“No pressure at all.”
“Go,” Tori commanded him, and off they went. For about the first twenty steps he did good, then Tori sensed that he was veering to the left. When the cane stopped scraping and dipped over the curb it confirmed she was correct. Keith realized this and halted.
“Shit.”
“It’s ok, you can use that curb to keep you straight, just take the tip to the edge. Keep going.”
Keith’s steps were slow and calculated. He had to think about every single movement, his entire body tense. There wasn’t a damn person in the world he’d do this for except Vicky. His arm dipped down, he assumed at the curb, and skipped across the tactile pattern in the pavement.
“Ok, we done now?” Keith asked, praying they were. He’d never been so uncomfortable in his life. He was such a fucking idiot for flapping his damn jaw.
“Just gotta cross the street,” she said.
“Vicky, there’s no fucking way. I’ll kill us both.” Keith’s voice shook as his ears took in the torrent of cars whizzing past them. This was it. This was his penance for keeping secrets from his best friend. He was gonna wind up dead today.
“I won’t let you. I promise this is the most terrifying thing you’ll ever do in your life.”
“Gee, way to boost my confidence.” The crosswalk beeped and it said walk, walk, walk, again and again. He started to move, but she yanked him back.
“We don’t trust that,” Vicky said as a car flew by them, running the red light.
“Jesus Christ.” His shirt was sticking to his back, he was so sweaty by now. “I think I just pissed my pants.”
“And that’s why. Listen. Hear that surge to our left? All the other cars are going, so now it’s safe. But wait for the next change. We’ve wasted too much time. Use the change in texture of the paint of the sidewalk to keep you going straight.”
“Ok.” Keith sucked in a breath and nodded.
They waited for the light to change a whole other round. He waited for the surge then Vicky’s nudge, and off they went.
Holy fuckin shit; he was crossing the street and couldn’t see a damn thing. The blood was pumping in his ears so loud he was certain his face was as red as his hair. Finally, somehow, by the grace of God, they made it to the other side. Keith bent over, clutching his chest.
“Terrifying?” Vic laughed like a madwoman.
“Mixed with exhilarating. Holy shit, that was a rush. Better than ecstasy,” Keith teased.
“Hell, I wouldn’t go that far,” Vic shot back.
They repeated the process, going back across the street, and headed for the car.
“We’re at the lot,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“Take a whiff.” Now that she mentioned it, he could smell the food from the nearby restaurant.
“My brain can’t ever stop. I always have to be thinking twenty steps ahead of me, and twenty steps behind. It’s exhausting.” Vic let out a long sigh. “Do you have your camera in your bag?”
“Of course. Do you think I’d leave it in the car for someone to break in and steal?” Keith huffed.
“Now, pull it out and try and take a photo.”
“Vic, I can’t control the settings without—”
“Exactly. Imagine not only having to re-learn every damn thing that you do in life, but also the thing you love the most. How would you set the f-stop when you can’t even see what the light is like outside? How would you frame your subject?” Vic’s voice cracked, and he could hear the tears begin to flow.
Keith pulled off the makeshift blindfold and pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her. She was the strongest damn person that he knew, which is why it was so much harder to bear when she broke.
“I’m so fucking angry. The one thing that I was good at was stripped away from me.” She sobbed into his chest. “I just want my art back. Even if I can’t see it, I need to feel it in my soul, and I’m so exhausted from having to think so much, I can’t even do that.”
“Honey, I’m so sorry I called it a fun challenge. I didn’t—”
She shook her head and pulled back. “You only said that because I’ve said that a hundred times in the past several months trying to remain positive. It’s my damn suit of armor. I’ve fooled everyone. It’s all smoke and mirrors. Reality is, I’m still really pissed.”
“Then use that. Stop aiming for perfection. Use that anger as fuel, and pour it all out onto that canvas.” Keith grabbed her cheeks and wiped her tears while she nodded.
“I’ll try.”
“Do or do not, there is no try.” Keith chuckled.
“Ok, Master Yoda.” Tori snickered.
