Blaze: Devil's Nightmare MC: Book 11

by Lena Bourne

  He nods like he understands, his lips curling into a mirthless crooked grin.

  “Lots of things will never get any better,” he says quietly, in a distant sort of voice. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not just fine as they are. Perfect even.”

  “What can ever be perfect about being sick?” I snap.

  Truthfully, his words are exactly what I wanted, needed, desired to hear and they touched me. But we’re not living in the kind of perfect world where they’re actually true. Right now, all I want to do is be home with my foster kitties. That’s perfection. It’s all I really need. I don’t need to be dangled this carrot in the shape of a very desirable guy only so I can once again learn all about the things I can’t ever have.

  “What’s so perfect about not being sick?” he asks. “I think you’re pretty damn perfect as you are. And healthy or not, I’d like to get to know you a whole lot better. So will you stop scowling and smile at me some more instead?”

  He grins widely and this time the mirth touches his dreamy eyes.

  I’m still not sure any of this is a good idea and I’m still not sure how honest he is.

  But he also said the very things I needed to hear—in my heart and in my soul. And that’s something very few people ever have. So it’s not hard to give him the smile he asked for. And wonder of wonders, it’s only a little bittersweet.

  “There you are!” Stormi practically screeches, shattering the moonlit, nighttime silence irreparably.

  Ace is on her heels as she rushes towards us, her long hair an electrified mane around her head.

  “Are you alright?” she asks, giving Blaze a hard sideways glance that suggests he’s done something very bad.

  The reality of it is, he’s done something incredibly good. He’s given me something I’ve never had. And I don’t want to spoil it now, in any way, shape, or form.

  “I’m OK,” I say and slide off the bike. Blaze offers me his arm to help and I gladly accept, even though I can’t bring myself to look into his face. Better to cut this off while the going is good. My legs are slightly more steady, and my body doesn’t feel as heavy anymore. The nausea is gone too, but my heart is flip-flopping in my chest.

  “But I think I should go home now,” I say to Stormi, but mean it for Blaze.

  “Yes, let’s go,” Stormi says, relief the dominant emotion in her voice.

  “I’ll see you around then,” I say to Blaze and it comes out in a barely audible whisper.

  “Tomorrow,” he says hoarsely, then clears his throat. “I’d like to come see you tomorrow.”

  Better to cut it off while it’s still fresh and nice.

  “I’d like that,” I say anyway.

  Stormi already has her arm around my shoulders, and I can feel how anxious she is to lead me away.

  “See you tomorrow then,” I whisper and start walking.

  I can feel Stormi wants to say things, discouraging things, but she’s not doing it and I’m grateful for that.

  Tomorrow will never come. But I want the hope of it to live for as long as it can.

  Blaze

  I’ve been cock-blocked before. What happened last night was ten times worse. No, a hundred. Possibly because my cock wasn’t the one making the decisions last night.

  Problem is, I don’t know what was.

  When I returned to the crowded smoky nightclub, Colt and Brenda both accosted me with questions and warnings. I could’ve dealt with Colt’s snide remarks about how I’ve finally found a woman capable of rendering me speechless, but Brenda’s warnings about Misti’s health were much harder to bear. She had story upon bad story about Misti’s poor heart and I don’t think even she knew exactly why she was telling them all to me instead of enjoying the night in Vegas with Colt. Probably to dissuade me from taking it any further with Misti. Stormi was giving me the evil eye out there in the parking lot, and I’m sure Ace is gonna have words for me on the subject of staying clear of Misti the first chance he gets.

  I didn’t give him the chance to last night. Instead, I left just in case they came back.

  I drove out to the desert, and spent the night lying on the sandy ground still warm from the day's heat, the sky above me awash with starlight, more silver than blue. And for much of the night, I wondered how it can be that a woman can glow with that same light. Pure and cold, yet alive. Maybe it’s because she’s been on the verge of death for so long. Maybe she’s more angel than woman. Or maybe I’ve finally lost my mind thinking all this. That’s been a long time coming.

