Firestorm

by Anne Malcom

  Brock stared at him for a moment then nodded stiffly.

  “Okay, now that I’m satisfied you’re going to make a full recovery I can report back to some seriously nervous men,” Hansen joked, eyes back on me. “You gave everyone quite the scare, beautiful. You’re a fighter.” He winked at me.

  I rewarded him with a smile.

  He turned to Brock, who looked unhappy at our little exchange. “We got church in five, brother.”

  Brock didn’t respond; instead he looked at me and if I had been standing up I’m sure I would have toppled over at the amount of concern and emotion in his gaze.

  Hansen caught this. “She’ll be good, brother, I’ve got Macy comin’ in any minute with breakfast and a laptop filled with movies and books and shit.”

  Brock approached my bedside. “You’ll eat everything on that fuckin plate, and I don’t want you out of this bed.” he ordered.

  All the warm and fuzzy feelings I had over his loving gaze disappeared in a puff of smoke. “I’ll eat what I want to eat and you won’t command me to do so ever again, Otto,” I snapped. “And I’ll get out of this bed if I want to get out of this bed. That is my prerogative, since last time I checked I was in charge of my motor skills.”

  Brock’s eyes narrowed. “You need to turn off the bitch for five fuckin’ seconds and realize that I’m right. And if you don’t do what I say I’ll come in here and make you eat every last bite.”

  “What are you going to do? Knock me unconscious and shove a feeding tube down my throat?” I asked sarcastically.

  Brock’s gaze changed. “Oh baby, I won’t have to knock you unconscious and trust me, you’ll be begging me to shove something down your throat.”

  My stomach dipped. “You’re disgusting,” I whispered.

  “You know I’m right,” he said softly back and then kissed me quickly on the lips before straightening.

  Hansen, who didn’t look at all perturbed by our exchange, clapped Brock on the back and lifted his chin to me. “I’ll be back to check on you later on today. And as much as I respect your prerogative and your right as a woman to not listen to no man, I must request you stay off your feet as much as possible.” He winked at me, then he and Brock walked out the door, Brock smirking over his shoulder as he left.

  I didn’t have much time alone with my thoughts after the door shut. More accurately I had about three point five seconds to analyze what went on moments before and what the heck was going on between Brock and I before Macy arrived. The door burst open and a small woman thundered through it, arms full with a breakfast tray and a laptop.

  “Good morning! I hope you’re hungry. Even if you aren’t there is no way you could resist this French toast. Jonah only makes it on like ‘special occasions’ and I’m talking when the Yankees win the World Series type occasions, and looks like you deserve this orgasm on a plate, my dear. Heck, I’m thinking on getting kidnapped myself so he can make these when the boys come and rescue me.” She stopped speaking abruptly, eyes snapping up.

  “Oh shit. I’m sorry, that made me sound like a crazy insensitive bitch. I swear I’m not. Well, insensitive anyway. A lot of the guys around here might argue with the crazy bit. I am. In a good way, though, you know?” She arranged a plate in front of me and my mouth watered at the smell. She also looked genuinely sorry, which I couldn’t help but laugh about. Her brown eyes were wide and apologetic.

  “It’s fine. If you had told me two years ago that I could lose this much weight in one week just by getting snatched from a bar in New Mexico, I would have seriously considered it,” I joked, picking up my fork.

  Macy regarded me as if she had x-ray vision. “Girl, I hear that, but you look like you lost fifteen pounds too much. We need to get some meat on those bones, and trust me, French toast is a great way to start.”

  She settled on the chair beside me, with a plate of her own in her lap.

  “Oh shit, I’m Macy, by the way,” she said after her first mouthful.

  I groaned slightly at my own first bite; this was the best breakfast I had ever tasted. But the sweet taste of freedom mixed with maple syrup may have contributed.

  “I’m Amy,” I said, recovering from my foodgasm.

