Out of the Ashes

by Anne Malcom

  What was dangerous was not feeling pain. Of feeling her hot tight body underneath his. Tasting her mouth, feeling her moan as he pounded inside her. Having his dick milked by her orgasm. That was dangerous.

  “Fuck!” he roared, shaking his head.

  He’d fucked up. Majorly. Christ, he had vowed to himself, after those torturous two hours at the movie theater, he fuckin’ swore he would do everything to make sure he was never in her presence again. Never close enough to smell the vanilla scent coming off her hair. To feel that spark when their skin met.

  He was seriously considering selling his house. He had already spent three nights at the club, trying to get her out of his mind. He’d fucked the only club bitch he could stomach, the one who knew the deal, knew what to do. That hadn’t even helped. He’d only come visualizing Mia. Usually he did everything humanly possible not to think of golden hair while fuckin’ a club bitch. That’s why Whit was best. Dark hair, dark eyes. Curvy. Complete opposite. He’d fucked her the day of the disaster at the movie theater. Hadn’t touched her since; instead, he sought solace in a whisky bottle.

  Then within fuckin’ hours of him getting home, the bitch arrived on his doorstep. With fuckin’ cake. She was babbling. Nervous. And fuckin’ irresistible. He had had to lock himself down from dragging her in the moment he opened the door.

  And when he had finally lost the battle, hauling her in, finally tasting her mouth, he had expected her to fight him. To rear away in disgust. Hell, he had fuckin’ hoped for it. But instead she had melted against him, clawed at his fuckin’ back. The wildcat took every inch of him. Those moments he was inside her, touching her, tasting her. Everything was gone. The memories, the demons. Everything. It was only her.

  When they were done he had looked at her. Her eyes had been lazy, a sated dreamy expression on her face. She had been fuckin’ beautiful. He actually had to catch himself from laying a soft kiss on her swollen lips. From brushing her golden hair out of her face.

  That’s what had got him. The hair. Gold. Not the same, nowhere near. But that shimmer had started the battle again. Made those memories rush back in. The pain at the bottom of his gut. So he was cruel. Brutal. He knew it. The moment she flinched, fuckin’ flinched from the weight of his words he knew. But it was necessary. Vital. She needed to stay away. For her own safety.

  “Mom, I’ve got something to tell you,” Lexie declared, leaning over the front desk of reception, grabbing a mint from our bowl.

  I didn’t look up from my computer. “Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant. I’m too young to have a teenage daughter, let alone a granddaughter. They’d put me on the news,” I said distractedly. I looked up with a grim expression. “Is it worse? Have you turned into a,” I paused for dramatic effect, “a Belieber?” I finished with horror.

  It was Wednesday. A week after what I was now referring in my mind as the incident. I had sat on the floor of my front door for exactly an hour, wallowing in self-pity and shame. Then I had pulled myself together, made myself an appointment with a doctor for an STD check and thanked God I was on the pill. Not because of all the action I got. I was a single mom trying to give my daughter a life with a roof over her head and the possibility of a college education. I didn’t have much time for romantic dalliances. Not only that, I didn’t want a parade of men in front of Lexie. And there was the little issue of what her lovely father had done to me before. Thanks to that lovely cocktail of events I was pretty dry on the sexual encounter front. I had them sporadically, and Lexie never knew. But this latest disaster was a great reason why I should stay away from men indefinitely.

  “I’m in a band!” she announced excitedly as if I hadn’t spoken at all.

  “Some kids at school heard me playing in a study period, we got to chatting and boom!” She made a gesture with her hands. “A band was born.”

  I stared dumbly at her a second. “Tell me it’s a TLC cover band,” I pleaded with a straight face.

  Lexie scowled at me.

  I smiled and patted her hand. “Come on, kid, you’ve had sixteen years of my brand of humor. You’d think by now you could roll with it. That’s fricking awesome—I can’t wait to meet them,” I told her sincerely.

