Page 96 of Burning Ember
Luce.
I don’t know how I could have prevented it from happening though. I’d been standing in the kitchen scrubbing a plate, when Dozer’s large body pinned me to the counter. At first, I thought it was Mav. I secretly hoped it was Mav. Then Dozer’s woodsy scent swirled around me, and his massive hands gripped my hips. I tried to play it off, made up some pitiful excuse about needing to finish the dishes. Dozer simply took the plate from my hands, dropped it back into the sink, and turned me to face him. In one quick move, he planted me on the counter, spread my legs, and stood between them.
He asked for a kiss before he left for the hospital. But I still had the taste of Mav on my lips. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I stalled.
What are the odds Mav would choose that moment to walk in on us?
Now, I can only imagine what he thinks of me.
Griz is sitting on the far side of the main room with Grinder and a pretty blonde hang around. I approach their table and ask, “Have you seen Mav?”
“In the garage sweetheart.” His eyes swing to the bag I’m carrying. “You goin’ somewhere?”
“I guess I’m staying with one of the old ladies while Mav’s gone.”
He smiles, slaps his leg, and slowly stands. “Good.” He palms his ginger beard and smoothes it down. “That the reason Dozer tore outta here?”
“Yeah. That and he wanted to spend some time at the hospital before him and Mav head out,” I say, not wanting to go into further detail.
He pumps his chin toward the front door. “C’mon, I’ll show ya where to go.” Griz walks me to the sheet metal garage on the other side of the courtyard. After opening the door, he gestures me inside. “In the back,” he says, leaving me to find Mav on my own.
The garage is massive and dimly lit. What sunlight there is comes from windows set about fifteen feet off the ground. The air’s cooler in here than outside, but also muggy and reeks of oil and gas. So strongly that it burns my nose and reminds me of things I’d rather not remember. Like Warner. Eight-foot high flames. And the deafening cry of a fire truck siren.
I force those thoughts to the back of my mind as I cautiously make my way through the clutter of cars, motorcycles, tools, and toolboxes.
It’s not until I come around a far wall that I spy them.
Mav is in a boxing ring facing me, and Taz with his back to me. They’re both shirtless and circling each other. They’re wearing boxing gloves and holding their hands up to block their faces. Taz is bouncing around, whereas Mav is more centered, focused, and firm footed.
I stay partially hidden in the dark. I don’t want to interrupt the match and put an end to this delectable show. Not when I can watch Mav from afar without him knowing.
Because he’s quite the sight.
Perspiration drips like honey from his temple to jaw line, and neck to chest. The light from the bulb hanging above him reflects off the moisture coating the dips and valleys of his pecs and ropy abs. Sex appeal radiates off him in waves, and I’m suddenly incapable of looking at anything else. He’s not thick and throwing muscles everywhere like Taz, but taut in all the right places. Lean hips, nice arms, a small six-pack, and dear God he wears those jeans as if they were made just for him.
The color of his skin is like the color of the Pacific Coast sand when wet. The kind you want to touch and feel under your hands all day.
My eyes roam over the rest of him. The chain around his neck. The words inked across his chest and the small angel on his arm. The one I’ve seen hints of under his sleeve, but have never seen before. It’s beautiful in a broken and mysterious way, and it calls to the part of me that is insanely curious about him.
In a quick move, Mav throws a jab. But Taz dodges it by rapidly swinging his head to the side a split second before it connects. They trade places and Mav puts his back to me.
When he does, my eyes roam over the biggest tattoo I’ve ever seen. The HOC colors as the boys call them. The HOC insignia spans from the top of his spine to his lower back. It’s massive. The middle arrow of the chaos symbol follows the line of his vertebrae. It sinks under the hem of his jeans, and as he moves, the muscles in his back bulge and pop, making the image dance. It’s so damn sexy I have to clench my thighs together to fight the ache building between them.
I’d like to trace the design. Every line, every nuance. The wings. The arrows. The banner with the words that every HOC besides Mav lives by,Revel in chaos, regret nothing.
Mav’s the exception.
Because Mav is full of regrets.
Taz’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Gettin’ slow, brother.” He bounces on his feet and moves to the side. He moves fast, throws a punch, and lands a solid blow to Mav’s ribs.
Anoomphsound escapes Mav and a grimace spreads across his face.
Taz chuckles. “Shit man, you’re gettin’ soft. Or should I say hard. The stray still got your head spinnin’ but not the head above your should—”
Mav throws a jab and slams his fist into Taz’s cheek, cutting off whatever he was going to say.
“Fuck!” Taz laughs, cups his jaw, and rubs it with his glove. His laugh comes out manic and unstable. “Damn, that one’s gonna leave a mark. Hey, maybe I can get her to kiss it better.”
