Firestorm

by Anne Malcom

  “When you drive to LA to go baby shopping you tell me. When you get new highlights in your hair you send me like a dozen pictures. But when you get rescued from being held captive I have to hear it from Dave Simmons, who only knew because his maid is friends with your mother’s maid. So if your hired help wasn’t such a Chatty Cathy I wouldn’t even know!”

  “Ry, I would have told you.” I bravely foraged into the fray.

  I heard him scoff dramatically at the end of the line. “Really? When? Or do you only inform me about the really bad kidnappings?”

  “Ry,” I tried again, feeling supremely bad.

  “Amy, you could have been hurt, seriously hurt. And I’d be waltzing around Manhattan worrying about the fact my next gig requires me to bleach my eyebrows,” he said, his voice returning to a normal decibel.

  “You’re bleaching your eyebrows?” I asked.

  “Amy,” he warned.

  “Okay okay, sorry. I was going to tell both you and Alex, I promise. It’s just been a lot, being back and dealing with everything,” I said honestly.

  There was a pause at the end of the phone. “Are you okay?” His voice was concerned, any residual anger gone.

  “I’m fine, Ry, I promise,” I lied, deciding not to inform my dramatic best friend about the nearly healed cuts on my legs. Not only would he go nutso, so would his super macho, super protective boyfriend. I had enough macho protective nutso-ness at the moment. My eyes landed on a figure leaning on a motorcycle outside the door, but I focused on the conversation at hand.

  “Amy, I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you. We’ve had enough. With what happened to Gwen, what happened to Ian—we’ve had enough heartbreaking events. We’ve reached our quota. So if you’ll do me a favor and not get kidnapped again and live the happy life you deserve, that would be great,” he ordered, sounding slightly more like himself, but I could hear tears in his voice.

  “I promise you I’ll refrain from getting kidnapped, shot at, or involved in any drug stings,” I declared, hoping this was going to be a promise I stuck to.

  “Okay. But if you do, god forbid, promise me you’ll actually tell me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll send you live video feeds,” I replied dryly.

  “I’m holding you to that. I’ve got to go—they’ve got the baby oil warmed up now,” he said bizarrely.

  I wasn’t even going to ask. “Okay, love you.”

  “Love you, babes, kiss Belle for me.”

  I eyed Gwen, who was flat out laughing at the counter. “It’s not funny Gwen,” I complained. “I’m pretty sure he’s done permanent damage to my ear.” I rubbed it.

  “I don’t envy you my friend. I’ve been on the receiving end of one of Ry’s rants, and trust me, I heard ringing for days.”

  I sank back on the couch I was currently lounging on. The couch was beside the fitting rooms of the store Gwen and I owned in our adopted hometown of Amber. It was doing well, extremely well, despite the fact that we’d had a death threat from a rival gang occur in here, as well as a kidnapping, and Gwen and I had left it for months when Ian died. So it was a pleasant surprise that after only a year of being open we were not only breaking even, but turning a profit. Not to mention I actually loved working here and hanging out with my best friends all day. My eyes travelled back outside to the “friend” I wasn’t so happy to be hanging out with.

  “I don’t get why Asher has to sit out there like some kind of friggin’ sentry,” I huffed, crossing my arms. “Not only is it completely unnecessary for him to sit out there looking all broody and badass, but it’s affecting our business.”

  “Yeah, affecting it because after every woman nearly trips over their own feet trying to perv at Asher, they come in here so they can continue perving under the illusion of shopping,” Gwen said. “I’m pretty sure we’ve made a thousand bucks off him so far—he should be getting a cut.” Her eyes lit up. “Maybe we could give him a permanent job doing that.”

  I stared at her. “I think having a baby has messed with your brain. It’s bad enough having Brock treating me like I’m going to burst into hysterics or turn into a hemophiliac when we’re together, but when we’re not together I have a leather clad shadow,” I whined.

  “You’re seriously complaining over a hot guy following you around all day?” Gwen asked disbelievingly.

