by SE Chardou
“What that sick bastard—your rapist who violated you in more than more ways than one—he should be castrated alone for hurting you. He took something from you that should have been your choice—”
“Listen, Jake and his old lady have two kids,” I interrupted. “A boy and a girl. Mags provided the boy and the girl was from me, courtesy of my rapist. It was two years ago. She’s smart, beautiful and so full of joy. She will never know she was the byproduct of rape. I just let her go and pretend she’s only my niece. She never grew in my body, and she has always belonged to Jake. Just leave it at that, all right?”
Pyro stepped away and walked over to the counter where several dark oak stools stood. He sat down in the middle one and set the bottle on the counter. “Listen, if you don’t think you can handle this assignment then I can find someone else—”
“Who and on this short of a notice? I’m assuming you’ll give me some basics in training and I maybe have two weeks before I have to fulfill this obligation before I’m half a million dollars richer. I don’t know the guy, and he doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ll sleep just fine after everything is said and done, you got me?” I turned back around, walked over to the pantry, and grabbed a can of tomato paste along with two cans of stewed tomatoes.
“Listen, if it was just your ass on the line, you’d be free to take that kind of attitude but the point is the club doesn’t trust you.”
I couldn’t help but snicker at this comment. “Yet they trust you? Are they aware of your lineage, Pyro?”
“Of course they are. Burns vouched for me before Hardy and Ronan took over the charter. They’re fine with me and they know they don’t need to question my loyalty.”
“Is that so?” I inquired dubiously before I turned around to face him, our ice blue eyes locking yet once again.
I heard keys at the front door before they opened the front door. It slammed loudly behind the person before a young woman yelled out, “Maarten, are you cooking dinner tonight?”
My heart sank, especially when a wildly beautiful young woman walked into the kitchen with confidence and ease. Obviously, she was no stranger to this place.
She and I were around the same age though I would put her maybe a couple years younger than me. She possessed clear yet dark olive skin, long dark silky curly hair and brown eyes in a face that would have made a model blush. Her body was just as perfect. She had to be around five feet, seven inches though she wore a pair of wedged black boots that had her merely three or four inches shorter than Pyro. Her outfit was completed with a pair of skinny off-white jeans and a bright pink sweater that looked like cashmere although it could have been angora.
“Nope. Our new houseguest is doing the cooking. Mira, this is Estelle Reynolds. Estelle, meet Mira Clarkson.”
Holy shit! You mean the son of a bitch was married?
I smiled at her quickly before I faced the stove again, and turned the pasta sauce down. The last thing I wanted was for dinner to burn.
I didn’t hear her as she walked up to me but I immediately smelled the exotic scent of Midnight Poison. “Believe me, you aren’t the first to get all skittish when I come around. I’m Maarten’s half-sister. We share the same dad. After his parents split up, Dad met my mother. She used to do this whole Diana Ross-style review at one of the local casinos and somehow, they clicked and fell in love.”
My heart only slowed down a bit as I looked at her and realized with newfound clarity all the features she and Pyro shared.
I studied her as she walked to the fridge, grabbed a Heineken and sat down next to her brother. “Anyway, Mom and Dad split their time between Boulder City and Lake Tahoe. I’m a junior at UNLV. It’s easier to live here than either of their residences if you know what I mean.”
“So, what about the club?”
Her brown eyes narrowed as if I were speaking a foreign language. “What about it? I don’t get into Maarten’s business when it comes to the Saints. Everyone knows they control a great deal of what goes on here in Vegas. Hell, no one even knows what my brother really does. He works part time for the North Las Vegas PD for Christ’s sake.”
Now it was my turn to be impressed. “With all those gang tats?”
Pyro rolled his eyes. “I’m also a war Veteran and a Marine, thank you very fucking much. I know a lot of shit about bombs because after I stopped with the sniper shit, I became an expert on a weapon that I wouldn’t have to see the damage it did. So, yes, the North Las Vegas PD employs me. They call me in for jobs where bombs are suspected. Not only can I put them together but I also know how to defuse them. It’s not a big deal.
“They know my ties to the Saints and every now and then, we feed them a bone on what the Demon’s Bastards or the White Knights are up to. You see, their clubhouses are in Vegas proper but the Saints have always been here in North Las Vegas and the northwest in general. We like it here, and we keep it safe from all the shit that goes down in West Las Vegas. Just because I’m in a one percent MC doesn’t automatically make me a bad guy.”
Estelle wrapped an arm around Pyro’s shoulders. “He’s actually a fluffy teddy bear. He’s harder on me than he’ll ever be on you. I’m still a virgin and if he has his way, I’ll die one. I can’t even keep a boyfriend. They take one look at him and I never get called for a second date. It’s awful! Sometimes I wished I lived on campus—”
“That is never gonna happen, Esie, so give up the dream. Once you graduate, your life is your own but as long as you are in my house, you will follow my rules.”
“Yes, brother dear.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna shower and change. Let me know when dinner is ready. It smells deelish!”
