Fan the Flames (33 page)

Although he'd obviously awakened, he didn't move. After a moment of hesitation, Rory stroked a line from the inside of his elbow to his shoulder and then back down again. He was shirtless, so there was no barrier between her fingertips and his skin.

“'Morning,” he said, his voice raspy.

Scooting an inch closer, Rory propped her head onto her free hand and reversed the course of her fingers, ending up at the top of his sternum. “Good morning.”

“Very good morning.” A shadow shifted, and his hand settled on her blanket-draped hip. “I like waking up this way.”

She made a sound of agreement. Thinking back to even just a month earlier, her life seemed so…lonely. Plus, the nights had been a lot colder without this furnace of a man in bed next to her. As she moved her fingers, intending to explore his chest, a pounding noise made her sit up.

Grumbling, Ian slid out of bed and turned on the lamp. Rory squinted until her eyes adjusted.

“What's that?” she asked as the pounding started again.

“Someone—who will soon be a dead someone—is knocking on the door.” He stomped over to where his pants lay in a heap on the floor and bent to pull them on. Rory watched, fascinated by the way his black boxer briefs hugged his tight rear end. When she realized she was gawking at him, she flushed and turned her head.

If someone was at the door, she figured she should probably get dressed as well. Rory got out of bed before remembering what she was wearing—and what she wasn't. Although Ian's T-shirt almost reached her knees, she still felt extremely pantsless.

“You don't have to get up,” Ian protested, fastening his BDUs. “I'm just going to get rid of the annoying assho—uh, jerk who's knocking on the door way too early in the morning, then I'm coming back to bed.”

He turned to look at her once his pants were buttoned, and he went still. Only his gaze moved, following the length of her body from her feet to her face. A slow grin curled his mouth. “That shirt looks good on you.”

Her face was so hot that Rory knew it must be flaming red. “Weirdo.”

He laughed. “Don't change out of it.” His eyes dropped to her legs again, before he visibly shook himself and turned toward the door. “I'm just going to shoot someone really quick, and then I'll be back.”

She hesitated for a minute after he disappeared, but she felt too naked in just his shirt and her underwear. After she'd dressed, Ian hadn't returned yet, so she headed downstairs to see who the loud knocker was.

Halfway down the stairs, she caught a glimpse of the visitor and stopped on the step. Julius, looking ill and uneasy, was standing in the living room with Ian. Rory half-turned, intending to return upstairs and let the two men talk privately, when Julius started to speak.

“It doesn't feel right, doing this,” Julius said, his gaze darting around the room, landing on her for a very brief second. In just that quick glance, Rory thought she saw contrition. “The Riders have been my family—
our
family. It's not the same club it used to be, though. Something's wrong with Billy. They destroyed our home. Suze was so proud of that house.”

Ian visibly startled, rocking back a step. “The Riders burned your house? They almost killed you!” His voice rose to a shout at the end. The strength left Rory's legs, and she sank to sit on a step.

“When you were in jail, Rory came to see me. Billy showed up, threatened her, and I kicked him out. The night of the fire, he came to visit.” He ducked his head, looking ashamed. “I should've known something wasn't right, that Billy would've never really forgiven me for pulling a gun on him. He brought a bottle of Black Label, though, and I let him talk me into having a drink with him. Last thing I remember is Billy telling me what a shame it was, that I used to be an asset to the Riders, and now I'm just a sentimental drunk who picked a traitor over my brothers.” Julius's voice cracked on the last word, and he blinked rapidly several times. “Then there were flames, and I couldn't breathe, and you were there, dragging me out.”

Fisting his hands at his sides, Ian strode two paces away from Julius and then returned to his original spot, like the rage inside him wouldn't allow him to stand still. “That asshole tried to
kill
you!”

“Yeah, and he's gunning for the two of you now.” Julius's expression was almost fierce as he met Ian's fuming stare. “Tack's back. He got all three of those guys out on bail because he has some dirt on the judge. Billy's planning something. Squirrel came to me this morning, said he and Carrie were getting out. The club's gone rotten, he said. I got here as quick as I could. Whatever the Riders were to me all these years, you're my
son
.”

