Firestorm

by Anne Malcom

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered brokenly.

  He looked surprised. “For cluttering my dresser with perfume and shit? I don’t care, babe. Fuck, I like it,” he teased with a smile.

  I paused then shook my head. “For everything. For pushing you away when we first met, for not letting you in…then for completely blocking you out after Ian died.”

  “Babe—” Brock stroked my cheek.

  “Let me finish,” I cut in. “I was fucked up. Not only from Ian but from the train wreck that is my family. I’d never seen love, never received it, apart from Garrett. My family never showed it nor gave it. My father was never purposely cold, just indifferent. He was fond of me, but never actually let on he loved me. My mother was openly hostile. I couldn’t figure out why. So I steered away from love, or more the rejection I would feel from not getting it—the rejection that I lived with for eighteen years.”

  “Your mother makes me want to seriously reconsider my stance on hitting women,” he muttered.

  I smiled dimly. “Yeah, well, I’m hoping karma kicks her ass when her next surgery gets botched,” I said dryly. “Anyway,” I continued, “when I met Ian I let myself love him and he broke my heart. He did it because he was trying to protect me but it was rejection in my eyes.”

  Brock had stiffened and was listening intently.

  “So when I came here I was already bitter and I definitely didn’t want love. I wanted sex. Hot sex with a guy that didn’t treat me like fine china.” I smiled at Brock. “I met you and got everything I wanted and everything I didn’t. I fell for you. I was so angry at myself for letting it happen and angry at you that I tried to keep away, but I couldn’t so I acted like a bitch in the hopes you’d decide you didn’t want me.”

  “Nothing you could do or say could make me not want you, babe,” he declared fiercely.

  “Yeah, I get that now. I was starting to get it then when Ian arrived. And it stirred everything up, especially when Gwen found out and expected me to marry him. So did Ian. I didn’t know how to tell either of them the only thing that came of his visit was that I knew I wanted you. I didn’t want a freaking love triangle but I didn’t know how to get myself out of it.” I took a breath. “When he died I was too focused on taking care of my best friend and getting her home. I didn’t stop to think about me. About you.” I placed my hand over the one he had on my cheek.

  “I felt guilty, so when I came back I didn’t know what to do with my feelings. I kept you away. Acted like an idiot for almost a year.” I met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Brock’s stare was level, as if he was calculating my words and his response. “Babe, this is not all on you. The start of this…it was fucked. I knew I wanted you for more than just sex but I don’t think either of us was ready. I let you keep me at arms’ length. Then Gwen’s brother rocked up and there was obviously something between you. I was pissed. Pissed you let him in. Pissed he could take you away from me. Cause he was everything I wasn’t. He was a hero—he didn’t kill drug dealers and run guns. He could give you a life I couldn’t.”

  His eyes never left mine as he continued. “I thought that’s what you wanted. Then when he died it fucked with my head. I hated that you were hurting, feeling pain. A sick, fucked-up part of me was almost glad he was out of the picture, then I realized I would always be second best. That curdled in my stomach for awhile. So I let you push me away. Tried to get over you. I couldn’t. That night at Cade and Gwen’s wedding you looked so beautiful, so fucking perfect. I knew I wouldn’t give a shit if I was your second choice. I wouldn’t care if I was your tenth choice as long as I had you.” He grasped my neck. “This isn’t all you, babe. But let’s leave all that shit behind us and focus on the now, okay?”

  I nodded, feeling lighter and happy. “’Kay.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next day I was sitting on the couch at the clubhouse bored as shit. Gwen was napping with Belle, Rosie was nowhere to be found and the main room was uncharacteristically empty. The menfolk had gone off to do god knows what. Probably to prepare a torture room for Rafe or sharpen their knives. I was of two minds about the fact my boyfriend was preparing to commit murder. Obviously Rafe was fucked in the head and a serial killer; he deserved to see justice for his crimes. But this was murder. Brock and the men had appointed themselves judge, jury and executioner. It was a weird lifestyle to get my head around. The law and courts weren’t who decided justice for them. They were.