  I inwardly let out a breath of relief. Lexie seemed like she had been doing fine at her new school; she hadn’t come home with a major wedgie or any black eyes, so things couldn’t be that bad. But she wasn’t mentioning too many new friends, nor going for sleepovers. However, even at her old school, Lexie wasn’t much for sleepovers. She and her best friend Emma mainly hung out with me watching movies.

  “Well,” she said cautiously, “I was hoping that since we’ve got that garage we never use...”

  “On account of there being too much stuff in there I’m not mentally or physically prepared to unpack,” I interrupted her.

  “Yeah, that. Well, since it actually isn’t being utilized for its intended purpose, I thought we could repurpose it,” she trailed off and gave me a look.

  “Repurpose it as what, exactly?” I asked suspiciously, not catching on. It had been hours since my last coffee. And since the incident I wasn’t sleeping too great. My mind went back to the conversation at hand. “Please don’t say a Pilates studio. Or a yoga studio. Or any studio type thing that involves exercise.”

  “As a place for my band to practice,” she cut me off, seeming to know I was about to rattle off every unpleasant healthy purpose she could possibly have.

  I relaxed. “Thank God,” I muttered.

  Lexie brightened. “Righteous,” she declared, taking my blasphemy as a yes.

  “Someone’s gotta determine whether you guys are destined for superstardom,” I said, my mind catching up somewhat. A light bulb popped over my head. “Hey, I could be your momager! Get you gigs, do your wardrobe. Ride your coattails all the way to the Grammys.” I was mentally calculating my cut.

  “Mom, we’re a high school band who haven’t even properly rehearsed yet. Don’t write the acceptance speech just yet,” she chided.

  “Mmhmm,” I said distractedly, thinking of the Porsche I’d buy with my income.

  Brad the front desk receptionist wandered past. “Brad!” I called, stopping him. “Lexie’s band is going to be world famous. Want her autograph now so you can sell it on eBay in five years and retire a rich man?” I asked him.

  He grinned. “You bet. I’ll also be doing a TMZ interview telling all about how I knew her before she was gobbled up by the fame monster,” he responded without missing a beat.

  I gave him a thumbs up and turned to Lexie, grinning. She had her head in her hands.

  I ignored this. “So, when do I get to meet the band?” I asked, glancing back to my reservation list on the computer. “Let’s have them for dinner,” I said before she could answer. “By have them for dinner I do not mean you cook some gluten free, sugar free, happiness free dish containing sauerkraut,” I told her. “I’m talking we have them over and get pizza delivered to the house. We don’t want to scare them off with your health freak tendencies—it could break up the band before it even begins. Kale could be the Yoko Ono to your Beatles,” I said in all seriousness.

  “Whatever, Mom,” Lexie responded in a bored tone.

  My eyes widened and I gave her my full attention. “Oh my God,” I exclaimed with a hand dramatically on my chest. “I just got my first sarcastic ‘whatever’ from my teenage daughter! A milestone. One that I never thought I’d get. We need a picture,” I surmised, glancing around for my phone.

  Lexie rolled her eyes.

  I went back a step. “An eye-roll too? Double whammy of teenage surliness.”

  My phone rang from under a stack of papers. I pointed at Lexie as I went to grab it. “Don’t you move, young lady, we are documenting this moment.”

  I glanced down at the screen to smile at the name that was flashing.

  “Ava!” I answered warmly. “You have called in time to be involved in a milestone. Lexie’s first sarcastic ‘whatever’ and follo
wing eye roll,” I told her, wiping a fake tear for dramatic effect.

  “Should I send I cake?” Ava replied seriously.

  I pretended to ponder. “Maybe a small batch of brownies would be sufficient. And by small I mean enough to feed both Lexie and I.”

  “So two batches then?”

  “Bingo.” She knew me so well and luckily was also on board with Lexie’s and my particular sense of humor.

  “Hey, Ava!” Lexie called from across the counter.

  “Spawn says hi,” I repeated unnecessarily.

