Walk Through Fire

by Kristen Ashley

  I thought this even knowing there would be consequences from seeing him with another woman.

  But I’d deal with them if they happened too.

  What I hoped was that in the next two days, I’d actually find him.

  If I didn’t, I’d have to go to Chaos. I’d have to go to Ride, the store or the garage, and look for him, ask after him.

  Or, God I hoped not, the Compound.

  But if that happened, it would.

  And that, too, I’d deal with when it did.

  Night one was a bust but I wouldn’t give up.

  I’d come back for night two.

  This thought made me sigh as I made my way through the bikes, trucks, and other vehicles parked outside the camp areas. Apparently, going to Wild Bill’s was like riding a bike since I remembered to make note of landmarks that would lead me back to my SUV in that sea of vehicles.

  Back then, Logan had taught me to have that care.

  Therefore, twenty years later, I had that care and walked right to my car.

  I beeped the locks and had a hand to the handle when I heard, “Lookin’ for me?”

  When that deep, coarse voice came at me through the dark, my body became paralyzed, my eyes glued to my hand on the handle.

  Then it kept coming at me.

  “Bitch, followed you the last forty-five minutes. Reb got in touch. Told me you hit Scruff’s.” On the next, the voice was nearer. “You’re lookin’ for me. So tell me what the fuck you want so you can quit lookin’ and I can quit lookin’ at you.”

  Slowly, I turned, my head going back automatically because I felt him close and I knew what close to Logan meant.

  I was five-seven.

  He was six-one.

  He towered over me, or at least that’s what it always felt like because he wasn’t only tall, he was also a big guy with a big presence.

  And right then, it felt like that, especially since his big presence was an angry one.

  His face was in shadows, I could barely see it.

  But I could feel him.

  And I could smell him.

  God, I could smell him.

  He didn’t wear cologne or aftershave. His scent was all his. And I remembered lying in our bed holding his pillow to me, my face shoved into the sheets, taking him in after I’d made him walk away.

  His scent hadn’t changed. Not even a nuance.

  Smelling it without warning felt like walking unsuspecting into the street and having a truck slam into you. And that feeling was so strong it was a wonder my body didn’t go careening through the trucks and bikes, slamming into them, shattering every bone.

  He moved forward so he was in my space, the smell strengthened and my body tightened to guard against it.

  “Woman, after all this time, whatever shit you gotta hand me, fuckin’ do it,” he ordered irately. “You got two seconds to spit it the fuck out. You don’t, you won’t get another chance, and you know I’ll make it that way. So this is your only shot. Take it or get in your fuckin’ car and get your ass outta my world.”

  I stared into the shadows of his face, wishing with everything that I could see it.

  Apparently, I did this for two seconds because Logan bit out, “Right. See nothin’s changed. Weak. Now get your ass…” he dipped his face to mine, “gone.”

  And when he did, I got up on my toes and kissed him.

  It was totally crazy.

  But I also totally couldn’t help it.

  He smelled so fucking good.

  And he was Logan.

  Close. Right there. His face in mine.

  He jerked away, muttering a disgusted, “What the fuck?”

  But the words or their tone didn’t penetrate.

  I smelled him and I’d had a taste.

  I was gone.

  I lifted both hands to either side of his head, yanked him down to me, and went back in, going for it, giving it my all. Even when his fingers clenched painfully into my hips pushing them back to set me away, I held on tighter and shoved my tongue between his lips.

  It touched his, just that, just a touch, and then I cried out into his mouth when I found my back slammed into my SUV.

  But it wasn’t his way to get me to let him go.

  No.

  His head slanted and he forced my tongue out of his mouth when his invaded mine.

  And that was when I was gone.

  I was already gone but right then there was nothing to me.

  Nothing at all.

  Except my hands on Logan’s head, his body pressing mine into my car, his smell all around us, his tongue plundering my mouth, all this exploding fire everywhere.

  He drove a hand into my hair, twisting it, the pain bristling over my scalp and I cried out into his mouth again even as I arched deeper, pressed closer, willing, like it had always been, to give it all because he was Logan, he got it all.

  But also because I knew I’d get it back a hundredfold.

  He swayed us forward so his other arm could lock across my back and he kept at my mouth as I rolled way up on my toes, pushing deep, wrapping my arms around his neck, consumed by the kiss and not giving that first fuck.

  I was ready to ride it out.

  No, I needed to ride it out.

  No matter where it went.

  He broke away and that was when my hand went into his hair, fisting tight in protest.

  “That what you want?” he growled, his voice lower, the abrasion physical, and I shivered with delight.

  I wasn’t entirely certain of the question but I answered a breathy, “Yes.”

  “That’s what you want,” he repeated, a statement this time, seeking confirmation.

  “Yes, Logan.”

  He let me go but took my hand, his skin rough against my fingers. The feel of it back after all these years washed through me and I fancied I remembered every time, in quick succession, from the first night we met to the night before I broke it off when he’d taken my hand and guided me somewhere.

  Lost in it like I’d always been lost in it, I followed blindly.

