Fire Inside

by Kristen Ashley

  Literally.

  “Tack—” Benito started.

  “Your man fuckin’ fired,” Hop clipped.

  “Warning shot, he was closing in,” Benito returned, jerking his head Shy’s way. “It was a ricochet. He meant no harm.”

  “I don’t give a fuck. My brother is bleeding and your man fired,” Tack snarled. “And for once in your life, seein’ as we got this many armed men in a faceoff, pay attention. He was approaching me.”

  “I will remind you, you were not invited to this party,” Benito bit back.

  “And I’ll repeat what I’ve said five fuckin’ times. Chaos will cover her debt. She’s family. We agreed a long fuckin’ time ago, man, family is off-limits,” Tack returned.

  “Not when they owe me a great deal of money,” Benito shot back.

  “Jesus, are you listening? Chaos is covering her debt,” Tack replied.

  “I prefer my method of payment,” Benito retorted.

  “That is not gonna happen. Con one of your other junkies into eatin’ pussy for payback. This girl belongs to Chaos,” Tack bit out.

  Benito leaned toward Tack, his face twisting in anger. “She is not family. She is not blood or old lady. You lay claim to pussy on a whim, you can claim any-fuckin’-body. You do that, no rules and anything goes.”

  The entire room, already tense, went electric. They all knew what that meant.

  If it came to war, Benito would play dirty, and it would not just be the brothers in the trenches.

  Hop came out of his crouch, strode directly to Benito. He was concentrating on Tack so he reacted to the advancing threat too late.

  Hop had disarmed him and had his hand curled around Benito’s throat, shoving him back with speed and force so when he hit the hospital bed, he went down on it on his back. Hop kept squeezing as he put his gun to Benito’s temple and listened vaguely to the scuffling maneuvers of the men around him who became antsy after a direct attack on Benito.

  “Those rules never change,” Hop declared. “Your beef is with Chaos, motherfucker. Any member of our family even fuckin’ shivers ’cause they feel you close, you’re eating my bullet.”

  Benito held his eyes but called out, “Tack, call off your dog.”

  “Say you get me,” Hop growled.

  “You’re making a mistake,” Benito hissed.

  “Say. You. Get. Me,” Hop ground out.

  He felt a presence and knew it was Tack before Tack spoke.

  “I suggest you say you get him, man, ’cause you pull family into this shit you’re stirrin’, swear to fuckin’ God, you won’t eat Hop’s bullet ’cause that would be too quick. I’ll skin you alive, Benito. Do not mistake me. You harm any member of my family, and by that I mean all of Chaos, inch by inch you’ll bleed and scream.”

  Benito’s eyes were aimed over Hop’s shoulder at Tack. He made a noise low in his throat before he looked at Hop and snapped, “I get you.”

  Hop instantly let him go and took two steps away.

  Benito scrambled off the bed and faced Hop. “You just declared war.”

  “Motherfucker. Seriously?” Hop asked. “My brother’s bleedin’. No paper signed but you spill Chaos blood, you do not come out of that shit unscathed. We had war five minutes ago.”

  “Five square miles,” Tack cut in and Benito looked to him. “I do not get it. You can have all of Denver—it sucks, but you can have it—no Chaos beef. All you gotta stay clear of is five fuckin’ miles. What is it with you?”

  “You can’t claim what isn’t yours,” Benito returned.

  “Your crew has been workin’ Denver for seven years, motherfucker. Chaos claimed that territory fuckin’ decades ago. How is it not ours?”

  “Nothing is yours, you can’t protect it,” Benito retorted and Tack shook his head.

  “Man, trust me, Chaos lore is watered down. I get, you keepin’ this shit up, you think we’re no threat but, hear me, you do not wanna go to war with us,” Tack advised.

  “Soft,” Benito whispered, his eyes lighting in a freaky way Hop did not like. “Everyone knows, you got out of the trade, you all went soft.”

  “I see you don’t get this, seein’ as you probably only get off jackin’ off on a mountain of twenty-dollar bills, but a man protecting his home never goes soft.”

