As I expected, the Miami International Airport is swarmed with people. It’s the day after Christmas and thousands of people are already over the holidays and ready to get back home.
“Maybe we can get you a pretzel,” I tell her as I urge her toward the security checkpoint. “One of those ones that are crunchy on the outside and all warm and gooey on the inside. I love mine with spicy mustard, but they never seem to have the right kind at the airport.”
I turn her to face me when her eyes widen at a scruffy man standing in line in front of her. I reposition us so my back is to him, and hers is to Max. She’s wary of her brother but hasn’t shown any signs of being terrified of him.
“What do you think?” I continue, even though I know she isn’t going to answer me. For some reason, my voice seems to calm her, and I’ll talk all day long for a hundred years if it keeps her from being afraid. “Maybe you prefer ice cream or one of those two-thousand-calorie cinnamon rolls that taste like heaven but are so bad for you, they have to have been created by the devil himself?”
“She likes French fries,” Max interjects, but Mia frowns when he speaks.
“French fries?” I smile at Mia, tossing Max a fucking bone I don’t think he deserves. “We have this cilantro-lime aioli back at the clubhouse that is amazing with French fries, but you have to try it with those huge potato wedges, not those scrimpy little fries. You’ll love it.”
My heart nearly beats out of my chest when I see a tiny smile tug up the right corner of her mouth. It’s gone in the blink of an eye, but it was there. It’s the first sign of life other than her tears and the trembling of her body when I’m more than a few feet away from her.
Max nods his head, indicating that it’s our turn to drop our belongings in the bins and walk through the x-ray machine. Mia’s fingers begin to tap on her legs, and I know she’s seconds away from freaking out.
“You’ve flown before, right? This is no different. We’re going to show our IDs to the gate agent, and then I’m going to go through first. Max will be right behind you. I know he seems a little wimpy compared to me, but he’d never let anyone hurt you. Three minutes tops, and then you’re right by my side. Okay?” I dip lower, forcing her to look me in the eye rather than past me to the conveyor belt waiting for our things.
She doesn’t speak, but her spine stiffens as she stands up a little straighter, and I take that as her being able to do this. My own nervousness grows as we wait for the belt to clear enough for me to toss my duffel bag up there. I help Mia with her shoes when she makes no effort to take them off herself, before clasping her hand and promising her all sorts of fun and adventures when we get to New Mexico. I keep my eyes on her as I lift my arms to be scanned in the machine and wait impatiently as she follows behind me and does the same.
Her dark eyes search my face as the machine spins around her, but in a matter of seconds, it’s over, and the TSA agent manning the equipment shuffles her through. I grab her hand and pull her to my chest the second she’s done. Her pulse pounds erratically against my fingers as I press them to her wrist, but we’re not out of the woods yet. By the grace of God alone, my bag doesn’t get dinged, but seeing as I shipped home a ton of shit yesterday, I was hoping it wouldn’t. We carry a ridiculous amount of things with us when we head out for work, and not even a third of it would be allowed on a commercial flight, hence the reason we take the Cerberus jet.
Mia is a trembling mess by the time I crouch again to help her with her shoes, and her unease doesn’t go unnoticed. People stare, whispering to their traveling companions, and I expected this as well. They don’t see her as a survivor like Max and I do. They only see the arm in a cast and the dozens of bruises marking her pretty face. People sneer at both of us, no doubt in their narrow minds thinking we’re the ones responsible for her injuries.
By the time we make it to our gate, Mia is in a state of utter terror, so I do the only thing I know will work. I find us as quiet a corner as I can, and I pull her onto my lap. Max doesn’t say a word. He’s well aware by now how much it calms her, so he stands sentry over us while I cradle her in my arms and remind her of all the things she’ll see when we get to the clubhouse.
By the time we board, she’s calmer, but it doesn’t last long as the guy who scared her in line is also on our flight and a mere eight feet away across the aisle. I situate my huge body in the center seat, lifting the armrest between so she can settle against my chest. Her tiny frame nearly folds in on itself as she brings her knees to her chest and leans against me. I wrap my arms all the way around her, legs and all, and tell her about the time I got caught trespassing on private property to go fishing.
The plane takes off, but all I can pay attention to is the soft breaths leaving her lips.
I ignore the flight attendant when she comes around with drinks and snacks.
I ignore the person on the aisle seat when he tries to strike up a conversation with me.
I ignore the way my heart swells when she sighs in her sleep and snuggles deeper into me.
Chapter 4
Mia
“Mmm,” Ryan moans as his arms pull me closer.
I’m not stiff in his arms, but there’s a tension building in my blood that keeps me from clinging to him like I’ve done the other times I’ve woken up like this.
We’ve been in New Mexico at the Cerberus MC clubhouse for nearly a week, and still, I wake up every morning wondering where I am and if today is the day they track me down and drag me back to that compound in Miami.
“You’re safe, Sweet Mia,” he grumbles before pressing his lips to the top of my head.
Sweet Mia.
He started calling me that after we got off the plane, and I haven’t told him to stop even though the smoothness of the nickname makes me want to cringe. There’s nothing sweet about me. I’m tainted, polluted, and infected by the things that happened to me. I feel filthy, like waking up in his arms does nothing but soil him, too.
“Shower?” he grumbles, already accustomed to the routine.
I keep my back to him as he climbs out of bed. I know he needs a few minutes to himself in the mornings, and I’ve done my very best to ignore the erection he wakes up with each day. I know it’s natural, something he can’t control, just like Jason couldn’t control it, but the first time I noticed it straining in his sleep pants, I freaked out, terrified he was going to take something I wasn’t offering. Mornings were the worst times back at the compound, and the heightened fear of waking up back there combined with the sight of his arousal really messed me up.
He skirts around the bed, swinging the bathroom door closed so he can piss before he comes back out to let me know that the shower is on and ready. Keeping my eyes low, I walk around him into the bathroom, but he doesn’t leave like he tried to do the first night in the hotel after I was discharged from the hospital. He follows me inside, closing us into the bathroom and locking the door, but he falters when he reaches for the bag to cover my cast.
“I was thinking,” he begins, but there’s an unease to his tone that I don’t like.
I swallow as I raise my eyes to his, only momentarily distracted by the tattoos covering his chest, full left arm, and right forearm. I’ve been tempted to trace the islander-type ink on his skin more than once, but I figured touching him that way would be crossing a line and giving him permission to touch my skin, and that’s not something I can handle.