Burning Ember Page 3

  “There you are. I figured I’d find you on this aisle.” The rocker groupie chick threads her arm around mine and pulls me close to her and away from the cop.

  Huh? I blink at her.

  I get the feeling she’s trying to say something with only expressive eyes and a tight smile. But I have no idea what.

  Then her gaze shifts to the cop. “Davis. What are you doing here? Why are you bothering my cousin?” Her words reek of annoyance.

  “Lily . . . been a while.”

  Putting her other hand on her hip, she says, “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He shrugs, “No law against grocery shopping. At least not that I’m aware of.” He reaches out, grabs a box of medicine from the shelf, and holds it up for her to see. “But since I ran into you . . . I might as well ask . . . You change your mind?”

  She inhales a long breath and slowly shakes her head a few times. “Nope. And I won’t. But I’ll let the club know we ran into each other. Here of all places. Goose will be real interested to know you’re still tailing me. Still harassing me.”

  “Lucky coincidence is all.”

  “I’m sure,” she replies saucily.

  Popping his chin in my direction, he asks, “Cousin, huh?” He eyes her skeptically.

  Without looking at me, she responds, “Yeah. This is Pumpkin. She’s visiting from Georgia.” I try not to cringe at the name Pumpkin and go along with the lie she’s given him.

  Hooking his thumbs into his waistband, he asks, “Really . . . ? And you’re picking her up at a grocery store?”

  “How do you know I’m picking her up here if you’re not following me?”

  “Good guess.” He grins and winks at me.

  She gives my arm a little tug. “Come on, Pumpkin. We gotta get going. I told Goose I’d be back to the clubhouse in an hour. I can’t wait to introduce you to the guys. Davis, let’s not meet like this again.”

  We’re halfway down the aisle when he calls after me. “Hey, Pumpkin?” We both tense. I pinch my eyes shut, but I know it’s not a figment of my imagination. He repeats the nickname. “It was Pumpkin, right?”

  My heartbeat speeds up. My hands begin to shake.

  I swivel around. “Yeah. Got the name because of the hair.” I tuck a loose strand behind my ear.

  His dark eyes narrow on my face. “Next time, watch where you’re going, all right? We don’t want anyone getting hurt, do we?” I don’t miss the change in his tone or the way his right hand rests on his gun. His smile has changed from cocky to cunning.

  Lily’s arm tightens around mine and she pulls me down the aisle. “Corrupt asshole,” she murmurs under her breath as we put some distance between the cop and us.

  I’m fighting back a dizzy spell and the rising nausea. I need to go somewhere quiet where I can pull myself together.

  After a couple seconds, I rasp out, “I need to find a bathroom. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Okay, honey. It’s right there.” She points off to the right. A sign hangs from the ceiling, confirming that’s where I need to go. “I’m gonna find my friend Rigor. He’ll make sure Officer Davis keeps his distance. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She holds out her hand. “Here, give me those and I’ll get them.”

  I shove the items in my hands at her and turn, but she stops me by placing a hand on my arm. “Look, if you need a ride, or maybe a place to stay for a little while, I can take you somewhere Davis can’t bother you.” I nod vigorously. She looks over at the long lines behind the cash registers, frowns, and says. “I may be a bit, but I’ll come find you soon okay?”

  I flee to the bathroom.

  After slapping open the restroom door, I bolt for the nearest stall, making it just in time. My knees skid on the cold hard tile, my face hovers over the porcelain bowl for only a moment before I retch. I palm the wall for some stability, though honestly, right now, I have none.

  Too close.

  That was too goddamn close. And not just my mad dash to the toilet.

  The look on Officer Davis’s face. He recognized me. Maybe he hasn’t put two and two together yet, but I have no doubt he will . . . in time.

  I heave numerous times trying to get rid of the nausea and images inside my head. Me, shackled in handcuffs. Me, looking out from behind bars. Me, wearing an orange jumpsuit.

  My freedom gone. My secret garden replaced by an iron cage for God knows how long.

  I breathe deeply and force myself to calm down enough to stop the retching. Then grab some toilet paper and wipe my face.

