Burning Ember Page 8

  “You’re not a clubpiece and word will get around that you’re”—she uses air quotes with her fingers—“‘a virgin’. So they won’t be expecting you to dress like one or put out like the rest of the girls here. So wear something kinda sexy-cute, but comfortable. You want to be somebody they want to look at, talk to, but not something they want to drag off to their room for the night. Make sure you stick close to me or Dozer, especially the next few nights. At least until word gets around who you are and that you’re not to be touched.”

  “Okay.” I pick through the pile of clothes.

  “I hope you’re not mad about the virginity thing. And about putting you on the menu for Edge’s party. I just didn’t know what else to do to get Mav to agree. He’s not too keen on redheads, as you know by now.”

  I hold up a few strands of my hair. “Right. Should I dye it purple? Think that would help?”

  She pulls my hair away. “Don’t you dare. In fact, I’ll bring you some special shampoo tomorrow to strip what’s left of that awful brown color out of it. What did you use anyway?”

  “I don’t know. A box from the store.”

  She looks horrified at my admission. When she recovers, she says, “Don’t let what Mav said get to you. He may not like redheads but there are plenty of guys here that do. Dozer for one, which is surprising.” She hurries on to add, “Oh, not because you’re not gorgeous”—she winks—“he’s just had a thing for someone for a long time.”

  “Let me guess, Bethany?”

  “Yep. But she’s not into him. Or well she is, but she’s not doing anything about it. It’s a long story. Short version is her husband was a brother. He died . . . last year . . . motorcycle accident. I guess her and Dozer had something going on years ago before she ever got with her old man, but it didn’t work out. Dozer got sent on a tour of duty and she fell for Hodge while he was gone. I thought maybe now they’d finally . . . you know, hook up and resolve their problems.”

  “But they haven’t?”

  She shakes her head no.

  Holding up each item, I ask myself two things… Will it fit and am I brave enough to wear it?

  Lily chuckles, and grabs a shirt and a pair of shorts out of the pile. Both black. She throws them at me. “Here. I didn’t steal any bras or underwear because that’s just . . . yuck. For now, wear yours and I’ll pick you up some new stuff tomorrow.”

  I take the items into the bathroom to change. Lily laughs as I go and snickers, “So modest.”

  The top is loose and falls off my shoulder. The shorts are shorter than my cut offs and hang on my bony hips, but they’ll do.

  When I step out, Lily clasps her hands together and beams at me. “You look hot. Let’s steal of pair of Jade’s heels to show off those nice legs of yours then you’ll be all set. Mav’s gonna be chokin’ on his words.”

  I perk up an eyebrow. “You think?”

  She nods. “Definitely. But it might be smart to stay out of his way and let him get used to you. We don’t want to press our luck.”

  What luck? The negative thought rockets though my mind. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  Then she’s chewing on her thumbnail deep in thought as she examines me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Did I do the right thing? Bringing you here?”

  “I think so. I was out of options. Living on the street’s been a nightmare, and I was running out of money even before all my stuff was stolen today. I thought it would be easier to find a job.”

  “Why won’t anyone hire you? You look hirable.”

  “No ID . . .”

  For a second, I think I’ve said too much but Lily replies, “I figured you were on the run with how jittery you were around Davis. Don’t worry. I’m not gonna say anything to the guys.”

  She pulls one knee up on the bed and plays with the zipper on her boot. “I know what it’s like not to have a safe place to run to. My step-father was a hopeless alcoholic and had a very warped idea of how a father should treat his little girl. My mother still to this day doesn’t see how evil he is. And yeah I thought it would be so much better if I just left. That I could make it on my own. Get a job, rent an apartment. But it’s a fucking cruel world out there, especially for young girls without a home.”

  My thoughts drift to Ivy. “It is.”

  Her head lifts. “You ever notice how fucked up women are in general because of men?”

  “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 nev
er 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.