  Attached to Logan, I’d go anywhere.

  Even if we were walking through fire.

  He wended his way through the vehicles, quickly, strides long, and I rushed to keep up, my fingers curled tight around his just in case he got any ideas of letting me go.

  Finally, he pulled me down the side of an RV I knew was part of the Chaos zone, stopped at the side door, and didn’t let me go as he dug some keys out of his pocket.

  He inserted one, unlocked the door, yanked it open, and tugged me up the steps as he shoved the keys back in his pocket.

  I had the barest moment to look around and be stunned at the utter opulence of the place as he stopped us inside and locked the door.

  Total mega-platinum-rock-star-on-the-road-mobile, including manly mess, like he didn’t give a shit about the opulence to the point it was in your face just how much he didn’t care that this thing likely cost more than many people’s homes.

  I was unable to get over this because Logan finished with the door and was pulling me through the space to the back.

  And the bed.

  He hauled me in and around so I was back to the bed, facing him.

  Then he tugged my jacket down my shoulders.

  “Logan—” I began, my voice holding a tremor, saner thoughts seeping in and forcing themselves to be noticed.

  I had no choice but to cry out yet again when his hand shot up and in my hair, cupping the base of my skull and jerking me to him so powerfully, I collided with him, unable even to get up a hand to cushion the impact.

  “We do this, you don’t talk except to say ‘fuck me harder,’” he ordered roughly.

  Those never-forgotten tingles shot out from my inner thighs.

  I opened my mouth, my hand drifting up in order to force it between us when he bent his head slightly, his eyes—those brown eyes I loved so damned much—not warm but severe and piercing.

  “And you do not fuckin�
�� ever say my name again,” he whispered sinisterly.

  Yes, saner thoughts were prevailing.

  And the biggest one of those was that this was not right.

  His mouth crashed down on mine and his scent assaulted me and it again was right.

  Absolutely.

  I tore at his Chaos cut, forcing it down his arms.

  He broke free of my mouth to yank off his thermal, then put a hand in my belly and shoved me onto the bed.

  I took in the wall of his chest, its dark hair dusting across his pecs and down his six-pack, his upper body wide, his abs cut, his arms big and defined, all of it powerful, and I went for my belt.

  He yanked off my boots.

  Since I’d undone my belt and fly, he went after my jeans next and they were gone. My sweater went up as he put his hands to the hem at the same moment he put his knee to the bed beside me, joined me, and the sweater was gone.

  I felt a moment of joy when the weight of his body hit mine and then felt something else that was still joy but a lot more of it when his mouth hit mine.

  The years melted away and we went at each other like we always used to go at each other. Every day, sometimes more than once, sometimes if we had the time all day.

  But there was a difference.

  This was frantic.

  Hungry.

  No.

  Starved.

  Everything I could take I did with hands and mouth and teeth and tongue, rabid for it, pushing him to his back for better access and going all in. Eventually separating from him only enough to yank at his belt so urgently, his hips left the bed.

  “Jesus, fuck,” he muttered, but I knew that tone. I’d heard it before.

  He was gone too.

  And I was going to obliterate him a different way.

  I tugged his jeans down until his hard, thick cock bounded free and God, God.

  There were a lot of beautiful things about Logan Judd and one of them was the perfection of his dick.

  I missed everything about Logan Judd.

  Including that.

  But there it was, inches away, so I wasted no further time.

  I bent low and glided the tip of my tongue along the underside, hearing his groan, looking up and seeing nothing but the underside of his jaw, his head digging back into the pillow.

  He liked that.

  I quit fucking around and took him in.

  All in.

  “Jesus… fuck,” he groaned.

  I blew him, just like he liked it, exactly like he liked it—definitely like riding a bike, I remembered it all and gave it to him.

  I took him there, in woefully little time, and he communicated this to me by shifting away and taking over. Coming up on his knees, catching my eyes, his still severe and piercing but also fired and glorious, shoving a hand in my back and pushing me face-first into the pillows.

  He moved and I felt my panties yanked down to my thighs. The tingles gone, my whole body was quivering in anticipation, my moans muffled against his soft sheets.

  I moaned again when he shoved my legs apart and I felt my panties stretched tight, biting into my flesh.

  Then he drove in and he was mine again.

  Mine.

  “Yes, baby,” I whimpered, overwhelmed, undone, simultaneously feeling joy while burning with desire, my fingers clenched into the pillow and I reared back in welcome and demand.

  His fingers grasped my hips and kept me stationary as he pounded in.

  “Oh God, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me harder,” I begged, fighting against his hold at my hips so I could participate as he rammed hard, fast, God… God…

  Deep.

  My chest stayed down but my head jerked back and I tipped my ass as high as I could, took it and kept taking it until I came apart, the pieces of me flying as I exploded with a succession of sharp cries that led to panting moans.

  And he kept at me.

  The pieces drifted back and I smelled him on the sheets, felt him thrusting inside, gloried in having him back, and tried to push up to my hands to help take him there.

  “Down,” he growled.

  “But—” I started.

  One of his hands left my hip and moved to my back, shoving in to keep me where I was.