  At the row of sinks, I choose the last one and splash cool water over my face. It helps. A little. I watch in the mirror as the drops fall from my chin. My eyes shift to the closed door and a knot forms in my stomach. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller, the beige walls closer, and the closed metal door gets larger than it was a moment ago. I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t think about it.

  When I reopen them, I don’t focus on the room. Instead, I gaze down at the gnarly scars on my wrists. They’re jagged and though caused by the same thing, they’re different. A small sign of the damage Warner inflicted.

  The door squeaks open behind me. The noises of a busy grocery store file in. Shifting my eyes, I look past my reflection. Chills skate up my spine and every muscle in my body goes stiff.

  “Ember Dee Pierce.” My name falls from Officer Davis’ lips. The one on my birth certificate. The click of the lock sounds like a gun going off as he flips it in place, followed by the thud of his boots on the tile floor as he strides toward me.

  I scan my surroundings. My senses wake up and instantly search for a way to escape or hide. Only there’s nowhere to go. Being locked in a small space, cornered, as a predator bears down on me, is not something I ever wanted to experience again.

  In no time at all, he’s standing behind me, his hazel eyes locked with mine through the mirror. The light above the mirror illuminates the sweat just under his hairline on his forehead.

  “San Diego Police Department has been looking for you for quite a while. I’m sure they’d be happy to know you’re alive and living with Lily and her gang of criminals.”

  I clench my jaw shut and grip the edge of the counter like my life depends on it. I could run, but I’d never make it. I’m fast. But I’m not that fast.

  The way he snarled the last part makes me think maybe he has some beef with the men Lily’s associated with. Disassociating myself might be the smartest thing to do.

  “I-I’m not her cousin. I just met her. I’m not connected with her or them.”

  He scrutinizes my face. “Is she coming back for you?”

  I swallow down my panic. I don’t understand what this has to do with her. “She said she would.” Then I ask the all-important question. “A-are you going to arrest me?”

  It feels like forever before he responds. “Maybe we can work out some kind of deal.”

  The tiny hairs on my neck prickle. “What do you mean?” Lines appear around his mouth as he smiles and a shudder rakes over me. A large knot forms in my belly. “What, sex?”

  He shakes his head. The corner of his mouth lifts in a malicious smirk. “Not that I’m not tempted, but I need something more than a blow job or a quick fuck, sweetheart.”

  A wave of relief washes over me. Then I realize I have nothing else to give him and tell him so. “I don’t have anything else to give you.”

  “Not necessarily true. If Lily takes you with her, you might be very useful to me.”

  I’m lost on his meaning. “Where is it you think she’s taking me?”

  “Ever heard of the Harbingers of Chaos?”

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Not a where, a who.” He sweeps my hair off my shoulder and I flinch away from his touch. “They’re a motorcycle club. Their hangout’s not too far from here.” He gestures toward the door. “Lily’s boyfriend’s a member. A real piece of work, like the rest of ’em. We’re talking murderers, drug dealers, and gunrunner
s. They launder money through the local casino. You name it, and if it’s illegal, they have their hands in it. They think they own everything and everyone. And they trample over the people who get in their way.” A muscle in his jaw ticks.

  Dread falls like a heavy weight to the pit of my stomach. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I need you to get me something I can use to put these guys away for good.”

  It sinks in. What he’s asking me to do. “How—”

  “You make nice. Do what you gotta do. Get them to let you stay at the clubhouse, then you keep your ears open and you supply me with anything and everything you hear that I can use.”

  Do what you gotta do? Aka . . . let one of them, or all of them, fuck me? Become his snitch? On. A. Motorcycle. Club.

  Is he insane?

  No. No freaking way.

  “I have no doubt those dirty fuckers are going to love you.” He brushes his fingers over my arm and I pull away.

  “What if they don’t want me there?”

  “Then I guess we’ll be seeing a whole lot more of each other while we wait for the San Diego PD to come collect you. But don’t you worry. I can think of so many things we can do to pass the time. I’d hate to see a pretty thing like you get locked away though. And you know arson’s a pretty fucking serious crime. What do you think that will get you? Ten, fifteen, twenty years?”

