Текст книги "Burning Ember"

Автор книги: Darby Briar

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

“Yeah.” I don’t tell her my mother was the screwed up one in our family. That if it weren’t for her bailing on Sundown and me, I probably wouldn’t have ended up with Warner.

“You can’t live without them though. Not when men like Goose have the skills to give you multiple mind-blowing orgasms.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Wow. TMI.”

She laughs too.

“In all seriousness though, you seem happy here. Are you really?”

A luminous smile flashes over her face. “With Goose. Yes, very happy.” Her eyes shine. “I never thought I’d see the day that I’d let a man see all of me. The ugly stuff. The dark stuff, you know? The secrets I thought I’d never share with another person. But he knows it all and he still looks at me like I’m everything he’s always wanted.”

“How long have you been together?” I ask.

“Officially and monogamously? Two months.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Almost two years.”

We’re both quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “Maybe it won’t be a short stop for you either? Dozer probably can’t wait to get his hands on you again.” She stands and says, “I love Bethany like a sister, but if she’s not going to scoop him up, then why can’t you?”

Um . . . Do I want to scoop up Dozer?

Amber eyes and a dark stubbled face flash through my mind. A man I shouldn’t want because he’s so much like the man I’m running from.

Hot and cold. Dangerous. Unpredictable.

A picture is only a small glimpse of a person’s life . . . yet it tells an entire story.

EMBER

Rigor’s leaning against the hallway wall when we come down the stairs. There’s a party brewing behind him, people laughing, drinking, and dancing to the heavy metal music blasting through the main room.

Rigor stands as we approach. His ever-present frown seems more severe than usual. Spreading his arms as we near him, he creates a barrier between us and the party.

“Hey. What’s up?” Lily asks while giving him a bewildered expression.

He kicks his head back and to the side. “Go ahead, Bird. Pumpkin you need to come with me.”

“What? Where you takin’ her?” Lily’s voice sharpens.

“Mav wants to see her.”

Her hand goes to her hip. “Why?”

He sighs before saying, “No idea. And I wasn’t about to question him.”

“Does Dozer know?” she fires back.

Rigor takes a hold of my arm. “No. He left to go to the hospital. Doc’s updatin’ him and Nick on Cap’s condition. Nick called, ripped him a new one for not being there. He told me to watch her”—he tips his head in my direction—“as he hauled ass outta here.” He shrugs. “But what can I do? If Mav wants to have a word with her . . .”

The idea of facing Mav again has my hopeful mood plummeting, and dread circles like a whirlpool in my stomach.

A high-pitched voice interrupts my thoughts. “Rigor, I thought we were goin’ for a ride?”

We all turn to see a tall blonde woman sauntering up behind us. She eyeballs Rigor’s hand on my arm for a second. She’s pretty, tall, and thin, but her make-up’s a bit too dark. Her lipstick a touch too pink and her silicone boobs are a little over the top. Literally.

“Be there in a sec. Takin’ her to see Mav.”

Her mouth twists. “Why?”

Turning to face her fully, Lily retorts, “Oh, what didn’t he fill you in?” The girl glares. “No. Then it’s probably none of your business.”

The blonde flicks her hair off her shoulder. “Well, Mav likes it rough, honey. If you can’t handle him, just come find me. Ask Rigor here, I don’t mind a few bruises in the right places. Isn’t that right, Rigor?”

Lily pats her arm. “Real classy, Star. But no need to get your crusty panties all twisted. You’re still the boy’s favorite toy, at least for twelve more days.”

Star pushes Lily’s hand off. “Twelve days, huh? Right. Like she’ll last that long,” Star scoffs. “Just like this . . .” She flutters her hand in front of Lily, motioning over Lily’s leather jacket. “I can’t wait ’til Goose smartens up and dumps—”

Rigor’s grip disappears. He grabs Star, jerks her savagely by her upper arm. She cries out and stumbles on her silver heels. Her eyes go wide with fear.

I’m also a little unsteady by Rigor’s harsh and abrupt reaction.

“What the fuck? She’s an old lady,” he growls down at her.

“Then w-what is s-she doing in this part of the clubhouse?” The words are shaky like she’s scared to speak them.

“None of your goddamn business! That’s what.” He shakes her again. “Show her some fuckin’ respect. I hear you talk to her like that again, and I don’t care how good your mouth feels, I’ll let Goose know you disrespected his woman. He’ll eighty-six your ass in a heartbeat. You feel me?”

He pushes her back and then points to the main room. “Go wait for me outside. If I still feel like takin’ you for a ride, I’ll come find you.”

“Rigor,” she calls out in a whiny tone.

He points past her. “Get!”

Turning back to me, he mutters, “That bitch better get the fuck out of my face before I lay her ass out.”

