by SE Chardou
All the old ladies glanced at Estelle. “It’s true. There hasn’t been any action between them in the bedroom. They flirt and there is always a lot of innuendo floating about but as far as I know they’ve never got it on.”
“You see?” I nodded triumphantly.
“However . . . I don’t spend a lot of time at home so I’m not sure what they have gotten up to when I’m not around.”
I playfully slapped Estelle’s thigh. “Gee, thanks for making my relationship with your brother sound so clandestine—”
“I’m not trying to!” she exclaimed with wide brown eyes. “It’s just I don’t know what the two of you do when I’m not there. I’m a full time college student who attends university on the other side of town. At least an hour of my day is spent in my freakin’ car—not to mention classes and other extracurricular activities.”
Chantal looked over with surprised aquamarine eyes. “Wait a minute . . . are you sayin’ you aren’t a virgin? Oh my God—Pyro would kick your ass. Say what you will about Kink but at least he pretty much stays outta my sex life. He’s still a controlling asshole but he’s pretty good about stuff like that.”
“Mmm, what about Max?” Layla inquired as she brushed locks of her blonde hair behind her ears.
“Max is very special to me but his own childhood was so fucked up, my sex life is the least of his worries.” Chantal sipped from her margarita tentatively. “Not to mention he does have another sister you know. Karina isn’t exactly my favorite person but since all that shit went down last New Year’s Eve, she’s a changed woman. She tends to keep to herself though she will make trips down for us to see the baby. Alexei Vincent Abandonato-Reynolds is a beautiful baby. He looks dead on his mother—it’s like Vincent didn’t have any say at all in the genetic lottery.”
The thought of a baby with Pyro suddenly registered in my mind. What would our child look like? Would he or she have my dark hair or fair-haired like his father’s? Why the hell was I thinking of babies at all when I had a daughter with strawberry-blonde hair, lightly freckled alabaster skin, ice blue eyes, and looks that would never not be mistaken as a Decker living with Jake and his wife?
I didn’t want to think about Jennifer. It would be much easier if I could convince myself I’d dreamed her up and she truly never existed. It would make my life a lot less complicated.
Instead of contemplating about the past, I listened to the various talk from the old ladies, laughed too much and drank more than my fair share. However, for the first time in my life, I could genuinely say I was happy.
Chapter Five
Mira
Christmas came and went, as did my days of training spent with Pyro.
I was good when it came to shooting guns but he made me an even better shot. I knew all about semi-automatic weapons but he taught me an old school cop trick. Instead of carrying a miniature semi in my purse¸ he gave me a Smith & Wesson Lasermax revolver, model number 642.
“Don’t get me wrong, semi-automatics are great. I love my nine-millimeter like no one’s business but the problem is that they can jam. That will never be an issue with a revolver. Not only that but it’s light weight, holds five rounds and can still kill someone dead.” He reached over and handed me a box of bullets.
I turned the gun around in my hands and noticed the serial numbers had been filed off.
“This isn’t used, is it?”
Pyro glared at me with lethal blue eyes. “Do I look like an idiot? Hell no. I bought that gun at a gun show a few months back. It’s brand new and the only person who is going to be usin’ it is you. It’s the redneck in me—I don’t trust the government and therefore I sure as hell don’t want this to ever be traced back to you. And two, I want you to be safe. If he comes at you then you know what to do.”
He stood and walked over to the kitchen counter while I wiped down the gun with a silicone gun cloth though it was still shiny and new. I hated my fingerprints had left marks on the pristine metal.
I watched as he grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and swallowed it in several gulps before he grabbed two Heinekens and brought them to the table.
“Well, tomorrow is the moment of truth. Last day of the year and a swanky New Year’s Eve party I have to attend.” I tried to hide my nervousness but swigged from my beer instead.
“Yeah.” Pyro finished half his beer in two swallows before he belched out loud. “I’ve been going over this shit in my mind this whole week. I want to come up with another plan . . . something else where that slimy bastard never puts his hands on you and . . . you can shoot him and be done with it.”
