Firestorm

by Anne Malcom

  He knelt down, holding his lone blade against my throat. “You try that again and I’ll be forced to slit your throat, no matter how much we’re meant to be together,” he whispered softly.

  “How long do you think you’re going to be able to run for, Rafe? They’ll find you. It would be better to let me go now—maybe you’d have more of a chance,” I told him, knowing reasoning with a crazy person wasn’t likely to be effective.

  He laughed, and it was so unhinged it sent chills down my spine.

  “I have no intention of letting you go. And they’ll never find me. I still have connections,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Now get up,” he ordered, standing.

  I debated the consequences of staying where I was out of pure rebellion, but I thought doing what the crazy guy with the knife said was probably the best course of action right now. Plus I didn’t even want to think about the germs I was subjecting myself to sitting on the floor of a bathroom in a cheap motel.

  I gently pushed myself up. My body ached all over, most likely from the car accident. Fear bloomed in my stomach. Rosie.

  “What did you do to her?” I asked desperately.

  It took a second for Rafe to click. “Oh, the dark-haired slut in the car? I left her. As much fun as I would have had with that little piece there wasn’t time. Your fuckin’ bikers were on their way,” he declared, tugging me back into the bedroom.

  My body relaxed slightly at the fact Rosie was okay. Panic crept back in as Rafe pushed me roughly onto the bed, dragging my arms up above my head.

  “I hadn’t wanted to use these,” he informed me, pulling handcuffs from his belt. “I had wanted your hands free.” I sickened at the erotic glint in his eyes. “But I think this is best for now.”

  I hoped the click of my restraints was not the sound of my freedom and dignity being locked away before I was raped or stabbed. I had to believe that Brock would come for me. Or at the very least the police would. Weird how I thought about Brock before the law.

  “What’s the plan here, Rafe?” I tried to distract his gaze from its travel down my body. “You going to torture me in some hotel with paper thin walls? Not the smartest idea you’ve had.” Maybe questioning his intelligence was not the best idea at this juncture.

  A muscle in Rafe’s jaw ticked and he dragged his gaze away from my breast. “Oh, this is just a stop along the way. I’ve got a couple of calls to make, then we’ll be heading to the airport,” he explained with a grin.

  “The airport?” I repeated.

  “You didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to stay in America? Not when dear old Dad and the Sons still have their spies everywhere.” He shook his head. “No, no, no, we’re off to Columbia. I’ve got everything arranged, Red, don’t you worry.”

  He bent to kiss me and I managed to swallow down the vomit as his hand groped my breast roughly.

  He pulled back with a groan. “We’ll have plenty of time for that. First I have to organize a plane.”

  He stood up and turned his back on me, unearthing a cellphone. He moved to the corner of the room, speaking quietly into it.

  Shit shit shit. Kidnapped again. Fuck. And by the same guy. This was so not my year. I tried to quietly move the handcuffs but they clanged loudly against the headboard. I was effectively trapped here until someone came to rescue me. If someone came.

  Hours passed and Rafe had left. He had thoughtfully gagged me so I didn’t get any bright ideas as to yell for help. I tried to thrash around the bed, clatter my metal bracelets loudly, but to no avail. I was not only trapped but I really needed to pee. The door opened, revealing the dim twilight. I hoped it was leather clad bikers, but it was only a well-dressed madman.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart, so much to do.”

  He dropped some bags by the bed and reached to ungag me.

  I sucked in my first unobstructed breath in hours. “I need to use the bathroom, like pronto,” I informed him.

  He frowned at me. “Fine. But you try anything, you’ll be sorry. And I’m watching,” he smirked.

  Once uncuffed I rushed to the bathroom, so desperate his wily glare wasn’t enough to stop me. As I was washing my hands he thrust a bag at me.

  “Put these on,” he demanded.

  I wordlessly took the bag. I stared at him expectantly. Why I expected him to leave when the sick fucker had just watched me pee, I didn’t know.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Red. I’m going to enjoy every minute of watching this. It can be our foreplay until I have enough time to have my fun with you.”