Before trudging away, Star throws a “This isn’t over” scowl at Lily.

When Star’s gone, Lily faces Rigor. “Your taste in women sucks. Just sayin’ . . . You could do so much better.”

“Woman, don’t start. I just fuckin’ stuck up for your ass.”

Lily rolls her eyes and leans against the wall. “Pumpkin, I’ll wait here.”

“C’mon.” Rigor’s fingers cinch around my arm again.

I’m tempted to pull from his grip. His hand on my arm grates on my nerves because it represents a lack of freedom and that he thinks he needs to lead me like I’m some sort of captive.

I didn’t run from one jailer just to find another.

Rigor tugs me down the hallway. A mix of fear and anxiety races through my veins as we approach Mav’s door.

I glance up at Rigor. “Are you coming in with me?”

He shakes his head.

Fabulous. I get to face Mav, the ticking time bomb, alone. I get the feeling he’s got a short fuse; and though Dozer thinks it’s about time it was lit, I’d rather not be the catalyst to set him off.

No, thank you.

Before Rigor can knock, Mav shouts through the closed door, “Send her in.” His rough baritone sends chills over my skin. I rub my arms to get rid of the goosebumps.

Rigor shoves me into the room and shuts the door behind me.

I quickly survey the office. Mav is standing behind his chair with his back slightly to me looking out a small, opened window. From here, I have a great view of his profile, and the patches on the back of his vest, or cut, as Lily referred to it. His arms are crossed over his chest, his feet spread apart. He stands about six feet tall, his lean, muscular body emanating sex and power.

Perfect. The second the word leaves my brain, I want to smack myself.

Falling for a guy like him is a highway to hell no woman who values her life should take. That’s what the jacket, patches, and knife hanging from his belt tell me.

I decide to call him Luce, for short—in my head, where it’s safe to do so—as a reminder, so I don’t forget who this man is and what he’s capable of. The nickname is also a reminder that he has a venom-like tongue too, and that he’d rather see me in Hell instead of taking up residence here. Plus, if I to have a silly nickname, then he can too.

I can already tell he’s going to be a huge obstacle blocking my path in my quest for my secret garden. It’s simple math. Angry + biker + Em = more trouble than my already complicated life can handle. Nevertheless, here I am.

He turns and our eyes meet. His face is stoic, an emotionless mask. However, the turmoil in his eyes speaks volumes. Without his cold stare chilling me to the bone, a simmering warmth cascades over my body, rushes to my extremities and between my thighs.

He’s a dream to look at when he’s quiet and contemplative like this. I almost wish for a second I had a camera so I could capture his image to look back on when I’m long gone from this place.

I wonder what he thinks of me now. I took extra care with my hair and make-up. Dolled up you could say.

I don’t know why I let his words sting so deeply when he means nothing to me. Just like I’m nothing to him. And after so many years, you’d think I’d be used to people belittling me.

Sticks and stones . . . and all that.

His words are weapons and they cut, but only if I believe them.

Minutes tick by.

He stares at me.

I stare right back at him.

The air between us charges, thickens.

We’re getting nowhere. I’m not stupid enough to think I can win this game. After all, he’s holding all the cards. It’s his clubhouse. His home. His office. He’s used to being cold. The only thing I have up my sleeve is a will to survive and the ability to bluff.

So I bluff.

Trying to portray a confidence I don’t feel, I shrug coolly and look around the room.

His office is a mess. The once white walls are now gray with fingerprints and hand-size oil smudges. Papers are strewn across his desk. Books hazardously stacked in precarious piles on every surface, and cardboard tubes litter the floor.

The temptation to organize and clean nags at me. I’ve never been able to stand disorder, even before my first real job as a maid.

A crimson flag hangs on one wall. It has the club name and insignia, and along the bottom are the initials, “UWL/UWR/UWF.” I open my mouth to ask him what it stands for, but one quick glance at his defensive stance and his stern face and that idea goes up in smoke.

He’s studying me as I study the room. I do my best to ignore him as I continue my inspection of his office.

Another wall has a collage of photos. My heart stutters as I recall losing my picture of Will today. When I land somewhere safe, the first thing I’ll do is call Sunny and ask her to send me another.

Shaking my sadness away, I refocus on the pictures. I can’t see them clearly from where I’m standing, and I’m curious. They’re closer to Mav and I’d have to walk past him to get to them.

But what better way to get him to let down his guard than to show him I’m no threat to him and I don’t feel threatened by him, even if it is only an act.

Shoving my fears back, I stride forward. Luce tenses and his eyes narrow. Otherwise, he doesn’t move.

I breathe in a calming breath once I’m past him. I’m still unsettled though. Having him at my back is like having a rabid wolf tracking you. He’s watching my every move like he’s waiting to pounce, which makes me wary.

