Firetrap: The Soul Scorchers MC (The Scorched Souls Serial-series Book 1) (5 page)

Taking slow, deep breaths, I centered myself. Once I was calm, the answer was obvious. I didn’t need my mom here to know what her advice would be. She would tell me to follow my heart.

My heart was warning me that Conner was not the man for me.

If not Conner, who? Boone?

No way.

Society girls didn’t marry outlaw bikers. And I had no illusions when it came to Boone and marriage. He wasn’t a one woman man. I’d have to settle for sex without commitment.

At this point, though, sex with Boone sounded so much better than a lifetime with Conner Mills, commitment or not.

Staring through my patio doors, my gaze landed on the sky’s biggest and brightest star. I remembered when I was a little girl and had made wish after wish on the evening’s first star, trusting all my dreams would come true. Most of them had, including Conner. He was the type of man I’d always wanted to marry; a prince charming all the girls wanted; a man with a bright and promising future.

My father expected us to get married and stay married. Conner’s family was already busy planning and preparing for our future ceremony. There was little doubt in mind that Conner would end up creating his own version of ‘Camelot’.

My dad was talking about supporting his future run for mayor and believed Conner could continue working for the ATF in some capacity, as well as handling a small town like Seal’s Cove’s politics, at the same time. I would be expected to stand at his side every step of the way, supporting him, putting up with his long work hours, and acting as a buffer between him and any problems that threatened to derail him from his fast track to the top.

I was trapped. Stuck. My life was mapped out, and I was simply along for the ride - an extended, boring, and utterly unremarkable ride.

Unless … a sense of childish hope gripped my heart.

Slipping on my yoga pants with my oversized T-shirt, I made my way to the balcony and swung open the double glass doors. The summer night was cool, the sky clear. I looked up, finding the blinking star.

“Star light, star bright, first star
I’ve
seen tonight. Yeah, I know you might not have been the first but … oh, never mind. I wish I may, wish I might, have the wish, I wish tonight.”

Squeezing my eyes shut like I had so many times in the past, I let myself hope for magic. Without it, I was doomed to a marriage and a life I no longer wanted.

Boone

“What a bitch,” Grinch growled, before tipping back his beer. “Who the fuck does she think she is?” His face was contorted in rage. He didn’t appreciate the labels Olympia Olsen had used to describe me.

Against my better judgment, I’d provided a snapshot of my day with Olympia for Grinch. He was probably my closest friend, next to Leg, and I needed to blow off some steam.

Before I could respond, Amber, one of our hottest strippers, bowed over, thrusting her ass towards me. On the private stage, in front of our table, her ass was so close to my mouth I could take a bite if I wanted.

She peered at me upside down through her parted legs. “You can touch, Boone. The house rules don’t apply to you.”

Grinch growled again, signaling his frustration.

He’d been trying to get with Amber for the past two years. She was polite, but never gave him more than a friendly nod. He’d paid her God knows how much to dance for him all night, and Grinch was fucking grumpy to begin with, thus the name.

Christmas time was the worst. The happier folks got, the angrier he became. Bones had to keep him busy on extra club projects, from the last week in November until after the New Year. Anything to keep him occupied. The first year he’d joined our charter, we thought he was kidding about his anti-holiday stance.

We learned the truth the hard way.

He’d demolished the two competing Christmas tree lots in Seal’s Cove, leaving kids crying, parents screaming, and whole lot of people scared shitless.

Bones had to pay off the police and promise it would never happen again. He’d kept the promise, but it hadn’t been easy. Grinch was no fuzzy ‘Who’ from ‘Who-ville’. He was a two-hundred and forty pound, ex-con who hated everyone and everything. The one thing he had in common with Dr. Suess’ Grinch, besides a bad attitude, was a hell of a lot of hair, all over his face.

He cared about two things; the club and my dad, which by default, meant he cared about me.

Grinch, legal name, Michael Paulson, had bunked with Bones in prison, forging an alliance. They were released the same day, and when Grinch had nowhere to go, my dad made him an offer he couldn’t turn down.

