Faith by Fire (Prodigal Brothers MC Book 1)

by Rose Macwaters

  Logan.

  Yeah, she could forgive Greg, she could forgive God, but she wasn't ready to forgive this man who had the audacity to step into her life, bringing with him hope and danger in equal measure. And he apparently didn't trust her either. Or Frank for that matter, although she was going to have a word or two for her old friend. It was wrong on every level. Sure, she and Logan weren't exactly talking the last few weeks. So she could almost give him a pass for not having texted her or called her to let her know there was another altercation that maybe was related to the threat on her life.

  But Frank should have told her. Unless Logan had asked him not to. Traitor. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “It's nothing. No need to worry about me.” Charlie parked near the back door to her parents’ house and fought the urge to slam the car door on her way out. Logan was probably close enough he'd be able to hear it, and she wasn't willing to let him know how angry she was at him. Not yet. Not until she was sure exactly what she wanted to say. She let herself in and went straight to her old bedroom. She’d been sleeping in the main house for the last couple of weeks. The carriage house felt too isolated, vulnerable. This way her daddy and his rifle stood between her and danger.

  Charlie sat on the edge of her bed and kicked off her sandals before lying flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. The overhead fan whirred lazily, stirring the air, aiding the air conditioning in its constant battle against the humidity. They didn't get to tell her how to feel. She had a right to worry and to express her concerns. She had the right to be afraid. To grieve. He didn't get to tell her how to feel. She didn't need anyone to protect her from her own feelings. If the last three years had taught her anything, it was that she was capable of surviving an incredible amount of pain without losing herself entirely.

  Not entirely. She glanced at the Bible on her bedside table, the one she'd been given on her thirteenth birthday. Closing her eyes, she could picture the whisper-thin pages crisscrossed by yellow, pink, and orange highlighted passages, hearts and flowers drawn in the margins, dates, quick notes about things she was learning. She hadn’t always treated the Book with the respect it deserved, but all of those marks, every single scar in that Bible, were a sign of her desire to learn, to know, to understand the great mystery. No, she hadn't lost herself, but she'd come close to losing something even greater.

  The tears came faster, and Charlie threw both arms over her face as hard sobs wracked her frame. The time had come.

  “Help me,” she whispered.

  Charlie heard the front door open and close, and then her parents’ voices carried down the hallway to her room. She sat up and wiped the last of the tears from her face. It had been a long time since she'd had that kind of cleansing cry. Suddenly she was itching to move. To run. She shook her head with a chuckle. She hadn't felt like going for a run in years. Not since that morning. Not since Greg. Without giving herself time to change her mind, Charlie quickly changed into running clothes and dug her old trainers out of the closet.

  She wasn't even sure where she was going to go. She just needed to run. Somehow it didn't feel like running away, though. It almost felt like running toward something. Running forward. Running into the light, rather than away from the dark. By the time she'd finished tying her shoe laces and rummaging around in her bedside table drawer for the knotted pair of headphones she knew were in there, a soft knock on the door drew her attention to her mother standing in the doorway.

  “Hey, honey,” she said, the look on her face a combination of joy and concern. Charlie used to run every day. Almost. She'd started in high school for track and then just never stopped. She'd always run for the joy of it, never really motivated by the competition or by beating anybody else. She just loved the way it felt. And she knew from the looks of disdain and mocking laughter from her friends that that was not how most people felt about running, but that had never mattered either. It was where she found her peace outside of church.

  Charlie offered her mom a watery smile. “I thought I might go for a run,” she said, stating the obvious, seeing as she was indeed dressed for her run and clutching her earbuds in one hand and her phone in the other.

  “I see that. I'm glad. But I wanted to make sure you were okay first. You left the picnic before I even got to see you. I actually thought maybe you hadn't come at all until Liam mentioned you were there.”

  Charlie nodded. “I needed to come home.” It wasn't much of an explanation, but her mama accepted it anyway.