I try to distract myself with the images by scanning them for familiar faces.

Right off, I recognize Dozer. He’s younger in most of these. In one, he’s skinny, lanky almost and has a baby face. I bite my lip to hold in a smile.

I spot Griz. The first picture I see him in is a tad blurry with a yellowish tint and rounded corners. Probably, because it was taken in the late sixties or early seventies. He has an afro and a fuller, bushier beard. He’s wearing a blue banana, bellbottom jeans, and a jean biker jacket sans shirt. His arm is around another biker who’s wearing something similar. The other guy has hideous sideburns and light brown hair, and looks a lot like Dozer, but he’s not as bulky and has a broader nose.

They remind me of my mother who never quite grew out of her hippy stage.

Griz and the other guy are in most of the other photos. Goose is also in a few. One catches my eye in particular. In it, Goose is sporting inky-black hair. And yep, he’s still good-looking; although, I’m partial to the peppery-gray hair he has now. It gives him an innate sexiness most men will never have.

Bodie and the brunet biker with the face tats are in a couple more recent photos. Maybe because they’re newer to the club?

I don’t recognize most of the other bikers. However, I’m sure with time, if I’m allowed to stay, I’ll come to know a few. Perhaps more intimately than I’d like.

I get lost in the images. I feel like I’m seeing glimpses of the club as it changes and grows, and the members as they grow older. They look happy in the photos. Smiling. Arms around each other. Beers in hands. A little teasing going on. Bunny ears and all.

I think back to my mother’s description of them. Killer bees. No matter how cozy I get with Dozer or Goose, or any of the guys, I need to remember that.

I see by the images, that to them, they’re more than just outlaws who like to ride motorcycles—they’re family. They’re a group of friends living a life that maybe society doesn’t deem acceptable, but they’re fine with that.

I squint and search for Mav. Surely, he’s in some of them.

My eyes gloss over the same gorgeous-dark-haired biker a couple of times before I see the similarities, and put two and two together. But to be fair, the contrast between the man in the photo and the man standing behind me are quite striking. Like night and day. Hot . . . and . . . cold. Complete opposite ends of the spectrum.

This biker in the photo is happy. Smiling. Vivacious. He has a devil may care smile. One that could singe a woman’s panties in a heartbeat.

Both of his arms are around the shoulders of the men beside him. I move from that picture to the next and find him again. Now that I know what version of him to look for, I find him more easily. Back then, he was more muscular. And in most of these, he’s clean-shaven, flaunting that impeccable bone structure of his, showing off a chiseled jaw, which frankly, should be illegal. Combined with his long, wavy, jet-black hair, he’s lethally sexy. Criminal. Maulable, if that’s even a word.

He appears to be high on life in each photo. Like nothing and nobody can touch him.

“What happened, Mav? You look so happy?” The simple questions escape my mouth in a breathy whisper.

Hands push me from behind. I crash forward into the wall. My face hits it a split second before my hands can brace me for the impact. Adrenaline coils through my body and my heart rate spikes. I’m so close to the oil smudges now I could lick them.

I knew turning my back on the rabid wolf behind me was a bad idea.

“W-what . . . what are you doing?” I stammer out. Using the wall for leverage, I attempt to push back from it. But he presses his hand between my shoulder blades and holds me where I am.

He kicks my legs apart. His breath tickles my ear as he grates out, “Don’t worry, Doll. This will be over before you know it.”

And suddenly, I can’t breathe. My skin feels tight all over. Possible scenarios of what he’s about to do to me flash through my mind. Without warning, calloused fingers and a palm skate across my belly, slip under the top of my shorts.

Oh, dear God, almighty.

I gasp as every muscle in my body goes tense. Flurries of pleasure burst from where his hand touches me skin to skin.

His touch is different from Warner’s. There’s not only an undercurrent of fear rolling around inside me . . . no . . . there’s an undercurrent of fear and need. It’s new. Tantalizing. And I’m surprisingly hungry for more.

His hand stills on my stomach. “Not what you’re thinkin’. There ain’t nothin’ you got that I want.”

Twisting my neck, I try to look over my shoulder, to see if I can tell if he’s telling me the truth. But it’s impossible to see his face like this.

“Just hold the fuck still while I check you.”

“Check me?” My voice comes out higher than usual.

“For a wire. Drugs.”

“I’m not an idiot,” I whisper. “I’m not here to spy on you.” Not yet. Not if I don’t have to. “And I’ve never even done drugs.” Technically, another lie. I’ve been high from inhaling what others were smoking, thanks to my mother’s choice of friends, but I’ve never done drugs myself.

“Just shut up and let me check you.”

His hand travels up my torso. He cups my breast, trails his fingers over my nipple and the damn thing pebbles against my will. My breathing turns heavy.

