Burning Ember (8 page)

Only now, some of those attributes I despise.

The girl is young, maybe late teens or early twenties. The way she’s dressed . . . reminds me of . . .

I can’t even think about it too long, or what’s left of me may shatter into a million fucking pieces.

The girl looks like she’s been living on the streets. Malnourished. Dirty. Desperate. Red eyes and sunken cheeks.
A junky?

I loathe junkies. They’re like zombies. Starving and greedy for what they crave. And they’ll hurt anyone to curb their craving. They’re the worst possible version of themselves at that point. I’m not a hundred-percent sure that she is one. But I’m not a hundred-percent sure she isn’t either.

The only thing I’m certain of is she’s definitely a stray. Like Dana.

That she needs help is evident. Something about her screams for it. And some caveman instinct inside me tries to rear its ugly head to tell me I’m just the strong male to take care of her. Clean her up. Feed her. Bed her. Claim her.

Yeah well, fuck that.

Been there. Done that. Got the Lesson-Fucking-Learned-Because-The-Bitch-Tore-My-Heart-Out T-shirt.

Blowing out the drag I pulled in, I shut an impenetrable gate over that instinct and tell it to find some other fucking idiot to do its bidding.

But the attraction’s still there. On simmer.

For some reason, this alley cat, with her fiery mane of hair and cinnamon-dotted skin have an effect on me.

Looking back up at her face, I find her biting her lip. She’s also checking me out.
Yeah, babe, I’m not harsh on the eyes, am I?
Girls love the tattoos. Love the cut. Love guys that look like they’ll treat them like shit and can fuck them into oblivion.

But I definitely don’t want this girl looking at me like she wants to be in my bed.

My cock twitches as if her hand and not only her eyes are passing over me. It pisses me off . . . my body stirring to life. Rising for her. This girl who reminds me of all that I’ve lost and how far I’ve fallen.

I stamp out my cigarette in the ashtray on my desk and decide I need to do everything in my power to get this chick as far as fuck away from me as humanly possible. I need her out of my office. Out of my club. Fuck. Out of this city preferably.

And it looks like I’m going to have to go toe to toe with a friend to do it.

“What’s this? A fuckin’ tabby cat, D? We’re not takin’ in strays today, brother.”

The girl cringes. Pain and fear flash over her features. But she quickly masks it and tries not to show how my insults affect her. I follow the line of her shoulders down and see her tiny fists curled, and then I notice slash marks, scars over her wrists.

Great . . . she’s fucking suicidal.
Of course she is.
Why would I expect any different?

Whatever reason she’s hitting the drugs is probably why she’s attempted to take her own life. She’s merely looking for her next fix and thinks a bunch of bikers will have plenty of drugs she can score. Well, she’s in for a rude-fucking-awakening.

It’s my job to protect the club. And this club doesn’t need any more trouble than it already has.

“What you lookin’ for,
Doll
, your next fix? Think we got the goods here? That it?” I shake my head, and add, “You ain’t gonna find that shit here. Just turn your ass around and keep on walkin’.”

Drugs ruin lives. Weaken clubs and member loyalty. You can’t be loyal to anyone, a brother, the code, or the club when all you give a shit about is getting high.

It’s the reason I joined this club and not any other. We don’t allow hardcore drugs into the clubhouse. Yes, we revel in chaos. Always have. We run weed, guns, and launder money, which is our main source of green. But we don’t bring trouble, chaos home. Not to the clubhouse. Not to our families. Not if we can help it.

Dozer spits out some shit about me being an asshole and her being a friend of Lil’s, and that he’s already told her she can stay.

My blood fucking boils. Of course he did. He wants authority but no damn responsibilities.

“Not your fuckin’ call, brother. It’s mine. Ain’t no fuckin’ way that”—I point at her—“is welcome here.” I will not relive my past. I do not want one reminder of it whatsoever.

Goose, who’s standing behind D, mutters, “Fuck. Here we go.”

