Burning Ember (15 page)

My body feels weightless. My shoulders are still tense but now it’s from the ride and not the imaginary weight I feel piled on them. I swear to God, laying my thoughts out on the road like that is the only therapy I need. It’s freeing.

I roll my shoulders, flex my fingers, and then rest my hands on my thighs. “Yeah.”

He gets off his bike. “That new tart a problem for you? Spinnin’ your head? I know that bitch, the one that ratted out Edge to Davis, she was a redhead, yeah? Dana?”

My chest cracks open a bit and a searing pain penetrates my heart. All I can do is give a curt nod.

But it’s not just her hair color that’s the problem. It’s the way desperation leaks from her very pores. It’s the turmoil in her eyes. It’s the fact I’ve always felt nothing for the women around the club, the ones walking by me on the street; and then bam, it’s as if I’ve been hit by a fucking cupid’s arrow and can’t fucking think straight. All I see is her. All my body wants is her. This time it’s as if I’ve been dead for five fucking years and I’ve just taken my first real breath. My blood rushes through my veins, flowing like a river and reawakening a heart I thought was black and shriveled before today.

That’s what Dozer doesn’t understand. What I can’t say? This is similar to the way I felt for Dana. Only, for some reason, this seems more intense. Ten times more intense.

Dana needed me. She needed someone to help her put her broken pieces back together. Be the glue that kept her straight. I loved being that glue. It gave me a purpose when I was struggling to find my purpose in life. I thought it was to love her. Take care of her. Marry her and start a family. But Christ, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Doll might not be as broken, but I think maybe she’s been burned by somebody. She has scars, visible and invisible ones. The scars make her wary, cautious, and untrusting. She wasn’t comfortable talking about her family. Or her boyfriend . . . ex-boyfriend. I probably would have found out why if I hadn’t gotten so caught up in my own bullshit.

“Want me to take care of her?” Taz asks.

If anyone’s taking care of her . . .
Irritation barrels through me until I realize I misunderstood his meaning.

Glancing up, I see he’s watching for my reaction.

“Send her packin’,” he clarifies, as if he knows what I’m thinking.

If I say yes, he’ll scare her off until she’s nothing but a memory. Something I obviously don’t have the ability to do.

This is the answer I need, but at the same time . . . the idea of siccing Taz, the clubs enforcer, on her doesn’t sit right with me?

I pull my pack of smokes from my pocket, take one out, and light up. After blowing out the drag, I say, “Gave Dozer my word I wouldn’t force her out. She’s here at least until the party.”

I can tell he’s puzzling out a solution because he reaches into his pocket and takes out a toothpick. He looks at the ground while he discards the wrapper.

“But if she leaves on her own . . .” He glances up at me and has a wicked grin that creeps over his face.

Yeah . . . decision time.

Sucking in a drag, I ask, “What are you thinkin’?”

He shrugs. “Just gonna do what I do. She’s a problem you don’t need right now, right? Then consider her taken care of.”

Air expels from my lungs as if I’ve suffered a punch to the gut. I fight the instinct to call him off. But words slip past my lips. “Just . . . don’t touch her.”

His eyes narrow on me. “I’d ask, but don’t think I wanna know. Won’t touch her. Don’t need to.”

“Good.”

“Gonna do what I do best.”

Fuck with her head.

My silent acceptance is just that. Permission to do what it takes to get Doll . . . Pumpkin . . . out.

I ignore the heavy pressure I feel on my chest. After taking a couple more drags from my smoke, I flick it to the ground.

It’s for the best.

For my sanity’s sake. For the club.

So then why do I feel like this is a mistake I can’t afford to make?

I face Taz. “Don’t be too fuckin’ obvious. Dozer’s got some bug up his ass about her. Goose and Lil’, too.”

His smile flashes again. “When have I ever been caught causin’ chaos?”

I huff out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. It’s almost not forced. “Too many times to count.” Taz is the kind of guy with the skills to get in and out without being seen. But he doesn’t use them. He loves to leave a wake in his path. He’s built quite the reputation for himself in so little time. That’s why I started calling him Taz. Not only is he fast as hell, and a menace, but when it suits him, he leaves a path of destruction with his name on it behind.

