Wheels of Fire (Hollywood Demons Book 3)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  I’m vaguely aware that I’m bleeding. Christ, I hope no photographers are hanging around the house today. All I need to make this shitastic day complete is a picture of me shirtless, barefoot, and limping after my girlfriend splashed all over L.A. Weekly.

  “Mallory, don’t.”

  She stops at her car, resting her hand on the hood. Her head falls down, all her beautiful hair hiding her face.

  Afraid she’ll somehow slip out of my grasp, I tackle her around the waist, burying my face against her hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Please don’t go. I love you so much.”

  The sobs that shake her body wreck me.

  “I love you too,” she whispers. In a stronger voice, she adds, “But I think I’m going to stay at a hotel tonight.”

  “Please don’t.”

  Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?

  I let my father’s idiotic warning smolder in my brain until Pamela’s phone call lit the fuse and now we’re paying the price.

  The fucking roses sure as shit didn’t help.

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “What?” Slowly, still scared she’ll run, I turn her to face me but keep my hands around her waist. “Why?”

  “Why would you believe anything Pamela said about me?”

  I shake my head, not having any good reason except a gut feeling. Saying that will only make her want to leave me more. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She snorts. “What? You thought accusing me of…whatever you were implying back there would make me happy?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She gasps and pulls away. “Chaser! What did you do? You’re bleeding.”

  Her gaze skips over my shoulder and I turn, surprised at the bloody trail staining the concrete. I stare down at my feet. That’s when the ribbons of pain slicing through my tender flesh hit me.

  “Fuck,” I breathe out.

  “Oh my God.” She chants the words over and over. “Let me see. Oh my God, I’m going to throw up.”

  “It’s nothing.” I pick up my left foot and yank out a jagged chunk of glass. “Fuck, that’s bad.” I pluck a few thorns out of my heel and smaller shards of glass lodged between my toes.

  She reaches for me with shaky hands. “Chaser, we should go to the hospital.”

  “No thanks.”

  “We need to clean that gash. It is bad. You probably need stitches.”

  “I’ll wash it and take another look.”

  “Let me grab your shoes so you don’t get more cuts.”

  “I’m fine.” As much as I try to stay off my injured foot on the walk up to the house, waves of pain jar my body with every step. Even so, when we reach the door, I sweep Mallory into my arms.

  “Chaser, put me down. You can’t carry me.”

  “I don’t need you getting sliced up too.”

  “I’m wearing shoes.” She zips her lips. Arguing is pointless since I’m already past the mess. I set her down outside the bathroom and limp my way over to the tub.

  “Shit.” I twist the taps and nearly scream when I stick my foot under the running water.

  “Chaser, it looks bad.” Her voice quivers. When I glance back she’s wide-eyed and pale.

  “Call Thom. He knows someone who’ll come to the house.”

  “Okay,” she whispers, turning and running away.

  After a few minutes, I ease my foot into the water and slowly start washing dirt and blood away. Over the rush of water, I catch snippets of Mallory’s anxiety-laced voice speaking on the phone. I hiss out a pained breath and twist off the tap.

  Glass tinkles from the living room. “Leave it, Mallory! I’ll clean it up. I don’t want you cutting your hands.”

  “I’m fine,” she yells back.

  God fucking dammit. I wrap a towel around my foot, trying not to notice the huge circle of red seeping through. “Mal, leave it.”

  The only answer I get is the vacuum humming to life. I hobble out and find her finishing the cleanup.

  “You should’ve let me do it,” I say when she shuts off the vacuum.

  “I’m fine. Doctor West should be here within the hour.”

  “Thanks.”

  We stare at each other from across the room. The space isn’t that big but the distance between us might as well be an ocean.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Mallory

  “Please sit down.” My voice breaks. “I don’t want to think about all the damage you’re doing to your foot.”

  “I’m fine.” The grimace slashing across his face says otherwise. At least he finally drops his heavy frame into a chair.

  Nervous, I can’t sit still. All my fury from our fight has twisted into shame and fear.

  But maybe a little bit of anger still lingers. I can’t seem to find the words to apologize.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I ask.

  “Do we have a bottle of whiskey or two laying around?”

  “No.” I jump up and scurry into the kitchen. My nose wrinkles as a fishy scent wafts over from the stove. “Were you…cooking?”

  “I was making us dinner.” He pauses and adds in a much more sarcastic tone, “Until your special delivery showed up.”

  I toss the fish in the trash, pour two glasses of water, and return to the living room.

  “Can you grab my shirt?” He points to the arm of the couch.

  The soft pile of worn cotton smells like Chaser. I have the urge to bury my nose in the fabric until it washes all this ugliness away.

  “Tell me nothing happened,” he rasps.

  I drop the shirt in his lap. “Please, can we take care of your foot, right now?”

  “Mallory—”

  Finally, a knock at the front door rescues us from this misery. I run for the door like my ass is on fire and there’s a bucket of water waiting for me on the other side.

  “Hi! Doctor West. Thank you so much for stopping by.” The doctor’s older, with gray hair and beard. Distinguished and professional. I’d been worried about what type of doctor made house calls at this hour but he’s sharp and quick to let me know what he needs as soon as I explain the situation.

