Текст книги "Burning Ember"

Автор книги: Darby Briar

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

We’re only haunted by things we don’t fully understand.

EMBER

The room is a mere ten feet away. But it might as well be a mile as far as we we’re concerned. Neither one of us can stand to go any further. Evident by the way Mav slams my back against the hallway wall and attacks my mouth with untamed ferocity.

There’s only teeth, tongue, and sheer power as he works his lips over mine.

I return his brutal kiss, and duel his tongue with my own. Truly lost to this wild and intoxicating need spiraling through me. My hands are everywhere, kneading into his back one minute, his ass the next, physically begging him to grant me no mercy.

Breaking away, we gasp for breath. Unable to hold out any longer, I plead, “Mav, please.”

“Jesus, Doll. Don’t beg. I’ll fucking come right here.”

I push his shirt out of the way and claw impatiently at his belt. His strong fingers, which up until this moment have been digging into my thighs, suddenly hike my skirt up to my waist.

Yes!

The flames of lust circle higher.

“Hold on to me.” I lock my hands behind his neck. He braces one hand against the wall and helps me free him from his jeans. Then I feel him, the tip of his erection brushing the outside of my underwear, his fingers pulling my panties to the side as he lines himself up.

“Mav!” A male voice has us both freezing.

“Fuck,” Mav growls. His body closes in around mine and shields me. He turns his head toward whoever’s talking as I bury my face in his neck. “Whiz, what the fuck man? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“We got a problem.”

“Then get someone else to handle it.”

“No. It needs to be you.”

Mav groans. “Does it need to be dealt with right this fuckin’ second?”

There’s a weighty pause. “Yeah. It does.”

I can’t help it. I giggle. Mav bites my ear, grabs my ass, and pushes the tip of his cock inside me. My breath stutters in my lungs and the strangest thing happens. The massive heat we shared a moment ago instantly returns. I whimper and cling to him.

“You think this is funny,” he whispers into my ear. “I want to fuck your goddamn brains out and they’re cock blockin’ me.”

Then another voice, Taz’s says, “Brother, you’re gonna want to see this.”

As Mav slowly slides deeper, he asks, “Is it life or death? Because if you stop me from fuckin’ my old lady right now, and it’s not life or death, it will be.”

“Trust me, brother. You’ll thank me later for stoppin’ you.”

Mav sinks to the hilt and bites my neck and I nearly come apart. “Christ, Doll. You feel like home.”

Then he’s retreating and pulling out of me, while mumbling obscenities under his breath. I quickly push down my skirt. Mav smirks at me as he tucks himself back into his jeans and buckles his belt.

Pulling out his keys, he lays them in my hand. “Wait for me. Don’t you dare touch yourself until I get back.” He takes a couple of steps backward toward his brothers, and adds, “We’re gonna finish this just as soon as I deal with whatever’s goin’ on.”

My body is keyed up though, and the temptation to torture him further is too appealing. “Depends on how long you’re going to be. What if it takes hours? I don’t think I can wait that long.”

He stops and comes back to me, threads his fingers through the back of my hair and using his torso, pins me to the wall again.

He kisses me once, only a peck, but it’s a brand on my mouth that’s going to leave my lips definitely swollen, maybe even bruised.

“Doll.” He brushes my bangs out of my eyes. “Let me put it this way. If you come without me buried inside you, I’m gonna know, and I swear to God above, I’m gonna spank your ass.”

Mav’s room is bare, as bare as the last time I was here. A few knickknacks are lying around, but mostly he has only the necessities—a bed, dresser, side table, and lamp. All lackluster and drab compared to the décor and furniture in his new home.

And just think, he’s lived like this for nine years.

The thought is actually kind of depressing.

Maybe at twenty-four it was everything he wanted. A place to sleep, a group of friends to party with and look out for one another, all the booze he could drink, and women ready for it at the crook of his finger. But over time, I can see how it would all become too impersonal.

Especially for a man who designs homes for a living.

He has a good heart. Of course, he’d eventually want more than this.

With nothing to do except wait for Mav, I sit on the bed, pull out my phone, and try Sunny a few more times, muttering, “Come on . . . come on . . . pick up.” But each time it goes to voicemail. I send another text with the same message as the last one, and wait.

Bored, my mind wanders. Tonight’s events replay themselves in my head, and when that only ends up getting me all hot and bothered all over again, I distract myself by snooping through his dresser.