  “All right, then. You sure you’re okay?”

  Charlie nodded again. “Yeah. I…I was upset, but I feel better now.” She gestured at her own face. “I cried it out, I guess.”

  Her mom walked over and pulled her into a quick hug, then stepped back to use her thumbs to wipe the remaining stray tears from Charlie's cheeks. “Did you talk to Logan?”

  Fresh tears sprang to Charlie's eyes. “I did, but I'm sorry, Mama. I don't want to talk about it right now. I want to get a couple miles in before it gets dark.”

  Her mom turned to leave. “Be careful out there, honey. Are you sure it's okay for you to go run on your own?”

  Charlie hesitated. She hadn't thought about that. “I'll let Frank know so he can tell whoever's on duty, and I'll stay in the neighborhood, streets and people I know. And goodness knows I'm so rusty that I probably won't be able to go far or for very long.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. I'm going get started on supper here in a little bit, and then your dad and I have church.”

  “Thanks, Mama. And I'm sorry.”

  Her mom turned back. “Sorry for what, my sweet girl?”

  Charlie brush the tears from her cheeks again. She'd always felt like she couldn't let herself cry because if she started, she might never stop. It was definitely proving to be at least sort of true right now, and she wasn't pleased.

  “About everything. All of it. The things I've said about God, about church. I knew it hurt you for me to say them, and I said them anyway because I was angry and I didn't care and that was wrong.”

  It was her mother's turn to brush away tears. She cleared her throat. “Already forgiven,” she said. “Don't give it another thought.”

  After her mom left, Charlie thought she heard the sound of a motorcycle out front, but when she glanced out the window the street was empty. She paused long enough to text Frank, then selected one of her old favorite running playlists and headed out the door. She walked for the first block or so, letting her muscles warm up slowly as the music matched her footsteps. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her face. The neighborhood was quiet. She glanced at her phone. It was later than she'd realized. Most people were probably waking up from their Sunday afternoon naps or getting ready to take their kids to evening service. Her parents would be leaving before too much longer.

  She felt so out of sync with the routines and the traditions that had shaped her entire life up until three years before. It was incredible how quickly she forgot and adjusted to ignoring anything and everything that reminded her of what she'd lost. And the God she blamed for it. After she'd gone around the block once, Charlie began to pick up the pace, easing into a jog. When her muscles didn't complain, she shifted into a run. Something like joy welled inside her, making her chest ache. And the tears returned, but these lacked the pain, the suffering, the anger of all the other tears she’d cried. These…these felt like relief.

  Charlie ran until her chest burned and her legs ached, then she slowed to a walk again. She felt more like herself than she had in a very long time. She felt like she had been separated somehow and only now was returning to her own skin. She rounded the corner of the block. She could see her parents leaving their house and starting to get into the car to go to church. Her mom paused and held her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, then waved when she spotted Charlie. Charlie waved back and watched as her parents backed out of the driveway and left the neighborhood. A few minutes later, Charlie climbed the back steps to her paren
ts’ house, went in through the back door, and entered the security code on the alarm system just inside.

  She felt the sudden urge to shower in her own bathroom, so she gathered her things from her old bedroom, tossing it all haphazardly back into the duffel bag she'd used the night she decided to move back into the main house. After another moment's thought, she grabbed her pillow too. It was time. She was ready to be back in her own space. She reset the alarm as she left her parents’ house and walked the short distance to her apartment. The sun was setting, and the shadows deepened over the backyard and her small porch. As she fished around in her purse for her keys, her heart began to race, but she talked herself down.

  She was done choosing fear.

  Charlie found her key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Her mother had been here. Maybe even while she was on her run. The lights were on, and a vase of fresh flowers sat on her small kitchen table. Charlie shook her head with a smile. She really didn't deserve that woman. Any time she doubted whether God could still love her after everything she'd said or done, a quiet voice reminded her that her mother did. No matter the pain she caused her, what she said or did, her mother's love remained unshaken. Unshakable.

