Falling For Crazy (Moroad Motorcycle Club)
away. The more fucked up he acted, the more she pulled him closer. He never wanted her pity, but tonight he'd seen a look in her eyes that pissed him off. Anger boiled inside of him, and he wanted to prove to her there was no place in his life for her to feel regrets.
    He wanted her. His need to get closer to her had nothing to do with Amy being Sarah's sister. He wanted her because she was Amy.
    He gazed straight ahead. "I want Amy," he said out loud.
    Only silence answered him.
    "I guess until I figure things out and understand how Amy will handle me being in her life, I need to give her some answers to questions she's had about me." He paused and when no sign of a response came, he continued. "If you don't hear from me, don't worry. I...I just need to do this, for Amy's sake. She deserves more from me."
    He started his bike, pushed the Harley backward with his feet, and rode away. Away from the memories of his past and toward Amy.

Chapter Twelve
    A my's upper body slumped against the wall and refused to move. She wiggled her toes and groaned. The prickles from her legs going numb shot up her calves jolting her fully awake.
    After Bear had left with the rest of the pizza; she'd fallen asleep. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, she'd woken to the rumble of a motorcycle. Determined to talk with Jacko when he returned, she'd stayed awake.
    Except, he never came back to the room.
    The sun broke through the curtains. She straightened her legs, suffering through the agonizing nerves protesting her movements. Hobbling over to the dresser, she chose a pair of shorts, a tank, and got dressed.
    "Just let me get through one more day without getting kidnapped, killed, or kissed," she muttered.
    She made the bed and grabbed the hairbrush and makeup kit Katie gave her. Thank God the handheld mirror only showed her a tiny version of her bagged eyes and dark circles. She slapped on some liner, mascara, and threw everything back into the bag. The less she looked at herself, the easier it was to ignore the pounding headache and nausea.
    It wasn't the whiskey she drank making her feel like shit, but Jacko making her sick.
    Anytime she thought about him, spent time in the room and he touched her, she got a queasy feeling and burned up. She pressed her hand to her forehead. Maybe she had a fever.
    The door swung open, and Jacko stepped inside. His gaze went down, then up. She lowered her hand, the tension in her muscles multiplied.
    "You okay?" He removed his gloves and stuffed them in his back pocket.
    "Yep." She pressed her hands against her stomach, smoothing her tank. "You?"
    He lifted his shoulder in a non-answer. "Have you ate?"
    "I think I'll skip breakfast." Her stomach held strong, but she wasn't going to tempt fate by eating.
    Jacko walked over to his duffle, removed some cash, and shoved the money in his wallet. She strolled over to the door and stepped outside.
    Fresh air hit her. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, testing her reaction. Luckily, her headache eased.
    Bear and Johnson stood three doors down from her. She attempted a smile and gave a small wave. It appeared she'd spend another day camped out in a motel with nothing to do but tag after the bikers. Though she'd heard some of the Moroad members worked at the silver mine, the ones who hung around the motel seemed unemployed, including Jacko.
    She turned around. "Hey, do you have—?"
    "What?" Jacko stood within a foot of her.
    "Sorry, I thought you were still inside." She stepped away. "Do you work at night?"
    "Depends on what you call work." He motioned her back inside and shut the door. "Club business happens when it happens."
    'Did you have club business last night?"
    "No." He stepped over and picked up the spare pistol he'd set on the nightstand yesterday. "I had unfinished business."
    "It's over now?" She gripped the gun.
    "Yeah, it's over." He grabbed her hip and spun her around. "Untuck your shirt."
    She pulled on her tank and held on to the material.

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