I find only the basics. So I collect a T-shirt, and some boxers from the drawer. Might as well shower and wash the smell of smoke from my hair and skin while I wait. If Mav comes back soon, hopefully, he’ll take the steam billowing out of the bathroom as an invitation to join me.

But no such luck.

I dress and comb my hair, then walk back into his room. But right away, something feels off. It takes me a second to realize what it is. The light that I left on is off. The room is bathed in moonlight and the bathroom light coming from behind me.

Goosebumps break out across my arms and neck, and my eyes do a quick search of the dim room. But it looks as it did before. Empty.

Possibly the light bulb burned out.

Before I can take one step toward the switch to test my theory, a rough voice laced with many years of use startles me. “You look just like her, you know?”

My heart lurches as I whirl around.

Oxygen flees my lungs.

A huge man is leaning against the wall by the bathroom doorway, like he was waiting for me. A shiver rakes over me when I think that I just showered with the door wide open.

Was he in there with me?

Oh, God.

He’s a biker, and a familiar one at that. His inky hair is now peppered with a few grays. He still wears it in a braid, the end of which hits the middle of his chest. His dark skin is no longer a flawless mocha, but weathered, wrinkled with age, and tattooed.

Even though it’s been over ten years, and I only saw him through a small opening in the closet, he’s unmistakable. His has the same wide forehead, broad shoulders, and intimidating presence, and not simply because of his height.

The air around him reeks with menace.

Taking a pack of smokes from his vest, he lights one. His old hands are adorned with large rings and covered with ink. And his eyes, black as coal, never once leave mine.

Memories of my past rush forward. Years of watching Sunny go through misery and pain have my hands curling into fists. The hatred I’ve harbored for him all these years floods forward.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing in here. But if you don’t get out,”—I force myself to speak with as much conviction as possible—“I’ll scream.” When he doesn’t move a muscle, I slowly back toward the door. “Mav is going to be back any minute.”

Blowing out smoke through the corner of his mouth, he warns, “Try to leave this room and this conversation is gonna get a lot more complicated than it needs to be.”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. We face off against one another and an eternity passes as a million scenarios of how to get away from him rush through my head.

“I’m not here to hurt you. Just need some answers. I expect by the way you’re starin’ at me that you need some too. Now, are you or are you not Tessa’s daughter?”

“Why it wasn’t enough that you ruined my sister, now you want to do the same to me?” I snarl. Then without thinking of the repercussions, I hiss, “You make me sick. How can you live with yourself?”

“I ruined who?”

Who?

He honestly looks confused and it only makes my rage simmer hotter. “Who? Who do you think?” My stomach drops and a knot forms there when I realize he really doesn’t have a clue. “Oh, God, she wasn’t the only one?”

“Girl, back up a second and answer my question. Is Telly—Tessa Owens, your mama?”

A bolt of pain rockets through my chest at hearing the nickname so many of her boyfriends and friends called her.

When I simply glower at him, he goes on. “At first—thought maybe it was a coincidence—so many people in the world, fuck there just might be two of ’em that could look so much alike. Either that or my old eyes weren’t playin’ tricks on me. Then you danced. Exactly like she used to do, and it took me back twenty years. I knew then, you were too much like her not to be her daughter.”

Undeterred by my silence, he asks, “She around? Is your sister?”

Outrage coils up my body and I fire off, “If you ever come near Sunny or our home again, I’ll make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

“So I was right.” He reaches out and dumps the ashes from his smoke. “Done my fair share of years locked up. Not lookin’ to go back.”

“Then stay away from my family.”

His forehead wrinkles as his brows pull together. He stubs out his smoke on his boot and then looks back up at me. “How is it you know who I am, but I’ve never seen you before last night?”

“This conversation is over.” I turn the door handle.

He lunges. But before I can scream, he slams his hand over my mouth covering it and grabs my other arm. His coal eyes lock with mine. “Girl, I told you I wasn’t gonna hurt you and I don’t plan to, but you’re startin’ to piss me off. I got more questions that need answerin’. You tell me what I need to know then this will go smooth—you don’t and keep shootin’ off that mouth of yours, we’re gonna have fuckin’ problems, you get me?”

When I merely glower, he shakes me. “Now, when you can manage to calm the fuck down, tell me how it is you know who I am, but I’ve never seen you before last night?”

His soulless eyes stay on mine and a long moment passes. He doesn’t remove his hand from my mouth until I take a deep breath from my nose and my body starts to let go of some of the tension rioting through me a moment ago. I nod that I’ll behave and he slowly lets go.