  By the time dawn started eating up the stars, I had no answers. Just a burning wish to find them, whatever they are.

  Today, I will find them. One way or another.

  Misti

  The sound of loud cat purring wakes me, and right before I rouse fully, I also feel soft, warm, even, furry pressure against the side of my head. But when I open my eyes, both the pressure and the purring are gone. It was just a memory. A very good memory and I’m trying very hard not to cloud it with the hard knowledge of why it will never again be more than that.

  The memory is of Molly, the elderly cat I adopted five years ago. She died last year. Every morning, without fail, she woke me with loud purrs and head bumps. Sometimes she would lick my face too. It was, bar none, the best way to wake up.

  I started fostering kittens when I turned eighteen, and I promised myself I’d never keep any of them, because where would they go if something happened to me? But I made an exception for Molly, because she was so timid and scared of everyone else but me. She was the sweetest cat I’ve ever met, which is saying something since I’ve fostered over a hundred by now.

  I chase away the memories of her last days as best I can, as I sit up in bed. The bright sunlight pouring in through the unshuttered window of my bedroom positively cuts my eyeballs and my head starts pounding the moment I sit up in bed. Is this what a hangover feels like?

  But that’s a ridiculous thought. I had one glass of wine with dinner. I can’t possibly be hung-over.

  Before my procedure, at least three cats would be requiring my attention, but I’m not fostering any right now, since I didn’t know how the operation would go.

  A shooting pain, like I just stepped on a hot knife explodes in the balls of my feet as I stand up. Must be from the high-heeled shoes I wore last night. I’ve never felt this before, but I often watched Stormi massaging her feet after a night out. I take a few limping steps towards the door and by the time I reach the stairs, the pain isn’t as pronounced.

  If Blaze does come to see me today, I won’t be wearing heels. That much I’m certain of. Whether he’ll actually come…I’m not certain of that at all. He sounded serious when he said he’d come by today, but why would he?

  He’s strong and healthy and attractive enough to have any woman he wants. He’s not going to waste his time on sickly little me.

  But I hope he does and that hurts worse than my feet.

  “You slept late,” Stormi says as I enter the kitchen. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, holding a mug of coffee with both her hands, the remains of breakfast for two—scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice, butter, and jam—in front of her. Since our mom is on vacation in Florida, I’m guessing Ace must’ve spent the night.

  I grin. “It was a late night. Fun, but tiring.”

  She doesn’t smile back. Instead, worry flashes across her eyes. “You feel OK though, right? You didn’t overdo it last night?”

  I pour myself a cup of coffee from the half-full pot on the counter and add sugar and milk before replying. Truth is, I felt just fine before that worried look in Stormi’s eyes and the panicked tone in her voice reminded me of all the years everyone—including me—thought I wouldn’t live long. Now my heart is fluttering and my headache is growing worse.

  “I wish you’d stop worrying so much, Stormi,” I say as gently as I can. “I’m growing stronger every day now. And there’s no reason to think my health won’t continue to get better.”

 
; She shrugs and nods, then grins. “I get it. You just want a normal life now. I’ll do my best to stop hovering over you.”

  “Thanks,” I say and grin too. “It’s all I ask.”

  “I don’t think Blaze is the guy for you, though,” she adds, wiping the smile right off my face.

  “And why is that?” I ask sharply.

  She seems taken aback by my tone but recovers quickly. “Well, it’s not him personally. Just the lifestyle and everything that goes with it. It’s not for you. Isn’t there any nice guys at church?”

  “Not really, Stormi. And I’d like a chance to decide if Blaze is right for me, now that I’m able to,” I say. “I’m sure you can understand that. I mean, Ace is right for you, isn’t he? And he’s a biker.”

  “I just—”

  “It probably doesn’t matter either way. I doubt I’ll ever see him again,” I say. “So how about we save this conversation for when it’s needed.”