Keith handed her cane back and looped his arm with hers. “Now, about Amsterdam. I want to know how you got that scar on your bicep.”
Tori sucked in a breath. “Well, it all started with a pimp and three hookers in a bar…”
Keith cut her off, laughing like a hyena. “I love how most of your crazy stories sound like the beginning of a dirty joke.”
“Are you gonna let me tell it or not?”
“A pimp and three hookers, and go.”
“Dude, we’re gonna have to go soon if they don’t get here. Your brother has smoked about a pack of cigarettes waiting. The last thing that we want is for this Jett fucker to come looking for him,” Blaze said as he walked out onto the porch and sat down on the swing next to Scott.
“She texted me. They’re almost here.” Scott’s eyes stayed on the road. Not that he was thrilled with this plan anyway. “I still think it’s a terrible idea to take her. I should just go and do the drop with Chad.” Scott loved his brother but there was no way he was handing him twenty-five grand in cash and trusting that his brother would take it straight to the motorcycle clubhouse without stopping at his dealer’s house first. “Remind me, again, how you convinced me to let her go along?”
“Because you’ve been an overbearing, overprotective asshole this week and your girl needs to let loose and have fun.”
“I feel like I’m taking a sheep into a den of wolves.”
Blaze chuckled. “Blondie is no fucking sheep, man, and you know it.” Scott looked at him and wrinkled his brow. Yeah, Blaze had a point.
“We’ve discussed this. You need Presley and me for muscle, and you can’t leave Blondie here. She’ll have a shit fit.” Scott nodded as Blaze went on. “Once the pass is done, things will chill out and we’ll party. You know these MC’s. They’ll see that we’re legit guys and invite us to hang. That means strippers and more booze than even you can drink.”
Admittedly, he could use some strippers and booze after the week he’d had. He glanced up just as Keith pulled into the driveway in his father’s truck.
“Well, how was it?” Scott asked as Tori and Keith neared the porch.
“It was,” Tori let out a sigh and frowned. “Fantastic!” her face broke into a wide grin, effectively faking him out. “I had a rough start.”
He glanced to Keith who nodded behind her as Tori continued. “I regrouped after lunch, went back and I let it all out. Every bit of anger, sadness and frustration that I’ve been feeling for the past year. I unleashed.” Tori’s eyes watered with tears.
Scott picked her up and twirled. “Baby, I’m so damn proud of you.” He pressed his lips to hers. “I knew you still had it in you.”
“She poured it all out onto that canvas. She’s back. Our girl is back.” Keith beamed.
“I wouldn’t say I’m back. Today was full of emotion. I still have a long way to go, but I’m off to a good start.”
This was a huge hurdle for her to jump. He was so damn happy for her.
“Well, where is it, Blondie?” Blaze asked.
“Oh, it’s drying in his studio. Oils take weeks to cure.” Tori waved her hand. “He’s going to ship it to me.”
“Tell me you at least took a photo.” Scott glanced over to Keith. He was dying to see what she’d created.
“Of course.�
� Keith dug into his bag and pulled out his camera, pulling up the photos on the display. The three guys huddled over the screen as he quickly scrolled through all the images, finally stopping on her painting.
“Damn Blondie.” Blaze let out a whistle. “That’s…”
Scott’s breath caught in his chest. She’d drawn a face with thick, pouty lips on a smoky-grey background. The entire top half of the face, specifically the eyes, were scratched out with frantic, black lines bleeding across the canvas.
“It’s perfect.” Scott rubbed his jaw. The painting spoke volumes. It was dark, angry, twisted, and beautiful.
It was her.
“I got angry. It was fuel.” She let out a heavy breath. “Now, from what I understand, we have a party to go to? I really, really, need to let loose.”
“Then you better go change clothes, Blondie. You need to be a lot higher on the tramp-o-meter for where we’re headed.” Blaze grinned at Scott.
“Slut it up. Got it.” Tori smiled wickedly and headed into the house.