  I thought for a moment. “You’re right. I never thought of it like that.” I let out a frustrated huff. “I’m so mad at Brock.”

  Gwen looked up from unwrapping a jewelry delivery. “Don’t be mad at him, honey, he’s just worried about you. They haven’t dealt with this Clark guy yet and it’s better safe than sorry.”

  I waved my hand. “Not about that.” I dialed my phone, which was still in my hand after my shouting match with Ry.

  “Babe.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” I snapped.

  “Hello to you too. My day’s going fine, how’s yours?” he asked dryly.

  “I’m so mad at you—you’ve ruined me,” I declared, getting up from the couch and pacing.

  There was a pause. “Not yet, but once those stitches come out I will,” he replied roughly.

  I ignored my ovaries, which had jumped to attention the moment Brock had spoken in that sexy voice of his. I tried to stay on track, and I wandered to the window to peer at Asher.

  “Because of whatever we are now and the fact you are a supremely good kisser and have a nice body and face and stuff, I’m ruined for other men,” I complained. “I mean, I’ve been so pissed off you’ve instituted the ‘make sure Amy and or Gwen doesn’t get kidnapped again squad’ I haven’t even realized that the previously mentioned squad is made up of some seriously hot man flesh.”

  I peered at Asher, who was sitting on his bike, his muscled but tattooless arms on display. His dark shades hid his eyes but totally added to the dangerous and mysterious vibe he was giving off. I narrowed my eyebrows when his shades locked on Lily, who had been out getting us coffee. They followed her as she walked into the store. Interesting.

  “Amy?”

  Whoops, forgot I was on the phone.

  “What?” I snapped, trying to deduce whether Lily had noticed Asher checking her out.

  “I was just asking what in the fuck you were talking about. Man flesh?” he bit out, sounding pissed.

  “Oh yeah, so I’m too busy thinking about how many more days until my stitches come out and what will follow that procedure that I don’t even check out the guys anymore. Gwen had to point it out. I’m surprised she doesn’t bump into things she’s so blinded by her rose-tinted glasses. For her to comment on it the situation must be serious.”

  I heard a deep chuckle at the other end of the phone.

  “This isn’t funny,” I snapped.

  “I disagree, Sparky. The fact my woman is mad at me because she is too busy thinking about getting into bed with me to check out my brothers is hil-fucking-larious,” he replied.

  “Whatever,” I huffed. “I was going to tell you some news but you’re being an ass so I’m not going to now,” I informed him, feeling childish.

  “Okay, babe,” Brock replied, sounding disinterested.

  “So you don’t even want to know?” I asked snippily.

  “I do want to know. I feel like you’ll get over this fuckin ridiculous snit and tell me at some point.” He still sounded amused.

  “It’s not ridiculous. I don’t appreciate you calling me that.”

  “I didn’t call you ridiculous. I called your reason for being mad at me ridiculous.”

  I sighed. “We can fight about anything, can’t we?”

  “One of the many things I love about you, Sparky—you keep me on my toes.” Brock teased lightly.

  I was silent for a moment, straightening a rack beside me. I still hadn’t said the ‘I love you’ to Brock. He didn’t seem to mind, but I could tell it might turn into a problem.

  “I’m going to tell you anyway because I
’ve got to get back to work.” I looked around the store. It was empty; technically I didn’t need to get back to work, but Lily had brought coffee and I wanted to grill her about Asher. “I’m going to the doctor this afternoon to get my stitches taken out,” I said quietly, a sexual undertone to my voice.

  It was our unspoken agreement once I got my stitches out we would finally do the nasty. It’s not like we hadn’t done it. But I felt like a born again virgin it had been so long. I seriously wondered if my hymen had grown back.

  No matter how much I had tried to seduce him this week he had stayed strong. Apart from some seriously hot kisses and the odd boob or ass grope Brock kept his hands to himself. He didn’t even let me take care of him. It pissed me right off.

  I was also secretly impressed at his willpower.

  There was a silence. “Were you going to tell me before or after?” he asked weirdly.

  “I’m telling you now,” I said, confused.