  I gulp down my coffee, take a piece of buttered toast off her plate and chew loudly, the crunching sound of it the only thing breaking the silence.

  Stormi finally smiles. “Come, I’ll help you pick out an outfit for your date today. Skirts aren’t the best choice for riding. But I think I have lots of clothes that would be just the thing.”

  She sets her cup down and rushes upstairs. I follow more slowly. By the time I reach her bedroom, she has three boxes of clothes open on her bed, denim short-shorts, tank tops, t-shirts, and belts peeking out.

  “None of these fit me anymore, but they’ll be perfect for you.”

  I recognize some of the items from her high school days. Like the cutoff jeans that sent our grandma into a frothing fit every time Stormi wore them, and the washed-out black t-shirt, with the giant kissing lips on the front, which had a similar effect.

  I pick it up and hold it to my chest. “I think I’ll try this one first.”

  And for the rest of the day, I do nothing but try on Stormi’s clothes. My entire wardrobe is made up of sweats and sensible church-going dresses. I never coveted Stormi’s clothes or her lifestyle, but man is it fun to wear a dress that hugs my curves, or shorts that show off my legs.

  By the time the sky outside starts turning a deep orange from the setting sun, I know exactly what I’m going to wear for my date with Blaze. A pair of black leggings, with silver studs along the sides, and a black and white slashed tunic, that hugs my hips, cinches my waist, and is just low enough in the front to be enticing, but not sleazy. I’m pairing it with Stormi’s old bright red, high-top chucks, which are almost brand new since she got them right before she discovered high heels.

  The only trouble is, there is no sign of Blaze.

  “Whatever, we can go have a good time by ourselves tonight,” Stormi says as our eyes lock after a particularly long bout of me staring out the window.

  The sound of a Harley rises in the distance, growing louder and louder, making the whole house vibrate right before it stops right below my window. The doorbell chimes through the house.

  It’s Blaze, it’s gotta be. Ace wouldn’t ring the bell. He has a key.

  I want to run downstairs, and the limitations of my body preventing me from it are much more annoying than they ever were.

  I’m winded as I open the front door.

  Blaze is standing there, outlined in the golden light of the day ending. Even though, it’s only just beginning.

  His eyes are deep and dark, his candy-apple red lips are curled up in a perfectly balanced and his voice is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard as he says, “I thought we could go watch the sunset.”

  “That’s a great idea. I’m ready,” I say, wave goodbye to Stormi over my shoulder and step outside on the porch with him, where he hands me a shiny black helmet.

  “You’ll need this,” he says and chuckles and I take it, my hands shaking.

  He starts walking towards his bike and I follow.

  Disappointment and sadness are flowing out of my body as though someone opened a dam on a fast-flowing river and by the time we reach his bike by the curb none of it is left. Only happiness. Only glorious possibility. Only that singular sensation of dreams finally coming true.

  Misti

  The rumbling and vibrating of his bike beneath me are making me feel like a leaf getting blown hither and thither in strong autumn winds, but my arms are wrapped around his waist, and his body is solid and strong and I know no harm will come to me as long as I hold on to him. How I know it, I have no idea. It’s probably just wishful thinking. But I’ve never much worried about the past or the future, and I’m not about to start now. I know how to live in the moment and I’m loving every second of this one.

  The air is fragrant with the scents of sun baked earth, road dust, flowering roses, magnolias, and hyacinths, all carried on the fresh evening winds as we stop atop one of the rolling hills overlooking the desert. The sun is a giant bright red ball on the far horizon, jagged at the edges as though it’s not actually setting but burning out.

  We dismount and he takes a blue and black checkered blanket from the saddlebags, stuffs it under one arm and he lays the other across my shoulders, gently, the way I touch tiny motherless kittens and it takes all the self-control I have not to melt into that touch. Too fast. Too soon.

  But it’s neither. It’s just perfect.