  “Oh, I’ll have a chat with her in a moment, if she’s not too busy with schoolwork,” Ava replied.

  “Oh, she’s not busy. We pulled her out of school, thinking performing on the street would be much more productive,” I deadpanned.

  “I approve. School’s a waste of time these days anyway,” she agreed with a smile in her voice. “So,” Ava continued. “How’s it all going? I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to talk sooner—I’ve been thinking of you both,” she said apologetically.

  “Don’t worry, we’ve been so busy I’ve barely had time to binge watch The Walking Dead,” I said, leaning next to Lexie.

  We chatted for a couple of minutes and I was glad to talk to someone who I thought of as a second mother. Actually, considering the woman who birthed me could only be loosely described as a mother, and only in a purely biological sense, she was my only mom. Ava was the only grandmother figure Lexie had in her life, although, she did refuse to be called that. She loved Lexie with all of her heart, though.

  After I had passed her on to Lexie, who wandered away into the depths of the hotel to talk, I tried to get myself back to work to get my mind off the incident. The fact I spent an hour looking at a computer screen without actually doing anything told me I failed.

  “Remind me why I agreed to this again?” I asked, blowing a hair out of my face. I kicked a box out of the way as Lexie pulled a rug over the stained concrete floor of the garage.

  “Because you love me?” she answered after she had straightened.

  I thought for a moment, rubbing my aching back. “No, can’t be that.”

  “Because I’m your only daughter?” she continued.

  I paused and shook my head, squinting into the distance. “Oh, I know—it’s ‘cause you’re going to become rich and famous and look after me in my old age,” I said triumphantly.

  Lexie stared at me. “That’s yet to be determined. If you don’t play your cards right, as soon as you’re of age I’m putting you in a home.”

  I scowled at her. “I can’t believe I’m doing manual labor on my day off,” I whined. “It’s Saturday, the day of rest. We should be either vegged out catching up on Scandal, or shopping up a storm at some obscure vintage shop,” I told her while I stretched to place a box on a shelf. I refused to unpack anything that I didn’t need to, hence me shoving them anywhere out of the way.

  Lexie was doing the same, though not out of laziness, like me. She was anxious to get her jam space ready. Her band was coming over for pizza tonight, therefore I was recruited as slave labor.

  “Sunday is the day of rest, Mom,” she told me in a patronizing tone.

  I poked my tongue out at her. She ignored me and went back to shuffle some more boxes around.

  I was saved from having to continue my work with the ringing of my cellphone. “Whoever this is, I love you eternally for saving me from breaking my back in the name of music,” I greeted.

  A masculine laugh sounded at the end of the line. “Well, babe, that’s twice now you’ve declared your undying love for me and we haven’t even had a first date. Things are looking promising.”

  “Oh hey, Lucky,” I responded. One could not forget the sound of a particular hot guy’s voice. Especially when that particular hot guy had your beloved car in his care. And was also connected to the man you fucked against the wall a week ago.

  “I’m hoping you’ve got some good news for me,” I continued, shaking my head to rid it of dangerous thoughts.

  My car repair had taken longer than expected. Which would have mildly pissed me off, but I had transportation, and Lucky had called me twice this week with an update. My sex life was in the crapper, so my joking calls with the biker hottie were all I had.

  “Yes, it’s finally ready. You can have Betty back,” he said, referring to my car by her proper name.

  “That’s awesome! Can I come and pick her up now?” I asked hopefully. This would be killing two birds with one stone. Get my car, get out of the remainder of work left in the garage. My glance flickered over to the house across the street. The house that had been empty for over a week. My stomach dropped at the thought of running into Zane.

  “Well, since you sound like you’ve got your hands full with whatever you’re doing, how about I come over, drop the car off and see if I can lend a hand?” he offered.

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” I said in a weak tone. I totally wanted him to do that. Then I could get out of lifting stuff and watch a hot guy lift stuff. Win win.

