Goddess Rising Read online

  “How do you know when you’re ready?” Sam asked uncertainly. “I mean, how do you know it’s the right guy?”

  Rita’s expression softened. “You don’t, babe. That’s why the general advice is usually to take it slow.”

  “Like you did?” Sam pointed out with a wry expression.

  “Mirar, I never said I was a good example.” Rita pursed her lips, considering her. “But I do know that if you feel like this about Wes, you definitely need to stop whatever bullshit you’re up to with Chris.”

  “Chris knows the score.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s got a thing for you. There’s no way he’s not going to get hurt once you and Wes finally get your shit together.” Rita shook her head. “Question is, how much do you hurt him? A little nick now that smarts like a paper cut or do you bludgeon him and potentially ruin his friendship with Wes?”

  “I don’t want to get between him and Wes,” Sam protested.

  “Too late, chica—that’s already happened,” Rita replied.

  This was all so overwhelming. She’d gotten in way over her head—but then, it’d been that way with Wes since day one. Sam thought about the way he’d looked at her last night. Gone was the laid-back campus Romeo, replaced by a guy so intensely focused that ambition and vitality came off him like heat. Wes was coming for her—no doubt about it. And it thrilled her as much as it scared the shit out of her.

  “So why didn’t you last night?” Rita asked gently.

  “I told you—”

  “No, you rationalized,” Rita replied. “Tell me what freaked you out in that exact moment. Tell me what made you stop.”

  Sam sipped her coffee, ran a hand through her hair. “I guess because I don’t trust him yet.”

  “And?” Rita prompted, her gaze shrewd.

  “And I don’t feel safe with him.”

  “You think he’d hurt you?” Rita asked, puzzled.

  “Not like that.” Sam shook her head. “But in the long run, I think he’d have the capacity to—yes.”

  Rita laughed softly. “It’s funny, jaina—I watch you take risks all the time with ROTC. But when a guy comes along that you really like, you’re like ‘¡No mames!’ No way!” she said, holding her hands out in a defensive motion.

  “It’s different,” Sam huffed. “Those are calculated risks.”

  “Bullshit. Those are just the risks you’re comfortable with,” Rita countered, calling her out. “You’re like the ‘Queen of Control’, jaina. And you can’t control this. You can’t control Wes, and you sure as hell can’t control how you feel about him, so you make up all these really rational excuses for why you can’t do the freak nasty with a guy who’s just begging to show you all the ways he can make you feel good.” Rita sighed dramatically. “If I had a guy like Wes on lock, shit, chica—don’t even get me started. That boy would be lucky if I let him out of my room!”

  “More irrefutable proof we’re opposites,” Sam replied. “I’m not like you. I can’t just throw caution into the wind for a good time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because life doesn’t work that way.”

  “Says who?”

  Sam sighed. “Life doesn’t work that way for me, Rita. I’ve got too much riding on my reputation to just blow it all on a fast ride with a hot guy who will just use me and dump me.”

  Rita blinked in confusion. “Who says that’s what he’ll do? The way Wes was looking at you last night, I’d say he’s not thinking of you for a one-night anything.”

  “Says you.”

  “Who in this room has more experience with boys? Raise your hand,” Rita answered, her brow raised.

  “Okay! Okay, enough of the guy angst,” Sam said, rubbing her temples. “You ready for the final elimination?” she asked instead, hoping Rita would let her off the hook.

  Rita eyed her for a moment before shrugging. “About as ready as you can be without knowing what the next obstacle is.”

  Sam leaned forward, thinking. “We’re down to eighteen cadets. They’ve got to make the cut to nine for the competition, with three alternates.”

  “I bet you fifty bucks you make it to the final team,” Rita told her. “My gangbanging skills got me through the pistol contest, but I don’t think they’re going to carry me through whatever they’ve got planned next,” she admitted uncertainly.

  Sam rolled her eyes. “You may be from a rough neighborhood, but you were hardly a gang banger.”

  “Not like little Rox is heading anyway,” Rita huffed.