  “No, you’re only telling me because you called spouting your crazy shit about Asher, who is not trailing you ever again by the way. If you hadn’t come to your conclusion, would you have told me before or after you went?” His voice definitely seemed angry, I couldn’t see why. He was finally going to get laid. I thought he’d be more excited.

  “Does it matter?” I felt mildly irritated so I reached for the coffee Lily had gotten me, hoping caffeine would quell the anger.

  “Yes, it fuckin’ does matter if you were going to go to the doctors and not even tell me, let alone ask me to come with you,” he growled into the phone.

  “I’m not five years old, Brock, I don’t need anyone to hold my hand at the doctor’s office. I’m very capable of taking myself. They don’t even give me lollipops anymore, which obviously is a mark of my maturity.” I sipped my coffee.

  “Fuckin’ hell,” Brock muttered. I could tell he was talking to himself so I decided not to answer. “We’ll talk when I get to your place tonight—I’ve got shit to do.” he said finally.

  “I’m not sure I want you coming to my place tonight anymore. You’ve irritated me,” I decided.

  “Babe,” was his response.

  “What is it with you and the word ‘babe’? You somehow think you can use it for a greeting and as a substitute for any sentence you feel like. It’s one word. It doesn’t even have a meaning. It’s a term of endearment, so speak like a normal human,” I ordered.

  I heard him sigh into the phone. “You want me at your place tonight. You want me to push you up against the wall and fuck you against it as soon as I get home. You then want me to walk you upstairs, eat you out then fuck you from behind. I know you want that, and I sure as shit want that. So I’ll be at your house tonight.” His voice was hoarse and full of authority.

  “That’s better than babe,” I said airily into the phone.

  “See you tonight, Sparky.” His voice was full of promise.

  “Mmmhmmm,” I replied, my mind already at the tonight part. My panties dampened in anticipation.

  Gwen and Lily were both smiling at me as I got off the phone. “What?” I asked them defensively.

  Gwen looked sad for a moment, then her smile returned. “It’s just good to see you happy, to see you and Brock finally happy. You deserve it.”

  I smiled back at her, but I knew it was a sad smile. “Thanks, Gwennie, although he makes me happy approximately twenty percent of the time and pissed off the other eighty,” I declared.

  Gwen snorted. “Whatever. You love arguing with him. It’s like foreplay for you two.”

  I couldn’t disagree with her there.

  Things between Brock and I had been good the past week since I’d been home. He had been crazy possessive and protective, would growl at me for being on my feet too much, and was intent on making sure my legs were healing. He got an angry, faraway look in his eyes every now and then when he saw the bandages, but other than that he kept his fury at bay. I didn’t get much more out of him as to what was happening with Devon, which pissed me right off. When I told him this he replied, “Babe, you had to deal with that shit for a week—likely you’ll be dealing with it for the rest of your life. Let me deal with as much as I can so it’s not on your shoulders.”

  I argued that it should be on my shoulders since it was my family’s problem in the first place; therefore the club should not bear the responsibility nor face the danger that came with “dealing with” Clark Devon. Brock disagreed.

  “You’re family. You’re mine. Therefore it is my responsibility to sort this shit out and make sure it doesn’t touch you again. Plus there needs to be retaliation against someone who harms the Sons.”

  At this point the argument threatened to descend into the problem I had with me landing as a possession, but a phone call had interrupted and he had kissed me firmly before declaring he had club business to attend to.

  So apart from that things were good. He stayed with me every night and checked in multiple times during the day. He was there to hold me when I jerked awake from nightmares of Rafe and his blade. He made me feel safe and loved.

  There was an undercurrent to our happiness though. The least of which was the fact I hadn’t uttered those three little words. It’s not that I didn’t it’s that I wasn’t sure I was ready for the giant strings that were attached to it. The potential for heartbreak. The power it gave him. Plus there was the big elephant in the room that was Ian. Or more precisely Ian’s death. Brock knew there was a history, I suspected he knew my feelings for Ian, and he hadn’t confronted me about it. I knew it was coming though.