  My blood chilled at the promise and I wore the reminder on my skin as to what his fun really was. “Your dad really fucked you up, didn’t he?” I muttered.

  Suddenly he pushed off the wall and his hand was at my throat, choking me. I clawed at him, trying to get oxygen.

  “You don’t speak a word about him, got it? We never speak of that man again,” he hissed, spittle flying out his mouth.

  I nodded the best I could and he released me. I coughed, gasping for air.

  “Now put the fucking clothes on and don’t say another word.”

  Okay, so Daddy was a sore spot for him, I mused, silently undressing. I tried to ignore the crawling feeling I felt from his eyes on me and the humiliation of baring my body to him. I slipped the black slacks and blouse on quickly, slipping my feet into flats. Obviously he had learned heels constituted a deadly weapon.

  He stepped forward once I was dressed, pressing his body to mine. I felt his hardness pressing into me and his palm brushed my face with a gentleness I didn’t know he was capable of.

  “It’s a shame you had to make me do that.” He pressed into my tender skin lightly and I flinched. “You’ll learn.”

  I itched to sling some sarcastic remark back but I stayed silent, realizing my mouth could mean my death.

  He gripped my arm and yanked it. “Come on, we’ve got places to go,” he demanded.

  As we got into the bedroom everything happened at once.

  The door crashed open and Brock burst through, gun drawn. Cade and Bull followed.

  Rafe yanked me against his body like a human shield and I felt a blade at my neck. “Don’t move a fucking muscle, or I slit her throat and you watch her bleed out,” Rafe said evenly, pressing the metal into my neck.

  They all stared at me with hard looks on their faces. It was weird considering I had a knife at my jugular, but I somehow knew I’d get out of this. Brock would make sure of it.

  “That blade pierces her skin, you’re dead,” Brock hissed, eyes on me.

  Rafe laughed. “It already has. I’ve already seen the milky skin part and watched her face as I tore through it. I’ve felt her body and tasted her mouth...”

  He was cut off by a muffled shot and something warm splattered my face. Rafe collapsed onto me and I would’ve fallen to the floor if it wasn’t for Brock catching me, throwing Rafe’s prone body onto the bed. I glanced to see he was missing half his head. Okay, I so didn’t want to see that.

  Brock framed my face with his hands, his eyes searching my body. “You okay, Amy?” he asked with concern.

  A dull roar in my ears only caused his words to be slightly muffled and I couldn’t quite answer. I vaguely registered his hands skimming my body, looking for knife wounds, most likely.

  “Baby? Talk to me,” he pleaded, his eyes frantic.

  “Is that blood on my cheek and brains in my hair?” I asked in response.

  Brock’s face turned grim. “I had the shot, babe. Trust me, I never would have taken it if I wasn’t sure I could make it,” he answered.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I muttered, screwing my nose up and fighting the urge to pass out. I wasn’t going to faint; that was way too cliché.

  “I’m going to need a shower in about the next five minutes,” I declared.

  Brock searched my face. “You’re in shock.”

  “I’m covered in blood and brain matter, Brock. I’m painfully aware of that.
I need it off.” I hated that my voice was bordering on hysterical. I always thought I’d be totally calm and collected if the situation of a dead body ever arose. Turned out I wasn’t. The fact that my hands couldn’t stop shaking was evidence of that.

  Cade appeared at Brock’s shoulder, his eyes doing the same inventory of me. He seemed satisfied and his attention turned to Brock.

  “We got this, brother, take care of your woman,” he muttered.

  Brock nodded stiffly, “Come on, babe.”

  I paused. “What does ‘we got this’ mean? There’s a freaking dead body lying here—he can’t exactly check out without his frontal cortex. What are you guys going to do?” I glanced at Cade and Bull worriedly, envisioning them getting caught trying to dump a body.

  They both look unruffled.

  “They got it, babe. Let’s get you out of here,” Brock said softly.

  I sank into his arms and let him guide me out, feeling exhausted. I gave Cade one final glance, hoping I wouldn’t have to explain to his wife that he got arrested for murder.

  Brock had driven me home in a club SUV and the ride was silent. I was barely able to keep my eyes open, adrenaline crashing at a huge rate.