  “Alejandro’s little sister?” Sam asked, brows raised in surprise. “Isn’t she like thirteen or something?”

  Rita shook her head in consternation. “That little chola’s worse that Alejo ever was. He was only half-assed when he was banging for the Latin Kings. Just trying to get a little protection and enough cash to help Auntie Lupe make ends meet. But Roxy?” Rita rolled her eyes heavenward. “A la verga!13 That girl will be the death of her mother the way she keeps carrying on.”

  “What’s she up to?”

  “She’s barely fourteen, and she’s already a runner!” Rita threw her hands up. “Auntie’s taking her to Mexico, hoping that’ll get her head on straight, to be in the motherland with the family.”

  “So her mother’s not ill?”

  “Nah,” Rita shook her head. “She’s a tough old bird, too—she’ll outlive us all, no lie. Nah, Auntie Lupe is hoping Abuela will set Rox straight before the sun’s down.”

  Sam’s brow creased. “What’s a runner anyway?”

  “Like an assistant to one of the older gang members,” Rita explained. “They do whatever needs doing. Lookout, errands, dealing—you name it. It’s the first step to getting in with the Latin Queens.”

  “Jesus.”

  Rita shook her head. “Alejo and Auntie Lupe are at the end of their rope with that mocosa,14 let me tell you.”

  “If Ry got caught up in something like that—” Sam shuddered at the thought.

  “Be glad you come from the boondocks, chica,” Rita told her. “What’s the most your little brother can get into?”

  Sam thanked her lucky stars Ry and Carey were such good kids. Rascals and hell-raisers when they wanted to be, but they’d never done more than scare the shit out of the chickens with BB guns.

  She shook her head with a sudden laugh. “Alejandro looked so different last night, what with being the good son and doting on his mama. I almost didn’t recognize him.”

  Rita smiled. “It’s crazy right? He acts hard, but Alejo’s a mama’s boy if I ever saw one. And he loves Roxy something terrible. He helped raise her after their papa died.”

  “So Rox is his Ryland.”

  “Yep.” Rita nodded. She leaned back, smiling a little at Sam. “I know you two argue like crazy, but you both may have more in common than you realize.”

  Sam snorted. “Tell that to him.”

  Rita rolled her eyes. “I have. But he’s as stubborn as you are.”

  “I’m not stubborn,” Sam replied. “I’m right. There’s a difference.”

  “And you’ve just made my point for me, jaina.” Rita smiled.

  Chapter 17

  September—Sunday Afternoon

  Ryker’s Automotive, Austin, Texas

  W E S L E Y

  Wes stepped into Ryke’s garage through the side door, figuring Ryke wouldn’t hear him no matter how long Wes pounded on the front door. The garage was technically closed on a Sunday, but Wes knew better. Ryke would be knee-deep in one of his custom projects, blaring southern rock from the garage speakers on his one day off.

  Sure enough, Ryke was wielding a welding torch, jamming to the Allman Brothers as he worked on custom exhaust pipes for one of his new choppers. As he stepped back and turned off the torch to admire the work, Wes turned down the stereo.

  Ryke glanced around, pushing the welding mask off his face.

  “Well, lookie here,” Ryke said with a grin. “What are you doi
ng in town, college boy?”

  “Mom’s got the day off,” Wes answered, slapping him on the back in a quick guy hug. “Figured I’d have an early supper with her. Do some catching up.”

  “She’d like that,” Ryke nodded. “The Panhead doing alright? You having any problems with her?”

  “Bike’s fine,” Wes told him. “Guy can’t just drop by on one of his friends and say hi?”

  Ryke lifted a brow. “Don’t tell me you already made it through that driver’s license supply I gave you?”

  Wes shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nah, man. I would have given you a heads up if I was just down for a run.”

  Ryke set the welding mask on a workbench. Wes walked around the bare bones frame of the chopper, trying to envision the final product—knowing it would be a piece of art.

  “You’re seriously talented, man,” Wes commented.

  “Don’t know about that.” Ryke shrugged, yanking off his work gloves. “But it’s easy to love,” he said, by way of explanation.

