Dragon's Burn

by Brooke Warren

  I catch a glimpse of the sign for Reaversville, letting me know I've crossed the city line. Ten minutes later I pull into the parking lot of Reaversville Sports Bar. Poppy suggested we meet up versus me picking her up. Smart girl. I can appreciate her hesitation to have me knowing where she lives. I’m no model citizen, and she’s intelligent enough to recognize it.

  I'm a little early, so I shoot her a text letting her know I'm here. The hostess is all smiles when I walk through the door, her gaze running over me, calculating her chances of getting me in bed with her. Instead of entertaining her curiosity, like I normally would, I ignore her flirtatious gestures and the extra sway to her hips as she guides me to an empty table.

  “Your server will be right with you.” She bats her eyes and lingers longer than appropriate.

  “Thanks.” I pick up my menu , dismissing her. When she finally gets that it's not going to happen, she huffs and walks off.

  “Hey, suga. What can I get ya to drink?”

  A plain woman with stick-straight brown hair, hiding behind a pile of makeup, has replaced the hostess.

  “I’m waiting on someone else. I’ll order after they get here.” I notice the same sparkle in her eyes as the hostess and again ignore it.

  “Sure thing,” she croons and disappears.

  It's not a large establishment, but they have put some money into it considering how many flat-screen TVs are hanging up all over the place. However, they should’ve spent the money upgrading the plain brown tables and cracked red leather booths, a clear indication of how many asses have moved in and out of these seats over the years. Since it's a Monday night, the crowd seated for dinner is relatively small, but the bar is slap full. Must be the regulars.

  As soon as my gaze finds the front door, in walks Poppy. Damn. She is gorgeous. My dick twitches, enjoying the light green and pale-yellow dress hanging on her tight curves. She scans the room until finally catching sight of me.

  “Hey,” she greets, coming up to the table and pulling out the chair across from me. I pick up a hint of nervousness.

  She’s wearing minimal makeup, not that she needs it to begin with. Her turquoise eyes shimmer bright, reminding me of lush tropical waters. She tucks a strand of her wavy hair behind her ear, a pink flush taking over her cheeks, which are speckled with pale freckles. Full lips pull into a shy smile. I want to know if she’ll taste like the berry scent I pick up or exotic.

  “What can I get you to drink?” The waitress seems less excited now than she did the first time she stopped by.

  “I'll have water, please.”

  I catch the small scoff coming from the waitress. She isn't even looking at Poppy and standing way too close to me.

  “Is there a problem?” I love how her eyes widen with shock and confusion, unsure if I heard the noise she made or if she did something else to offend me.

  “Ah, no,” she mutters.

  “Good. I'll have water, too. Next time you come over, please respect my personal space, and when my date orders something, look at her, not me.”

  The waitress’s mouth gapes, face flaming with embarrassment. I half expect her to deny what she’d done but she scurries off instead.

  “Looks like you’ve done that a time or two?”

  “Which part? Ordering a drink or pointing out someone's lack of manners?” I give her a sarcastic smile.

  She snorts and shakes her head. She’s not wrong. This isn't the first time I've had to set things straight with women, but it is the first time while on a date. I don't date, preferring to keep myself unattached and not give anyone the wrong impression that I may be interested in something more. Plus, moving around as much as I have, there has never been any point.

  But with Poppy, I’m willing to make exceptions.

  The waitress comes back with our drinks and manages to stay a foot away from me. We place our orders, and a comfortable silence settles over the table.

  “No leather vest tonight?” Poppy asks.

  “I’m. . .off the clock.”

  “Interesting.” Her head tilts to the side. “So basically, there are two of you. The one who wears the leather vest and the one who doesn’t. Tell me, which guy is the real you?”

  I blink a few times; her question throws me off. She’s intuitive. The same question she’s asking me is the same one I asked myself while staring at light grey walls for 180 days. And I keep asking myself that question. I mean, the club is my life, but without my cut on, no one would know that part of me. I could be anyone I want to be. And there lies the problem, who am I without the patch? Or the club?

  I’ll find out soon. New area, new life, and best of all—freedom.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not. Don’t worry. And to answer your question, I’m still figuring it out.” It’s not a lie, but divulging any more information would mean opening areas of my life she doesn’t need to know.

  “I can respect that. I’m experiencing something similar.” Her eyes glaze over, staring at a spot somewhere behind me, lost in thought. Selfishly, I wish I could see what she’s thinking, the secrets she’s hiding.

  She blinks a few times, pulling herself out of her daydream. Pink blooms over her cheeks, followed with a bashful smile. I can tell she didn’t mean to space out. Until now, I’ve only seen the hard edges wrapped around her. This side of her, the softness, is what I was afraid of. And now, I’m more intrigued than before.

  Our food makes its way to the table, and I spend the rest of dinner coaxing information out of her. I find it addicting, I want to know everything I can about her. I’ve no doubt this will come back to fuck me later, that’s the way my life works. For now, I’m going to enjoy a half-assed meal with a beautiful woman.

  Poppy

  “I'll take two scoops of the cookies ‘n cream, and can you mix in some cherries?”

