“Since I need cash for Gale’s rehab. It’s not a nice job, but should be solid. We’ll need a lookout, if you wanna earn a couple hundred as well,” Roach said, striding along the shop window.
There were quite a few people out here, since it was Saturday, but nobody would know the topic of their conversation if Zane kept close.
Zane was no saint, but the lesson he’d gotten picking Roach’s wallet would stay with him forever. He remembered the two times he’d seen the tattooed guy before, the aggression with which he fought Roach, and shuddered, realizing he did not want to be in any way associated with his kind. And neither should Roach. Not now that he’d freed himself from the toxic influence of his motorcycle club. Because he might not be a good guy, but he wasn’t them.
“Absolutely not!”
“Jesus, fine, goody-two-shoes. I’ll just go on my own.” Roach shook his head but wouldn’t meet Zane’s gaze.
Zane shivered. He could already see it—the wall between them wasn’t just growing. Roach might disappear on the other side, and Zane might not notice until it was too late.
“Don’t do it.”
“It’s a break-in, okay? I won’t be fighting anyone, so don’t worry about your precious face.”
Fire burst in Zane’s chest, and he pushed Roach at the wall of the laundromat. “That’s not it, you caveman!”
Roach scowled, but their eyes finally met. “What is it then?”
Zane’s throat ached, as if someone were choking him, but he didn’t avert his gaze. Roach wasn’t a bad person, and people, who cared for others without getting anything in return were few and far between. “I don’t want you to turn into your father and brother,” he whispered.
Roach shrugged. “It’s who I am. I’m done fighting it.”
Zane couldn’t look at him anymore and stared at the front of the worn leather jacket with a dark rectangle where the biker club patch had once been. The new coat was warm and kept him safe from the wind, but it couldn’t melt the icicles in Zane’s heart. “No.”
“Why do you care? I need the money, Zane, and I don’t know how to do anything else.”
“That’s not true. You do everything around the motel. Maybe someone else would pay you more for all that work?” Zane tried, leaning forward, as if the caramel scent of Roach’s beard sank its hooks into him.
“The plumbing, the repairs, I don't have any schooling for it. No one but a cheapskate like Culver would employ me. I’ve done bad shit, I’ve been to jail. I’m lucky to have a place to stay.”
“So? At least you can count,” Zane whispered so softly Roach might not have heard him if it was windy. He lowered his gaze, swallowed, and gave Roach a hug, burying his face in the rough leather.
“Hm? What do you mean?”
Zane groaned and squeezed him harder. “Stop it. You know what.”
The silence went on until Roach eventually stroked Zane’s shoulder. “It’s not a big deal.”
But Zane squeezed him harder, struggling to even out his breathing. He felt safe around Roach and didn’t want him spoiled by people like the Rabid Hyenas MC. “Don’t go. You’re better than that.”
Roach let out a deep sigh and Zane loved hearing his heartbeat so close. It was fast but strong, and within moments, it almost felt like Zane’s own heart adjusted to its rhythm.
Roach spoke as last, “I want to be. I’ve done some terrible shit for the Hyenas back in the day, but I’ve been trying to turn my life around after the fire. It’s so damn hard at times like this.”
“We’ll think of something. Okay?” Zane asked, melting into the warm body. He wished to soak through Roach’s clothes and become one with his skin. If just for a while. Nobody would dare touch him then.
“Sure.”
Roach frowned, glancing over Zane’s shoulder, which prompted him to look back. A cold sensation trailed down his spine when he saw the familiar bundle of purple and pink on the head of an elderly lady pushing her trusty shopping cart. Was it still stained with Zane’s blood, or had it all been washed off long ago?
“There’s that homeless lady again,” Zane mumbled, but Roach hummed.
“Mad Madge? Nah, she lives at the trailer park. Been friends with some of her neighbors.”
Zane stilled, met Roach’s gaze, but instead of the kiss to his temple Zane had expected, Roach gently pried Zane off him, and stepped aside.
For a breathless moment, Zane wanted to push back into Roach’s arms and stop forcing himself away from the one guy who’d ever had patience for his terrible personality. Zane wanted Roach, there was no denying that, and when he thought about the future, he could see it clearly—Roach’s firm body rolling against his. Under him, but also on top. Fast. Tender and slow. Biting, kissing, licking.