Burning Ember (5 page)

Sauntering away, he unlocks the door, peeks out, and leaves me alone in the bathroom.

I push off from the sink and rage coils through me. “Goddamn it!” I punch out and cry out when my knuckles hit glass. It doesn’t shatter but a stinging pain shoots up from my knuckles to my forearm. “Ow! Crap! Shit!”

I cradle my hand.

A few minutes later, the door swings open again. This time I see Lily’s reflection in the doorway. “You still want to come with me?”

I don’t. But the choice is no longer mine to make.

The den of the Devil is no place for the innocent.

Lily’s letting me stew about my dilemma in peace. Not that she’s aware of how complicated my life’s just become. We talked for a moment after first getting in the car. She told me where she was taking me. What I’d find there. A place to hide, along with a few other things. Namely, bikers and whole lot of people
having fun.

I didn’t ask questions. I just nodded. I had a good idea what I was in for.

We’re flying down the freeway in Lily’s black two-door beamer, heading south out of Albuquerque, while Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel” plays softly through the speakers. In the side mirror, I can see the young biker, Rigor, following on his motorcycle. And two cars behind him, a police cruiser. The same cruiser that’s been tailing us since we left the grocery store.

I’ve been sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window, using the scenery as a distraction. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t ignore the knots in my stomach twisting tighter and tighter with each mile.

Part hunger. Part rising panic.

I feel Lily’s eyes on me a second before she speaks. “You all right? You look a little pale. Do you need me to pull over?”

“Um . . . no.” My gaze darts to hers. “But do you mind if I crack the window? I get a little carsick sometimes. I think I just need some fresh air.” It’s close enough to the truth—that I can no longer stand to be confined. That it feels like I’m slowly suffocating in this metal box. I was a little claustrophobic before Warner. It’s worse now.

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

Cracking the window down three inches, I let the hot breeze hit my face, inhale the fresh air, and let it fill my lungs.

Better.

“I can promise you this is better than hooking. In a way, it’s a lot like a frat house only . . .”

“Worse?”

She shrugs. “In some ways. Better in others. Lots of the partying, but these guys are serious too. About riding. About the club. They take care of business and when the business is done, they like to party. But it’s more than that. They’re a family too. Sure, they like their women, alcohol, and other things. But it’s more about a brotherhood, a family that doesn’t live by societies standards. The life’s not for everyone. And if it’s not for you, you’re free to leave . . . anytime.”

“How did you know? You know . . . about what I was planning to do?”

Sparing me a quick glance, she says, “I know what rock bottom looks like.”

“But why are you doing this? Helping me?”

She pushes her Gucci glasses to rest on top of her head. Her eyes flicker over to me for a moment. With another small shrug, she replies, “I may not look like it now, but I’ve been where you are. It’s been years, but I remember all too well how it is. I saw the same look in your eyes I used to see in my own.”

I study her face. For a minute I think that’s all the explanation I’m going to get, but then she continues. “
I ran away from home when I was fourteen. At the time I thought nothing could be worse than what I was going through. I was wrong of course, but by the time I figured that out I’d gotten myself in a situation I couldn’t get out of. A couple years ago, somebody took an interest in me and pulled me out it. They dusted me off. Gave me a place to stay and a few nice things to call my own. Gave me a family. Gave me a second chance at life. It meant a lot to me then. Means even more to me now.”

Looking out her side window for a moment, she adds, “This is my way of repaying the favor, paying it forward, or whatever. Back there, with Davis, I could tell you needed help. To tell the truth, I’m not even sure why I came back. I don’t know what you’re running from; if it’s the law or something else, but I felt this”—her hand waves over her chest—“I don’t know this . . . feeling like I needed to do something”—another shrug—“so I did. Plus, you look a lot like . . .”

My pulse quickens.

She glances at me then pats my hand. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

Lily’s smile fades a bit, and suddenly she’s concentrating very hard on the road. Lost in her thoughts. Or possibly wondering if she did the right thing. I straighten in my seat and stare out the window. I hope to God she doesn’t change her mind, and yet a part of me wants her to stop the car so I can take off before we get there.

I have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.

What if the bikers see right through me? What if they don’t, and they do allow me to stay? I’ll have to play the part. Act like I want to be there. Let them touch me, and do heaven knows what to me. Am I ready for that?

A small voice in my head yells . . .
no.

But sadly, this is what I have to do. Once again, I’ll mask my feelings and my pain. The promise I made to myself about loving the next person I sleep with will have to be broken.

Lily takes the next exit. We pass a large casino, take a right, and head down a four-lane road.

“By the way, people at the club don’t call me Lily. It’s Lil’ Bird, or just plain Lil’.”

I nod in acknowledgment and rub my hands on my jean shorts. Sweat beads profusely on my palms and has nothing to do with the weather.

A few minutes later, Lily pulls up to a privacy fence and stops. Hanging on the fence is a black and orange BEWARE OF DOG sign. Only DOG is crossed out and HOCs is written above it in terrible handwriting. In my side mirror, I see Rigor dismount his bike, and Officer Davis parks his cruiser down the street.

Rigor trudges up to the gate and opens a console. Seconds later, the gate automatically slides open.

Rigor’s handsome in a broody bad-boy sort of way. His mouth set in a frown, slim build, long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and dark aviators shield his eyes.