  “I know. Everybody knows. You’re pretty much the main subject around here.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

  Macy nodded her brown curls. “Really. The Cali boys rode up here like bats outta hell a couple o’ days ago and everyone got called in. I’ve never seen the guys that grim and seriously fucked off before. But it was scary. Like in a good way. They were shaking their alphaness around and it made for one heck of an aphrodisiac.” She winced. “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

  I waved my hand. “I get it. If the guys in this charter look anything like the ones back home I totally get it.”

  Macy chewed for a while. “Yeah, we’ve got a couple o’ studs, but nothing like the caliber of guys from the main charter. It’s like someone spiked the freaking water down there in California. I’m serious skeptical as to how that many attractive men can be concentrated into one charter. It’s cruel, really. They should be sprinkled around so more women can appreciate their beauty, or at least they could take their show on the road.” Her eyes went dreamy.

  I couldn’t help but laugh again at this girl. She was a freaking hoot. And just what I needed to take my mind off things. Ideally I needed my best friend. I more than needed her; I felt incomplete without her. But Macy would do until I was well enough to travel.

  “Whose old lady are you?” I asked in between bites. I was seriously surprised to see I had inhaled almost the entire plate in under five minutes.

  Macy’s smile dimmed slightly. “No one’s yet, but I’m just waiting for them to realize what a perfect old lady they have under their noses. They just aren’t ready.”

  “They? Or is there someone in particular?” I asked, picking up the meaning behind her words. The fact that this meant she was effectively a club girl didn’t faze me; she was sweet and fed me freaking amazing French toast. How could I judge her?

  Macy paused a second, looking almost sad. I’d known her for all of fifteen minutes but I could tell that expression was unwelcome on her pretty face.

  “Hansen. He’s just so freaking stoic and he never does anything with women. I started to think he was gay, until...” Macy petered off.

  I sat up, reveling in the girl talk. “Until...” I pressed.

  Macy put her plate to the side and I got the gravity of the situation. There was still half a plate of food on there; you didn’t put that down lightly.

  “Well, one night I stayed late to clean up the kitchen and there was no one around, so I had my headphones on and was dancing and singing and stuff. Next thing I know he’s right there, staring at me. I took out my headphones to say something, something stupid most likely, but he marches up to me and kisses me.” She gave me a meaningful look. “I mean kissed me. There was no doubt about his sexuality after that. I thought I got pregnant off that kiss.”

  “So what happened after?” I asked, getting into this story and wanting these two people to get together. They would if I had anything to do with it.

  Macy looked seriously sad and it was all I could do not to gather her up into my arms. That was saying something. I’m not a hugger. “Nothing. He just stopped, then basically ran out of the room. He’s been avoiding me ever since. And when I tried to talk to him he was just downright mean. Talk about mixed signals.”

  I felt for the poor girl. I found it hard to imagine the man who had just carefully tended to my wounds and successfully dealt with an alpha male with unnatural testosterone levels being mean to a five foot nothing beauty like Macy.

  She definitely didn’t look like a club girl. She was short and petite with pixie cut chocolate black hair and tanned skin. She was wearing a lace mini dress with a printed kimono overtop and knee length tan boots. She was a knockout and I didn’t get why Hansen would screw her arou
nd. But these men were weird. And a lot more complex than they seemed on first glance.

  Before I could console her Macy plastered a smile right back on her face.

  “You don’t need me unloading on you—we need to get some positive vibes in here.” She held up a laptop. “Now of course I am open to any and all online shopping possibilities that this baby presents, but I also have a plethora of movies for us to choose from. We’ve got some of the classic chick flicks—Dirty Dancing, Pretty Woman, Bridesmaids. And if you are feeling like watching a chick kick some serious ass we could totally watch Underworld. Kate Beckinsale is my ultimate girl crush. I want to be her and sleep with her simultaneously.” She paused. “Well, if I was a lesbian, of course. But I feel like if you met someone that attractive in person who could pull off skintight leather, you’d be whatever she wants you to be, ya know?” Macy babbled.