“That’s where you wanna go with this?” Dozer snaps.

“I’m just statin’ a fact. You fuckin’ lost the right to have a say in who fuckin’ stays and who goes when you cut your patch off and left me to deal with this shitstorm alone.”

“Fuck you.”

“Get her the fuck out, D. I said no outsiders. I meant it. We already got enough of our share of shit to deal with right now. I don’t want anybody but brothers and clubpieces in the clubhouse. She could be a snitch. GBs are breathing down our necks. I can only hold them off so long before they take action. I wouldn’t put it past them to send a piece of pussy to be their eyes and ears.”

I pick up my pencil and turn back to my work, because if I don’t, I can see this escalating and us coming to blows.

It’s true. We’ve suspected for a while now that the Greenbacks, another MC we’ve been longtime allies with, are going to double cross us. Maybe even try to infiltrate our club. They’ve been waiting for word on whether or not we’ll allow them to establish a chapter in Albuquerque. The problem is they’re not simply looking to open a chapter here. They want to take over the gun, pussy, and drug business in New Mexico and push their merchandise into Texas, and other neighboring states. They don’t want just to control the southwest. That’s not enough for them anymore. They want to own the Midwest too.

However, letting them set up a chapter here means they’d be muling their shit straight through our territory, not to mention stirring up a turf war with the Thirteen Devils who currently hold a monopoly on all of those businesses. And our support of the GBs moving into New Mexico would make our truce with the 13 Ds null and void.

We could be starting a war either way we vote.

For years, because of their long-standing friendship, Pappy and Smoke, the president and VP of the Greenbacks, have respected Cap, our president’s, decision to stay in our own respective territories unless we’re paying a friendly visit. But times are changing. The Greenbacks are growing, multiplying and spreading like cockroaches. And now, with Cap somewhat out of the picture, everyone’s feeling antsy.

The new president of the HOCs is going to have a lot of sway when it comes to what side of the fence we land on. No doubt, the GBs will want to know who that’s going to be, and what their take is on letting them into New Mexico.

GBs could press the issue and force our hand. But, they also don’t want to start a war with their strongest allies, and the people who clean their dirty money. Not unless they have to. Plus if shit ever goes south with their supplier, the Escarrá Cartel, they’re going to need us covering their backs since their Irish ties to the motherland aren’t what they used to be.

As far as I’m concerned though, our values differ. Our visions of the future do too. We’re not saints. We’re restless sinners with a bit of a conscience. But we know what’s important. Our brotherhood, our families, and our freedom. It’s that simple. Why complicate it by allowing the Greenbacks into our borders?

And who the fuck wants to invite cockroaches into their house? Allowing them to come here is like saying, “Yeah. Go ahead. Move in. Hey, and while you’re at it, why don’t you dump all of your garbage on my doorstep.”

I don’t give a shit how much green they throw our way; it’s not worth the fucking misery they’re going to bring with them. And what the hell would I do with piles of money? The same I do with it now. Nothing. But I’ll fall in line with the vote and back whatever the club decides either way.

I’m torn away from my thoughts as Dozer leans over my desk. Practically gets in my face. Touches my design and thrusts it aside.
Motherfucker
. I see fire engine red and no, not from the girl’s hair this time. I face him and ball my fists.

“She’s for Edge. That’s why Lil’ brought her in. Alister’s already checked her out and put her on birth control. She’s clean and hasn’t ever been touched.”

Hasn’t ever been touched.

Those words float around inside my mind. It takes me a minute to understand their meaning. Which is what? She’s a virgin?

Unclaimed in every way?

I seek her out again. Try to find the truth in her eyes, but Dozer keeps talking and blocks her from me. Something about that bothers the hell out of me.

A virgin.

Fuck. My dick thickens at the thought, and I fight it.

Then his other words register. She’ll cook, clean, and earn her way around here. Wait . . . did he just say she’s for Edge?
What the fuck?