  “You don’t have to ask. I’m offerin.’ And I don’t take no for an answer,” he said firmly with a hint of machoness. “What’s your address?” he asked.

  I didn’t even try to argue. He was saving me from not only Zane’s wrath and indifference but also the remainder of my physical labor. I rattled off my address.

  There was a pause at the end of the line. “Hello? Lucky, have you changed your mind?” I asked with a hint of sadness.

  “No, sorry. Just didn’t realize you lived there, that’s all,” he said in a weird tone. “I’ll be there with Betty soon.”

  To say the week had been shit would be an understatement. The only reason Bull made it through was thanks to morning beer and evening Jack. He stayed at the club. He couldn’t risk it. Going home, seeing her. Fuck, catching a glimpse of her would shatter his resolve. So he needed to keep his distance. Build up his defenses. Remember the reasons to stay the fuck away. Not that he needed to remember. They were there in the back of his mind. In the front of his dreams. It wasn’t the bad ones that were the worst either. Not the images of her battered, broken body. Nor the description of what those maggots had done to her. No. It was the good memories. The ones of her smiling. Laughing. Of her living life. Of them living life together.

  It’s what haunted him.

  His mind snapped back into the present as Lucky walked into the bay, grinning into a cellphone.

  “Yes, it’s finally ready. You can have Betty back.”

  Bull pushed away from the car he was working on to stand stiffly as Lucky leaned on it.

  There was a pause; obviously he was listening to the other end of the conversation and his grin widened.

  “Well, since you sound like you’ve got your hands full with whatever you’re doing, how about I come over, drop the car off and see if I can lend a hand?” His eyes had a glint in them, one Bull knew too well.

  His fists clenched to his sides and he felt fury ball up in his belly. He didn’t hear what Lucky said next, on account of the fact he was trying his hardest not to rip the phone out of his brother’s hand and put his fist through his face.

  Lucky’s grin was quickly wiped from his face as he made eye contact with Bull. He stared at him for a moment before jerking and speaking into the phone. He took it from his ear and then turned to face Bull.

  “That was Mia,” he explained.

  “Fuckin’ gathered that,” Bull ground out through gritted teeth. He figured that fact out when they were talking about the stupid fuckin’ name she had for her car. Stupid and also cute as fuck. He also gathered his brother was trying to get in there. With her. His jaw twitched at the thought.

  Lucky regarded him. “You didn’t mention she lived across the street from you,” he said slowly.

  Bull was silent.

  “That got anything to do with the fact you seem to have taken up permanent residence at the clubhouse?” he continued casually.

 
“That’s none of your fuckin’ business,” Bull snapped.

  Lucky nodded. “Fair enough, brother. But Mia? I’m pretty darned intent on making her my business,” he started in an easy tone.

  Bull didn’t think, he just charged. And all of a sudden he had Lucky by the shirt collar and had slammed him up against the car. “You do not fuckin’ touch her,” he barked at him.

  Lucky’s eyes bulged, but he made no move to fight back. Which was good. Bull was hangin’ on by a fuckin’ thread.

  “What the fuck’s going on here? Bull, Jesus Christ,” he heard Cade exclaim from beside him. He felt pressure on his shoulder, Cade trying to pull him off.

  Lucky glanced to the side. “No worries, we’re cool.” His eyes moved back to Bull. “You laying claim to her brother?”

  Bull didn’t even think before he responded. “She’s mine,” he declared through gritted teeth.

  Silence seemed to hang in the air after this declaration. He abruptly released Lucky and turned to see Asher and Steg staring at him from the edge of the bay. Their faces were blank. He ignored them.

  Without a second glance, he strode off, toward his bike.

  “Do you think he’ll shoot me if I go and deliver her car?” he heard Lucky ask before he was out of earshot.

  I leaned against the frame of the garage door, trying not to burst into tears. This was not because I had ravaged my body with physical exertion. I did have to commence the rest of the box moving without the help of a muscly biker, thanks to him being a no show. No. My thinly restrained waterworks were due to something else entirely.