Burning Ember Page 4

  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.

  Close to a dozen men and at least five women, are here in the main room. Two of the girls are dressed like Lily, more rocker chic, where the other three look like call girls, dressed in revealing clothin
g, like the girl with bleach-blonde hair wearing a leather miniskirt and a red bra covered by a black mesh top. Or the other Spanish-looking girl with tattoos sitting on a biker’s lap at the bar, her yellow dress looks as if it might work better as tooth floss.

  Moans draw my eyes to the left. A huge male with messy mohawked brown hair sits on the couch. He’s massive and covered in tattoos from his face to his fingers. His head is kicked back and his eyes are closed. And if it wasn’t for the moaning and girl rocking back and forward over his hips, and his death grip on her waist I’d almost mistake him for being asleep.

  It’s clear they’re having sex. However, the other occupants of the room seem unfazed by it.

  It’s a shock to my system. I expected to walk into a den of sex, smoke, and unsavory acts, but anticipating it and seeing it with my own eyes, are two very different things.

  “Who you got there, Lil’ Bird?” someone shouts from across the room. My muscles tense involuntarily as I feel the weight of a room full of stares. My breathing accelerates, but I fight the flight instinct telling me to run back out the way I came.

  “About fuckin’ time, babe.” A handsome biker with peppered hair shouts from his stool at the bar. He leaps up and crosses the room with rapid, purposeful strides.

  Lily’s face transforms with glee an instant before he grabs her face and claims her mouth with his.

  A sound best left for the privacy of a bedroom emanates from him. Half-growl, half-groan. His large hand slides around her waist and gropes her ass.

  Lily’s body melts against him. Then as if she suddenly remembers I’m there watching, she slaps his hand away and tries to wiggle out of his grip.

  “Goose, baby, stop!”

  “Hell no, woman. You were gone for fuckin’ ever.” He places quick kisses up and down her neck.

  “Stop. Please, baby. Let me introduce you to my new friend. She needs a place to stay for a few days.”

  The man grunts but doesn’t stop his assault.

  “I brought her in because I thought the guys would like her. Maybe she can be my replacement. What do you think?”

  At that, Goose lifts his eyes from her neck and gazes at me over her shoulder. His irises are azure blue and, good God, he’s a stunner. His tan and weather-beaten face is handsome and is accentuated by long hair that’s somewhat greasy. He has a mustache that circles down to a goatee and this rugged, sexy, older man vibe that’s appealing as hell.

  The corner of his mouth lifts as he says, “She’s mighty fine, babe. But I’m pretty sure you know this is a bad idea. You know how Ricky Boy feels about outsiders, particularly redheads.”

  My heart sinks. What? What’s wrong with redheads? They can’t turn me out now. Davis is out there.

  “Come on, babe. It would be nice to have someone new and normal around the club, not all of these . . .” Her hand flutters as if encasing the room. In a quieter voice, she continues, “ . . . used up rags.”

  He chuckles in response.

  “Mav said he wanted to do something special for Edge.”

  He grins and says, “Yeah, but I don’t think a little redhead is what he had in mind.”

  “Baby, she’d be a perfect welcome home gift. And with the party and everything, we’re gonna need some new blood around here. We can’t throw a party with just the four clubpieces on tap. Even if we invited a couple of the girls from Wet Tips, that’s still not going to be enough. And not enough girls equals trouble. Talk to him. See if he’ll give her a chance. A few days. That’s all.” She rubs her hands up and down his arms.

  “I don’t know, Little Bird.”

  “Please . . . Finn.” She brushes her lips over his.

  He visibly shudders. Then closes his eyes for a second and does that growl/groan again.

  She places her hands on both sides of his face. “If we get the guys on board, Maverick will listen. He’ll have to. I’m tellin’ you, she’ll fit in perfectly. The guys will love her. I know it, baby.”

  Goose pulls back and studies her for a moment. Then shakes his head. “You’re right about us needing new blood. But Mav wanted to wait until after the vote.”

  “And that will be too late. Pleaaassseee!” She leans forward and whispers in his ear for a moment.

  He sighs, “Fine.” Then smirks at her. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

  With a giggle, she hugs him and gives him one quick, deep kiss on the lips. When they break apart, she turns to me and yanks me forward. “Pumpkin, this is my old man, Goose. Goose, Pumpkin.” I inwardly wince at the tragic new name I’ve been given.

  He pumps his chin once. “Hey.” To her he says, “Mav’s not gonna go for it, but maybe if you talk to Dozer and get him on board . . . But if Dozer says no, there’s nothin’ I can do.”

  “Where’s D?”