I get off my bike and we head in. “Only once by the law though. I expect you learned your lesson?”

“Yeah, I did.”

We enter the clubhouse and head to the bar. The party’s died down. Bikers and semi-naked women flounder about. Some are passed the fuck out on the floors, couches, and one girl is naked and snoring on top of the bar.

Lita pours me a drink.

I only have to scan the room for a second to know she’s not here. All I see is an ocean of gray. An image of Dozer following Doll into his room flashes through my mind and has my fingers tightening around my glass.

Star heads over. She looks up at me, but thank fuck for whatever she sees in my eyes, because she moves past me and onto Taz who accepts her affections.

Griz claps me on the back to get my attention. “Deeds called while you were out. Pappy wants a meet. And Sonny Psycho was being pretty damn adamant about it. Told him to tell his daddy-o I’d talk to you and let him know.”

I sigh out, “That’s not gonna happen. Not until every HOC is sittin’ at the table. After the party. After the vote.”

“Right. I’ll tell ’em again.”

“They comin’ to Edge’s party?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell them to stick around for a few days and after we have our vote, we’ll talk then.”

“Okay.”

Bodie stumbles over with his arm around one of the twins. I think it’s Lo, since Lita is usually behind the bar. Honestly I can never tell the two apart. They look like the same fuckin’ woman to me
—
long dark hair, dark eyes, and Latino with huge rose tattoos that lock together when they stand arm to arm.

Slurring, Bodie asks, “So what’s up with the new ginger snack? She really h-hands off? Because if not, and she bends over like she was doin’, I’m gonna take a bite out of her.” He growls and playfully bites at Lo’s boob.

She giggles and halfheartedly pushes him away.

His comment has my stomach knotting up. The image of me knocking his ass out rolls through my mind. I stretch my neck, trying to relieve some of the tension rebuilding there.

“You’ll be waitin’ a while then.” Griz chimes in.

Bodie stops trying to molest Lo. “Why? You already in line old man?” Then his nose scrunches up. “Dude, that’s sick. She looks like she’s your daughter.”

“What? What the fuck?” Griz looks stunned. Like the thought never crossed his mind.

Bodie’s eyes widen to the size of golf balls. “Oh, my God, man! What if she’s your daughter and you don’t know it and you fuck her? That’s like fuckin’ incest.”

I shake my head and mutter, “Not
like
incest, Tweedle Dumb. It
is
incest.”

Griz’s face pales then his eyes flash with annoyance. “Why the fuck would you say somethin’ like that? Now I’m not—you selfish son of a bitch!” He pushes Bodie back.

Bodie nearly falls over. He’s laughing so hard Lo has to do her best to try to keep him on his feet. “Well? It’s possible,” he says after he recovers.

Griz growls, “Anything’s possible, you fucknut. Doesn’t mean you go sayin’ just any ol’ thing that pops into your head.”

“Bet you a hundred bucks she doesn’t last another day,” Taz states.

A cunning smile spreads over Griz’s face. “I’ll take that bet. We gingers are stubborn. If she wants to be here, then she’ll stick around.”

“And who are you to talk?” Taz says to Bodie. “You keep scratchin’ at all the club pussy and bed jumpin’ like you’ve been doin’, you’re gonna have a few bastards yourself. Then your old lady’s got proof you been hittin’ it on the side and she’s gonna leave your ass for good this time,” Taz chimes in.

Bodie’s smile vanishes in a flash. He glares at Taz. “Why the fuck you always got to bring her up?”

“Just being the voice of reason.”

“Well don’t. Mind your own fuckin’ business.”

I’ve seen and heard this argument more times than I care to count. Next Bodie will insinuate that Taz has a thing for his old lady. Taz never denies it, which only perpetuates the problem. I know it’s not so much that he finds her attractive, well that’s a lie, every brother finds her attractive, but that’s not why Taz is constantly on Bodie’s ass about her. No, Taz hates disloyalty, any form of it. So he reminds the old lady’d-up brothers of their ties, every chance he gets.