“I could try taking him out in a private setting. No one would be the wiser—”
“How do you plan to get out?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”
“If you do it, you have to make it look like an accident . . . maybe you lead him on and he tries to rape you—you shoot him and you get away with it.”
I bit my lip. “What about the Feds?”
“What about them?”
“Well, you said he was an informant. You don’t think they aren’t gonna come down on me for shooting one of their golden gooses?”
Pyro finished his beer. “We’ll see what happens when we get to that point.”
I stood and began to pace before I started gathering ingredients for dinner. It was my night to cook and I’d decided on boneless pork chops, fresh mashed potatoes and a garden salad.
“It won’t work. The only way I can get out of this scot-free is to start a relationship with him and make it seem like we are special to one another. Then, when the gun accident happens, I can say we were drinking tequila, doing too much coke and decided to play Russian Roulette or something. One in the chamber—he’s trying to teach me how to shoot and I hit ‘em in the gut. Chances are he’ll die slowly but he’ll be unconscious for most of it due to rapid blood loss,” I explained as I seasoned the pork chops with garlic, and my secret ingredient—a mixture of soy sauce mixed with brown sugar for them to marinate in so they would could out extra juicy.
I cleaned the potatoes under hot water and placed them in a large pot to boil. The work was mindless, and I didn’t have to think about the job or anything important. My attention was completely engaged in making a delicious meal.
“That still calls for preparation and planning not to mention you being in that fucker’s arms. I don’t want him to touch you, to kiss you, to put his cock inside you. I don’t want him to ever desecrate your body. You’ve been through enough. The job is to kill him—not start a fucking relationship with him.”
Therein lay the problem. It always came down to how would we get rid of Fernando without me having to become romantically involved with him.
“What’s the real issue, Maarten?” I finally asked, using his Christian name. “You’re not afraid I’m going to fall for this sleaze ball, are you?”
“Why wouldn’t you? He’s suave and exotic with that smooth Spanish accent and that killer suntan—”
“He’s not so exotic unless being raised in Mexico makes you exotic. The guy is a quarter Spanish, a quarter Irish and half-Belgian. That’s not really exotic when you think about his parents immigrated to Mexico from Europe. It’s not like he’s a native.” I opened the refrigerator and removed a head of romaine lettuce, a tomato, carrots, and a cucumber.
“You know what I mean. There ain’t nothing exotic about me. I’m just pure redneck from Northern Nevada. You could do a hell of a lot better than someone like me. You’re so fucking beautiful and brave—that’s what has always attracted me to you. I know you’d never take any shit, and I just wanna protect you regardless of the situation. I can’t do shit if you’re in another man’s arms, babe.”
I finished up chopping up the romaine lettuce, and combined the cucumber and carrots I sliced and diced. After chopping up the fresh, firm tomato, I set it to the side on the kitchen counter, and walked over to Pyro.
I sat on his lap and
kissed his lips. “What makes you think you have to be anyone other than who you are? I’m falling for the man right here in front of me—not the tough-as-nails Marine who fought in a bullshit war. It isn’t the cold as ice mercenary who killed for money so he could make a comfortable life for his loved ones. Nor is it the alpha, tattooed biker who would defend his brotherhood and his club with his life. It’s you . . . the man buried underneath all the personas you’ve worn for this crazy world we inhabit. Only you.”
“You’ve got a good heart, baby. Fernando’s life hasn’t been a picnic either. It seems like you actually kinda like the damaged ones and he fits the mold. His parents were murdered because of the Rodriguez Cartel—the first cartel his older brother, Emilio Navarro, was involved in before he decided it was time for a change of management. Fernando was ten years old and his brother was in his mid-twenties. Aztecas Infierno hasn’t been weakened—they’ve grown stronger because instead of killing their competition, they are spilling the goods to the Feds. They work in conjunction with Mexico, take down the cartels, split the money and the drugs yet nothing changes. The streets are still awash with cheap heroin and cocaine.”
