Page 40 of Burning Ember
Out here, where it’s just Eve and me, I can be honest with myself. I lied to D. That girl isn’t plain. And she’s not just Edge’s type . . .she’s mine.Hell . . . she’s every man’s type, especially, when she’s all done up like she is tonight.
But fuck, even without the sexy hair, kitten heels, and subtle makeup she’s a goddamn knock out. Not a Barbie lookalike either, like half the female population nowadays. She’s unique, smoking hot, and also has an ethereal kind of beauty. It’s refreshing and bewitching. And her body . . . fuck . . . it’s curvy in all the right places. It makes my mouth water just thinking about how her tits felt in my hand. How her nipples begged to be stroked. Her skin was like velvet under my fingers.
I’ve been in a constant state of arousal for the last two hours, because physically, she’s everything I crave.
And yet she’s a reflection of everything that once ruined me. Having her around is only going to fucking gut me every time I see her. Mess with my mind and control.
Inwardly, I shake my head.
Although it takes every bit of willpower I possess, I successfully push thoughts of Doll to the back of my mind.
For almost an hour, I drive and think. Taz’s headlight illuminates my back as he follows me nowhere and everywhere. I focus on what I should be thinking about, Cap and who I can talk to that I haven’t already, for information on the shooting. Edge’s return and what that will look like, and how to protect ourselves from the blowback if we say yes or no to the GBs.
Another hour and half later, we make it back to the clubhouse and pass the patrol car still parked down the road from the clubhouse. I’m tempted to stop and approach Davis myself, but I know that won’t get me any results. I’ll let the club know we’ve got eyes on us. Tomorrow I’ll call Ortega, his boss, to see if he knows what his deputy’s up to. Tell him to put his boy on a tighter leash.
I back Eve in the line of bikes in front of the clubhouse and shut her down. Taz does the same and asks, “Better?”
My body feels weightless. My shoulders are still tense but now it’s from the ride and not the imaginary weight I feel piled on them. I swear to God, laying my thoughts out on the road like that is the only therapy I need. It’s freeing.
I roll my shoulders, flex my fingers, and then rest my hands on my thighs. “Yeah.”
He gets off his bike. “That new tart a problem for you? Spinnin’ your head? I know that bitch, the one that ratted out Edge to Davis, she was a redhead, yeah? Dana?”
My chest cracks open a bit and a searing pain penetrates my heart. All I can do is give a curt nod.
But it’s not just her hair color that’s the problem. It’s the way desperation leaks from her very pores. It’s the turmoil in her eyes. It’s the fact I’ve always felt nothing for the women around the club, the ones walking by me on the street; and then bam, it’s as if I’ve been hit by a fucking cupid’s arrow and can’t fucking think straight. All I see is her. All my body wants is her. This time it’s as if I’ve been dead for five fucking years and I’ve just taken my first real breath. My blood rushes through my veins, flowing like a river and reawakening a heart I thought was black and shriveled before today.
That’s what Dozer doesn’t understand. What I can’t say? This is similar to the way I felt for Dana. Only, for some reason, this seems more intense. Ten times more intense.
Dana needed me. She needed someone to help her put her broken pieces back together. Be the glue that kept her straight. I loved being that glue. It gave me a purpose when I was struggling to find my purpose in life. I thought it was to love her. Take care of her. Marry her and start a family. But Christ, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Doll might not be as broken, but I think maybe she’s been burned by somebody. She has scars, visible and invisible ones. The scars make her wary, cautious, and untrusting. She wasn’t comfortable talking about her family. Or her boyfriend . . . ex-boyfriend. I probably would have found out why if I hadn’t gotten so caught up in my own bullshit.
“Want me to take care of her?” Taz asks.
If anyone’s taking care of her . . .Irritation barrels through me until I realize I misunderstood his meaning.
Glancing up, I see he’s watching for my reaction.
“Send her packin’,” he clarifies, as if he knows what I’m thinking.
If I say yes, he’ll scare her off until she’s nothing but a memory. Something I obviously don’t have the ability to do.
This is the answer I need, but at the same time . . . the idea of siccing Taz, the clubs enforcer, on her doesn’t sit right with me?
I pull my pack of smokes from my pocket, take one out, and light up. After blowing out the drag, I say, “Gave Dozer my word I wouldn’t force her out. She’s here at least until the party.”
I can tell he’s puzzling out a solution because he reaches into his pocket and takes out a toothpick. He looks at the ground while he discards the wrapper.
“But if she leaves on her own . . .” He glances up at me and has a wicked grin that creeps over his face.
Yeah . . . decision time.
Sucking in a drag, I ask, “What are you thinkin’?”
He shrugs. “Just gonna do what I do. She’s a problem you don’t need right now, right? Then consider her taken care of.”
Air expels from my lungs as if I’ve suffered a punch to the gut. I fight the instinct to call him off. But words slip past my lips. “Just . . . don’t touch her.”