  Charlie carried her things through to the bedroom, then retraced her steps to lock the door. And the deadbolt. And the chain. She kept the blinds and curtain drawn closed. She doubted anyone was watching, but if they were, she didn't want to draw attention to the fact that she was back out there. She returned to the bedroom and tossed her dirty clothes in the laundry basket, then went into the bathroom to take a long hot shower. When she emerged a while later, the sun was fully set. She pulled on her favorite pair of soft flannel pajamas. They were a bit warm for an Alabama summer, but they felt like a hug and that was what she needed.

  She left her curls to air dry and moved to sit cross-legged on her bed. She retrieved her journal from the shelf and grabbed her Bible too, almost as an afterthought. She ran her fingers over her journal, a thin layer of dust came away at her touch. She took a long slow breath. She owed Logan another apology. He had no way of knowing what those words meant to her. They were barely friends. He didn't owe her anything. They weren't talking, and he had no reason to explain himself to her or to let her know what had happened. How many times had she told other people not to worry about her, that she was fine? It was the thing you said. It wasn't the same as what Greg did.

  Logan had never kept the hard stuff from her, as far as she knew, even from the beginning of their acquaintance. He’d told her the truth about her being in danger, about it being his fault. He chose his words carefully, but he still told her. He'd answered every question and if she hadn't left so abruptly at the picnic, he probably would have told her then, too. She let her head hang down. Frank, on the other hand, was going to hear from her because she had asked him to keep an eye on Logan. She was almost certain that was why he’d there to help him. But it was also his job and maybe he wasn't supposed to let her know.

  She still didn't have to like it.

  Charlie opened her journal and let her fingertips trace the last few lines in the final entry. She'd written it the night before she found out about Greg's death. Even then she'd been struggling with the fact that he hadn't told her, that he'd kept the trip from her. Until the moment he was leaving, the words on the page revealed a girl who could barely allow herself to think ill of her fiancé. Her love-colored glasses put a positive spin on it all. But in that final entry she was asking why. And why he didn't answer her texts or her phone calls while he was on the mission trip. Not even at night. She tried to tell herself he was busy, but she knew a few other girls whose boyfriends and husbands were on the trip, and they knew a whole lot more about what was going on than she did. Memories of how she’d felt came rushing back.

  Charlie realized with a start that it was past tense. Her love for him had changed. It wasn't gone, but it had gone quiet. She loved him, because she used to love him. Because the girl she used to be had loved him. But the woman she was now…the woman she was now might love someone else. She set the journal aside and picked up her Bible. She traced the gilded letters on the cover with the tip of her pointer finger as she had done countless times before. She knew this Book. Its words were etched into her soul. Hot tears filled her eyes again. She eased from her bed to kneel beside it, her Bible clasp to her chest. She bowed her head and let the tears fall freely.

  Forgive me.

  Eyes squeezed shut, she sobbed and prayed and failed to notice as flashlight beams flicked over her windows, bright light filtering in through the cracks in the curtains and blinds.

  “Forgive me,” she said again. “Forgive me.”

  Chapter 21

  When Liam let him know that Charlie's parents were on their way home, Logan moved out of sight. Once he saw that they were there and inside and Charlie was no longer alone, he turned his bike toward home. His mind and heart still occupied with thoughts of Charlie, Logan fought against driving on autopilot. Drivers of cars did it all the time, often not remembering how they got from home to work or back again, because they're otherwise preoccupied. But any motorcyclists worth his salt will tell you that you can't do that on a bike. As Logan eased to a stop at a red light, he shook his head to clear it, forcing himself to focus on the cars around him. The light in front of him. What his next turn would be.