“What's he planning?” Ian's voice had gone soft.

Her neck prickling with alarm, Rory rose to her feet.

“Your girl. Rory.” Julius flicked a glance at her again. “They want the guns—”

Suddenly, the door flew open, smashing against the wall behind it. Zup and six other men, all carrying weapons ranging from shotguns to baseball bats, rushed inside and circled Julius and Ian before any of them could move. Even in the shock of the moment, Rory recognized several of the guns she'd sold them. Billy entered last, his scarred face fixed in a falsely amiable smile that was cold enough to freeze Rory's insides.

“Julius,” Billy greeted. “You're turning out to be an even greater disappointment than I thought.”

Although he was visibly shaking, Julius thrust out his chin. “I know the feeling, Billy.”

Rory took a soundless backward step, mentally reviewing what weapons were available upstairs. The options were dismal. She swore to stock Ian's house as soon as they got out of this mess.

“Boss,” one of the men said, jerking his head toward Rory.

Billy looked up at her and gave that bone-chilling, false smile. “Rory! How good to see you. Come down and join us, won't you?”

For a second, she hesitated, until the Rider to Billy's left racked his shotgun and pointed it at Ian. Her feet started moving down the stairs even before she made the conscious decision.

“Rory, run!” Ian ordered, and his tone of command made her pause. Another Rider swung his bat toward Ian's back.

“Behind you!” Rory shouted. Ian turned and tried to dodge, but the bat caught him in the side. As Ian stumbled back, Rory ran down the rest of the stairs. Before she could reach Ian, Billy grabbed her arm, yanking her away. She fought him, twisting and punching and scratching, until Billy grabbed a Glock 19 from one of his guys and aimed it at Ian.

“Keep going, Rory, and I'll put a few new holes in Beauty.” The way he said Ian's nickname was so different from the teasing, fond manner which the Fire guys used that it made Rory cringe. She stopped fighting, the sight of Billy's gun being pointed at Ian bringing her to complete stillness.

“Much better.” He started backing toward the door, keeping the Glock aimed at Ian while pulling Rory with him. She couldn't look at the gun, so she focused on Ian's face—his rigid, furious face. When he started to take a step toward her, she stopped breathing, imagining the bullet tearing through his center mass, taking out his vulnerable, vital organs as it went. Her fear for Ian distracted her from Billy until the cold press of a gun barrel to her temple regained her attention. Ian abruptly stopped, eyes blazing.

“Dean, cover Walsh,” Billy ordered, keeping his gun tight to Rory's head. “We're going to go do some gun shopping.”

“You call us traitors, but you're the fuckhead turning on your brothers.” Julius sounded shaky, but his glare was solid. “Burning my house—
Suze
's house—and threatening to put a bullet through my son? If this is what the Riders are now, I'm glad I'm out.”

“Shut up, you useless drunk,” Billy snarled, grinding the barrel of the gun against Rory's head.

Ian didn't seem to notice Dean's shotgun aimed at his chest. All his attention was focused on Rory. She tried to smooth her expression, to reassure him that she'd be all right, that they'd both be all right, but as terrified as she was, she wasn't sure if she'd managed to pull it off.

“Take me instead,” Ian demanded.

Even as Billy snorted, Rory was shaking her head. “I'll take you. He doesn't know where the special inventory is.”

When Ian frowned at her, she glared right back at him. She wasn't about to let him sacrifice himself for her.

“So he's useless to me.” The oily satisfaction in Billy's voice set off all kinds of alarm bells in her brain.

“Don't you dare shoot my boy,” Julius shouted.

“If you kill him,” she warned Billy, her expression as flat and cold as his, “I will never show you where those guns are. I won't care what you do to me.”

“Rory…” The terrified fury in Ian's voice made her eyes burn, but she forced away the tears. If she lost it now, they were both dead.

“Fine,” Billy said. “I won't kill him as long as you hand over everything in that back room of yours. I'll know if you're holding back. All I have to do is call Dean, and your fuck buddy here gets a bullet in the belly. Won't bother me to make that call. He's as good as dead to me, anyway.”