  I blinked at the rapid conversation and found it comforting and strangely similar to Gwen’s ramblings. “Mine’s Scarlett Johansson but I totally get yours. Gotta love girls that kick ass. I think I’m taking kickboxing classes when my legs heal,” I pondered and ignored the almost physical recoil my body had at the prospect of exercise. The idea of being able to properly defend myself was hugely enticing.

  “Okay, Underworld it is,” Macy declared, moving her chair and setting up the laptop.

  “How do you think she moves like that in that outfit?” Macy asked, tilting her head as if an alternate viewing angle would provide the answer.

  “Hmm, I don’t know. I give her serious props for it though. I feel like I would walk like the Tin Man in something that tight.”

  A clearing of a throat interrupted our pondering. Brock stood at the door, flanked by Lucky and Bull. “Hey guys,” I greeted, smiling.

  Bull gave me a chin lift., “Hey darlin, you’re looking better.”

  My mouth dropped open. He not only spoke but his face looked slightly warm, and I’m pretty sure his mouth was curled into a small smile. Before I could return this positively articulate and warm greeting from my usually broody friend Lucky interrupted.

  “Holy shit, is this Underworld? Why didn’t you guys tell me you were watching it? This chick is fuckin’ hot. Plus she kicks some serious ass.” Lucky pushed through the doorway to perch himself on the arm of Macy’s chair, peering intently at the screen.

  “We’ve already had this conversation,” I told him.

  “And discussed our change in sexual orientation if we ever met her in person,” Macy added casually.

  Lucky went quiet and moved his gaze from the screen to dart between both of us, mouth agape. “Holy shit. Well, isn’t that the best visual I’ve had since ever.”

  “You wanna keep your tongue I suggest you stop right there, brother, and can whatever thoughts you got of my woman,” Brock growled, coming to sit on the bed next to me.

  Lucky grinned at him. “Sorry, brother, I can’t control what goes on in here no more than you can,” he said, tapping his head.

  Brock shook his head and smirked good-naturedly. Even his crazy over the top possessiveness was no match for Lucky’s easygoing nature. I’m pretty sure it was impossible to be mad at him. I decided not to think on Brock calling me his woman so casually. I could face reality later. Right now I was going to make the most of the warm feeling that came from the statement.

  “We’ve got one more to go. You guys wanna watch?” Macy asked.

  I almost snorted. These guys were more likely to dress in pink tutus than watch a vampire movie with us. I’m sure they had heads to crack or guns to shoot.

  Imagine my surprise when Brock gently shifted me over to lie beside me and gather me in his arms and Lucky settled himself beside Macy. Even Bull dragged a chair from the other side of the room to come in viewing distance.

  Break out the tutus.

  After the movie the men left us to it. I hated to admit the loss I felt when Brock peeled himself off my bed. We were settling into some kind of couple dynamic way too easily, like the last year and a half hadn’t happened. It scared me. And excited me. Then I got worried about being excited, knowing that something good between Brock and I would never last. Then I felt panic. This was all in the space of time it took to Brock to extract me out of his arms and stand beside my bed.

  He must have gauged something in my expression. “I’ll be back later on tonight, Sparky. You good?”

  The men had declared they had “shit to do”. This coincided with a text Bull got which meaningful looks were exchanged once he read it.

  I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah, peachy.”

  He frowned at me a moment before bending down to kiss me firmly on the mouth. He pulled back an inch so our mouths were almost still touching. “Stay in bed, baby, please?”

  The snarky argument I would have normally had for such a command was quashed by the soft tone and tender look in Brock’s eyes. I merely nodded.

  He stayed gazing at me for a second more before he left the room.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I jerked awake when I felt a soft touch on my thigh, panic rising from the dream I had been trapped in. “It’s okay, babe, it’s just me,” Brock’s worried voice said from across the cab.

  I glanced down at the tattooed hand on my thigh and relief swept through my sleep addled mind.

  “Bad dream?” he asked, voice quiet.