  The Prodigal Brothers ministry headquarters was not terribly far from Charlie's house. Not more than a seven- or eight-minute ride, depending on traffic. Logan parked his bike in line with the others but bypassed the diner to go straight into the dormitory building, a four-story structure that rose high above the rest and sported a giant neon cross on the roof. Once inside, Logan took the stairs two at a time all the way up to his room in the far corner of the fourth floor. It was the room he'd been assigned when he was fresh out of prison and Doc was working hard to help him get his mental and emotional feet back under him.

  Life in the real world after prison was a shock to the system, and Logan had been grateful for the private quiet of his top floor room. Liam referred to him as an attic urchin, but Logan didn't care. Doc had since offered him one of the nicer apartments on the ground floor, living Quarters more in tune with his role as vice president, but he didn't want them. He sat on the edge of his single bed. The room was sparsely furnished with the bedside table, chest of drawers, and bed frame all the same brown as the walls and floor. Sparse. Spartan, even. But clean and his.

  His window looked down over the building yard. Bikes and cars in various states of construction or deconstruction dotted the open field. Logan kicked off his boots and stretched out on the bed. Propping his head on one elbow, he stared up at the ceiling. Charlie. He'd been praying for a change of heart. It felt cowardly, but if he was supposed to walk away from her for good, a change in his feelings would make that a much simpler task. So far, no dice. Minutes ticked by like hours, and after about five Logan pushed up off the bed. He couldn't just lie there thinking about her. It was only making things worse. He watched as the sun inched its way toward the horizon. It would set soon. He always worried more about Charlie after dark. He needed to find something to keep himself busy, so he decided to go see if he could make himself useful in the garage. Logan pulled his boots back on.

  He had a bad feeling.

  Shaking it off, he left his room and jogged down the flights of stairs. About halfway down his phone rang. Liam.

  “Hey, man. You back?”

  “Yeah, a while ago. What's up?”

  “We've got a problem.”

  Logan picked up the pace as he descended. “Tell me.”

  “The unmarked van was found outside of town early this morning. Completely gutted and set on fire. It's a dead end, brother.”

  Logan scowled. “I figured I probably blew it going in on foot trying to find it. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Jeremiah just called. He was playing basketball over at First Baptist. You know the one on the edge of town?”

&nb
sp; Logan shrugged on his leather jacket as he pulled open the back door and headed toward his bike instead of the garage. “Sure.”

  “It looks like they've called in reinforcements. He saw six at least, maybe closer to eight or ten riders heading into town and wearing cuts.

  Logan stopped, hand on his bike. “Tell me, Liam.”

  “It’s Paulie's crew,” he said.

  Logan's heart began to pound his chest. He strapped on his helmet with one hand, holding the phone to his ear with the other. “He was sure?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Which way were they headed?” Logan took a breath to try and calm down, but that gut feeling that something was wrong was growing even stronger. They were going for Charlie. They had to be.

  “East, toward Mary Street and the old middle school.”

  “Doc know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, get back in touch with him, make sure he's calling it in. Local law enforcement needs to know. County, maybe even state. These guys are dangerous.”

  “I know, brother. I'll make the calls. But Logan—”

  Logan stowed his phone and fired up his bike. He headed south, hoping to maybe catch sight of them before they made it all the way to Charlie’s neighborhood. If he was lucky, they'd see him and he could draw them away, out of town. Get them as far away from Charlie—her family, friends, Willow Bough—as possible. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had. As he drove through the downtown neighborhoods, the same ones that had nearly cost him his life the week before, the bad feeling continued to worsen, and eventually got to the point where it was practically a voice telling him to stop. Listen.

  By the time the sun was fully down, Logan was having trouble concentrating on anything else. Stop. Listen, the almost-voice said. Danger. Charlie. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. Her parents would be at evening service. She was alone. A realization hit him—the other attempts—they'd been testing the boundaries. Getting the lay of the land. The ones who'd beaten him up were scouts. He turned his bike around and headed toward Charlie's neighborhood. The threat had only just begun.