  “We’ll see,” Benito replied.

  “No, we’ll see,” Tack fired back. “You and your boys do this, you’ll be under dirt so you won’t see shit.”

  Benito grinned.

  Tack turned his eyes to Hop and shook his head.

  Then he moved to exit while ordering, “Chaos, mount up.”

  The brothers moved out.

  Tack tagged Shy and Hop on their way to the bikes. “Meet. Early. I’m callin’ in the boys.”

  Hop jerked his chin up. He knew what Tack meant. He wasn’t wasting time calling in reinforcements, and by that he meant Hawk Delgado, Brock Lucas, and Mitch Lawson.

  Commandos and cops.

  Benito should have listened.

  After years undercover with the DEA, Brock Lucas knew the bowels of Denver like the back of his hand. Living with filth, to survive, he’d learned to embrace the wild inside. He might be married to a pretty baker who made unbelievably good cupcakes, and they were raising two boys, but he was still good with getting in touch with his wild side.

  Mitch Lawson had proved without doubt that no matter how clean a cop he was, he had Chaos’s back. He was cautious but far from dumb, and willing to go the distance, therefore a worthy ally and a surprisingly scary adversary.

  And it was debatable but Hawk Delgado might be a functioning lunatic. But he got the job done, no matter how nasty that job might be. He didn’t mind mess while doing it and he had an army of commandos at his back. He paid them well, but he earned their loyalty another way and every one of them would lay down their lives for their leader.

  Tack’s eyes locked on Shy. “You and me now, to Baldy.”

  Shy nodded.

  Baldy was a biker and a doctor. He would be in a Club if he had the time. Seeing as he took cash for his services and the underbelly of Denver found themselves in need of a physician more than occasionally, he didn’t have the time.

  Shy gave Hop a handshake then headed to his bike.

  Hop waylaid Tack.

  “He touches family, brother, you won’t get your chance to skin him,” Hop warned. “Lanie never again feels fear. Not like that.”

  “I think he got that message,” Tack replied.

  “Hope he did, Tack. Swear to Christ, he didn’t—”

  Tack lifted a hand and curled his fingers around Hop’s shoulder. “Calm. Patience. Natalie wasn’t Chaos until we claimed her, so he isn’t wrong to be pissed. We’ll pay the money which is all he cares about, he’ll fall back and when he strikes, it won’t be courting Armageddon. He’s greedy but he’s not stupid.”

  Hop stared into his brother’s eyes. Then he did what he always did and he had never been wrong. He trusted his friend, nodded, and moved to his bike.

  He had a text with the details on the meet by the time he pulled into his drive.

  When he slid back into bed with his wife, she was still out.

  He curled into her, pulling her close, splaying his hand on her still-flat stomach, and he pulled in a deep breath.

  Smelling Lanie’s perfume, he relaxed when he let it out.

  Three hours later, he woke up, rolled carefully away from his still-sleeping woman, got dressed, and headed back out.

  * * *

  “Lanie,” Hop muttered, using her name to tell his brothers it was time to get back to their women.

  Tack turned and nodded to Hop.

  “Right,” he said. “Later, brothers. Have a mind, it’s early, he won’t move this quick, but watch your backs.”

  Hop nodded. Shy did too.

  They swung on their bikes and roared off. They’d just had a meet with “the boys”: Tack and his two lieutenants, Hop and Shy, as well as Hawk Delgado, Mitch La
wson, and Brock Lucas. War was declared. Reinforcements had been called. They were all in.

  The meeting was tense, as it would be.

  Now they waited.

  As they rode away, Hop shouted, “Yo!” and Shy turned his head to look at his brother.

  Hop jerked his head to the side. They both rode to the shoulder, stopped, put their feet down, and Hop looked back through the buildings from where they’d come.

  Tack was standing there, motionless.

  He was worried.

  Hop closed his eyes.

  When he opened them, Hop looked to Shy to see Shy looking back at Tack.

  Then Shy’s gaze came to him. “My guess, four hours ago, on a scale of one to ten of how bad this shit is, I would have said eleven. Now, I’m guessin’ twenty-three.”