  I turned to him, emotionally wincing at the look on his face. His jaw was hard and his eyes were glittering with anger. He alternated between fury and tenderness the past couple of days and it was hard to keep up with. Not to mention a stark reminder of the reason for those conflicting emotions.

  “Anyone would have a nightmare at the prospect of facing Katherine Abrams imminently,” I joked.

  My relief at the familiar scenery whizzing past us was quelled by the fact that the closer we got to home, Gwen, Belle, and all my family in Amber was the closer we got to my mother. I had spoken to Gwen on the phone right before we left.

  “Amy I didn’t want to tell you this, but every soldier needs to be prepared when going into battle,” Gwen had whispered quietly.

  “Oh no, what?” I had groaned, thinking I knew what she was talking about. I just hoped she was referring to someone more tolerable, like Genghis Khan or Hitler.

  “Your mother and father arrived late last night. Someone must have told them you were coming home,” she said carefully.

  I groaned, burying my head in my hands. “Maybe I should go back to Clark’s. I like my chances there better.”

  I was met with silence on the end of the phone.

  “Gwen?”

  “We don’t joke about Amy getting kidnapped until I get to see you in person and hug you and catalogue your limbs to make sure every one is still there. Then we have a stiff drink, you tell me everything that happened and I’ll decide whether humor is appropriate.” she said quietly, voice breaking.

  Needless to say my chat with my best friend had turned serious then and I had to talk her out of driving six hours to see for herself.

  We had stayed in New Mexico for two days, long enough for Hansen to feel happy about me facing the journey home without carking it. I had kept myself entertained with the help of Macy. She wasn’t joking; that chick was insane but in a totally good way. Her happiness and easygoing personality was contagious. It helped keep the dark thoughts at bay that included a knife and a seriously fucked up Italian. We had hugged each other goodbye only after I made her promise she would come and visit sometime soon.

  Brock had continued to treat me like I was his and he had been uncharacteristically tender. It unnerved me. It also warmed me from the inside out. This wasn’t the intense firestorm that it usually was when we were together. This was something different. He would gaze at me with an intensity I couldn’t place. Like he couldn’t take his eyes off me in case I disappeared. He held me tight when he squeezed onto the small hospital bed after I awoke from nightmares. He touched me with a familiarity and ease of someone t
hat had being doing it for their entire life, while wearing an expression that looked like he intended to do it for his entire life. It scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know how to erect my emotional barriers again. He hadn’t kissed me like the first night. He had stroked my face, held my hand, and gathered me in his arms but his mouth hadn’t touched mine since then.

  So that brought me to now, pulling into my street, facing an interaction with my mother. I had been terrified to think she might actually be staying in my house, but thankfully they were flying out later today.

  Brock grabbed my hand and squeezed. “She can’t be that bad, Sparky. She made you.”

  “Do you have your gun?” I asked seriously, ignoring the tender statement.

  His face was blank but his mouth twitched. “I’m not shooting your mother, babe.”

  I shook my head. “I’m reasonably sure bullets wouldn’t work on her. I’m talking about for me. I may ask you to put me out of my misery if I have to be subjected to her for longer than forty-five minutes.”

  Brock’s blank expression returned, sans mouth twitch. “We don’t joke about anyone using a gun on you. Got it?” His voice was hard.

  “Sheesh, what is it with you and Gwen?” I said, exasperated at the sobering effect my attempts at humor had been having the past few days. I needed to cling to it; the reality of what had happened to me was too scary to face at this moment in time.

  Brock pulled into the driveway, shutting the engine off. He grasped my chin lightly and turned my face to meet his. “For two days we were faced with the very real possibility that something had happened to you. Either you were—” Brock paused a second. “Either you were dead, or something had happened that changed you, made us lose the Amy we knew forever.” He stopped and watched me a second as if he was imprinting me on his memory. “When I first saw you in that hallway and you threw your smart ass comments, I’ve never been more glad to hear that in my life. I could breathe again knowing I hadn’t lost my girl.” His other hand moved to bite into my hip.