The night air whipped around Tori as she held tight to her man while he maneuvered the motorcycle through the traffic. She inhaled his musky scent mixed with the fumes of the exhaust as the choppers roared in unison. Chad had switched the shifter on one of his old bikes to the right side for Scott. It had been a quick fix and he was having a hard time getting the bike to shift properly without revving. But he was handling the chopper like a pro.
She felt so damn sexy sitting on the back of the bike with her body pressed against him. Distracting him wasn’t smart, but she couldn’t help it. She felt playful. She trailed her fingers across his chiseled mid-section, slipping her hand behind his belt buckle and letting it settle along his v-line.
In case he was missing the message, she pressed her tits into his back, just to toy with him. She laughed in smug triumph when he had to adjust himself on the bike several times. It was working.
Eventually, the bike came to a slow crawl as the group veered off onto what she knew had to be a gravel road in the country, based on the crunch underneath the tires and the absence of traffic. A minute later, she heard clanking metal and crunching gravel—a gate rolling open, she assumed.
The roar of the other four bikes stole her attention as they pulled up alongside Scott.
As Scott leaned back, the weight of the Glock in the back of his waistband pressed into her abdomen. She was thankful he had it and prayed he didn’t need to use it. He always carried, but she was smart enough to know her presence there had him more on guard. She knew damn well Scott wasn't thrilled with this plan; having her there with a bunch of sleazy bikers.
The bikes rolled through the fence, and the metal gate clanked shut. All the engines went to a silent kill.
“So, this is the chapter house?” Tori asked as she slid off the back of the bike. She’d only ever heard of stuff like this on TV shows, and here she was at a motorcycle gang’s clubhouse. She grinned kinda feeling like a badass.
“You bet that sweet ass it is.” Presley’s voice came from behind as she slapped Tori’s ass. “Listen, sweetie, you're gonna wanna play the part here,” she whispered and slid her hand up Tori’s back, unclasping her bra.
Tori nodded then slipped out of the bra and hung it from the handlebar. Tori had done her best to slut it up like Blaze instructed. She wore tight, jean shorts that showed ass cheek, and now her black tank top was showing a vast amount of cleavage and side boob. The breeze hit her, causing her nipples to come to full attention.
“When in Rome.” Tori shrugged and giggled back to Presley.
“Pres, you've been aching to do that all week, haven't you?” Scott chuckled.
“What? Me? I'm just admiring the artwork here.” Presley’s tone feigned innocence, making Tori smile. Suddenly, Tori jolted with a giggle as small hands grabbed her tit and gave it a squeeze.
Woah, hand on tit.
“Oops.” Presley laughed as she slung her arm around Tori. “I’m going to get you away from him and fuck you one day,” Presley teased—loud enough for Scott to hear.
A wicked grin crept across Tori’s face.
Play the part, huh?
Tori turned, wrapped her other arm around Presley, and planted her lips onto hers. Presley sucked in a shocked breath and Tori used that opportunity to let her tongue slip between those soft lips.
Damn girls could kiss so good. Presley was no exception. She wrapped her body around Presley's, lifting a leg up her side, grabbing her tit the way Presley had just done. Tori pulled away, satisfied. and reached out her hand.
She waited for Scott’s arm, but it never came. Blood rushed to her ears.
Shit, did I take it too far?
Nobody was moving, speaking or even breathing, it seemed, for several seconds. It was like they all disappeared in a poof and she was standing all alone.
Crickets.
Finally, the entire group hollered in unison.
“Oh shit!” Chad, she believed.
“Daaaayum,” that one came from Blaze.
“That’s my Vic. Slutty to the core,” Keith’s sassy voice.
“My lord, I believe Shey is speechless!” Scott shouted, laughing along with everyone.
“Are you blushing, Pres? Your cheeks are on fire!” Blaze laughed.
“I uh…well…I uh,” Presley stammered.
“You goddamn, filthy mess.” Scott laughed and slapped the cold metal poles of her cane in her hand and Tori flicked her wrist, opening it with a flair—tapping it into the gravel for good measure.