Estelle stood and ran up the stairs before she walked to one of the rooms, closed the door and moments later, “Cupid Carries a Gun” began blasting upstairs. I couldn’t help but turn around and smile at Pyro.
“What’s up with you?” He looked agitated as he finished off his sister’s beer.
“I can’t believe it. Tough guy biker who lives with his sister and guards over her virginity like she is the bloody Virgin Mary or something.” I chuckled. “Oh come on, even you have to see the irony in that?”
“I don’t want her ending up some fuckin’ goth-metal skank or hip-hop ho so yeah, I am protective over her. Where my parents hated each other so much, they paid little attention to me, her parents are in love and they don’t want to be bothered now that she’s past eighteen. I took her in because I know this place. She’s been here since I got back from overseas. I made my dad and step-mother promise me not to let her move until I got back.”
Pyro cleared his throat. “I like the company. She’s a great cook and we take care of one another. Believe me, she’s my fucking heart. I don’t have any illegitimate kids runnin’ about. It’s just Esie and me. I like it that way.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself or your lifestyle to me. I’m no one really. I’m not your old lady—I’m here on a temporary basis so you can teach me the ins and outs of murdering someone who has no value in this world.”
“I wish you wouldn’t think that way about yourself, Mira. You were never just a ‘nobody.’ If you were, I wouldn’t have been such a gentleman on my last night before being shipped off to the Marines. And you are much more than just an assignment. I care about you—”
“You don’t even know me.”
“That’s not to say I wish I didn’t.” He stood and walked out of the kitchen while murmuring, “Communication goes both ways.”
That first night after a delicious dinner of spaghetti, which we all enjoyed together at the kitchen table like a real family, was joyful and yet bittersweet.
I had to admit I was jealous of the playful banter between Pyro and Estelle. They loved each other deeply and there was a sibling bond between them that could never be broken. I often wondered what that might have felt like.
Sure, I had plenty of half-siblings but the only two I stayed in contact with were Jake and Loire. Both had
busy, hectic lives that didn’t leave us a lot of time to bond but I knew if I ever truly got into trouble, they would risk their lives to save mine.
After dinner, Estelle showed me to my bedroom. It was nice-sized and fully furnished with an empty closet and a queen-sized bed already made up. The color was muted and understated but it would do just fine in terms of an abode. It had a desk and chair where I could place my laptop and an alarm clock with an iPad docker.
“Don’t let that little thing fool ya—it’s pretty powerful and the bass and treble are good. You can seriously bump music on it,” Estelle told me as she placed a midnight blue towel set on the bed. “The bathroom is down the hall and it’s stocked with all the good stuff. I went by Victoria’s Secret and picked up a variety of body washes and lotions.”
“Well, is there anything off limits?” I wondered as I sat on my bed. It was soft yet firm. Obviously the bedroom suite had cost a pretty penny.
“Nope. There are dual master bedrooms and I have one while Maarten has the other. We have bathrooms in our bedrooms so that one is yours. The guests use the half-bathroom downstairs so make yourself at home. Let me know if you need extra towels. I also bought deodorant, toothpaste, Listerine, and feminine hygiene products. I didn’t know what kind of tampons you used so I just got a Tampax Pearl variety pack to be on the safe side.”
“Thank you,” I replied before I smiled at her.
Estelle’s brown eyes lit up. “Don’t let Maarten intimidate you either. He’s actually a big softie and he has a lot of respect for women. I know what you hear about what goes on in the clubs but he’s only had a few serious girlfriends since joining the Saints.”
She sat down beside me on the bed close enough for our thighs to almost make physical contact. “I don’t know—I think it’s because the women see my brother, and instantly think ‘marriage material’ but Maarten has a lot of demons. I can blame those bullshit wars, and his former job as a Mercenary for that. He’s soft hearted, and he bruises easily. It’s probably why he doesn’t let a lot of people into his life in the first place. Trusting your emotions in the hand of another is a very scary proposition.”
“No, it’s not scary—it’s damn near impossible for people like him . . . and people like me. You can’t fully trust anyone with your heart because what’s to say they won’t break you even more . . . leaving you shattered in pieces, and broken beyond repair. It’s just easier being alone . . . even when the loneliness is so strong and palpable; you feel it begin to eat away at you from the inside. Anything is better than having your heart broken though—trust me.”
Estelle looked at me like I just told her I’d been abducted by aliens. “Jesus . . . who pissed in your cornflakes? You can’t be that cynical about love unless someone has already broken your heart.”
I stood and took out my iPod, docking it to the alarm clock and Stone Sour’s version of “Wicked Game” began to play. “Nope, never had my heart broken. Never let anyone close enough to break it to be honest.”
“Oh. My. God.” She broke into laughter as if she were somehow relieved. “You’re falling for my brother?”
I felt my cheeks burn crimson as I whipped around to face Estelle. “God no! What makes you think that?”
“Well, he’s pretty fuckable. I mean . . . not that I look at him like that—ugh, I mean, gross ‘cause he’s my brother but I can definitely understand why he has no problem with picking up chicks.”
I feigned a yawn. “I think I’m going to head in early.”
