines on his face revealing familiar features, I let myself believe that the only man that makes things right is the one lifting me into his arms.
Here’s the thing about being near death, even when parts of my body and brain are telling me to run, my heart and the bone-deep exhaustion make me believe in his sanctuary. It’s foolish, and in some part of my barely functioning brain, I can appreciate that fact, but giving in and letting him carry me away is easier. Giving up is easier. And since I fought so hard back in Miami, only to become the sinister focus of so many men, I realize I’m tired of fighting.
I watched the life fade from several women’s eyes. I watched them refuse to eat, which only led to the others fighting over their rejections in an effort to survive. It didn’t take long for them to slip away.
That’ll be my plan this go around.
But instead of rough hands, a comforting embrace engulfs my body, and instead of a whiskey and cigarette smoke stench, a familiar body wash engulfs my nose, and even with as much bravado as I left the clubhouse with, I burrow myself deeper against his chest.
Leaving was stupid, and even though I don’t want to need him with the manic desperation that takes over every cell of my being, it doesn’t stop it from happening.
“Sweet Mia,” he coos as he carries me up the embankment toward the waiting SUV. “I’ve got you. We’ll get you warm in no time.”
“We’ve got her,” another man says as Ryan settles in the back seat with me still against his chest.
“Get her home,” an unfamiliar voice says through the Bluetooth in the vehicle. “I’ve already contacted Samson. Dr. Davison is on her way to assess her.”
The ride back to the clubhouse is a short one, too short considering how far I thought I made it away from there. I don’t bother to lift my head as Ryan carries me inside. I can sense a swarm of people watching me, but silence fills the air around us as he makes his way to his room.
All too soon, he releases me, and I stand with my head hung in shame as he pulls the down comforter off his bed and wraps the thing around me until I’m cocooned in his scent and warmth. The blanket helps, but it feels like it will take days for my body to once again return to normal temperatures.
My teeth are still making noise as they smack against each other, and my hands tremble to the point that it’s nearly impossible to keep my grip on the cover surrounding me. Ryan holds me to his chest, and it sinks in that I’m not going to be hurt. He’s here to protect me. He’s real, not some apparition disguising a malevolent person wanting to hurt me.
“You had me worried,” he whispers against the top of my head.
I shake in his arms, first from the cold but then with the way his body tenses.