  “We may be at twenty-five,” Hop corrected.

  Shy’s lips twitched.

  This was his brother, Shy Cage. He’d never been to war but he still showed no fear.

  Hop looked back to Tack to see he was moving to his bike.

  “Brace, brother,” Hop advised, then said, “Let’s ride.”

  Shy jerked up his chin, they put on the gas, and they rode.

  * * *

  “Jesus, what is this?” Hop asked as he walked into the kitchen to see his woman in an un-fucking-believably amazing pair of knit yoga pants that were loose in the right places but clung to better places, and a casual wraparound top that just clung to the right places, in other words every inch of her torso. Her hair was in a messy knot on top her head. Her face had no makeup.

  And honest to Christ, she never looked so beautiful.

  His kids were in the kitchen with her and it looked like a pancake batter bomb had exploded.

  Needless to say, his kids had taken the news that their father had a new wife and they had a new sister on the way without even blinking. Hop wasn’t surprised. It was good and kids sucked up good just as much as bad, so they had no problem settling into it.

  Molly especially. Cody, thank Christ, had come into this world shielded by invisible steel. Not much affected him. But Molly had a mind to her dad since she could form coherent thought. Not close with her mother, Molly was Daddy’s little girl from the beginning. She wasn’t old enough to process it, but that didn’t mean she wanted her old man alone and coasting on the scraps of goodness life could give him. She seemed to relax when she got the news that Lanie was legally bound to her father and they were cinching that with a kid. Then again, his girl been relaxing since Lanie came into the picture.

  Yeah, kids totally sucked up the good.

  “We’re teaching Cody to make waffles, Dad!” Molly shouted with excitement.

  “Don’t know why,” Cody stated, but did this from his station manning the waffle iron. “I get a woman, she’s doin’ all the cookin’.”

  Hop stared at his son then cut his eyes to his wife to see her body shaking with silent laughter.

  He had to stop himself from staring as his whole fucked-up night melted away at seeing his woman laughing.

  She trusted him. Totally trusted him.

  He’d left their bed in the middle of the night to do Chaos business. She’d gone back to sleep and stayed asleep, waking up alone, and there she was, making waffles with his kids and laughing.

  Not anxious. Not freaked. Not wound up.

  Laughing.

  He’d done it. Pulled her out of the shadows and brought her into the light of family.

  And she was basking in it.

  He let that feeling smooth through him and turned back to his son.

  “You plannin’ on shackin’ up soon, boy?” Hop asked.

  “Soon’s I graduate high school so I don’t ever have to do laundry, clean, or cook,” Cody answered.

  Hop bit back laughter.

  Lanie didn’t bother. She giggled out loud, so Hop turned his head to watch her beautiful face beaming bright with happiness and he did it until he was sure he’d go blind.

  “You’re stupid,” Molly declared, and Hop tore his gaze from Lanie to look at his daughter. “Everyone knows women don’t do all the cooking and cleaning anymore.”

  “Lanie does it for Dad,” Cody shot back. “And she works. And she has an ace ride.” Cody looked to his father. “I’m gonna get a Lanie, ’cept,” he screwed up his mouth as he narrowed his eyes on Lanie then looked back at his old man, “blonde,” he finished then thought better of his conclusion and said to Lanie. “Not bein’ mean. You got pretty hair, too.”

  Lanie opened her mouth to say something but she was laughing too hard to get it out.

  “Someone kill me. My son is already ordering up his woman,” Hop muttered and Cody looked at him.

  “When did you have your first girlfriend?” he asked.

  Hop wasn’t going to answer that. Instead, he homed in on the point his son was not making.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Oh dear,” Lanie mumbled.

  “Totally, Dad!” Molly gave it away. “He has three.”

  “Oh dear,” Lanie repeated, but this time those two words shook with amusement.

  “Three?” Hop asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

  Cody lifted up the lid on the waffle maker to check progress all the while talking, “Seein’ as I already decided to hook up early, I figure I gotta get my experience in now.”

  This time, Hop bit back a curse.