Grinch was a mastermind when it came to finances and money matters. From inside, Bones had been planning ahead like any smart business man. He suspected that Mick, the treasurer at the time, was skimming off club profits, taking advantage of Bones’ incarceration - a serious and fatal mistake.

Six months later, Mick was in the ground, and Grinch was the one crunching the club’s numbers. Right now he looked like he wanted to crunch me under his steel-toed boot.

I shrugged and handed Amber a fifty. “Entertain Grinch. I’m goin’ to The Dungeon.”

Grinch gave me a barely visible chin lift and turned his full attention onto his private entertainment. Her double D’s were already an inch from his face.

Maybe if he’d shave and smile, the girls would be more receptive. Not that it was my business. I had more important things on my mind, like how to evict one self-absorbed, sexy-as-hell bitch from my mind. Even with a smorgasbord of sculpted female bodies twisting around poles, Olympia was still hijacking way to much space in my head.

Whoever I chose to fulfill my fantasies with tonight, would be sore tomorrow. I needed to punish someone who would enjoy submitting to my demands. I had two regular girls in mind.

As I made my way past the stage reserved for tonight’s featured entertainment, I nodded at my brothers who were scattered throughout the main floor, keeping an eye on the dancers and the crowd. Security was always tight. We treated our ladies like gold and paid them even better. No one fucked around with a dancer without her permission. Anyone who dared got one warning, a second infraction earned immediate and permanent removal from
The Treasure Cove
, along with a few complimentary shoves and verbal threats. Typically, that was all it took to get the message across.

Occasionally we got a fighter. Fighters ended up with stitches, broken noses, and black eyes. One or two had gone missing - permanently.

For the most part, though, customers were well aware the place was owned by the Soul Scorchers. That alone kept the majority of visitors on their best behavior.

The Dungeon required an actual membership and an extensive background check prior to admission. Its employees, who made fantasies become reality for the right price, were specially trained to either enjoy pain, or administer it, without any qualms. These men and women were our bread and butter. Guests paid exorbitant prices to experience what The Dungeon offered. As a club officer, my membership was complimentary. One of the many perks of being the Soul Scorcher’s VP.

I wondered what Olympia Olsen would think about my tastes. Considering the way she’d watched me fuck another woman, I suspected under her prim and proper façade, there was a sex-starved vixen ready to claw her way to the surface.

Punishing the mayor’s only daughter was what my inner beast craved most. I doubted she’d be calling me “the help” when I had her cuffed and strung up. More likely she’d be screaming for help. The thought of her squirming and crying, sent a jolt through my cock.

Two bouncers at The Dungeon’s main entrance nodded and stepped back, allowing me access to the ultimate den of decadence. I scanned the expansive room, my gaze drawn to an elevated stage where a leggy brunette, blindfolded and restrained, was getting fucked in the ass by one man while another flogged her shaved pussy. She wore clamps on her nipples and was panting, and whimpering, clearly hurting, but also very aroused.

The long bar on the room’s far side was crowded, as patrons enjoyed the show and cocktails at the same time. Numerous master and slave couples were in attendance tonight, adding to the always diverse crowd.

As the primary contractor, I’d been a big part in creating The Dungeon’s aesthetic. I couldn’t help but admire the dark collage of sex scenes I’d painted across the walls. Bathed in shadows and the dimmest light, provided by strategically placed, electric-powered torches, my work glowed. The place really did look like a medieval dungeon, with plush leather furniture and a few extra, unavoidable, modern accessories.

In addition to the main room, there were fifteen smaller rooms designed for couples or small group use; at least half of those had windows, allowing for viewers to enjoy most any brand of kink.

Continuing my room scan, I searched for the two women I knew could handle what I intended to give. I spotted Jasmine first; the kinky little bitch loved to be spanked, and I needed to see her ass covered with my handprints; her flesh red and angry from the paddling. Unaware of my hungry gaze, her lover, Allie, slid up from behind, cupping Jasmine’s mound over her painted on leggings. Jasmine widened her stance, giving Allie better access. I was the only person with a
dick they allowed between their legs, unless you counted the leather strap-on, Allie used on Jasmine.