  Goose peers behind him, points to the far side of the room. “At the bar. See that big ox, Pumpkin? He’s the man you gotta persuade to let you stay.”

  My nerves ratchet up as I search for Dozer.

  At the end of the bar stands an enormous man. A man that does in fact resemble a bulldozer . . . if a bulldozer had flesh and muscles upon muscles, and dirty blond hair. The guy has to be close to six and a half feet. He has overly broad shoulders, pecs and ropy biceps, which stretch his gray T-shirt and a black, leather vest to their max capacity.

  “That’s Dozer? The big blond?” I don’t know why I bother asking.

  Lily laughs, “Fitting, right?”

  Yeah, fitting.

  Dozer raps his knuckles on the bar. Rigor who’s now serving drinks, places a beer in his hand. After taking a swig, Dozer surveys the room. His gaze stops on our little group, possibly because we’re all staring at him. His brows pucker, and his head tilts slightly. Goose waves him over. After a second, a grin spreads across Dozer’s face and he crosses the room.

  As he approaches, I do my best to fight my instinct to flee.

  In no time, Dozer stands in front of me. A giant wall of muscle and testosterone. “Well, well, well, look at what the little bird dragged in.”

  I force a tentative smile to my lips. Not that he’s not gorgeous with his slate blue-gray eyes, clean-shaven face, and flawless bone structure, because he is. It’s just . . . I’m not usually attracted to guys who tower over me, who can easily overpower me. He’s more Sunny’s type than my own.

  I do like that he’s blocking my view of the rest of the room.

  “What’s your name, babe?” he asks.

  “It’s um . . .” I’m so intimidated by him I nearly spit out my real name.

  Thankfully, Lily tightens her hold on my arm and interrupts me by saying, “D, meet my friend Pumpkin.”

  He arches an eyebrow and his smile widens. “Pumpkin, huh? Whatcha doin’ in a place like this, Pumpkin?”

  Pumpkin. Ugh.

  Goose lightly smacks Dozer’s arm, getting his attention. “She’s lookin’ for a place to stay for a few days. Lil’ thinks she’ll make a good replacement for her. Wanted to see if we’ll let Pumpkin stick around. Long enough to see if she fits in.” He shrugs. “Think the boys would like her and she’ll make a nice welcome home gift for Edge.”

  Dozer eyes meet mine. “Gift for Edge, huh? Not sure I’m on board with that. What if I wanna keep her all to myself?”

  The hairs on my arms rise.

  Goose chuckles. “Yeah, well, first we got to get Ricky Boy to agree to let her hang for a bit. I was hoping you’d go to bat for her.” Goose lowers his voice and leans in close to Dozer. “The transition’s been rough for Lil’. She needs this. A friend around until the old ladies stop givin’ her hell and let her in their little circle.” Goose rubs the back of his neck. “Consider this me callin’ in that favor you owe me.”

  They stare at one another, and some type of silent communication flows between them. Dozer looks over at Lily.

  “The old ladies still givin’ you shit?”

  Lily says, “No,” but looks away, raises her hand and ins
pects her nails.

  Dozer sighs and his gaze comes back to me, but this time it feels like I’m being examined for something. “This really where you want to be, pretty girl?”

  I push a “Yes” past my lips.

  His eyes travel up and down my body. He takes a few steps and walks around me. When he stands at my back, he sets his big hands on my shoulders.

  My wall of muscle is now gone. I’m forced to see my new environment and the inhabitants of the room. The men I’ve been sent here to seduce and spy on. I look at all of the other women in the room. They appear happy. They seem to be enjoying themselves. Nobody’s being forced to do stuff against their will.

  “Boys,” Dozer hollers. “Meet Pumpkin.”

  Heads turn. I’ve instantly become the center of attention. Like a heat wave, their stares hit me and I feel hot all over. Uncomfortable in my skin. I wave weakly, and then scold myself for not showing more confidence.

  Comments ring out, but they’re said so fast and coming from all directions that I’m not sure who’s saying them. At least not at first.

  “Hot damn. Dozer’s got himself a ginger snack.”

  “Fresh fuckin’ pussy.”

  “Amen, brother.”

  “You bring me cherry pie for dessert, Lil?”

  “I call dibs.”

  “Looks to me like dibs have already been called, asshat.”

  “Mav’s going to go ballistic. She looks just like—ouffph.” This part is said by the handsome blond biker with the nice smile at the pool table. The blond snaps at the biker next to him, “Fuck, man! What the fuck was that for?”

  His friend replies, “Because Mav hears you say her name, and he’s gonna rearrange your fuckin’ face, dipshit. That’s a no go. Don’t go gettin’ your heart set on tasting that treat. There’s no fuckin’ way he’s lettin’ her stick around.”