  “Bring another lamp over here.” He points to the floor next to Chaser’s chair. “Hurry.”

  I gag and almost faint when I get a glimpse of the gash on Chaser’s foot.

  “Bring me a bowl. You have a big bowl? Hot water.” He barks a bunch of orders at me and I run to find the items requested.

  “I already washed it,” Chaser argues.

  The doctor grumbles at him and gets to work.

  Except for a few hisses of pain and a wince here and there, Chaser’s stoic. Unable to take it, I reach down and curl my fingers around his. He tips his head back and peers up at me with an unreadable expression.

  “You need stitches,” the doctor warns.

  Chaser grits his teeth. “Do what you gotta do. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll give you an injection to numb the area but it’s not going to feel good.”

  Chaser pulls me down so I’m sitting on the edge of the chair and curls his arm around my waist, resting his head against my side. “Do it. Sew me up, Doc.”

  He squeezes his eyes shut as the first needle slides into his foot.

  A soft sob escapes me. My punishment should be to watch every excruciating second of the doctor’s handiwork, but I’m too squeamish. Instead, I wrap my arms around Chaser, wishing I could absorb his pain.

  We stay that way—awkwardly clinging to each other, until the doctor declares he’s finished. He wraps thick gauze around Chaser’s foot and gives him a list of instructions to follow. “I brought a cane. It’s in my car. I’ll go grab it.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  The doctor ignores Chaser.

  After the front door shuts, Chaser gestures toward the bedroom. “Go grab my wallet, babe. He give you any idea what he charges?”

  “No, Thom said he’d take care of it.”

  “What�
�d you tell him?”

  “That you had an accident and hurt your foot. He wanted to know why you weren’t in Vancouver.”

  “And?”

  I hang my head. “I told him you wanted to surprise me. I didn’t know what else to say.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  Something about his glib answer reignites my anger. “You wanted to ambush and accuse me. Don’t pretend it was some romantic gesture that brought you home.”

  His jaw locks but the door swings open and the doctor rushes in before we can say anything else.

  He sets a bottle of pills on the table and rests the cane against the wall behind Chaser’s chair. “Thom’s handling the bill. If you need anything or you see any signs of infection, call me. I understand you’ll be up in Vancouver. Make sure you go to a hospital if you have any issues.”

  “I will. Thanks, Doc.”

  He eyes both of us with a hint of suspicion before nodding. I walk him to the door and say good night.

  “Do you want something to eat?” I ask, suddenly nervous now that we’re alone again. “I’m starving. I had an awful day at work.”

  “And a shit night at home?”

  I slide my gaze his way. “Do you really want to do this right now? Can I at least eat something before you accuse me of wanting to fuck other men again?”

  He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.” Finally, he opens them and points toward the kitchen. “I bought shrimp too. They’re in the fridge.”

  I follow the simple directions he gives me to cook the shrimp and prepare everything else to go along with the tacos. When I finally call him to the table, I can’t help wincing at the awkward way he limps over.

  “I’m fine. Stop acting like I’m gonna die. I’ve had worse injuries.”

  “Such as?”

  He regales me with stories of flipping over an ATV when he was a kid, losing control of his first motorcycle and crashing it into a tree, along with dozens of other terrifying tales.

  “That’s it.” I point my fork at him. “Our sons will not be allowed to ride or drive any motorized vehicles until they’re at least thirty.”

  He sets his fork down with a soft clink. “Just the boys?”

  “Girls are more responsible. I never did any of those things.”

  He huffs out a laugh. “That mean you still wanna have babies with me?”

  I’m still not in the mood to laugh. “Not today.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chaser

  Mallory’s tough girl attitude dissolves when she has to help me to the bedroom.

  “You’re in the middle of recording. How are you going to play like this?” A tear runs down her cheek, damn near breaking me. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mal.” I hop my way to the bed and drop down on the edge.

  “It’s my fault—” She leans against the doorway and won’t meet my eyes.

  “Come here.” I hold out my hand to her and after a few beats, she comes closer and takes it. “It was an accident. It’s not like you threw the fucking vase at me.”

  She sniffles. “You had me so angry, I wanted to throw the damn thing at you. And in my hurry to leave, I broke it.”

  She’s so fierce and sad all at the same time, but I hate that she feels so guilty.

  “It’s my own fault for making you so mad.” I cock my head. “You still wanna go stay at a hotel?”

  “No.” She lifts her chin. “How am I supposed to leave you limping around?”

  Not exactly a declaration of love. “Don’t stay out of pity. I can take care of myself.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” She drops down on the bed next to me.

  “Christ, Mallory. I tore up my foot trying to stop you from leaving. No.”

  Her lashes flutter and she twists her fingers in her lap. “Then why would you ask me if I want to…to sleep with someone else? The way you asked was humiliating.”

  In addition to the pain in my foot, my head throbs. I’d do anything to erase those words from her memory.

  “Maybe I don’t have as much experience,” she continues, “But I love you. Why would you say those things?”