  Something that I was loath to admit was a part of me wanted this to happen to Rafe. I wanted him to suffer. To pay for his crimes in ways a lifetime stay in prison just couldn’t do.

  I was also terrified that this would be some kind of trap and my man and my family would be in danger. I had pointed out to Brock this morning that they had no way of actually recognizing Rafe since they had never seen him. My suggestion that I be there went over like a lead balloon.

  “No fuckin’ way in hell are you getting within ten miles of that sick fuck,” he growled.

  “Well, I’m the only one who actually knows what he looks like,” I’d argued.

  “Draw us a fuckin’ picture.” His voice was final.

  “Well, how else are you going to make sure he’s not handing over some poor innocent gardener?” I folded my arms in triumph.

  Brock cursed under his breath, whipping out his phone. He scowled at me and stormed off. He had come back ten minutes later and thrust the screen in my face.

  “This the motherfucker?” he bit out.

  I squinted at the blue eyes staring at me through the screen. I nodded.

  “Jesus, I feel like I’m gonna have to handcuff you to the goddamn bed so I can leave without spending the whole day worrying you’ve done something stupid like go shopping,” he muttered under his breath.

  I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “You handcuff me to the bed with anything other than sex in mind and I’ll shave off your eyebrows while you sleep,” I threatened.

  Brock’s eyes darkened and he stepped forward, grasping my hips and pulling my body flush to his. “You into that sort of shit, Sparky?” he asked, voice hoarse.

  I nodded slowly.

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “How am I supposed to leave you here knowing that shit?”

  “That’s easy,” I purred. “Don’t leave.”

  Brock stared at me for a moment and I swear his face looked pained. “You’re going to be the death of me woman,” he growled, yanking my mouth to his.

  Unfortunately he had left after laying a hot and heavy one on me, declaring he had “shit to do”. Hence me sitting on the couch, bored out of my skull. This was a biker clubhouse for fuck’s sake. Where was the drama? The skank fights, the orgies, or at least a small explosion?

  I glanced at my phone—three p.m. A little too early to break out the cocktails.

  “’Sup, Abrams?” Lucky sauntered into the room.

  I could’ve hugged him. “Lucky! Thank Christ you’re here,” I exclaimed, standing.

  Lucky grinned. “I knew Brock would drop the ball eventually and you’d want a real man.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t handle me,” I deadpanned.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Having you as an old lady is a full time job,” he replied.

  I smacked his shoulder. “You’re an asshole. I can’t wait until some woman comes in and turns your life upside down.”

  Lucky grinned. “That’s never gonna happen, babe, I plan on being an eternal bachelor. It would be cruel not to share all of this with as many bitches as possible,” he declared, gesturing down to his decidedly impressive body.

  I laughed.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be off doing whatever badass things you boys do that the delicate females can’t possibly be subjected to?”

  Lucky’s grin dimmed slightly. “I’m here to make sure you haven’t tunneled your way out of here with an eyelash curler, Brock seemed adamant yo
u’d found a way to take down the prospects,” he told me.

  I placed my hand on my chest. “Why, little old me? I’d never defy the orders of my old man,” I said sarcastically.

  Lucky laughed. “Yeah, right. What you up to anyway?”

  “I was about to set something on fire so my eyeballs didn’t start bleeding from boredom,” I informed him seriously.

  “I’ve got something else in mind that doesn’t include any pyromania,” Lucky said, dragging me out of the room.

  I closed one eye and squeezed the trigger, bracing myself against the kickback as I fired.

  “Holy shit, I got him! Right in the balls!” I screamed, clapping my hands.

  Lucky grabbed my wrist. “How about you don’t clap your hands like a seal when you’re holding a deadly weapon?”

  I looked down at the pistol in my hands. “Yeah, okay,” I muttered.

  Lucky had taken me out behind the clubhouse to a grassy area I didn’t even know was there. It was a mock shooting range and had what looked like scarecrows at the end of it. We had been out here for about an hour, Lucky showing me how to handle a gun and how not to accidently blow my foot off. I had just succeeded in making sure a certain scarecrow could never reproduce again.