  “Stay the fuck down,” he bit out.

  I stayed down and stilled, the pieces of me drifting started shooting together as I took his thrusts and finally felt his thrusts.

  A different burn assailed me as his noises came and I knew he was close.

  Then he came, pouring himself inside me, holding me still and in position to be able to do nothing but take it.

  He jerked into me as his orgasm had hold over him, then he buried himself to the root, staying there.

  I remained still.

  As I was beginning to fear, he wasted no time pulling out.

  But even in my wildest imaginings, my worst nightmares, what he did next was not something I’d ever expect.

  Not from Logan.

  Not from the man who had my heart.

  Not from the man who’d vowed to me the first time we met that there was never a time I wouldn’t be safe with him.

  Not even after what I’d done.

  I felt him leave the bed and was dropping to my side, reaching blindly for the covers, listening to the sounds of his buckle being done up.

  I just got the covers over my lower half, my torso up on my elbow, my head turned to him, when I felt the heavy weight of my jeans slap against my body.

  My eyes shot to his.

  “You got what you wanted, bitch. Now get the fuck out.”

  I stilled completely as horror and agony slashed through me.

  Logan did not still.

  He bent to snatch up his thermal, turned, and prowled out into the hall.

  I stared at the space he’d occupied as it belatedly came to me what just happened.

  He’d fucked available pussy.

  I threw it at him.

  He took it.

  Now he was done.

  This came with the territory for a biker. Groupies hanging around for that sole purpose. They didn’t care who or where or how. They got off on it.

  I’d known a few of them, hung with them, shot the shit with them, and it was my considered opinion that they enjoyed it more than the guys, the notches they earned on their proverbial belts. They didn’t want commitment. They wanted fun and someone to let loose with and a fabulous orgasm (if they could get it).

  I was not a biker groupie. I was an old lady. I wanted what the groupies had but I also wanted the whole package.

  Though, I had to admit, I’d admired them. They didn’t care what anyone thought. They lived their lives in the pursuit of what they wanted and anyone who looked down on that could go fuck themselves.

  But, again, I was not a biker groupie.

  Yet Logan had just fucked me like one.

  No.

  Worse.

  And it was worse because he didn’t even show me the respect of a cuddle or a kiss or offering me a shot after he’d done it.

  What just happened was a revenge fuck.

  And I’d walked right into it.

  Mortified, shocked, wounded, I yanked up my panties and slid out of his bed slowly but I didn’t take my time dressing.

  I hurried.

  I did this thinking the Logan Judd I knew didn’t have that in him.

  Men needed to earn his respect.

  Women, that was another matter.

  My mom, my sister, old ladies, biker groupies, whoever—he gave them respect. It wasn’t earned. It was given. He did not judge. He was never a dick, much less a complete asshole.

  As Reb said, I’d obliterated him.

  And I knew I had.

  But I didn’t deserve that.

  No woman deserved that.

  But he’d treated me like that.

  I pulled on my jacket and headed down the hall, moving swiftly, completely forgetting why I even came to the rally, needing to get out of there before th
e wound opened any further and I bled out on the floor of Logan’s tricked out RV.

  I knew he was still there when I made it to the front. I felt him but I also saw him out of the corner of my eye.

  But I went right to the door.

  “I don’t see you again,” he stated when I was lifting my hand to open the door. “Ever again. Hear?”

  Hear?

  Agony.

  I turned to him and it felt like I was moving in slow motion, that simple movement taking years.

  And then I saw him.

  Yes, craggy.

  No scars.

  No beer gut.

  Just beauty.

  An older version of my Logan but with cold eyes and a curl of distaste on his full lips.

  “You’ll never see me again,” I whispered.

  His eyes stayed locked to mine as he clipped, “Good.”

  I felt my eyes brim with tears but I didn’t move. I stood there staring at the man I’d loved and lost and mourned for twenty years but I did it knowing I hadn’t even begun to mourn him.

  Because my love for him had never died.

  Now the mourning would start.

  Because he’d just killed it.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?” he bit out.

  “For killing it,” I replied.

  I saw his heavy, dark brows shoot together but that’s all I saw before I turned to the door, unlocked it, yanked it open, and raced down the steps, the tears flowing, the pain growing and spreading.

  Blindly I ran in the direction of the Trench, turned the corner that would take me out of the Chaos zone and ran straight into something solid.

  I stepped back, looked up, and stared in horror at Tack Allen.

  He also stared at me before his face went hard and he growled, “Fuck me.”

  He hated me and even in those two seconds I knew it because he didn’t hide it.

  Not again.

  I couldn’t take this again.

  I turned, nearly ran into the redhead at his side who I distractedly saw was not Naomi but was looking at me curiously right before her head jerked visibly, her eyes got wide, and her mouth opened.

  I darted by her and raced into the night.

  Tyra

  “Do you know her?” I asked.

  My husband didn’t answer.

  He started stalking (stalking, not walking) quickly toward High’s RV.

  “Tack!” I snapped, dashing after him. “Do you know that woman?”