  “Sure.” The girl behind the counter smiles, but her eyes are on Ryu.

  I step up to the register and wait to pay for my ice cream. I take in Ryu, who’s bent over peering at all the flavors. I also notice both girls working look like they’ve stopped breathing when he stands back up to give them his order. He definitely has that effect on the female population without even trying.

  I catch myself drooling, so I busy myself with the menu on the counter. I can’t believe I’m on a date with Ryu! Let’s be honest, I wasn't holding my breath for him to reach out to me. I had even prepared a full ‘I told you so’ speech for Deb.

  When my phone went off last night, I was half tempted to ignore it, thinking it was Deb updating me on her and Bobby. After the shock wore off, and I was able to focus on the words, I couldn’t help the zings of excitement in my stomach, knowing he was thinking about me enough to text me. He’s someone I shouldn't be getting involved with, but my hormones are driving the bus at the moment.

  “That will be $6.75.”

  “I'll pay for his, too.” I grab the cup from the girl and immediately take a bite. I can barely hold back my moan.

  “You don't have to pay for mine.”

  The warmth in his eyes settles deep inside me, causing the already present heat in my belly to simmer and move lower. Between his gaze and beautiful smile, I find myself blanking on words. He steps closer to me, and even though there is a strong, sugary-sweet scent in the air from the ice cream, his spiced musk takes hold of me.

  I blink a few times, waiting on words to form.

  Ah, there we are.

  “It's no big deal. You paid for dinner, and since this was my idea, it's on me.” I smile, trying to keep my voice even. I hand the girl behind the counter my debit card, giving me and my body temporary relief from this crazy attraction I have to him.

  “There’s a park across the street we can walk through,” I suggest, heading out the door before he has a chance to respond. He catches up to me, and together we cross the street and into the park. It's mostly here for decoration. There’s a small pond filled with a few fish, a
family of ducks, and a few gazebos spread out around it. Do I think it enhances the area? Not really. But someone with money donated it to the city in honor of a family member.

  Stepping into the closest gazebo, I’m very much aware that this is the first time we are completely alone together.

  Yep, just the two of us.

  Sitting here in the dark.

  No one else around.

  Trying not to show how nervous I am, I take a seat and focus on the delicious goodness in my cup. Much to my surprise, he sits down close but not right next to me. I don't know whether to be grateful that he's giving us some space, or mad he’s putting space between us.

  I peek at him through my lashes, wishing I could be as relaxed as he appears to be. He’s all slouched against the bench, legs spread like he owns the place. But I've noticed that about him, the air of confidence when he walks into a room. He doesn't command everyone's attention, doesn't expect it either, yet somehow, he gains it.

  Thinking back on all our conversations, I find I don't know much about him compared to what he’s managed to pull out of me. I think it's time we remedy that.

  “I know I told you earlier, but thanks for dinner.”

  “Thank you for the company.”

  The corner of his mouth pulls up before taking another bite of his dessert. I watch with fascination as his lips wrap around the spoon. Dear sweet baby. . . I need to get myself in check. I stare into my own cup, wishing the cold from the ice cream would dull the heat inside me.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “I thought about all the topics we’ve talked about so far, and it’s become apparent you know more about me than I do of you.”

  He stops mid-bite and flicks his eyes to me. “What do you want to know?”

  What do I want to know? All of it. I want to know everything about this man, because I feel that the story underneath his cool, calm facade may be broken like mine. It's always easier to put on a front for people than to show them your scars.

  “Well. . . let’s see.” I tap my finger on my lips, making a quick mental list of the things I know versus the things I don't. “I know you’re in a biker club, you’re newish to the area, you want to go to college but unsure about what degree path, and you like to wear plain t-shirts, jeans, and combat boots. Also, you’re very good at braiding hair. I’m a little jealous, actually.”

  He smiles, setting his now empty cup down, then leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I think you have all the basics.”

  “Ya, not even close. You know way more about me. I have an idea of how that happened, but I’ll be nice and not call you out on it.”

  “How is mentioning it not calling me out?” He laughs, the sound vibrating through me, like I’m guitar strings that were thrummed to a tune only he can play. A shiver rolls down my spine, and I find myself wanting to close my eyes and relish in the sound. I swear it gets better every time I hear it.

  “Semantics,” I bat. “Ok, let's start with the basics.”

  “All right. My birthday is March 10th, I’m twenty-three years old, five-foot-eleven, 185 pounds, half-Japanese and half-Caucasian, single and ready to mingle.”

  I bust out laughing. “Did you really just use that cheesy ‘single’ line?” I double over, my sides starting to hurt from laughing so hard. Taking a few breaths, and fan away the tears in my eyes.

  “Whew. Not what I was expecting.” I snort and shake my head. “My idea of a basic question is telling me where you grew up and how you came to be here.”

  “Ah, you want to dig into my past and have me spill all my secrets.”

  “If you’re calling them secrets, then I definitely want to hear them.”

  “Let’s see. . .” He’s cut short by the sound of his phone.

  He looks at me like he doesn't know the proper protocol on what to do in a situation like this. Should he answer or not? The phone stops ringing but immediately starts again.

  “You should answer. It may be important.”