“Is that really necessary?” My words sound hoarse.

“What’d I tell you?”

To shut up and let him check.

Calm down, I scold myself. He’s not touching you because he wants to. He’s touching you because he’s trying to find a reason to toss you out on your ass.

I close my eyes and tighten my thigh muscles. Trying to douse the ache he’s started there.

His body is mere inches from mine. His scent, a mixture of tobacco, leather, and minty soap as it swirls around me. Harsh breaths caress my bared shoulder, making goosebumps spread down my arms. I roll my bottom lip under my top teeth and bite down. Pain. Focus on the pain.

He’s probably done this a zillion times. Searched all the new girls who have come into the club. To him, this is just a body search. Part of his job. Something he has to do to protect the club. Not foreplay. I pray, please let this end quickly. Then maybe he won’t notice how turned on I am. No need to add to my embarrassment. Haven’t I already been through enough for one day?

His hand leaves my breast and brushes over my cleavage before he “searches” my other breast. Seconds later his hand slides down and away. Though it’s gone, I feel an echo of it, lingering as if my skin has memorized his touch.

His fingers dip beneath the top of my shorts again. “Am I gonna find anything down here I’m not gonna like?”

What? I can’t find my voice to reply. There seems to be something blocking my throat.

His fingers descend.

He wouldn’t . . .

Oh, my heavens . . . he would . . .

The tips of his fingers caress the ridge of my panties first. They slide under the edge. Go down. Brush over my mound. I dig my fingernails into the wall, hoping it will help me hold on to my sanity. Now heavy with desire, my breath rebounds off the wall in front of me. Angry wasps beat their wings wildly in my chest.

I swallow the massive thickness in my throat. “I’m not hiding anything down there, I swear.”

He stops before he can feel what he’s done to me.

Thank god.

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough then, huh?”

My core clenches tightly at his words and what he means to do.

He slides his fingers over my tender folds and glides smoothly to the core of me, where I’m warm and wet, and aching for him.

I bang my head against the wall, making a thunk sound.

His breathing stops.

Heat rushes into my cheeks.

Coming back to my senses, I realize I’m not supposed to be enjoying this. If I was the innocent girl he thinks I am, I should be upset, right? Indignant? Pissed off he thinks he can touch me how and where he wants?

I latch on to his wrist. Frantically, pull his hand from my shorts. “There. Happy? No drugs. If you still don’t believe me, check my arms, or give me a drug test.”

He grips my arms tightly. Roughly spins me around. Because of the high heels, I wobble as I try to stay on my feet. I grab on to him to steady myself.

We’re so close. Too close. All I see is him. His scent engulfs me completely. We both stand there. Motionless. My vision is filled with him, his neck, the small wrinkles in his leather jacket, the silver chain circling just above his collar. A muscle in his jaw begins to tick. My gaze shifts to a four-inch scar running along the line of his jaw, partially hidden by his five o’clock shadow. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. It’s then I notice how erratic his breathing is. How the pulse in his neck beats wildly. But why?

I slowly lift my eyes to his face. His irises are liquid gold again.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s lust in his gaze, but that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe I’m mistaking desire for hatred.

He lowers his face. The coarse hairs of his stubble scratch across my temple. He breathes into my ear. “Remove. The. Claws. Doll.”

Huh? I blink up at him.

Then he looks down.

I follow his gaze to my hands gripping his biceps.

Oh. Oops.

A tingling sensation shoots through me. I pry my hands off him and as I do, I see that my nails have left half-moon marks on his skin.

“Hold out your arms.” His accent, usually slight, comes out thicker. It sounds like he’s from somewhere on the east coast, New York maybe.

I hold out my arms and take a step back so I don’t touch him.

He reaches forward, inspects my inner elbows.

“Never been a fan of needles. I have a low tolerance for pain.” Another reason why Warner and I weren’t meant for each other.

He grunts. “These what I think they are?” He rubs his thumbs over the scars at my wrists. Prickles of desire shoot up my arms like sparkler sparks.

Nope. Not going there.

I’ve already made up my mind about those scars. Let people believe what they want. As far as I’m concerned, I’d rather have them think I tried to kill myself than tell another living soul about the nightmare I lived through.

“Did you bring me in here to learn my deepest, darkest secrets or search for a wire and drugs?”

His eyes flash with anger instantly. He jabs me in the chest with his finger. “Watch your mouth.”

Not physically possible. But I’m not about to tell him that.

“Sit.” The chilling glare is back.

“You know, I’m not a dog,” I say under my breath. Or a cat for that matter.

He growls, “You’re whatever the fuck I say you are. Sit. The. Fuck. Down.”

I sit, without meaning to, because . . . oh shit . . . I think I just lit his fuse.