  I had finally broken down and spilled the beans to Gwen about almost everything in regards to Brock. I kept silent about most things regarding Ian because she still flinched anytime she heard his name and I didn’t want to upset her. She also was convinced I had missed out on my true love and was ecstatic I had a second chance. I also didn’t want to break her heart setting her straight on that one.

  Needless to say, she was happy with the fact Brock and I seemed to be together and she informed me that Cade was over the moon. I found it hard to believe that that big gruff man had any strong emotions over my romantic life and told her as much. She had clarified it was because Brock was no longer threatening to disembowel everyone that pissed him off which was, prior to our reconciliation, everyone.

  So on the surface at least things were good, apart from the fact I still needed an escort everywhere and the house of cards that Brock and I had built our unsteady relationship on.

  I was curled up on the couch a few hours later Googling plastic surgery and scar removal. I had gotten my stitches out earlier; although the angry red lines looked seriously scary right now the doctor assured me they would fade. She did say there was a chance they could be almost fully removed with surgery, so I was looking at my options. A knock at the door interrupted my web surfing. It was a good thing too because I was getting worried about the fate of my scarred legs thanks to the Internet.

  I expected Brock and my stomach fluttered with anticipation. I frowned slightly at this. I wasn’t a girl that had stomach flutters. I got turned on; I didn’t get butterflies in my stomach at the prospect of sex. But I couldn’t ignore the little fuckers fluttering around in my mid-section.

  I opened the door with a grin, planning on pouncing on the hot biker on the other side of it.

  “Why are you knocking? You usually just...” I stopped short. The man at the door was not Brock.

  He was good looking, that was for sure. He had light brown skin that hinted at exotic origin, just not one I could place. His black hair was close cropped to his head which accentuated his handsome face. He was freaking tall and had serious muscles.

  “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” I explained, meeting the handsome man’s eyes. For once I wanted to encounter a normal freaking male in this place. One that did not make my womb clench.

  The man smiled; it was warm and made his face light up. “That’s okay, I’m sorry to turn up unannounced,” he
said. “I’m Keltan.”

  “Yes, you are,” I muttered, eyes on his tee.

  His eyes twinkled. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’m Amy. How can I help you?”

  He had jerked in recognition at my name.

  Oh shit, please don’t be here to kidnap me.

  “You’re Amy?” he said quietly.

  I nodded slowly, recognizing the familiar accent. My stomach plummeted.

  “I’m here to see Gwen,” he said slowly, “but I was hoping I’d get to meet you too. I’m Ian’s best friend—we were more like brothers, really. I was there when...” He paused. “I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I’ve only just gotten leave,” he explained, his voice grim.

  I blinked, dread settling in my stomach. Not just at the grief in his tone but at his clear deduction of who I was. He thought I was the grieving girlfriend. I could see the pity in his eyes as I shook myself.

  “Do you want to come in?” I asked quietly.

  Keltan nodded. “Thanks.”

  I stepped aside and let him in in a daze. “Um, Gwen’s not here. She doesn’t actually live here anymore. She lives with her husband and baby now,” I told him, directing him into our living room.

  Keltan stopped and gazed at me in surprise. “No shit? Gwen’s a mum? And married?”

  I nodded. “No one’s more surprised than I was. I totally thought she’d be doing body shots off strippers until she was sixty. Now it looks like I’ll be doing that alone,” I joked.

  Keltan burst out laughing. “Ian was not wrong, you’re something,” he told me after recovering.

  The mention of his name sobered me. I gestured to the couch. “Please sit down. Can I get you anything? A beer?”

  Keltan gave me a grin, “A beer would be great. Thanks, Amy. Shit, I’m sorry. I feel like I know you already—Ian talked about you all the fuckin’ time.”

  I kept my smile but it was tight. “I’ll get you that beer and call Gwen, get her to get her ass over here,” I told him with my smile still in place. “Make yourself at home.”

  Once I made it to the kitchen I sank down, the weight of reality hard on my chest. I took a moment, then grabbed my phone.