“I was there. I saw you take Sunny into her room. And you’d come out and leave money on the table like she was some whore and not a child. Men like you should be castrated, spend the rest of their life in prison.”

His forehead wrinkles as his brows pull together. Then an amused expression morphs on his weatherworn face. He raises a black eyebrow. “What exactly is it that you think I did to your sister?”

“You molested her.”

“Christ! Why the hell would you think that? Your mama makin’ shit up about me?”

Reluctantly, I answer, “No.” Suddenly, my world starts to shift. The earnest expression he’s wearing throws me for a second.

“Sunny wouldn’t talk for days after you came, or eat. She’d cry. She wouldn’t tell me why, but you did something.”

“Were you there every time I came to visit her?”

“Only a few times.”

“Where?”

Fighting through the anger barreling through my chest, I bite out, “In the closet.” For a long time he simply stares at me. Then he walks across the room to the window and lights another cigarette.

“How old are you? You look older but you can’t be more than what . . . eighteen? Shoulda been too young to remember me like you do.”

I loathe answering his questions, but I’m starting to feel like my world’s tipping on its axis and what I thought was up is suddenly down, and I need to know the truth. “I’m twenty-two.”

His body goes rigid. He turns and studies me as if I’m lying and he’ll find the proof in my skin or my eyes. “Fuck. You’re not jokin’ are you?” He looks away and takes in a deep long drag. He lets the smoke slowly escape through his lips and watches the rings as if they’re telling him secrets only he can see. Then holds out the bud and stares at the cherry. He mutters, “Heard the brothers talkin shit, but I never believed it. Of her. Of him. But that has to be why she wanted out.” Then he sighs heavily and nods to himself. “It never fuckin’ made sense. She loved me, loved the life.”

“Did you or did you not molest my sister?”

“You seriously askin’ me if I molested my own daughter?” He throws a murderous glare at me. “No. I may be a shit father, and an evil son of a bitch—but fuck, I’d never touch a kid. And I’d take anyone to ground that would dare lay a hand on my Sunny like that.”

Those words barrel into me like a freight train. “Your Sunny.” His daughter.

“Yeah.”

The mental gears in my head slow, grind together, and suddenly screech to a halt. I don’t want to believe it. For all I know he could be lying out his teeth. But I have to admit, I’ve wondered many times on whether I was right about what really happened all those years ago.

I start grasping at straws. “Then what was the money for?”

“What else. Fuckin’ child support. Money to get her and your mama by.”

“But she was a complete mess after you left. Every time. And she wouldn’t tell me why.”

“So you just assumed I was rapin’ my kid? That’s fucked up.” He shakes his head. “Sunny would beg me to take her with me. But I couldn’t. My life was too dangerous. I told her that. Always had too many targets on my back.”

“I . . . I . . .” I’m reeling. Seeing it all in a different light all of a sudden. My hatred for him cools to a simmer. I can even hear the defeat in my voice when I ask, “If you’re her father then where the hell have you been all this time?”

He shrugs and spares me a glance. “Every time I came to see her, I was risking her and your mama. When shit got deep for the club, I knew I had to cut ties. That it was either lose them or bury them. So I made the choice I could live with.”

“Why’d my mother hide me from you?”

“‘Cause, she was hiding her sins, and she was smart. She knew if I found out that while I was servin’ time, she was sleeping around behind my back with a man I trusted, I would’ve killed them both. She kept visiting me. Supposedly got real sick for a while and couldn’t, but then started coming every week like regular, acting crazy weird about making sure we had conjugal visits when she never seemed to care about having them before. I figured she wanted to get pregnant, that maybe it was just that time that she needed somethin’ more than me to make her happy. But then when she got pregnant with your sister, she told me some bullshit about her not being able to wait for me like she promised. That she didn’t want this kind of life anymore now that she was a mother. Shouldn’t have believed her. My gut told me it was a lie. Your mama was a biker bitch through and through. But that’s the story she always stuck to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Not much to understand.” He stares at his smoke and rolls it between his fingers. “My old lady slept with my best friend and you’re the evidence I need to prove he betrayed me.”

The truth doesn’t always set the world right. Sometimes it wakes you from a dream you’d rather spend your whole life living.

MAVERICK

Slamming the door to the chapel, I bite out, “What in the fuck is so important?” My gaze travels over Whiz who’s holding a manila folder in his hand, and then Taz standing in front of a large brushed metal HOC emblem that hangs on the wall. His arms are crossed and he’s wearing an expression I’ve come to know well. His head is locked on a mark and he’s ready to do what he does best, make whatever problem the club has disappear.

