Free Survivor: Steel Jockeys MC by Evelyn Glass Page B

said. “You didn’t know. ” She felt her mouth drop open at that. She almost laughed, hard and bitter.
     
    "When I said I knew Kyle, I wasn't lying," he said softly, patiently, as if she weren't pointing a gun at him. "We were best friends. We were more than that. We were brothers."
     
    "Brothers?" Ruby scoffed. " Brothers? He wasn't your brother. Don't you dare compare yourself to me. Don't even talk about Kyle. You don't have the right to even mention his name or to call him your brother!"
     
    "Ruby--" He looked hurt, but she refused to see it.
     
    She curled into a ball, burying her head in her knees to shut him out. "When Kyle died, Fox was there for me. He gave me a job; a place to live. He gave me a home. A new life. Which is more than I can say for you, or any of your trigger-happy buddies. You guys got Kyle killed, and you just left him there bleeding on the sidewalk. I saw one of you there that night," she said whispered. "I saw him, and I cried out. And he just turned and ran away."
     
    "You don't understand."
     
    "No, you don't understand. Kyle was good person, Joe. He wanted more out of life than what he got. He didn't deserve to die that way. But you didn't even care."
     
    "I'm so sorry, Ruby.” She poked her head up above her knees, unable to help studying his face. “If I could bring Kyle back; if I could offer myself in his place, I'd do it in a second. I should have been the one killed. If I'd died, nobody would have missed me.” He stared off to the trees now, as if he’d momentarily become lost in memory of something Ruby could only guess at. “But Kyle," he said, turning back, "Kyle had you. He talked about you all the time, Ruby. How proud he was of you, and how much he loved you. And that's worth everything."
     
    Ruby raised her head, but he looked down at the ground, frustrated, as if he feared he wasn't getting through to her. But she didn't hide her head again. She watched him flip his forelock of wheat-colored hair off his face, revealing a concerned, almost pained expression.
     
    As much as she didn't want to admit it, there was nothing disingenuous in his rich amber eyes, the ones that almost matched color of the hills of the San Joaquin Valley surrounding them--ancient and wounded, but strong. There was nothing plotting or dishonest. He genuinely wanted to help her. He wanted her to be safe.
     
    She wanted to trust her instincts that this young man wouldn't hurt her. In fact, she wanted to put the gun down. To drop it and crawl into his strong arms, nestle her head against his leather jacket that she knew he would have offered her if she'd asked. But how could she? How could she let him have that power over her?
     
    "I think we can end this Ruby,” he murmured tentatively. “The whole thing. We can honor Kyle and stop anyone else from getting killed. But," he took a deep breath and looked skyward, as if for inspiration. "For that to work, you're going to have to trust me. Just for a little bit. Until I figure things out."
     
    "Then prove I can trust you,” she said.
     
    He touched his jacket pocket, as if there was something within, some kind of talisman he believed could do the trick. But whatever it was, he had chosen not to reveal it. "I wish I could."
     
    She edged closer. He reached out tentatively again. In an instant she fell into his arms, almost clawing at the front of his jacket in a catlike manner. "I want to trust you, Joe. I really do,” she sobbed, her words muffled in the leather of his shoulder, heavy but supple. He said nothing, ventured no further, but held her close for a time as her sobs slowed to spasms, growing quieter as she melted into an exhausted quietness. Then his hand curled gently around her waist, tracing the barest outline of her body beneath her thick coat and sweater. As if curious to be let in and as if he had the audacity to believe she might let him.
     
    And she had the sudden impulse to shed those layers, to give him access,