“All right.” Estelle jumped up from the bed. “I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome. If it makes you feel any better, he’s got some serious feels for you too. You know how many women besides me have cooked in his specially built kitchen—not including you for argument’s sake?”
I shook my shoulders nonchalantly. “No clue.”
“Zero! He has this weird fetish about that damn kitchen. Dirty dishes and counters drive him crazy. The fact that he allowed you to make a meal in his precious kitchen is evidence enough that he’s not feeling merely ‘friendly’ toward you.”
“I’m honored.” My voice barely registered above monotone.
“I hope you stay a while. It’s kind of nice having another woman in the house that isn’t some stuck-up cunt who thinks her shit doesn’t stink. I like you . . . a lot. You and Maarten would be good for each other.” Estelle smiled again, and there was the green-eyed monster of jealousy sitting on my shoulder.
“Good night.”
“Nighty Night.” She walked out of my room, closing the door behind herself.
I envied her untainted spirit and how she had someone close to her that gave a shit about whether she lived or died. Not only that, Pyro loved her with all his heart, and he would never allow anyone or anything to hurt her otherwise, there would be serious hell to pay.
Life wasn’t fair; I knew that. However, I always wished why I didn’t have someone like that for me. Yes, Jake and Loire cared about me deeply but if I was murdered, would they shed more than a few tears before getting on with their lives?
I realized I wanted someone to love me; someone who would want to protect me at all costs, even if it meant the destruction of their own life.
After changing into a comfortable Victoria’s Secret nightgown, I dug my birth control pills out of my suitcase. I had enough to last me three more months. Instead of taking one, like I always did, every night at the same time, I slowly and methodically began to remove them from the round discs. After I had a handful of pills and three empty discs, I threw the discs into the garbage, walked to my designated bathroom and threw the pills in the toilet before I flushed them down the commode.
Plan A was set: murder Fernando Navarro but I was under no illusions this would be an easy job. He might want us to become a couple, live together. Latin men were known for their alpha ways and what if the only way he could trust me would be to marry me?
Plan B was then formed: I would trap him the old fashioned way, like so many women had done in the past. Only there was a catch: there would be no way in hell I would have his baby if it came to that.
Pyro found me attractive.
I felt the same way about him.
He was a man and like most men, all you had to do was give them enough rope to hang themselves.
I decided then and there that if it came down to Plan B, I would make damn sure Fernando never would be the father of my child. I could play the game but there were certain measures even I wouldn’t do. If I couldn’t have the man I was slowly becoming attracted to then at least I would always have a piece of him in my life, no matter what happened.
That was good enough for me because I wasn’t a fool.
Men like Pyro couldn’t be trapped but I could still have my cake and eat it too, even if he didn’t know it.
Chapter Three
Pyro
The following week after Mira moved in to his home, he began teaching her the subtle skills of bomb making. She was a good listener and paid attention to his every word.
He liked that about her but he couldn’t deny his feelings ran deeper than that. He wanted to keep her safe at all costs. This wasn’t exactly a new feeling for him but usually it didn’t extend beyond family or the club.
His cousin, Mags, was a prime example.
For months, she and Max had disappeared. He knew where she was and so did her brother, Vincent, but neither of them would ever reveal this knowledge to anyone. Pyro had lost his cousin for twelve years to the White Knights MC, thanks to his piece of shit mother and her loyalty to family that hadn’t exactly treated her stellar.
Nel could barely stand his immediate family, outside of his brother, Brad Decker, who controlled the Vegas chapter of the Knights MC. His mother being a random second cousin meant nothing to him. They’d merely grown up in the same town of Black Oak and remembered it when it was a thriving hub of middle-class homes before the meth epidemic put paid to that.
Pyro despised Nel, and due to their
genes being so few and far between, didn’t even acknowledge the fucker as family. As far as he was concerned, he was a Reynolds through and through. Unlike his uncle, Riggs, his father had never joined the Knights MC. He’d done his time in the military as a Marine, and it was only natural his son would follow in his father’s footsteps.
Where he’d disappointed his old man was when he’d left the Marines after two years—with an honorable discharge no less—and joined a mercenary company because they paid better and he could hone his bomb making skills. Sure, he’d done the occasional sniper activity but his specialty soon became bombs and that was a gift indeed to a company that acted clandestinely as a quasi-extension of the U.S. Government. Not to mention, he made in a month what he made in a year as a Marine.
The money went toward providing for his family—his father, stepmother and his sister—along with investing a great deal in valuable stock, a retirement plan and the rest went into a private account in the Cayman Islands.
After he’d come back from Iraq, he’d immediately prospected for the Lucifer’s Saints. One of his best friends, Chemist, had already been a member for a while, and after the action he’d seen in Afghanistan and Iraq, he wasn’t in any position to take any sort of regular job.
The Saints had given him shit because technically, although half Irish—two quarters from his dad’s side along with German and Polish blood—and two quarters from his mother along with German and Scandinavian blood, they’d still been reluctant to take him on due to the fact that his uncle had belonged to the White Knights MC.