  Easy to love. Easy to want. Sam entered his mind.

  Wes had barely slept a wink the night before. He’d ridden around for a good hour trying to figure out what had happened before heading home to hit the sack, only to toss and turn.

  He knew Sam was as into him as he was her, and that wasn’t just his pride talking. She’d been absolutely there with him… until she wasn’t. The restraint in her had gone beyond just shyness or the hesitation that came with a first-time hook-up with a new lover.

  He stopped and looked up at his childhood friend. Ryke was just a few years older, but he’d seen and done a lot in his time. Mostly good. Some definitely bad. But he’d pulled it all together when push came to shove. Ryke had a business and was building a reputation, and all told, he was probably the closest thing to a brother Wes had.

  “I need to ask you a question,” Wes said, pushing his hands into his pockets.

  Ryke wiped his hands on a rag. “Shoot.”

  “When did you know you wanted to own your own shop?”

  If Ryke was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. “Seemed natural, I guess. I knew I wanted to build bikes. I figured if I worked for someone else, that might not happen, so here it is…” He gestured around the garage.

  “But was it all you—on your own?” Wes clarified.

  “You know it wasn’t.” Ryke tilted his head. “Friends and family chipped in. Hell, your mama even helped me work the back office the first year, remember?”

  “I mean, did you decide it on your own? Or did someone help you arrive at the decision?” Wes asked, hedging.

  Ryke leaned back against the workbench, crossing his tatted-up arms. “You’re not going to make a very good journalist if you keep beating around the bush, brother. Just ask what you want to ask.”

  Wes took a breath. “Was there a woman?” he asked, meeting Ryke’s eyes.

  Ryke’s face lit up with a knowing smile. “Who is she?”

  “Who’s who?”

  “The chick you’re falling for,” Ryke replied, fiddling with the dials on his stereo until he found some good old-fashioned Texas blues. He waved Wes over to his office. “I got something that’ll do you right.”

  Wes followed him in, plopping down on a worn, leather sofa while Ryke set two glasses out and poured them both a measure of rye whisky.

  “Tell me about her.” Ryke settled in behind his desk, nursing his drink.

  Wes took a sip, winced, and took another. “She’s the real deal, man. Gorgeous, smart, doesn’t put up with anybody’s shit.” He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “And she’s got me so twisted up and turned around… For the first time in my life, I swear I don’t know which end is up.”

  “Sounds like a real spitfire.” Ryke smiled, sipping his whisky. “It was bound to happen at some point, Wes. You like women too much not to fall for at least one of ’em.”

  “That’s the thing—” Wes sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Samantha’s nothing like any of the girls I’ve ever been with. And I thought I knew women. Hell, I ain’t ashamed to admit I’ve never had a problem figuring them out—”

  “Product of being the sons of single mothers,” Ryke pointed out.

  “Exactly,” Wes agreed. “But then Sammy comes along, and all I spend my time doing these days is trying to figure out ways to please her.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw, frustrated. “Shit, I oughtta just turn in my man card now. I’m goddamn shameless when it comes to this girl.”

  Ryke considered him a moment. “Why’d you want to know if there was a woman behind my opening the shop?”

  Wes met Ryke’s eyes. “You’ll forgive me for saying this, but a few years back, we all thought you’d end up either in prison or in a pine box, the way you were carrying on. You were such a hell-raiser, I can’t even remember how many times your mama cried at our kitchen table. Then all the sudden, you up and changed. I guess I was too caught up in my own shit to bother asking, but…I’m asking now. What changed?”

  Ryke surprised Wes by smiling. “Didn’t like the idea of rotting away in prison or a pine box.”

  “That’s it?” Wes asked, dubious. “You just woke up one day and wham! That was it?”

  Ryke leaned back in his seat, put his booted foot up on the scratched desk. “Wes, it’s simple. There comes a day in a man’s life when he wakes up and either likes who he is or he doesn’t. Then he looks at all the decisions that brought him there and he either takes accountability and makes the changes or he buries his head in the sand and tells himself he can’t do any better. Or he runs away—”

  “Like our dads.”