Eager to get down to business, I accepted a drink from Jewels, my favorite cocktail waitress. Like Celeste down at Milton’s, she knew exactly how I liked my whisky. She twirled away before I could thank her. No one could ever accuse Jewels of not being efficient.

Maneuvering through the crowd, some in various stages of undress, at last I locked eyes with Jasmine. She nudged Allie who grinned mischievously.
Oh yeah. My night was about to get a whole lot better.

My cell buzzed; one, two, three times, in rapid succession, signaling a fire-call.

“Fuck!” Not tonight.

Yanking the phone from my pocket, I read the text.

No. Fucking. Way.

Olympia Olsen’s mansion was on fire, and there were fatalities.

Without hesitation, I shoved through an embracing couple, ignoring their complaints, and exited the same way I’d just entered. I was pretty sure I heard Jasmine yell my name over the music. Not bothering to slow down, I barreled through a side door for employees only, and dashed up a private corridor only a few select people were aware of.

By the time I’d fired up my bike, my heart was in my throat, pounding so hard I could feel it in my temples.

Just the thought of Olympia gone, burned to death like her mom and Rita, made me want to heave. My phone buzzed again. Ignoring it, I roared through the parking lot and onto the highway, daring any cop stupid enough to stop me.

Someone was going to pay for tonight’s fire. I had no doubt arson was involved. There’d been too many fires and fatalities to ignore; it was time for full-scale investigation, using all the club’s resources.

When I found out who’d started it, that person would wish they’d never played with matches.

Olympia

I rubbed my head, disoriented. A few birds chirped overhead, calling me back to consciousness. I opened my eyes enough to peek. It was dark, but I could tell dawn wasn’t too far off.

Forcing my eyes all the way open, I stared up at the canopy of trees above me, their leaf-lined-limbs swayed in the breeze.

Holy crap, I was in the forest, on my back, stiff and cold.

A sudden wave of nausea flooded my stomach, as I struggled to sit up. My head throbbed like someone was hammering from the inside, trying to get out. Every movement, no matter how small, caused my lungs to burn. I coughed so violently, I had to lean over and vomit. Gross. I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth.

What the…?

I looked down shocked to see I was wearing a pair of tattered yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt that appeared just as mangled. Covered in soot, I looked like I’d climbed out of a chimney.

I shook my head, fighting to clear the cobwebs. I had no clue where I was. In fact, I had no idea who I was or what had happened to me.

My brain was empty. Blank. Hollow.

Terror gripped my chest and I gasped, desperate for air. Breathing was difficult. I coughed again. Shivering, I finally scrambled to my feet, only to collapse, my left calf cramping with the worst charlie-horse ever. 

I gritted my teeth and tried again, gripping the closest tree trunk. I somehow managed to stay upright. Panting, I clung to the tree. The effort it took to stand had winded me. I coughed harder and doubled over while my body convulsed.

With no idea what had happened, who I was, or where I was going, things were pretty freaking bleak. From my ragged, soot-covered appearance and the discomfort in my lungs, I assumed I’d somehow escaped a fire, and not by much. I scanned my surroundings, but there was no evidence of any recent blaze. The sky was turning grey, giving me a better view. Nothing looked familiar.

Too cold to sit again, I limped forward, headed nowhere. My situation’s harsh reality was becoming clearer with every shaky step.

I was going to die out here without knowing who I was.

When the tears started to fall, I let them. Anyone in my predicament deserved to cry.

Boone

Church twice in twenty-four hours was unusual, but these were unusual times. The latest fire had been ruled arson. Several explosive devices had been discovered onsite. Olympia’s bodyguard and her housekeeper’s remains had been found inside the home.

Olympia Olsen had vanished. Her body was not amongst the ruins. The mayor was missing from his house too. No one seemed to know his whereabouts, which was unheard of.

After Bones’ prompting, I’d provided a detailed account of the situation for our club officers and few additional members, who attended meetings of this magnitude.