The door reopens and Edge and Griz walk in. “What’s this about?” Edge asks me.

“That’s what I’m here to find out.” I motion for Whiz to get on with it.

“You’re going to want to sit down,” he says.

As a hollow feeling begins to build in my gut, I take my chair and feel the worn leather give me what comfort it can, though I’ve been ill at ease since I left Ember. Edge sits with one thigh on the table to my left, and Griz in the seat to my right. After walking around the table, Whiz lays the folder in front of me. He opens it to a picture of Ember on the arm of another man.

I knew eventually I’d have to see something like this, but it’s still a blow all the same.

I lean forward and pick up the photo. It’s her, only a completely different version of her.

Her hair is slicked and pulled back into a low ponytail, not one hair out of place. She’s wearing jewelry, and a conservative white and navy capped sleeved dress. She looks polished and elegant, and nothing like the woman that was wrapped around me a few minutes ago.

I don’t like this look on her. I don’t like it one fucking bit.

My eyes shift to her ex. The asshole that raped her and held her against her will. I memorize every detail of his pretty-boy face, his ice blue eyes, bone structure, and even his fake approachable smile. He’s tall, younger than me, and clean cut. He wears a charcoal suit, tailored to fit his frame and expensive. Everything about him screams money. His posture, clothes, and even the gold watch peeking out from his shirtsleeve.

“You wanted me to dig and find everything I could on your girl’s ex,” Whiz starts.

Shifting in my chair, I push down the darkness rising higher inside me the longer I stare at the picture. “Yeah.”

“Well, I dug. But I found out something you’re not going to like. Whiz flips over news article after news article about her going missing and the fire. I grab one of the articles and do a quick read through. ‘Senator McTearney Helps Son Search for Missing Girlfriend’ is the headline. For a few minutes, I scan through the other articles, besides the most recent one that says they’ve ruled the fire as an accident due to a gas leak; they all say pretty much the same thing.

“I know all this already.” I shove the file back at him.

“There’s more.”

Taz speaks up. “I told Whiz to look into your girl when you started showin’ interest,” Taz confesses. “But we didn’t have much to go on. Didn’t know her name or where she was from, until you told Whiz about the fire and this ex of hers.”

My jaw hardens and I shoot him a dirty look. “That’s what this is about? You found some dirt on her and couldn’t wait to share it?” To Whiz, I snap, “Did you or did you not check into this Warner guy?”

“It’s more than dirt, brother. It’s a fuckin’ mole hill of shit.”

“Is this really somethin’ Griz and I need to hear?” Edge cuts Taz off. He’s about as pleased at his night being interrupted as I am.

“This touches the whole club.” Taz comes closer and pushes the file back toward me. He searches through the documents until he comes to a birth certificate and hands it to me. “Look at her name.”

I snatch the paper from his hands and scan her birth certificate. I read her full name out loud, “Ember Dee Pierce.” I hoard these additional slivers of information about her like their precious jewels I’m collecting. Her full name. August 12th, her birthday, only a couple of days before she showed up at the clubhouse. Her mother’s name is Tessa Owens. Father, nothing listed, which matches what she told me.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing incriminating either.

Taz repeats “Dee Pierce” like it’s a revelation.

Griz noticeably freezes next to me. After a few seconds, he sits up with interest, and sorts through the papers. He takes one, his eyes skim over it. Edge leans over the folder and grabs another, does the same.

“What am I missin’?” Raising my head, I peer at each one of them, take in their dower expressions.

“Show ’em,” Taz orders the prospect.

Whiz pulls additional photos from the back of the folder. He places them beside Ember’s picture with her ex. The first isn’t of her, but a face I’ve seen enough of the last two days that I don’t care to see more than I have to. The the second man, I’d prefer never to see again in my lifetime.

Confusion pinballs around in my brain. Why in the ever-loving-fuck is he showing me these? Then something clicks, shifts inside my head. The last name Pierce. The shape of Deed’s—the GB we call Sonny Psycho—cheekbones. Something in Pappy’s green eyes.

Dee Pierce. Decker Pierce. Dean Pierce.

Ember.

Deeds.

Pappy.

Disbelief surges through me and my pulse starts to race. There’s air everywhere around me, but I can’t seem to pull any of it into my lungs. The similarities are eerily similar.

Too similar . . .

