Page 7 of The Fire and the Roar

“Get out!” Wreck’s voice exploded from behind me. I jumped.

Rick grabbed their stuff while the girl wiped whatever traces of white powder remained on the furniture, sucking on her fingers.Yuk.I’m sure it was plain old dust. This motel was a hell of a disaster pit.

Rick and the girl scurried out of the room, and Wreck slammed the door behind them, the boom making the door frame and me shudder. In the full light of the room, his face was a dark storm. My heart pounded out a beat I couldn’t keep up with. My insides burned.

He’d come all this way to surprise me, and what did he see? His old lady stripping off her clothes and beckoning a mob—which included Flames of Hell members—to check her out, to take her on.

Just great, Isi. Great.

Wreck was a vision in mud-splattered leathers from top to toe. His bulky boots heavy on the shag rug, a demanding presence. His brow was now a deep shelf, forming a Neanderthal-like ridge of shadow over his eyes, his beautiful dark blue eyes that were now a churning ocean of emotion. The heat emanating from him pummeled me. I’d made him mad, disappointed him. And, dammit, there was no time for that crap between us. Any time we had together was too damned precious.

Wreck and I hadn’t seen each other in three weeks. Three whole weeks. The heel of my boot dug into the rug, I squeezed my legs together. My body ached for him, my soul.

“Whose jacket is that?” he gritted out.

Damn, I was still clinging to Eric’s jacket.

“Oh, it’s Eric’s.”

His head tilted. “Who the hell is Eric?”

“He’s—”

A knock erupted on my door, and Wreck’s blue eyes darkened once more. A hand going to his gun, he went to the door and looked through the peephole. He jerked open the door, and a thin, young man with unruly dark blond hair wearing a ripped long-sleeved T-shirt and faded jeans, stood there shivering in the cold.

“Who the hell are you?” Wreck’s voice seethed.

“Honey, that’s Eric.”

Chapter Four

“Um,s-sorry, I left my guitar here. Uh, I mean…I mean…”

“Eric, come in, Wreck won’t bite. Right, honey?”

Wreck twisted his lips as he glared at Eric in harsh silence.

“Baby, Eric is Teddy’s cousin. He joined us a couple of weeks ago. He roadies for us—helps out in all the ways. And he’s a musician too, right, Eric?”

“Um…”

“Well? Are you or aren’t you?” Wreck folded his arms across his formidable chest.

Eric blinked, looking up at Wreck, who was inches taller and bulkier then he’d probably ever hoped to be. “Um, yeah, I am.”

“He’s good. He sings backup for me on a few songs now too, along with Len. It’s a new sound for us.”

Eric remained transfixed in the doorway at the sight of big, bulky Wreck. He knew about Wreck but had yet to meet him.

“You play the tambourine too?” Wreck’s jaw tightened.

Eric shifted his weight. “Well, yeah, sometimes.”

Wreck laughed, a sardonic, tired laugh, and I slid an arm around his middle. “Eric, come inside. It’s cold out there.”

Eric finally stepped inside my room as if it were the forbidden zone of horrors where the presence of oxygen was in question.

I stroked Wreck’s back. “This is my man, Wreck. Honey, this is Eric.”

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