Lily lowers her window and calls out to him, “Rig, this one stays between us. Okay? No harm done. He doesn’t need the stress.”

“He’s tailing you. He followed us the entire way. He’s parked down the fuckin’ road. You don’t see that as a problem?”

“He’ll leave. He always does.”

Rigor doesn’t respond right away, but then he starts shaking his head.

“Rig!”

Throwing his hands out, he says, “Fuck, Bird. He’s gonna string my ass up either way.”

“No, he’s not. Because he doesn’t need to know shit happened.”

“Fine, I won’t say shit. But one of these days this is gonna blow up in our fucking faces. And he’ll have both our asses. Now go.” While walking back to his bike, he mutters, “Been callin’ me non-fuckin’-stop for the last hour. Whipped motherfucker.”

Lily expels a long breath and rolls up her window as she pulls into the lot. She explains, “My old man doesn’t need to know about our run-in with Davis. It’ll just piss him off and he’ll do something stupid. That, and he’s not good with stress. So telling him about Davis isn’t a good idea. We’ll keep it to ourselves. All right? Also, if anyone asks you, you were already checked out by Dr. Alister before we came here.”

I blink and am about to ask why, when she says, “Trust me, I have a plan. I know how these guys work. Just . . . let me do the talking.”

“Okay.”

She parks the car. The parking lot is about the size of a football field. It’s presently occupied with a half-dozen cars, trucks, and about as many people, including two leather jacket wearing bikers.

The privacy fence surrounds quite a bit of land and three buildings. The first, a gray cinder block building with a massive brushed metal sign hanging over the front doors, proclaiming it, “Home of the HOCs, Harbingers of Chaos Motorcycle Club, Mother Chapter.” The bottom reads, “PRIVATE.” In the middle is their insignia, a rough looking set of wings, a demented skull with blood dripping from its mouth, and a symbol that looks like an eye on its forehead. Chaotic arrows point in every direction behind the main design, and claws sink into a banner that reads, “
Revel in chaos. Regret nothing
.”

I swallow thickly and pull in a deep breath.

Rigor walks past Lily’s car into what I’m guessing is the clubhouse. His jacket doesn’t have the insignia on it like the other bikers. The bottom patch is white with black lettering and reads, “PROSPECT,” instead of, “NEW MEXICO,” like theirs. I believe this means he’s not a full-fledged member yet, but trying to be.

Lily turns in her seat and rests a hand on my arm. “There are some rules. Things you need to know before we go in there.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “Number one rule, respect the members and their old ladies. Don’t run your mouth or give them attitude. Two, what a biker does in the clubhouse is his business. It’s not your place to say anything to his old lady. Some of these guys are off limits, others not so much. Just keep your eyes open and you’ll learn quick which is which.” Putting up a third finger, she says, “Respect the club and what it stands for. Don’t mock the life until you know what it takes to live it.” Four. “Don’t touch any of the bikes unless you’re invited to do so. Most of these guys love their rides more than life itself.” Five. “Don’t start any fights with any other club girls even if they give you a hard time. My advice is settle shit in private. Last rule, keep your nose clean. No hardcore drugs allowed in the clubhouse. Ever. Got it?”

I blink, a bit thrown by her last rule. But I’m not in a position to question it. I nod. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. I think you’ll do fine. You’re a little shy, but some of the guys like that kinda thing.”

Great.
My gut knots up even more. Like a dishtowel being wrung dry.

A heavy exhale leaves her. She pats my arm again, gives me a small smile. “I’ll look out for you. Just stick close to me. And remember, let me do the talkin’.”

No problem.

“You ready?”

The voice of reason inside my head screams a blinding,
NO!
My heartbeat drums in my ears. I take a steadying breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Opening the door, I exit the car and do my best to wipe the nervous look off my face. I need to be confident. Strong. Fearless. Otherwise, these bikers will eat me alive.

Three feet into the clubhouse, Lily stops walking and I nearly run into her.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. But as they do, I breathe in a mixture of smoke, cologne, and sweat, and absorb the steady beat of soulful music as it pulses around me. The volume almost drowns out the hum of conversation, and girlish giggles, but not quite.

The room is spacious with dark walls and rustic, worn wood floors. On my right is a long bar, and behind it are shelves of liquor and a wide mirror that runs the entire length of the bar. The other walls are adorned with motorcycle memorabilia, pictures, plaques, and patriotic oddments.

In the corner of the room, a couple of feet from the door, an actual motorcycle hangs from the ceiling by thick chains. It sits on a diamond pattern metal platform. The gas tank is a blend of colors from pale yellow to burnt orange that fades into a deep brown-red. All the colors of fire and brimstone, if I’m not mistaken.

Most of the men are swathed in leather, and scattered around the room. They’re either at the bar, sitting at one of the many tables, or taking residence on one of the couches against the walls. A small group of them are gathered around the pool table on the far side of the room, pool cues in hand. One of the men, a handsome blond, has a brunette pinned against the pool table. My gaze nearly sweeps over him until I catch him pulling down the girl’s shirt and bending forward to suck her nipple into his mouth. She giggles and I realize that’s where the high-pitched giggles are coming from. The man notices my gaze as he straightens. A dazzling smile splits over his face and he wiggles his brows at me.

I quickly look away.