I wrapped my arms around Pyro’s neck and inhaled his natural scent. “I know the world doesn’t change. I’m not trying to re-invent the wheel. I vowed I would never be a part of another club and yet . . . here I am. With you. Property of Pyro from the Las Vegas Lucifer’s Saints chapter. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you but we both know what happens to me if I don’t complete my contract.”
“Max and Mags wouldn’t kill you, Mira.”
“No but they would never use me again and that means goodbye to any sort of financial security. I trust you and I know you would gladly take care of me but this isn’t about you, Pyro.” I stood and walked back over to the counter. “I wish I could fuckin’ soak my brain in Clorox and scrub it clean. Hell, I’d get a fuckin’ lobotomy if I didn’t know what happens when you opt for one. I can’t change who I am any more than you can, and financial freedom is very important to me.”
Pyro nodded his head. “I know. I gotta piss and then I’m gonna do a few miles on the treadmill before dinner. Clear my mind, and just maybe I can come up with an alternative plan.”
“Good luck with that!” I shouted after him as I finished preparing dinner.
“Are you nervous?” Estelle wondered in a low voice as we walked past security at Fernando’s club, waving our invitations, and down the bannister toward the dance floor and open bar.
She looked beautiful in a silver silk Chinese formal evening dress with short sleeves, a high collar and a body hugging fit that ended just below the knee. However, the slit up the side to mid thigh was more than enough to make up for any sort of modesty the dress was meant to convey. Paired with turquoise high heels and a matching clutch bag courtesy of Michael Kors, the color combination set off her brilliant olive complexion.
“Of course. All I keep hearing about is ‘Fernando is this’ or ‘Fernando is that.’ Frankly, I’m dying to meet the guy in person just to see if any of the rumors are true,” I said as I grabbed a fluted glass of champagne from a waiter.
Estelle grabbed one too and sipped. “Mmm, pretty good but it certainly isn’t Dom Perignon or Cristal. Damn, maybe Maarten should have gotten us the VIP tickets.”
“Believe me, we won’t need them,” I replied as the stunning hazel-green eyes of Fernando landed on me.
It felt like he’d been waiting for me all this time to make an appearance and the sudden feeling of being just several feet away from the man I was supposed to kill threw me for a loop.
His photographs didn’t do him justice, and they sure didn’t radiate the pure sexual attraction he had oozing from his pores like the strong, heady cologne he wore. It should have been offensive but it was a mixture of the ocean breeze, sandalwood, coconut and mint. It was seductively powerful instead of nauseating.
“What should I do? Do you want me to go to the bar?” Estelle questioned, her lips close to my ear so no one could hear or lip-read what she’d said.
I shook my head as he headed in our direction with the litheness of a panther and the confidence of predator that knew he sat at the top of the food chain.
“Ms. Clarkson, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Fernando grabbed me by my bare shoulders with gentle hands and kissed me on one cheek before his lips browsed the other.
I suddenly felt underdressed and similar to a hired skank in the scarlet lace cocktail dress I wore with it’s flimsy spaghetti straps, and the way it molded to my feminine form. It accentuated my breasts and firm ass, my slim arms and perfectly proportioned legs. It barely came to mid-thigh, and although I would have loved to have paired knee-length boots with the ensemble, a pair of silver Calvin Klein sling backs with fuck-me heels made the outfit more alluring.
As usual, I’d kept my makeup to a minimum. Sheer cover up, smoky eyes heavily outlined with black eyeliner, mascara and lips covered in lip-gloss with a sheer berry-red tint. I looked young, and accessible yet there was a hint of innocence about me that had never been compromised or corrupted even though I’d spent the first twenty-plus years of my life with the White Knights MC. No one would ever know the kind of life I’d lived by just looking at me because I kept my secrets firmly beneath the surface.
“Mr. Navarro, the pleasure is all mine. I’m delighted I was able to get an invite to such an . . . exclusive event.” I smiled before sipping delicately from my champagne.