My heart’s screaming NO! Fuck no! This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. And my head’s a tornado of images. Her freckled nose. Pappy’s white and dotted skin, at least from what’s visible under his assortment of Irish pride tattoos. Her red hair fanned across my chest. The same fiery red hair that Deed’s always has spiked in some kamikaze style, and that identifies Pappy from a hundred yard away. I think back on Ember asleep on my pillow looking like an angel. And then I see her father looking like Satan incarnate, the entire right side of his cut covered with the names of his fallen brother, but none of the names of all the brothers he’s dispatched himself.

Griz says what I can’t. He shakes his head and shoves the photos down the table. “No. There’s got to be another explanation.” Then something must occur to him, because he swipes up her birth certificate and examines it. I watch and cling to the hope that this is all one big practical fucking joke. But Griz tarnishes that spark of hope when his shoulders deflate, and he whispers, “Tessa Owens” under his breath like it means something to him.

That hollow feeling in my gut grows wider and deep like a damn abyss.

“Awe . . . fuck, Telly Girl, what did you do?”

“What?” I steal it from his hand. “Who’s Telly?”

“Tessa Owens.”

He vigorously rubs his forehead, as if he’s fighting some internal battle. When his gaze finally meets mine, it’s guarded. “I think after you hear what I’m gotta say you need to push pause, and think on this. No matter what these fuckers”—he points at Whiz and Taz—“say, you know this girl better than anyone.”

Heat climbs up my body. “Just tell me!” I shoot to my feet and start pacing the room. Run my hand over my face.

“I knew Tessa way back. Back before Cap and I split from the Greenbacks. Knew her real good because she was a brother’s old lady.”

My throat begins to close up. I stop pacing for a second and look at him. “Pappy’s?”

He shakes his head. “No. Pappy’s been with Vaughn since they were kids.”

“Then how can this make sense?”

“She was Smoke’s old lady.”

I open my mouth, but he keeps talking. “Smoke did a couple years for assault. While he was in lock up, some of the brothers talked some shit. Said Pappy was takin’ real good care of Telly, if you know what I mean.”

I grip the back of Cap’s chair so hard with both hands that my fingers dig deep into the leather. “So it’s true?” A shot of pain awakens in my chest and pulses outward.

“It’s possible,” Griz replies.

I throw the chair across the room. Shove the heavy table forward. Then panting with rapid breaths, I lean on the table. “She told me she didn’t know who her father was.”

“She lied,” Taz growls.

A thick silence descends as I shake with a kaleidoscope of emotion—doubt, shock, and so many others. Rage, because if this is true then every moment I shared with Doll, every happy memory she’s given me will vanish like smoke, mean nothing, and she’ll have fixed me, healed me, only to cut me open all over again. Faith, because as I replay every second with her, the good, the bad, and the incredibly perfect, I pray she has an explanation for the unexplainable. A reason I should believe the unbelievable. Everything I’ve come to know about her battles the doubt circling through my head and my heart, like they’re fighting an epic war.

I ask Griz, “Is this what it looks like?”

Say no.

Throwing his hands up, Taz hisses, “What the fuck more proof do you need? She’s one of them!”

My entire body strings tight. I keep my gaze on Griz and wait for his answer.

“God’s honest truth, I don’t think that girl’s got a rotten bone in her body. Maybe Pappy’s got something on her, and he’s forcin’ her to do this.”

“His own daughter?” Edge says with doubt.

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Griz replies. “Killed a man point blank in front of Deed’s when the boy was no more than eight years old. Had a gun in that kid’s hand since he was a teen. Had him killin’ for the club before he was even out of high school.”

“And yet you all think he had nothin’ to do with Cap.” This from Taz.

“Totally different,” Griz replies. To me, he says, “Gotta be another explanation.”

Taz comes toward me, lowers his voice, but I can hear the restrained animal behind it. “She shows up here and latches on to D. The second she figures out he’s not the one in charge, she sets her sights on you. Not a fuckin’ coincidence.”

I turn away and stare into the wood of the table, focus on the swirl patterns in it, instead of his words.

“I know your head’s spinnin’ ‘cause, yeah, she makes your dick rock solid. But brother . . . someone is spillin’ info to the GBs and she was standin’ right the fuck behind you when you told us about the witness.”

“So that makes her the snitch?”

“No, her DNA does. And the fact that she showed up here days after Cap got shot desperate for a place to stay. I guarantee if Dozer hadn’t stepped up, it would have been him all up in her pussy right now and not you.”