Bones, Grinch, and Wolf had remained silent during my review, while Leg and Crusher had interrupted me a handful of times with questions and possible theories. Spyder and Eggs had rolled in later, and were just getting caught up.

It was hard to stay focused knowing Olympia was out there somewhere, likely injured, or worse. Her fiancé and the ATF’s special team were all over the crime scene, pushing aside local law enforcement, and the fire chief.
What a mess.
I’d left as soon as the fire was contained and I’d learned Olympia was missing.

“So, what’s going on here?” Bones finally asked. “Boone, you’re the most familiar with these fires, any thoughts?”

I sighed. How could I explain my feelings without coming off like some paranoid nut job? “I know most of you think the Hells Guardians are behind this. I don’t. This arson shit has been going on for a long time, too long. It’s picked up in recent years since the mayor’s first fire. We had Rita’s…”

Bones raised a hand, stopping me. “Son, that case was solved.”

I slammed my palm down the table. “What if it was arson made to look like an accident for Rita? What if Mrs. Olsen had help swallowing those pills?”

The glances around the table told me what I already knew. No one was on board with my conspiracy theories.

“I know it sounds fucking crazy, but for the past six years, up and down our coastline, we have had more fire fatalities and injuries than any other area on the West Coast. I had Spyder dig around after Rita’s death. Even then our fire stats were ranked as some of the highest in the country. In the country! Something big is going down.”

Bones leaned back; his eyes narrowed. “Okay, say you’re right and they’re all connected; why the increase in frequency all of sudden, and why the Olsen family twice now?”

Those were good questions, and I’d expected at least one of the guys to ask something along those lines. I had my answer ready. “Serial killers, rapists, and arsonists often stay on a schedule, but …” I paused to scan my brothers’ faces. They were all listening; interested it seemed by the way they were leaning forward, waiting for me to continue. “
But
, when a traumatic event or something major happens in their lives, they increase their killing and eventually get sloppy.”

Eggs shook his head. “Man, no offence, but you sound like one of those damn TV shows.
Criminal Minds, SVU
…”

A couple of the guys chuckled.

Leg came to my rescue. “You can’t deny this latest fire was planned. It was. And the fact our good mayor’s first guest house burned too is a little more than coincidence. Don’t you think? Now the mayor’s girl is missing.” His gaze slid my direction.

Spyder nodded. “I think Boone is right. The data doesn’t lie. This many fires all along highway 101, something ain’t right. I’m going to do some more research.”

“Fine,” Bones interrupted. “We’ll look at every angle. Call Doc. He’s in good with the fire chief. Have him find out what he can. I’ll deal with our always accommodating police chief. The rest of you know the drill. Reach out to our connections. Call in a few favors. This is too close to home. Let’s put an end to it whatever
it
is.”

He brought the gavel down.

At least they were willing to look at my angle, and we weren’t starting a blood war with the Guardians, not yet, anyway.

“I need to clear my head. I’m going for a hike.”

I didn’t wait for a response. They were used to my morning escapes into the forest and had given up teasing me about them a long time ago. After I’d knocked Eggs unconscious for an offhanded comment, calling me nature boy, no one said a word.

A lot of guys worked out at the gym. I was one of them, but where others went for a run, I hiked. The trees, the air, nature; I liked that shit. It was my form of mediation, gave me a place to be alone and think. Right now I had some major thinking to do.

Olympia

It felt like I’d been hobbling through the forest forever, my calf still burning. Undoubtedly, it had only been an hour or two. Every step was a chore that added to my agony. I needed a break, and I was desperate for a drink.

A few scattered raindrops had hit my face a while back, but since then, the clouds had burned off. The sky was blue, dotted with a few fluffy clouds. I was pretty sure I smelled the ocean, though I couldn’t be certain. My tongue felt like sandpaper. If I didn’t find fresh water soon, I’d follow the briny scent to the seashore and drink salt water; screw the kidney complications.

How do I know about salt water but can’t remember my own identity?

It appeared my memory loss was only partial. I could recall life-basics, but personal information remained elusive.