  I blow out a breath and turn away. “Just stuff I’ve been thinking about since we got engaged.”

  Stupid bullshit my father put in my head for no damn good reason.

  “You don’t want to get married anymore?” Her voice falls to a whisper. “We don’t have to.” She stares at her ring and slowly twists it around her finger. “We can wait if that’s what you want.”

  Hell-fucking-no, I want to go down to City Hall this weekend and tie the knot before I return to Vancouver. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  I strip off my shirt and toss it toward the closet before falling back against the pillows. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “Well.” She shifts and kneels up next to me so she can look me in the eyes. “You’re a captive audience at the moment. What are you going to do, get up and hobble away if I want an explanation?”

  “I can hobble if I need to.” I reach over and swipe the bottle of pills the doc left and rattle it at her. “He gave me some damn good pain killers.”

  “Chaser, I’m serious. What’s going on?”

  She’s not going to drop it and I owe her an explanation. I scrub my hands over my face a few times to help get the words moving. “My father said some shit while we were home. That, combined with the way Andrew’s so obviously been after you. Being away from you again. It’s been bugging me.” Why didn’t I tell her all of this sooner?

  “So your father isn’t happy about us?”

  “We talked it out. He apologized—which he doesn’t do often.”

  “This was at our engagement party wasn’t it?”

  “Right before.” I rest my hands on her shoulders and squeeze. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks or what he said. It changed nothing for me.”

  “But he told you I’m too…inexperienced to be your wife? I don’t understand.”

  My lips twitch in disgust as I recall my father’s crude words, then shame when I realize in the heat of the moment, I said even worse to Mallory. “It was stupid stuff. Things that had more to do with him and my mother than you and me. Believe me, I had it out with him.” I drop my gaze and shake my head. “But I don’t know. Some of it must have clung to me.”

  “Your father’s a forceful man. Whether you accept it or not, his opinion matters to you.” She briefly touches the back of my hand, drawing my attention up again. “Still, you could have told me. I wouldn’t have been mad at you.”

  I snort out a laugh. “I like that you two have your budding father-daughter relationship thing going on. I didn’t want to ruin that. I made it clear his ‘advice’ wasn’t welcome.”

  “Huh.” She bites her lip. “Do you think it’s possible my father threatened him after our visit?”

  Well, fuck. I’d gotten so riled up at the details he shared about my mother, I’d never given a lot of thought to what prompted the conversation. Maybe that was his goal. “I guess it’s possible.” Even for my dad, who’s about as vulgar as they come, the whole thing was pretty disgusting and seemed to come out of nowhere.

  “Could we be in danger?”

  “No,” I answer quickly. “If we were in true danger, he wouldn’t have let us come back to L.A.” I consider the situation more thoroughly. “Your father wants access to Canada. Something he can’t get without my club. Besides, he knows there are two Demon charters in this state that will rain down hellfire if anyone comes near us.”

  “What about Vancouver? Are you safe up there?”

  “I don’t see them wasting time tracking me down.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “Even if I’m not here, I’ll always make sure you’re protected.”

  “I know you will.” She licks her lips and glances down. “You were right.”

  I don’t like the shift in her voice. “About wh
at?”

  “About Andrew.” She twists and rubs her fingers together. “Yesterday, after Cindy left. He…told me he’s…interested.”

  “I knew it.” There’s no satisfaction that comes from being right. “And?”

  “He admitted to trying to break us up by bringing girls on your bus. Claimed that he’s been obsessed with me for a long time.” She shrugs.

  “Motherfucker.” I roll over and pull my nightstand drawer open.

  Her soft fingers close over mine. “What are you doing?”

  The weight of the revolver feels good in my hand. I’ve been itching to shoot this motherfucker for months.

  I shake her off and straighten up. “I’m going to stop by Andrew’s place and blow a hole through his skull,” I answer with matter-of-fact calm.

  “Chaser! That’s not funny.”

  “Oh, I’m not joking, baby.”

  “Chaser,” she protests again.

  “Should’ve done it months ago. Already sat in a jail cell for it. Might as well get the satisfaction of actually putting a bullet in that disloyal asshole.”

  “He’s your friend.”

  My jaw drops and I stare at her. “Friends don’t tell my fiancée they want…whatever the fuck he told you.”

  “True.” She hangs her head. “I don’t think he meant any of it.”

  “Don’t make excuses for that piece of shit.” The fact that she’s even trying to excuse his behavior pisses me off even more. Sometimes she really is too sweet for her own damn good.

  “I’m not,” she protests.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Fear enters her eyes. That bad, I guess.

  “You kiss him?”

  “No,” she whispers.

  “But he tried to kiss you? Touch you?”

  Silence.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I roar, throwing the covers back and jumping out of the bed. I choke down a scream when my bandaged foot hits the ground.

  “It was nothing.” She kneels up in the center of the bed and reaches for me. “Please.”

  I drop the gun in the drawer and slam it shut.

  My foot protests the weight I place on it as I hop to the bed and rest my knee on the mattress. “Nothing?”