  “Yeah. And I guess I took a good look and thought—I don’t want to be anything like that guy.” Ryke looked him in the eye. “So I started figuring out how not to be him.”

  “But you still do illegal shit, just like your daddy did,” Wes pointed out. “That’s not exactly the straight and narrow, is it?”

  “Yeah, well…” Ryke replied, shrugging. “It’s a means to an end until this dream can support itself. I never said the process of changing is perfect. But I think that’s kind of the point…it’s a process. I have a goal in mind, and I’ll see that it happens.” He took another swallow. “And if I get caught, then I’ll deal with that when it happens, but for the moment, legitimizing my business is going to take some time. But I can tell you that every day I get closer and the picture becomes clearer.”

  Wes considered the glass in his hand, silent.

  “I think it’s good you’ve got your tail caught, Wes,” Ryke told him. “But I think you have to ask yourself—are you changing for you, because it’s time to grow up, or are you trying to change for a girl because you don’t think she wants you for you?”

  “Samantha’s constantly challenging me,” Wes confessed. “From day one, she’s had me second-guessing myself.”

  “Why?”

  Wes thought about it. “She wants a lot—she’s got high expectations.” He considered it. “But most of all, she’s got some lofty goals for herself. I think that’s what I admire most about that girl. She’s set a goal and she’s going after it, and no one is going to get in her way.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Hell, I kind of think she’s crazy, but I can’t help rooting her on.”

  “So are her expectations realistic?” Ryke asked.

  “For her, yeah,” Wes told him. “For me? I’m not so sure.” He looked up. “But she makes me want to try. I want to be better, work harder.”

  “Has she asked you to be a better man?” Ryke asked.

  Wes looked up. “Not in so many words, but I know that if I want a shot with her, I’ll have to be.”

  Ryke rocked back in his seat. “All your life, you’ve gotten by on your good looks and your smooth talkin’. I’ve seen girls moon over you since before you knew you had a pecker.” His friend smirked. “But this chick sounds like she’s giving you a run for your money. Maybe that’s what you need to decide what you want, Wes—
someone pushing you. As long as the reckoning is happening, not sure that it matters how you get there, brother.”

  Wes finally gave voice to his fear. “But what if I’m not enough for her?”

  “Do you think she’s asking the same thing herself?”

  “No,” Wes answered immediately. “Sam’s not the type to change herself for a guy.”

  “Sounds like a smart girl.” Ryke dropped his feet and looked at Wes seriously. “And if that’s the case, it seems to me like you oughtta be asking if you’re the kind of man you want to be. Because if you’re not, then you make the changes for yourself. And if you are—she can either take you or leave you.”

  I want her to take me, but I want to be the kind of guy who deserves her too.

  Wes knocked back the rest of his whisky. “I think I need another drink.”

  Ryke laughed softly. “Yeah, I thought you might.”

  *

  September—Same Time, Sunday Afternoon

  Wyatt Ranch, Texas

  S A M A N T H A

  She heard the boys before she saw them, the peals of laughter and shouts ringing through the corral. A happy grin spread across her face as she loped past the big, white-washed stables on her family’s ranch. It was a gorgeous day, sun dappling the grass through massive oak trees, a breeze carrying the scent of hay and earth. Sam followed the sounds until she saw them.

  Ry and Carey were both seated high atop chestnut quarter horse ponies, working lassos around a wooden bench with a makeshift horsehead. Gus, the horse trainer, coached them from the corral’s fencing.

  “The horse’s natural instincts are to follow the steer, boys. So all’s you need to do is change direction, with light pressure on the neck—that’s real good, Ryland. Real good,” Gus told Sam’s little brother, a broad smile on his weathered face, deeply tanned from years of riding and ranching. “Now toss the lariat fast and smooth. Send it out like it’s an extension of your arm.”

  Sam perched on the fence next to Gus. “You teaching these boys how it’s done?”

  “Sammy girl!” Gus exclaimed, tipping his cowboy hat back with a blunt finger before giving her a quick hug. “Didn’t know you were coming home today.”