  He leads me to the very edge of the cliff. His scent—that enticing blend of leather, denim, and warm summer rain I’ve smelled the whole way up here assaults me as he shakes out the blanket and lays it on the ground for us to sit on.

  “You came prepared,” I say.

  He chuckles. “I have some soda and snacks too. But we can save those for later.”

  “Yes, let’s watch the sunset now,” I say and sit cross-legged on the blanket.

  Given the hard rocky ground on this roadside clearing, the only thing the blanket is really good for is keeping the dust off my clothes, but I couldn’t care less about that as he joins me. He’s so close I can feel his strength and his warmth all along my side, and I wish I could just lean on him, but while it was so perfectly natural to hold him tight while we were on his bike, it’d be awkward now.

  “Sunset’s my favorite time of the day,” he says, staring off into the distance where the burning ball is slowly disappearing behind the horizon. The night is rising to meet it, adding hues of pink and purple to the reds and oranges left by the sun.

  “I prefer sunrise,” I mumble, not even sure why I’m being disagreeable. But it’s the truth and I refuse to have any kind of conversation with him that isn’t absolute honesty. Life’s too short for anything else. At least mine was.

  “It’s the dawn, you see,” I elaborate. “I was always so happy to see the dawn. Night scared me.”

  He looks at me from the corner of his eye, and I feel his gaze more than actually see it. Maybe saying all that was a bit too much honesty. Especially for a first date. I really should’ve grilled Stormi about how to act on a date instead of just talking about clothes all day.

  “Because of your…um…your condition?” he asks quietly, his tone matching the cold nighttime wind rising from the valley below.

  I nod and keep my eyes on the distant horizon. Right now, I’d like to trade places with the sun, or just get swallowed by the earth with it.

  “But you’re better now,” he says. “At least that’s what Brenda told me last night.”

  I don’t like the fact that they talked about me after I left. I don’t like to imagine what might have been said. Brenda is my sister’s oldest and best friend in the world, but she was never the nicest person in the world. I doubt she’s changed.

  “Six months ago, I had an operation, which finally fixed the worst of the problem, yes,” I tell him. “But I’ll never be completely cured. And I could relapse.”

  That last part is just a statistical possibility, but also my biggest fear. The one I keep even from myself.

  “But I’m not some sickly waif anymore,” I say more firmly.
“And we can talk about other things.”

  “I understand,” he says in a distant voice and it sounds like maybe he does.

  “I just want to enjoy life now that I’ve been given a second chance, you know,” I add. “I don’t want to dwell on the past or how ill I was.”

  He nods. “Totally. So what do you wanna talk about?”

  How can a simple question be so very difficult to answer?

  My mind is suddenly a completely blank slate, white and pure as a brand new whiteboard.

  “Is Blaze your real name?” I ask, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, then have trouble looking at him, because I’m sure my cheeks are as red as they ever get, which is more like a soft peach color. “I imagine it isn’t, right?”

  He laughs. “My real name’s Carter. But I’ve been called Blaze since I can remember. I got the nickname because of how quick I am about everything. Running mostly, but other things too.”

  “Like with taking girls you barely know on dates?” I ask, smiling at him wryly.

  He grins back. “With you, I wasn’t quick at all. I’ve been thinking about you for months. Ever since the first time I saw you. Remember how I couldn’t take my eyes off you?”

  His words take my breath away and make my heart flutter in a way that has nothing to do with any disease or illness. I feel energized, full of life, even though I can hardly get a full breath of air.

  “Why?” I ask quietly, realizing it’s a very dumb question right after I hear it.

  “You’re striking, I already told you,” he says. “Pure and glowing. I’ve never seen a woman like you. And talking to you is even better than just looking at you.”

  I open my mouth a few times, but no words come out. He laughs.

  “Too much?” he asks, two spots of red appearing on his cheeks. “Like I said, I usually move too fast.”

  I still have no idea what to say.