Scott flung his arm around his girl and pulled her in close, tousling her hair. He kissed her forehead just to let her know not only was he not pissed that she kissed Presley, but that he was now extremely turned on.
As he adjusted the growing erection in his pants, he noticed that their arrival had brought several bikers out of the clubhouse. Others came walking over from some picnic tables near a large grill and a bonfire.
“Chad Harris! I sure hope you’re bringing me my money, or I may have to take what I'm owed from you and your pretty ladies here. Part of me hopes you come up short, because, damn, these ladies are fine.” The crowd of bikers parted, exposing an overweight man with shaggy, black hair, his long beard touching the top of his pot belly. “Especially little miss Blind Annie Oakley here.”
Scott clenched his fist. He recognized that voice. Jett, the biker from Chad's shop that had threatened to rape Tori, sauntered over, leading the gang. Scott wanted to tear him apart limb by limb.
Instead, Scott reined in his temper, stiffened, and positioned himself between the bikers and Tori. They’d have to come through him to get to her, and he’d gleefully take on every last one of them if they dared try. Scott opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Blaze came up and slapped Scott on the back, chuckling.
“Easy, killer; you’re really gonna love this. Just watch,” Blaze whispered in his ear.
Blaze puffed out his chest and marched straight toward Jett. “Easy there, Fat Elvis! We didn't come here to talk to you! We want to talk to the man in charge,” Blaze shouted. “And you can keep that nasty cock of yours in your pants. I doubt this blind chick could miss your big fat ass!”
Jett didn’t look pleased. “What the fuck you say, smart-ass?” Jett came barreling towards Blaze, pulling a long knife. Blaze shot forward at lighting speed and gripped Jett’s wrist, spinning and then flipping Jett flat on his back in the gravel. Blaze pressed his boot heel into Jett’s chest and lifted the knife. It was now Blaze’s possession.
What the fuck, Blaze?
Scott kept his hand behind him, gripping the handle of the Glock, ready to draw. Why the hell did Blaze fucking instigate shit?
“At ease!” A booming shout echoed across the courtyard.
Everyone—bikers and guests—stopped and turned their head as the voice flooded Scott with a wave of nostalgia.
That voice. I know that voice.
Blaze turned, foot still on Jett’s ches
t and looked at Scott with the biggest shit-eating grin.
Could it be?
Scott narrowed his eyes, peering into the distance. Standing in the doorway of the brick clubhouse was a mountain of a man. Long, scraggly beard and hair to match—chest so big it looked like he had a barrel tucked under his shirt. The shadowy figure moved forward, the courtyard lights finally illuminating his wrinkled, rugged features—revealing his identity. Master Chief Carlson, just as Scott suspected. He was Scott and Blaze’s SEAL instructor and team leader through BUD/S and two tours before retiring.
No. Fucking. Way.
Both Scott and Blaze instinctively snapped to attention. “Yes, Chief!” they yelled simultaneously, giving respect where respect was due. Scott remembered Chief telling him right before he retired that he was gonna get a chopper and ride the backroads of USA. Apparently, that entailed starting up a motorcycle gang as well.
Chief passed through the courtyard in just a few strides. When he got to the group, he towered above Scott, looking like a biblical comparison of Goliath versus Samson. Chief had at least four inches on Scott, and Scott was tall.
Scott’s gaze swept upward to the man, his eyes wide as his superior scowled. Slowly, Chief’s jagged features morphed into a wide grin.
Chief bear-hugged Scott, lifting him off the ground. This man was the only person other than his father that ever truly made Scott feel miniscule. The man was an absolute beast. Chief plopped Scott back on the ground, forcing him to grip Chief’s arms to keep balance with his prosthetic.
Chief glowered, his mouth curling into a frown. “Yeah, I heard you got yourself a paper cut. I also heard you were being a little bitch about it for a while,” Chief bellowed, crossing his arms across his chest.
Smoke and Mirrors: (Fire and Fury Book Two) Page 25