I turn to the bar and when Lita comes over, I say, “Bottle.” She raises an eyebrow. “Jack,” I clarify. Yeah it’s one of
those
nights. A few seconds later, she hands it over. It’s three-quarters full, but I plan to rectify that shortly.

After leaving the main room, I head down the hall and take the stairs two at a time to the second floor. For some fucked up reason, my legs stall next to Dozer’s door and I can’t seem to move again until I’m sure there’s nothing happening on the other side.

But to make sure, I still peek into the crasher room where I find D passed out on a bed alone. The sight eases the knot in my stomach a little.

Once I’m in my room, I waste no time. I upend the bottle and start chugging. Needing to wash away this fucked up day. Drown out the images circling in my head, and get back to being numb. Forget that Dana version two ever walked through my door.

I drink and drink, until I’m hammered . . . and drink some more.

Then smoke and pace. And repeat.

I rub my hand over my buzz cut. Usually, I find the coarse hair scraping against my palm soothing, but not tonight. Tonight, no matter what I do, I can’t shut off my brain. I can’t keep the past at bay. I can’t fight the draw of the girl in the other room.

In my drunken fog, I do something colossally stupid. Something I know I shouldn’t. But if I don’t remind myself of why I need to stay clear of her, I’m going to break into Dozer’s room and do something even more stupid.

I need to shut down this hope that maybe with someone new I can forget my past and have a future.

I squat down, reach under the bed, pull out my black duffle bag, and set it on the bed.

I drag the zipper open. My stomach falls to the floor and my breath leaves me. The hole in my chest cracks wide. Searing hot pain shoots through my sternum and knocks me on my ass. I drop my ass to the bed. The bottle falls to the ground and spills out. I lean forward, cradle my face, and fight the pain with anger. It’s the only way I can stop myself from falling apart. When I’m teetering on the edge of sorrow, I push myself to the brink of rage.

I curse Dana. And God. And myself.

It was my fucking fault for trying to save a stray. For trying so hard to hold onto someone who was so used to being on the run. Who valued her freedom above everything else. Above anything I tried to give her. Even when I tried to give her all of me.

There’s always one dog more likely to snap at the hand that feeds it.

MAVERICK

Her hands grip the hem of my shirt . . . but before she can lift it . . . I beat her there. Reaching behind me, I pull it up and over my head and toss it aside. The second I do, I slide my hand behind her neck and pull her forward. Nose to nose. I breathe in her scent, her girly, fruity scent. I brush my lips over hers and she moans. It’s all I need to know that she wants this as much as I do. I crush my lips to hers. But it’s not enough. I want inside her any way I can. When I lick at her lips, she opens for me.

Jesus! She tastes even better than I thought she would. Drawing back, I meet her eyes.

“Doll, why do they call you Pumpkin, when you taste like fuckin’ cherries?”

A smile blooms on her lips and widens. She’s so fucking beautiful, like all the flowers of spring, refreshing and sweet, colorful and I only need the oxygen she gives off.

I swear to fuck her smile breathes life back into me. I brush her hair from her face. Then palming her cheeks, I don’t hesitate. I kiss her again, plunder her mouth like a man possessed. I growl as she straddles me and eliminates all the space between us.

Still, I need more. Following her jawline to her ear, I nibble and whisper how much she turns me on, how much I need her, how badly I want to be buried deep inside her. I let my teeth sink a little into the soft skin over her wildly beating pulse. She lets out a cry and then whispers my name. It’s the sweetest fucking sound there is.

The cry sounds again. Only it’s not a woman’s soft cry. When it rings out a third time, I realize it’s coming from the goddamn phone on my nightstand. The landline.

I squeeze my eyes shut, which does nothing to help my blinding headache and the dream from flashing back through my mind.

I reopen my eyes, but fuck there’s too much light in the room. My head pounds like there’s a damn bell being tolled inside it. Because there is, the fucking phone keeps ringing.