  “It’s kind of disturbing how good you are at that,” he told me, reloading the gun.

  I gave him a grin. “Make sure you tell Brock that just in case he gets any ideas about screwing around with a sweet butt.”

  Lucky shook his head.

  “Gimme.” I held out my hand for the reloaded weapon.

  “Hold on a sec. You going to do what I taught you?” he asked.

  I took the gun from his outstretched hand, checked the clip, reloaded it and turned off the safety. I turned towards the scarecrow and fired. A couple of my shots went awry but most went to his head until it fell at an unnatural angle.

  “I don’t know whether to be turned on or scared as shit,” Lucky said after I had emptied the clip.

  I laughed. I totally thought I looked the part. I was wearing six inch heels, skinny leather pants and a loose khaki shirt with lace inserts in the sides so you could see my longline bra underneath. Totally badass.

  “I’m gonna have to say the second one, considering you just taught my fuckin’ woman how to shoot,” a gravelly voice informed us.

  I whipped around to see not only Brock, but Cade, Bull, Steg and Rosie watching my little gun show. Brock had his shades on and took a puff of his cigarette. His face was impassive.

  “Hey honey.” I waved with my hand not holding the gun.

  Rosie stepped forward with a huge grin. “Holy shit, Amy, that was awesome!”

  “It was fuckin’ something,” Brock muttered.

  “I was bored and Lucky thought it would be a good idea to teach me how to shoot,” I explained.

  “That’s the only thing that came to your mind to entertain her, brother? A game of fuckin’ checkers would’ve sufficed,” he said, throwing his smoke to the ground.

  Lucky shrugged his shoulders. “I stand by my decision.”

  Brock made his way over to us, taking the gun out of my hand and shoving it at Lucky. “I’ll deal with you later,” he informed him.

  Before I knew it I was over his shoulder and he was carting me back to the clubhouse. “Hey! What are you doing? I was having fun,” I argued.

  Brock smacked my ass hard. “Yeah, babe, we’re going to have a lot more fun once I handcuff you to the bed and fuck you for the rest of the night,” he growled.

  My stomach dipped. That was definitely more fun.

  “So now that we’re safely out of the clubhouse and away from the gossips that ride the bikes there, you’ve gotta spill,” I demanded, glancing at Rosie who was sitting beside me.

  She looked back at me innocently. “Spill about what? The fact that my room is far too close to Brock’s and the walls aren’t that thick?” she deadpanned.

  I turned my attention back to the road. “I can’t help I’m amazing in bed,” I replied airily.

  Rosie laughed.

  We had been temporarily released from the lockdown at the clubhouse. Well, maybe not released, but Rosie and I and taken an opportunity to slip out when everyone was distracted. We figured that going to get some more tequila was hardly life threatening. Plus, I couldn’t sit around the clubhouse twiddling my thumbs while I knew that the men were off at the meet with Clark. I was scared shitless. Hence the need for distraction in the form of alcohol. Considering we were almost back at the clubhouse and hadn’t been attacked or shot at, I gathered that the men were just being way overprotective.

  I turned my attention back to the Rosie-Luke situation.

  “But seriously. I’ve watched you do goo goo eyes at Luke for a freaking year now. What’s the deal?” I eyed a car in my rearview mirror that was following way too close. Impatient asshole.

  “I do not do goo goo eyes,” she argued.

  “You’re right,” I agreed, “You eye fuck the shit out of him.”

  “He’s hot. I’m a red-blooded woman.”

  I took my eyes off the black Mercedes. “So am I, sweetheart, and while I can appreciate that the man can wear the shit out of a police uniform, I do not undress him with my eyes.” I paused. “Well, at least not every time I see him.”

  She sank back in the seat. “What does it matter? He doesn’t see me like that. Plus he hates the club. The club is my family.”

  “That didn’t stop Romeo and Juliet,” I told her, putting my blinker on so the Mercedes could pass. Didn’t they know I was trying to have serious girl talk?