“Me and Goose will watch her. You won’t have to worry about her. And after the party, if the boys want to make it official, then she can take Bird’s place.” But I’m still struggling to leash my arousal, and hold back the demon inside me who wants to beat his face in.

I can’t fucking focus on what it all means just yet. And I’m trying to understand why I care she’s never had sex, and why it pisses me off that if Dozer has his way, she’ll be having sex with one of my brothers in a few short days.

Get fucked by every brother in the clubhouse after that if she becomes a clubpiece.

My grip on my pencil becomes fatal, breaks and falls to the floor.

I stand. Some sort of animal is rising inside me and taking over my limbs. I’m a heartbeat away from letting it at Dozer.

God . . . What am I doing?

I internally shake myself.

She can’t stay.

For all I know, she’s been sent by the GBs or the feds, though we’ve done pretty good to stay off the FBI’s radar the last few years. Either way, she’s a problem I don’t need right now.

Dozer looks over his shoulder and speaks to Goose. “Take her out and get her a drink or something while we settle this, yeah?”

Goose tugs her out of the room. Our eyes meet. Mine with the girl’s. Her face is beautiful and her eyes are so tired. They’re pleading for help I simply can’t give. Not now. Maybe not ever.

All I have left now is the club. And I’m sorry, but I won’t give another broken girl the opportunity to poison what’s left of me and what matters in my life.

I don’t say the words I feel echoing out of my soul.

This place isn’t the place for you, Doll. I won’t be the fool who tries to fix you.
I’ve already had my fair share of suicidal junkies. Maybe if I still had a heart, but mine was ripped out a long time ago. We’re ruined, you and I, and there’s no fixing what’s utterly broken.

She’s a stray and looking for a home.

But this isn’t it, Doll. This isn’t it.

When something vital to our survival is threatened . . . we shield it and guard it fiercely.

EMBER

Dozer and Mav are still shouting at each other. Their deep voices—now that Rigor has oh so kindly turned down the music—echo through the clubhouse and the main room.

I’m sitting at the bar. Alone. Because Goose took Lily away a moment ago. She was so angry she was about to burst into Mav’s office. Honestly, I’m surprised she got that worked up. I’m not entirely sure if it’s because Mav’s comments were demeaning to women in general or because they were demeaning to me.

Lil’s friend, my ass. It’s obvious that bitch has been livin’ on the street. Like she’s been diving in dumpsters. Is that what we want? Trash in our clubhouse? She’s a wet hole nothing more. She’s not even Edge’s type. Too skinny. Too short. Plain. Like a goddamn rag doll for fuck’s sake. Nothing special. We can find someone else for Edge. Someone better.

I’ve been unable to eat the sandwich and chips Rigor set in front of me. I’m starving, but the humiliation rioting through me causes my stomach to clench relentlessly and I’m afraid if I eat now, the food won’t stay down.

Bikers and the women around the room keep stealing glances at me, though some are openly staring. I sense their distrust. A few of the women look at me like I’m garbage. I feel like a pariah.

My cheeks flush with heat.

I’ve considered more than once getting up from my stool and striding right out the front door. The only thing keeping me planted in this seat is the thought of Davis, and the notion that his cruiser is parked right outside the club’s privacy fence, and his threats of what will happen if I try to make a run for it.

I peek in the mirror behind the bar and wince at my reflection. I see some validity to Mav’s insults. The girl staring back at me is a mess. She looks nothing like Lil’ Bird, or the other girls here. I’m not beautiful. I look pale. No makeup. Frizzy, wild hair. Maybe I once was something special, but I don’t look it now. He’s right. I’m too thin. I didn’t realize how much weight I’d lost. My cheeks are sunken in, and my cheekbones jut out. Dark circles loom under my eyes, making me look like I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days. Only because I haven’t. Maybe, I’m not quite junky material, but the other comments sting because they’re true.

I’m homeless. Pretty much penniless. And it sounds like I’m a few minutes away from being Officer Davis’ entertainment for the night.