“What happened, Billy?” Ian demanded, turning his livid gaze on the MC president. “You were like a father to me. I would've done anything for you—I fucking
killed
for you. How could you turn on me like this?”

“You turned on me first!” Billy shouted, his fingers tightening painfully around Rory's upper arm. “You stood by this bitch even after she killed Rave—your
brother
—and sold guns to those fucking King brothers. Anderson King was already making noise about taking over the Riders' territory, and
she's
arming those bastards. You humiliated Zup, told Julius lies about the club, turned your back on us over and over until we'd had enough. Enough! Dean, if he moves, shoot him in the gut.”

The Rider with the shotgun didn't respond except to grip the weapon pointed at Ian more tightly. Billy, his false amiability gone, yanked Rory the last few steps to the door.

“Wait!” she cried, trying to dig in her heels to stop their forward progress. “I need my coat and boots.”

“You'll survive a little cold, princess.” Billy didn't even pause.

“Maybe.” She caught the closet doorknob with her hand. “But the neighbors will notice if I'm stumbling through the snow in a shirt and socks.”

That brought Billy to a stop. “Fine. But I'll be watching. You try for anything except your boots and coat, and I'll end Walsh.”

Her breath was coming too quickly, making it hard to think. She tried to slow her inhales and pretended calm. “They're in the kitchen.”

Scowling, he scanned the room. Apparently satisfied that his seven men could control Julius and Ian, he hauled Rory toward the kitchen. As soon as she'd jammed her feet into her boots and put one arm in her coat, Billy forced her outside, holding the gun in his coat pocket where the casual observer wouldn't notice it.

She stumbled, almost dropping to her knees in the snow.

“One call,” he warned, jerking her upright. “One call, and he's dead.”

Barely restraining the panic wanting to overtake her at the threat, she concentrated on wading through the snowdrifts that had formed on Ian's driveway during the night. Billy's vehicle was parked on the street, behind another SUV that was blocking both Ian's Bronco and Julius's borrowed Oldsmobile in the driveway. Her feet slowed unconsciously as warnings blared through her mind.
Never let them take you. If you get in their vehicle, you're as good as dead. Do whatever you have to in order to avoid getting in that car.

“Quit messing around,” Billy snapped, giving her arm another jerk. The sound of a truck engine stopped her heart, and then made it restart at a frantic pace. A plow truck rounded the corner, and Billy swore.

“Get in,” he ordered, almost dragging her across the last few feet of snow to the SUV. His grip pushed her over the edge into panic, and she started to struggle, yanking back against his grip. “Stop! Stop or he's dead!”

The words penetrated, bringing a different form of anxiety. What if she'd just caused Ian's death with her loss of control?

The plow truck slowed as it grew closer, and Rory recognized George Holloway in the driver's seat. She remembered that he occasionally subbed for the county plow driver.

“Wave,” Billy gritted, jamming the barrel of the gun against her back. “Wave and smile, or Ian's fucking dead.”

She did. Plastering on a giant fake smile, she waved like a contestant in a beauty pageant. As the plow truck grew closer, Rory saw George's frowning face. Although he watched them the entire time he passed, he didn't stop. Disappointment squeezed Rory's stomach as the plow truck continued on its way.

“Good,” Billy grunted, hustling her around to the driver's door. “You're driving. I have Dean on speed dial. You fuck up again, and I'm making that call. Got it?”

When she didn't answer immediately, he jammed the gun into her back again.

“Yes,” she managed to say, anger flaring out of her helpless fear.

“You'd better, or your boy is dead.”

The drive to her shop felt like it took forever while, at the same time, it went by in a flash. A couple of times, she thought she saw another vehicle following in the distance. One of Billy's men? Or had the King brothers caught word that their enemies were about to get the upper hand? Was she about to get caught in the middle of a war for real? Her stomach twisted, but she had no choice. She kept driving.

Billy got out with her at the gate and held the gun on her while she started opening the locks. The surrounding silence almost made her wish Jack wasn't with Steve and his kids for the day. When Billy gave her another hard nudge with the Glock, she was thankful her dog was safe elsewhere. Billy had almost killed him once—that was more than enough.