A hurricane of fury crashes into me and I launch myself at him. Grabbing his cut, my right hook connects. Fire spreads across my knuckles. The punch sends Taz staggering back a step.

Edge and Griz grab hold of me and yank me back.

Edge shouts at Taz, “Been back a day and already sick of hearin’ you run your mouth.” I throw their arms off me, and pace with my hands around my head fighting not to see every minute with Doll in a different light. Warped and distorted, with her as a fucking spy for another club and not the girl who’s acted like she’s fallen for me just as hard as I have for her.

“You’ve said your bit. Now, shut the fuck up and let’s figure out what to do with what we know,” Edge spits at Taz. Then he stops me, grabs the back of my neck, and makes me meet his gaze. “Not gonna lie to you, it looks bad, brother, but one thing I know for sure is one side of the story isn’t all there ever is. Go get her and we’ll see what she knows.”

Taz wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Blood smears down his arm. He spits more of it on the floor. “You’re too close to her to see her for what she is.” He gestures toward Edge. “Just like the last piece of pussy you were wrapped up in. The one that sent him to fuckin’ rot.”

Boisterous laughter and rock music follows me up the stairwell, the party below hitting its peak. Every single guitar cord and jovial voice that rings out grates on my nerves like nails screaming down a chalkboard.

Each one a reminder that the world as I know it hasn’t changed, only my view of it has.

When I get to the second floor, my gaze immediately lands on the wall where less than an hour ago, Ember and I attacked each other. Both of us feverish and impatient for the kind of release we know only the other can give. Like two sex addicts falling off the wagon.

My dick comes to life as I recall the firestorm of lust we were both lost in. The kiss that flamed hot enough to scorch the walls. The hitch of her warm breath as I slid just the tip inside her, and the way her tight heat gripped me when I buried myself in deep.

Fuck . . . What I wouldn’t give to go back to that moment. Take my time with her, get rid of Taz and Whiz when they came to drag me away, and live in ignorance for another hour or two.

Instead, I have to face the fact that Ember may not be what she seems. I have to haul her to Church like she’s on trial, where she’ll be treated like she’s guilty until proven innocent, and not the other way around.

Maybe it makes me a fool, but I still believe she’s the girl I think she is. Selfless, kind, and genuine, while still being incredibly strong. And I pray—pray though I haven’t prayed in years—that this is all one big fucked up coincidence. After the “Amen” leaves my lips, I pull in a fortifying breath and turn the knob.

The room’s dark, except for a stream of light that filters in from the bathroom. It highlights Ember as she sits stiff on the edge of the bed. Seeing her there, showered, dressed in my T-shirt, of pair of my boxers, and barefoot, has my skin tightening all over.

I want nothing more in this moment than to undress the both of us, pull her to the middle bed, and wrap her around me. Pretend I never learned where she came from.

I take two steps toward her, when movement and a red glow, the kind at the end of a lit cigarette, pulls my gaze to the shadowed corner. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and for me to identify the man standing there. First by his cut, then his size, and lastly his features. When I do, my spine snaps straight.

“Mav,” Ember says with surprise and slowly rises to her feet. Her eyes, wide with fear, dart to Smoke behind her as she begins to wring her hands. “He’s uh . . . he knows my mother. He’s an old friend of hers, and we were . . . we were just catching up.”

Her reaction reeks of guilt. Stunned, I simply unravel the reality of what I’ve failed to see.

Every ounce of faith I was holding on to that Taz was wrong, evaporates like mist, and my memories start to rearrange themselves. Each one infected and remade with her true motivations.

Why the fuck couldn’t I see it before?

Because you forgot, red roses have thorns too.

“He’s an old friend of hers?”

“Yes.”

“An old friend or her ex-husband?”

Her eyes widen further and she sends a pleading look to Smoke like she’s seeking help on how to answer, or permission to answer.

WHAT THE FUCK?

The darkness I’ve tried to bury the last few days’, crashes into me. Turns my blood ice cold. Striding forward, I snake my hand into her hair and grip it. Use it to force her head back so her eyes lock with mine. I growl, “Don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ look at him. I asked you a question, and last I fuckin’ checked you were mine. So why the fuck would you look to him for an anything? Or is there somethin’ more going on that you need to tell me?”

Smoke takes a step toward us. My voice thick, I grate out, “You stay right the fuck where you are. This is between me and her.”

Ember places a hand on my arm. “I don’t know how to answer that.”