  “Gwen?” I vaguely heard him speak into a phone. “Yeah, I got her. She’s fine. I’m taking her home.” He paused. “I mean this in the best possible way, sweetheart, but don’t come. She’s in shock and she needs to sleep it off. I’ll call you as soon as she gets some rest and you can see her.” His voice was firm.

  I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation but I was pretty sure I heard a shrill threat on the other side of the phone before I passed out.

  I groggily awoke as Brock carried me upstairs, directing us into my bathroom. He set me on my feet, supporting my weight as my legs felt like jelly.

  “Can you stand while I get these clothes off, baby?” he asked softly.

  I nodded and he peeled my clothes off. I stood naked, shivering for a moment until he helped me into the shower. He had taken his clothes off too and he stood naked under the spray. I relaxed as he scrubbed at my hair with shampoo, closing my eyes as the water turned red.

  I deduced it was safe to open them after a few minutes when Brock’s hands had moved to wash the rest of my body. All of a sudden the grogginess was gone, replaced by a carnal need. I needed to feel alive, reassured I was safe.

  “I need you inside me,” I told Brock and his head snapped up.

  I expected him to argue but his mouth crashed into mine and he lifted me, pressing me against the tile. I let the fire soar through me at his touch, clinging to him and the feeling he gave me. Seconds later he was inside me. I cried out at the brutal pleasure of him pulsing through me, filling me.

  One of his muscled arms was braced against the wall; the other bit into my ass. His eyes were glued to mine as he pounded into me with the same frantic need I had.

  It was silent, desperate lovemaking. Born out of a need to feel alive, to erase the horrors of the events I had just been subjected to. I forgot everything apart from the feel of Brock moving inside me, saw nothing but his blue eyes that were locked on mine. And when I came all I tasted was his mouth as he kissed me in a way that branded my soul.

  Afterward we were in the kitchen, Brock cooking me up a huge dinner. My stomach had loudly reminded me that I hadn’t had anything to eat since that morning and I was not too keen on going to bed, having spent the entire day handcuffed to one.

  Brock set the plate in front of me quietly. We hadn’t said much since our hot survival sex in the shower; I still needed time to process everything.

  He walked around the breakfast bar and kissed my head. “Eat, baby. I’ve just got to make a call then I’ll be back.”

  “’Kay,” I replied. He started to walk away but I stopped him, grabbing his hand. “Thank you,” I whispered. “For saving me.”

  Brock stared at me. “You don’t need to thank me. I’ll always save you. I’ll always be there to get you. Without you there is no me, Sparky.”

  A warm feeling bloomed in my stomach at his words and he kissed me firmly on the mouth. “Eat,” he commanded.

  As tempted as I was to dig into the huge bowl of pasta, I had a couple of things to do first. I grabbed the home phone from its cradle and dialed.

  “Hey girl, after some soul searching I decided not to bleach my eyebrows. I don’t even care what designer it’s for. I can’t do it,” was Ry’s answer.

  “Good call,” I replied. “Now I’m sorry I don’t have the streaming video feed—trust me, you wouldn’t want it anyway, but this was just a courtesy call to let you I was kidnapped again. Only for a couple of hours though and I’m safe and sound at home with a bowl of pasta,” I told him.

  There was silence at the other end of the phone.

  “I promised I’d tell you and I didn’t want some loudmouthed maid to get there first.” I filled the silence, unsure of what to say. No one had ever rendered Ry speechless before.

  “Ry?” I asked.

  “I’m booking a flight to your freaking crime hotspot as we speak. This shit has to stop. I’m going to kick those motorcycle-riding, leather-wearing man gods myself. And I won’t even enjoy it,” he shouted, emotion in his voice.

  I commenced in talking Ry down and reassuring him I was okay, then hung up. I devoured half a plate full of pasta before an image flew into my mind. Rafe on the bed, missing his skull. Blood and brains in my hair. I barely made it to the bathroom before emptying the meager contents of my stomach. As good as the carby goodness was going down, it was not fun to re-experience.

  It was especially not fun to have large tender hands pull my hair back halfway through my vomiting saga.