  If I hadn’t already thrown up, I’d be doing so now.

  I’m not a stranger to motorcycle clubs. I mean, I’m not an expert either. I don’t know the ins and outs of what they’re all about, but I know enough. I know to keep my distance. I know they’re trouble, the worst kind of trouble. I know most of the guys are scary as hell and revel in riding on two wheels, banging massive amounts of women, alcohol, drugs, partying, and pretty much anything and everything that allows them to partake in those things as much as possible.

  They’re like the poster boys for the seven deadly sins.

  However, I’ve only had an up close and personal experience with one particular biker. Needless to say, he left a lasting impression. Left me with a healthy dose of fear too. It’s the second time today I’ve thought about him.

  “The Crow,” as my sister dubbed him, had visited our house around the time I was seven and then stopped around four years later. He had long, black hair, which he wore in a braid that went to the middle of his back. He was dark-skinned and had strong features. Features I only later realized were Native American. Usually, I was sent to the neighbor’s during his visits, or hurriedly stashed in a closet, so I only caught small glimpses of him through the crack of the closet door. But I was a curious child, and he was an interesting character. Not like my mother’s other fly by, tree hugging boyfriends. Even as little as I was, it seemed to me The Crow was more interested in my sister than my strawberry blonde-haired mother. His presence in our home had always been somewhat of a puzzle. Not only because Sundown withdrew into herself for days after his visits, but also because he had a habit of leaving an envelope full of money on the table.

  I learned not to ask Sunny about him. It never went well. It wasn’t until later that I came to my own conclusions and thought it best to act as if he didn’t exist.

  The only other interactions I’ve had since then with bikers were with members of a notorious motorcycle club who had a clubhouse a few blocks from the apartment complex I grew up in. Nothing crazy, just run-in’s at the grocery store, or walking on the sidewalk. Passed while on the highway. For the most part, they did their thing and let me do mine.

  My mother’s advice, “If you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you. A lot like a nest of killer bees.”

  What I do know for a fact is they’re not a group of individuals you trifle with.

  I want to tell Officer Davis to go screw himself. I’m not going to make an enemy out of a group of thugs. I’m on the verge of doing just that. But I hold my tongue. If I do, I have no doubt that he’ll handcuff me right here and take me away. If I go along with his plan, or at least act like I am for now, maybe I can buy myself some time to figure out a way out of this.

  His hand grips my shoulder. “What’s it going to be?”

  I sigh out, “They’re not just going to spill their secrets because I’m putting out.”

  His hand moves to the left and he grips the back of my neck, pushes me forward until my face is pressed against the mirror. He growls, “Suck it, or fuck it out of them if you have to. I don’t give a fuck. But you had better find a way to get me what I need, or you’ll be the one behind bars, not those filthy sons of bitches, you hear me? And I want something good. Not some shit gossip about them cheating on their wives, or old ladies, or whatever the fuck they call them these days. I want to know about their business dealings, their runs, their business contacts, the other clubs they’re involved with, shipments, the drugs. You got it?

  “Don’t even think of trying to cross me. You fill them in on our little deal, I’ll lock you up so fast your head will spin. You try to skip town, I’ll tell some tales that’ll have your face plastered in every police station, every TV and every newspaper. There won’t be a place you can go where someone won’t recognize you and turn you in.”

  Son of a . . . Heat spirals up my neck and face. Rage boils up inside me.

  “Is twenty years of your life not worth screwing some biker’s brains out?”

  Between clenched teeth, I grate out, “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  He smashes my face to the glass harder. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

  “I said, ‘I’ll do it.’”

  His hand immediately falls away.

  “Good girl.”

  I scowl at his reflection. “They aren’t just going to trust me overnight.”

  He smirks. “I’ll give you two weeks. Two weeks of freedom for every good piece of intel you give me. You have a pussy. I suggest you use it and use it well.”

  Did he seriously just say that? Christ, what kind of cop is this guy?

  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 . . .”