“Well, I always try to accommodate my friends and Maarten is one of the few bastards in the Saints that I can actually stand. He’s got a good heart but he’s a soldier. Loyal to the very marrow of his bones, and I can respect a man like him—one with principles.”
“Cut the shit, Fernando.” Estelle glared at him with cold brown eyes. “You were lucky my brother didn’t kill you after what happened between us.”
All the sudden, I felt completely and totally out of the loop.
What had happened between them?
“Yes, a very unfortunate yet torrid love affair, Estelle. However, I did as I promised and I had your hymen restored by the best surgeon in L.A. Does your current beau question whether he is the only one who has ever had you sexually?”
“That’s not the point and you damn well know it. I just came to watch over Mira and make sure she doesn’t fall for the same cheesy tricks you used to get me into bed. You’re a fucking rattlesnake hiding inside the package of the perfect gentleman. You certainly had me fooled,” she said with bitterness and anger apparent in her tone and body language.
“It’s going to be a new year in less than three hours, my dear. Why don’t we let bygones be bygones?” Fernando smiled, displaying perfectly straight, capped teeth. “I had one of men take the liberty of inviting your lover here tonight. He’s over there by the bar waiting for you. Meanwhile, there is much for Mira and me to discuss . . . alone.”
Estelle opened her mouth but I cut her off rudely with, “I’m older than you and believe me when I say you have no idea what kind of life I’ve lived. I don’t need a chaperone. Go keep your lover company while I entertain Fernando.”
She nodded before she walked toward the bar where Chemist sat, a seat next to him free as she immediately sat down beside him. He wrapped a tattooed arm around her waist lovingly. It only served as a reminder of how I wished I was spending this night with Pyro instead of Fernando.
“Mmm, seems like you are much more clever than I originally gave you credit for, Ms. Clarkson,” Fernando said as he wrapped an arm around my waist and led me to the VIP area.
Of course, even in the VIP area, there was a velvet rope partition that 0ne of his bodyguards opened and he led me past the scarlet curtains. They were immediately closed behind us and I faced a comfortable table for two, candlelit with a bottle of Cristal on ice, two champagne glasses, Beluga caviar and miniature sourdough bread slices arranged elegantly. There were also jumbo shrimp on the table on a silver plate surrounding a
silver bowl of Marie Rose sauce.
I sat down after he pulled my chair out for me and scooted it close to the table. He had a lot of hidden strength because although he was athletically built, he lifted my chair as if I weighed nothing. Fernando took his own seat before he reached into the ice bucket, unwrapped the cork and opened a two hundred dollar bottle of champagne like it was nothing. He elegantly filled our fluted champagne glasses to the halfway point before he stuck the bottle back into the bucket.
“Would you care for some caviar? It’s the best, I assure you.” He smiled but there was something cold in his expression that never reached those indescribable hazel-green eyes.
“No, I’m not really a fan since I found out the Beluga sturgeon is close to extinction because the Russians failed to keep their population numbers roughly about to what they were stripping from the sea each year to feed a bunch of entitled, rich assholes’ appetites. Besides, I’m more of a pink caviar fan.”
He stared at me as if I’d grown an extra head. “Pink caviar is cheap. This is the best and true, the whales who make it surely won’t live to see the end of this century but that is the way of the world. It’s Darwinism at its purest form. Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. You should not feel sorry for a species that was too dumb to reproduce at the rate they were being murdered. Their primal instincts should have kicked in but alas . . . it’s almost as if they stopped caring. Perhaps they wanted to become extinct if only just to piss the Russians off.”
I laughed out loud before I sipped from the champagne.
My God, what a difference it made to what was being served downstairs. It had its own distinct melody and taste that seared the taste buds and made them sing a symphony of their own. All from just a sip of expensive bottled French grapes.
“I take it you approve of the champagne selection?”
“What woman wouldn’t?” I answered with a question.