  Molly cried, “Gross!”

  Lanie kept laughing.

  “Son, look at me,” Hop called and Cody decided the waffle wasn’t done yet so he dropped the top back on and looked at his Dad. “You are way too young for me to be sharin’ this but seein’ as you’re jumpin’ the gun, I gotta lay it out. You want a Lanie, one at a time. You never, and hear me, boy, never jack a girl around. You jack her around, you live with doin’ that to a girl who doesn’t deserve it but you also answer to me. Are you hearin’ me?”

  Cody nodded solemnly. “I hear you, Dad.”

  Hop felt something in the room. He looked to his wife and he saw she wasn’t laughing anymore. Her face was soft, her eyes were warm and he felt that warmth deep down, straight into his bones.

  He returned the look then aimed his gaze back at his son.

  “More advice,” he started. “You can get your experience in about seven years. Now, concentrate on kickball or something.”

  “I already kill at kickball,” Cody bragged. “Don’t need no practice at that.”

  “Right, whatever,” Hop replied, “I think you get me.”

  Cody studied him before giving in by mumbling, “I get you.”

  “Good,” Hop stated. “Now, feed me. I’m starved.”

  Cody grinned.

  Lanie got him a cup of coffee and gave it to him with a kiss on his jaw before she turned her attention back to supervising waffles.

  Then they all sat at the kitchen table, Hopper Kincaid at the head with his family around, talking, laughing, giggling, shooting the shit over waffles.

  It wasn’t a birthday. It wasn’t a holiday.

  It still felt like a celebration.

  And, even though it started shit, it was the best day of his life.

  Just like every day after he won the love of Elaine Heron Kincaid.

  But especially the day, seven months later, when his wife gave him his second son.

  Nash Kane Kincaid.

  About the Author

  Kristen Ashley grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana, and has lived in Denver, Colorado, and the West Country of England. Thus she has been blessed to have friends and family around the globe. Her posse is loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write.

  Kristen was raised in a house with a large and multigenerational family. They lived on a very small farm in a small town in the heartland, and Kristen grew up listening to the strains of Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon, and Whitesnake.

  Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music and love was a good way to grow up. />
  And as she keeps growing up, it keeps getting better.

  You can learn more at:

  KristenAshley.net

  Twitter @KristenAshley68

  Facebook.com

  Tabitha Allen grew up in the thick of Chaos—

  the Chaos Motorcycle Club, that is.

  Her father is Chaos’s leader, and the club has always had her back.

  But one rider was different from the start…

  See the next page for a preview of Own the Wind.

  Chapter One

  “I Dreamed a Dream”

  Three and a half months later…

  His cell rang and Parker “Shy” Cage opened his eyes.

  He was on his back in his bed in his room at the Chaos Motorcycle Club’s Compound. The lights were still on and he was buried under a small pile of women. One was tucked up against his side, her leg thrown over his thighs, her arm over his middle. The other was upside down, tucked to his other side, her knee in his stomach, her arm over his calves.

  Both were naked.

  “Shit,” he muttered, twisting with difficulty under his fence of limbs. He reached out to his phone.

  He checked the display, his brows drew together at the “unknown caller” he saw on the screen as he touched his thumb to it to take the call.

  “Yo,” he said into the phone.

  “Shy?” a woman asked, she sounded weird, far away, quiet.

  “You got me,” he answered.

  “It’s Tabby.”

  He shot to sitting in bed, limbs flying and they weren’t his.

  “Listen, I’m sorry,” her voice caught like she was trying to stop crying or, maybe, hyperventilating, then she whispered, “So, so sorry but I’m in a jam. I think I might even be kinda… um, in trouble.”

  “Where are you?” he barked into the phone, rolling over the woman at his side and finding his feet.

  “I… I… well, I was with this old friend and we were. Damn, um…” she stammered as Shy balanced the phone between ear and shoulder and tugged on his jeans.

  “Babe, where are you?” he repeated.

  “In a bathroom,” she told him, as he tagged a tee off the floor and straightened, waiting for her to say more.