  “Doubtful,” he throws out. “Excuse me.”

  He stands up, pulling his phone from his pocket, and walks away to take the call. He’s not completely out of earshot, but he’s talking low enough I can't make out what he’s saying. My curiosity wants to know who he’s talking to and what it’s about. The call ends quickly, and he walks back over to me.

  “Hey, I need to head out. Sorry about this. Can I make it up to you?”

  Just when I was getting used to this other side of him, the carefree and less guarded side, the mask comes down over his face again. I know it’s not directed at me, but it bothers me anyway.

  “No worries. Is everything ok?”

  “I'll walk you back to your car,” he says, dismissing my question. I nod, silence falling between us, but this time it's uncomfortable.

  My car comes into view, and for a fleeting moment I want to grab his hand and drag him back to the gazebo to continue where we left off. But that's not how life works. You can't go back and change the course of an event, you can only move forward, blindfold in place.

  “All right, well, have a good rest of the night.”

  “Thanks. I’ll text you later.” He grabs my hand and pulls me in for an unexpected hug. I cautiously wrap my arms around him and close my eyes, breathing him in.

  With quickly exchanged goodbyes, I slide into my car and head home, analyzing the whole night in my head. By the time I pull into my driveway, I've come up with a list of things I shouldn't have done and things I should’ve said. Is this what other girls do after a date? I’ve never had to deal with this before. It’s exhausting.

  I climb into bed, already anticipating a sleepless night. I shouldn’t be worrying over a guy I barely know, but something about the way he closed himself off, after that call, has me all jumbled inside with nerves.

  Ryu

  I run into the house and grab my cut and bike keys before heading over to the clubhouse. I texted JD and told him I’d meet him there. He doesn't know where I went tonight and when I asked for his car, he gave it to me, no questions asked. That's the kind of relationship we have—to each his own unless you need backup. But I don't doubt he has an idea of what I was going to do, maybe not with who but he’s more observant than he lets on.

  I don't know much about his past, but over the last couple of years I've learned I can trust him as much as I can trust anyone in the MC. My father has ruined my ability to trust someone completely, but I have enough confidence in JD to know he wouldn’t screw me over without provocation.

  I felt like a dick leaving Poppy, but it’s not like I have much of a choice—club first. The timing fucking sucks. I swear it’s like the universe is against me. The one night I do something for myself in a really long time, I end up having to put my shit aside for the club.

  I find an open spot to park and dart inside. Looking around, I expected to find all the members milling about, but there’s only a handful plus Ghost, Ace, Garvyn, and Riggs.

  I know it isn’t to announce the club’s move to Tennessee, so my guess is someone died, or I’m needed for a job. Based on the lack of somber looks, I’m going to go with a job.

  “‘Bout time you showed up,” Ace mocks.

  I don't say a word; just make my way over to the group and stand beside JD, who gives me a quick nod, which tells me he kept his mouth shut about what I was doing.

  “Now that Dragon’s finally decided to grace us with his presence.” Ghost’s snide remark pulls a few chuckles from the group. “I called you all here because we’ve been asked to do a run for the Legion MC Black Hill, and they want it done tonight. Follow Garvyn and Riggs over to their clubhouse for further instructions.”

  No one questions the order. They all turn like sheep being herded and head for their bikes; I follow like the good puppet I am. This job better be fucking worth it. It's not uncommon for us to find out about the rest of the job until we’ve already jumped in with both feet.

  The ride over to Black Hill’s meeting house takes alm
ost an hour and puts us closer to the edge of the Smoky Mountains and closer to Twisted Rebels territory. They’re a rival gang who’s lower in numbers compared to us, but a threat nonetheless. Apparently, Legion and a few other clubs have tried taking over their territory on a few occasions because what they’re sitting on is considered prime real estate. No one’s been successful. Word is they have a couple high stakes people backing them, no one knows who, but any attempts made against them ends quickly.

  If I was Pres, I’d work with them, not try to boot them out. Since they cover a chunk of the Smokies, they’d be the best allies to have when running product from here to Tennessee or into Virginia. But that would be too easy and uncharacteristic for a group of heathens. ‘Let’s make shit more difficult,’ seems to be the preferred modus operandi.

  As soon as the ten of us pull into the parking lot, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There’s an equal number of guys and a few women standing around drinking. All conversations halt when we pull in. We may be on the same side, but they don’t seem to have gotten the memo. They’d have no qualms over taking us out if we even dared look at them sideways.

  Their hangout spot isn't as big as ours, but it's nicer. The metal building looks newer, the Legion logo, three skulls floating above fire, is painted on the side and takes up half the wall. There are a few round metal containers being used as fire pits, and music pours out the doors.

  “Everyone stay here,” Ace orders. He and Garvyn make their way to the door and exchange words with a couple guys standing on either side. A few heartbeats later, they disappear inside.

  “How come we can't go inside? I bet the women in there have the sweetest pussy compared to the shit that hangs around us.” Tazer’s complaint causes a few guys to rumble in agreeance. He’s a newer member, annoying as shit, too, but he hasn’t gotten used to his new reality: we don’t get shit because to everyone else, we are shit.