  Rosie glared at me. “Romeo and Juliet died in the end!”

  I furrowed my brows. “You’re right. Bad example. That doesn’t matter. He’s a guy. You’re hot. He definitely sees you like that.”

  Before Rosie could answer, my attention turned to the black Mercedes which was in the process of passing me.

  “Finally,” I muttered. “Flip this guy the bird—he’s been riding my tailgate since we left town,” I instructed Rosie.

  “Gladly,” Rosie complied, holding up her hand.

  I smirked…that was, until the Mercedes didn’t overtake us but instead rammed into us.

  “Holy shit!” I screamed, trying to get control of my car. Just as I did another jolt sent us spinning out of control and toward a ditch on the side of the road. We rammed into something with a crash.

  I struggled against the airbag, which was threatening to suffocate me, along with a whopping headache.

  “Rosie? You okay?” I called, my voice muffled.

  I heard a groan. “Yeah, I’m fine. I bit my tongue something wicked though,” she said, her voice sounding weird.

  “Is there a deflate button on these things somewhere?” I asked, struggling.

  Thankfully my door opened and my airbag deflated with a start. I gasped in a breath, turning to the good citizen who had saved me from suffocation via airbag.

  “Thanks a million...” I started but froze when I came face to face with Rafe.

  “You may not be thanking me later, Red,” he said with a sick smile.

  Before I could do anything, namely kick him in the balls, he held a taser to my neck and everything went black.

  I woke up slowly, not liking the fact I was familiar with the aftereffects of tasering. I was surprised to see my arms were not bound; I wasn’t restrained at all, in fact. I creaked opened my eyes to see I was lying on a bed. A glance at my surroundings had me deduce I was in a sleazy motel.

  Rafe sat on a chair on the other side of the room, watching me. The empty look in his eyes had me seriously freaked. No, actually the fact he had ran me off the road, tasered me, then kidnapped me already had me freaked. The vacant look in his eyes tipped me over to terrified

  “You’re awake,” he declared.

  “Unfortunately,” I muttered.

  “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Red,” he said calmly. It was then I noticed the knife in his hand, which rested on his t
high.

  He narrowed bloodshot eyes at me. “You tricked me. I thought we had something special but you lied.” He stood and I scrambled to the wall, standing. He didn’t take much notice of that; he just started pacing.

  “When you left, I couldn’t fill the void, I tried. No matter how many girls I had. None of them were you.” He screwed his nose up. “All pitiful creatures. Weak.”

  I swallowed, sickened at the thought of what he did to those poor women. He stopped pacing and his eyes darted to me. “Then I found out my father was willing to give up my life in order to get your biker scum boyfriend out of his backyard.” Fury glittered in his eyes.

  I darted my eyes around the room, looking for a weapon, or at least an escape. I focused on the bathroom door which was behind me. I prayed it had a strong lock and a window.

  “So I had to leave. And you have to come with me. You’ll forget about the biker trash and I’ll forgive you for running off with them.” His face twisted into an expression of sick arousal. “Of course I’ll have to punish you. But we’ll have a life together.”

  He looked like he was about to step forward so I darted into the bathroom. I caught the surprise and fury on his face as I slammed it shut and locked the flimsy lock. I whirled to see a small window, praying it was big enough for me to climb through. I scrambled up urgently, hearing Rafe’s body smash against the door. I fumbled it open, pulling my body up. I was about to hoist my body through when I heard a crash and hands tightened around my legs. I screamed and struggled, hoping the walls of this place were paper-thin and that some citizen would call the cops.

  I felt triumphant when my bare foot connected with Rafe’s face and I heard a crunch.

  “Bitch!” he screamed, yanking me roughly down from my perch. I continued struggling against him until a blinding pain exploded in my cheekbone, the force of his backhand sending me hurtling to the floor.

  His rabid face glared down at me. “Why did you have to do that?” he whined. “Now I had to mark your face. I hate to do that.” He shook his head.