Mia

Chapter Eleven

Mia

Thomas opens the door for me to get into his all black Ram truck and I get inside. He then pulls at the seatbelt.

"I don't need-" He completely ignores me and continues gently strapping me in.

I watch his hands work his knuckles gently rubbing me across my belly as he makes swift work to lock me in.

"Thank You-." He doesn't say anything back, just shuts my door. The fuck is wrong with him.

Thomas's face gives off nothing as if he has totally flipped a switch off in his head. Thomas doesn't even bother to look at me as he turns on the car and speeds out of the hospital parking lot.

My words come out like a hiss. "You act like I've asked to be here." I trail off, my heart running at a hundred miles per minute.

Frustrated, I take out my phone and start texting my mom feeding her more lies about how much I love it here. "Who are you texting?" Thomas's words are stone cold. My head snaps into his direction. These are the first words he had to say to me since last night? No hey, hello, not even a wave when he'd seen me.

"My mom-"

"Don't lie to me." Thomas snatches my phone before I can send my message. He looks through my message threads with my mother. I even see him scrolling up to read everything, his face twisting in confusion.

"Gimme it back you asshole." I spat at him, hitting him with my words instead of my hands. There is no way I'm making him crash this car with me in it. Still he has no right to be snatching my belongings from me. Eventually he tosses my phone into my lap.

"Watch your fucking mouth Mia." Thomas sneers, his jaw tightening. He adjusts himself into his seat. Unlike me he has no seatbelt on.

Something about him saying my name like that makes me shut up. I squeeze my legs together to ease the ache just smelling him has me feeling.

Frustrated, I turn my body so that it is almost fully facing the truck's window. A deep pit settles into my stomach. Emotions like disgust and irritation start to fill me from the inside out. It's my fault because I do these things to myself.

Always acting impulsively, never thinking about the consequences of acting out on my emotions. It's my fault for fucking a man that I just met who couldn't give two fucks about me.

I've never been more homesick in my life.

"What's wrong with you?" He asks. I don't even turn around to see what faces he is making or to see if he is even looking at me.

My heart starts to slow down and I try to think rationally. What is really killing me is that I don't Ben know the man I'm sitting beside.

"You know everything about me, but I don't even know your middle name." I whisper after a while of us sitting with only the sounds of Thomas's country music playing softly. My eyes are still looking out of the window.

"You can ask me anything you wanna know." His voice has lost its cruelness. I like the nickname though.

"I want to know everything." I cross my arms. I'm Starting to feel a little more in control of my emotions right now.

"Just ask, but be careful." He reiterates.

Wanting to be able to see his face, I turn my body so that my back is no longer facing him. "Is Reaper your nickname?" I know enough about motorcycle clubs to know they give each other nicknames.

"Yeah, but you call me Thomas." He requests. Too bad, I like the nickname.

"I know one of your brothers, but where are the other two? I saw a picture of you and them in your office. You look close." I ask, remembering the picture I'd seen of him when I first met him. He and Trever looked younger in the picture, more happy. To me all four men looked bright eyed and bonding.

His face still isn't giving anything away. His gray eyes are completely focused on the road ahead. "Trever's twin Timothy is in prison and our baby brother Tony is dead." He says his voice is monotone. Looking at him I can't tell if he is actually fazed by the things he has just told me. He still has the same energy he had just had when he was answering my other questions.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, just because I don't really know what I should say next. All I can think to say is what everyone else says when someone talks to them about something painful.

"I'm sorry." I whisper just loud enough for him to hear me over the low playing music.

Silence follows and for a while I think that the conversation is over. Just as I am settling more into my seat, lightly pulling at my seatbelt, I hear Thomas's voice again. "Why do you text your mom those lies?" He asks, his slight country twang wraps around each word making it sound like a song.

I watch his body language. His left hand wrapped around the steering wheel, his other hand holding the gear shift. To me he is always uptight. He rarely ever relaxes, always on guard, waiting for something to happen, almost like a soldier.

"You want me to tell her the truth about all of this?" I point out not wanting to answer him. I don't think that it is any of his business.

He shakes his head lightly at my reply. "Don't do that. I read high enough to see how you were lying about the friends you made in town and the places you had been. We've asked around, you'd barely left the hill." Thomas exposes, eyes still constrained on the road.

"Is there anything you don't know about me?" I reply back sarcastically.

Thomas pauses before answering me. "There is plenty I don't know about you. I don't truly know everything." He mutters, shrugging his shoulders.

"Good." I say laughing a little.