My self-assessment was cut short as my calf spasmed in protest. I couldn’t take one more step, not like this. Collapsing beneath a tree, I leaned back, the ridges in the wood digging into my tender back. The situation was hopeless. With no food, no water, and not clue where I was, my time was limited. Add in the leg cramp that wouldn't quit, and I was down for the count, literally. Anger and frustration coursed through me. I was helpless to save myself.

Without a miracle, I was going to die out here.

Maybe if I took a nap I’d regain some energy. As logical as that idea seemed, a nagging thought that I wouldn’t wake up intruded. Despite the warning, I couldn’t stop my eyes from shutting. Keeping them open required too much strength. Strength I didn’t have.

The breeze wrapped around me and birds chirped. A squirrel scurried somewhere in the branches. With the forest sounds as my background music, I let myself drift away, releasing my fears and worries, and embracing peace.

There was no more pain, no more thirst. No more anything, just relief.

Death wasn’t so bad after all.

Boone

Hiking further than usual, I contemplated my latest text. Doc had updated Bones after speaking with the fire chief. I wasn’t surprised by the news.

Evidence of a struggle in the mayor’s primary residence had led law enforcement to consider kidnapping for ransom as a potential motive. The Olsen’s were sitting on a shit load of money, especially with the life insurance payout Olympia had received following her mother’s death. Madeline Olsen’s case had been reopened in light of recent events. I wanted them to take another look at Rita’s death, but doubted they would. The fact she’d been married to me not Seal Cove’s mayor, made all the difference.

For now, the ATF was calling the shots, but keeping local police and the fire chief in the loop, enlisting their help as needed.

Conner Mills insisted to anyone who would listen that the Soul Scorchers were involved. He had no evidence to support the claim, but continued to point to Rita’s fire-related death as a link. According to Doc, Seal’s Cove residents had divided opinions in relation to us and our supposed part in the fires. Some were eager to see the club fall, while others wanted nothing more than to maintain the benefits we provided.

I agreed with Conner about one thing. Everything was somehow connected. Rita’s death and the Olsen fires were linked. It didn’t take some government agency to figure that out. If only I could prove it and find the arsonist responsible. The ATF was wasting time scrutinizing us, but getting them to believe that wouldn’t be easy.

A search party was being organized to hunt for Olympia and her father, on the off chance they’d escaped, and were hurt, or wandering nearby. I would join up with them shortly, along with my brothers. We planned to help wherever possible, learning what we could in the process and improving public opinion.

So much for clearing my head; all I could think about was Olympia.

Imagining her as a kidnapping victim, or worse, already dead, had my gut churning. Why she affected me the way she did was beyond insane. Yes, I was pissed about her comments yesterday, but not enough to wish her harm. Unless, of course, I was the one doing the harming, and it wouldn’t be
harm
in the traditional sense, more like a little humiliation prior to inflicting the punishing pleasure we both would enjoy, if my intuition about her was correct.

As feisty and in control as Olympia Olsen presented herself, underneath she was a submissive waiting to be dominated. 

I quickly banished the thoughts, disgusted by my line of thinking considering the circumstances.

Ready to turn back and join the search team, I spotted something pink further up the ridge.
What the hell?

Eager to investigate, I was forced to halt and slipped behind a cluster of trees, delayed by heavy footsteps and lowered voices that silenced the usual forest symphony.

With practiced precision, I pulled my Glock from the underarm holster I wore when hiking. Never leave home without your 9mm was my motto, a habit that had saved my life more than once, and would likely save it again right now.

“I doubt she made it this far,” a hooded man announced, making no effort to lower his voice. “She had to be pretty fucked up after that fire. I bet she’s dead or dying.”

“Pyro said not to come back without her,” his accomplice shot back. “It’s not a good idea to piss off Pyro.”

I strained to see, but couldn’t get a good look at either of them without revealing my location. One wore a navy hoodie, the other a black stocking cap. Both appeared to be of average build and about six feet tall. Not much to go on.

“That search team will be out here soon. We need to be gone. Pyro said that too, remember?”