  “Go away,” I whined in between heaves, feeling embarrassed. “I’ve had plenty of experience with mild alcohol poisoning, which gave me the skills I need to hold my own hair back,” I informed him.

  I didn’t get a response as I continued on; he just rubbed my back soothingly. When I was done he handed me toilet paper to clean my mouth and I stood on shaky feet. I was aware of my puke breath so I pushed past him, grateful I kept spare toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet. After making sure I was minty fresh, I turned to a concerned biker.

  “I’m not pregnant,” I blurted, remembering Gwen’s revelation through vomit of her bundle of joy. “Him, his body. It just popped into my mind and I couldn’t stomach the food,” I explained quietly.

  Brock gathered me into his arms and stroked my hair. “It’s okay, baby, I’m surprised that’s the only reaction you’re having. You’ve had one heck of a shock. I’m proud as shit at how strong you are. But you don’t need to be. I’m here. You’re safe. React how you need to.”

  I sank into his arms. “I’m good now. I’ve got you.”

  “For the rest of my days, baby,” he murmured quietly.

  EPILOGUE

  One Year Later

  “You still sure about this? I can totally cause a distraction while you slip out the back,” Lucky said teasingly.

  Brock grinned at his friend. “I’m not the one who’s going to be slipping out the back.” His voice held a note of humor but he couldn’t help but worry about the glimmer of truth behind that statement. His girl had been skittery as fuck the past few days; marriage was something that scared the shit out of her.

  Cade slapped him on the shoulder. “She’s not going anywhere, brother,” he said quietly.

  Lucky laughed. “Where else would she find such a handsome motherfucker?”

  The men all ignored Lucky and they poured a shot glass for each of them.

  “Any advice for married life, brother?” Brock asked his best friend after he had downed his shot.

  “Count your motherfucking blessings every day. And never criticize the shit she wears, no matter how much skin she shows. It’s not fuckin’ worth it,” his serious friend answered.

  After they had downed a couple more shots Brock stood at the end of the aisle, waiting impatiently for his girl. It had taken t
hem too fucking long to get here and he was anxious to make her his wife. Actually, he was anxious to get this shit over with and take her home so he could sink into his wife’s golden pussy. She had insisted on a big fancy affair; he wanted to go to Vegas and get her locked down the moment he put the rock on her finger six months ago, but like usual she got what she wanted. Not that Brock cared. Nothing much fazed him these days. Shit with the club was quiet, his best friend was happily married and had a kid with another on the way. His other best friend seemed to be less likely to drive his bike into oncoming traffic; the fucker actually smiled every now and then.

  Plus, six months ago, the night before he asked Amy to marry him, he and Bull had gone into Clark Devon’s mansion and killed the piece of shit. More precisely, Brock had let him bleed out after giving him six incisions on his thighs. No matter what promises were made there was no way Brock was ever going to let that motherfucker die of natural causes.

  His life was good. Fucking amazing. In his wildest dreams he never imagined he would get a life like this. He thought he’d been happy with his club, with the freedom, with the pussy he got. But when she hurtled into his life he realized how empty it had been. The light within her, the fire, it ignited every inch of him and he knew his life would be nothing until he had her on the back of his bike. It wasn’t an easy road. It was hard as fuck. But the best things in life were always the things which you would work to the death for. Die for. The things that tested every inch of your strength, ‘cause once you got them, nothing would taste sweeter.

  The music started and his attention moved to the doors. After Gwen and Rosie and fuckin’ Ry sauntered down the aisle, she was there.

  Her hair was loose and down, tumbling over her shoulders, wild and free like he loved. Her dress. Jesus fuck, her dress. It was lace, pure white, with a plunging neckline that hinted at her fantastic rack. It hugged every inch of her glorious curves and made his cock harden instantly. His hand twitched and it took all of his willpower not to storm towards her and kiss the living shit out of her. He refrained. He got why Cade had pounced on Gwen the moment she got to him. As Amy approached that’s all he wanted to do. But he wouldn’t have been able to stop. He would’ve fucked her right then and there in front of the entire crowd.