Rafe (Devil's Flame MC Book 1)

by Romi Hart

  He was inclined to do as she asked, but the rapping turned to pounding. “Rafe! We got incoming!” Zeke shouted through the door. “I need you, brother. We need all the manpower we can get.” The urgency in his voice overpowered the need to take another sixty seconds to finish what Kira had started, and Rafe stood, lifting her with him. She let out a small squeal as he turned and dropped her on the bed, her face as troubled and disappointed as he felt.

  “We’ll talk later,” he rasped, shoving his hand through his hair and reaching in the drawer for a black t-shirt. “Stay here.” She wouldn’t have much choice. He intended to lock her in and put a prospect on the door to make sure she didn’t get out, as much for her own good in not getting injured as for his own scheming. He shouldn’t care. If Jake led his crew here and shot his own sister in the attack, it would serve him right.

  But the thought of Kira bleeding, shot or stabbed…

  Rafe shook his head and opened the door. He couldn’t think about that. And he certainly couldn’t consider why the fuck he cared one way or the other, since he may have to kill her himself. “Get Rocky on the door,” he grunted to Zeke, ignoring the twinkle of mockery in his friend’s eyes as he shouldered past. “What’s going on?”

  He reached the end of the hall before Zeke finished securing the door, and Rocky was already headed over, as if he’d overheard the request. Hurrying to catch up, Zeke told him, “Ethan radioed in, said we’ve got about twelve Diamond Kings headed straight for us, armed and ready to rumble.”

  “Jake?” Rafe asked, needing to say no more.

  “Couldn’t tell,” Zeke shook his head as Rafe grabbed his cut from the hook by the bathroom and stabbed his arms through the holes. “But I doubt he’s in the group. This is a first run, probably based off the pretty little girl I had with me running back to tell all.”

  Well, wasn’t that just perfect, Rafe thought. It’s exactly what Kira had said she wanted to happen. Considering he’d just given the order a few minutes ago to send word to Hawthorne, before he’d walked into the bunk room and all the blood had rushed to the head without a brain, he doubted the rival knew his sister was still here and not leaving anytime soon.

  This was pure retaliation for laying a hand on Kira to start with. Corey was going to kill him.

  As he strode quickly to the storage room where they kept the arsenal of weapons they rarely carried on a regular basis, Rafe kicked himself in the ass over and over. How could he have let things go so far? Nothing was supposed to have happened. He’d made it clear to everyone involved that any sort of sexual contact with Kira Hawthorne was off the table, and yet, he’d been all up in that, all night long. And for some reason he couldn’t fathom, even after she’d discovered Rafe was holding her captive, the little fox had tried to seduce him again.

  And he’d taken the fucking bait – hook, line, and sinker.

  Frustrated with the hard on still stabbing at his fly and angry at himself for letting the damn thing make his decisions, Rafe grabbed the Beretta M9 he preferred, with an extra clip, and then he searched the stock for something he could shoot left handed if necessary. He spotted the Ruger Redhawk 45 caliber and nodded to himself, checking to make sure it was loaded. He tucked it in the back of his jeans, and for good measure, he grabbed the Ruger SP101 double action revolver and stuck it in the boot that didn’t hold his Bowie knife.

  Zeke didn’t grab any handguns, but then, Rafe figured he had his Glock G38 tucked away somewhere. And he grabbed the sawed off Winchester 5XP, slinging it over his shoulder. It was mostly for intimidation purposes, but he could shoot like a pro.

  From there, they burst through the front door, finding Corey standing sentinel, arms crossed and waiting. Rafe started to ask how far out they were, but he heard the rumble of bikes in the distance and clamped his mouth shut. Corey barely glanced at him before he returned his gaze to the entrance of the clubhouse. “We play it close to the hip, Rafe. No heroics, no open threats. We see what they want and try to keep it peaceful.”

  “And if Jake is with them?” Rafe asked through clenched teeth.

  “Then you let me handle separating him from his little leeches so you can have him,” Corey told him, just as the group rounded the corner and came into sight. It was the closest thing Rafe was going to get to consent to kill Jake Hawthorne today.

  But as the motorcycles pulled into the parking lot and lined up, not one face belonged to the leader of the rival club. The sorry bastard hadn’t even bothered to show up for his own sister. “What a sack of shit,” he heard Zeke mumble next to him. Rafe had to agree, glad his friend had the same sentiment he did. Of course, that wouldn’t hold true when it came to Rafe’s indiscretions last night, but he’d deal with that fallout later.

  It took time for all the engines to shut down, and then a strange quiet fell over them. Rafe took inventory of the firepower they carried, satisfied to see it was definitely lacking. His men had the advantage, even without going back to their artillery closet. It meant that, even if a fight broke out, it wouldn’t last long. They hadn’t come to start a war, and if they had, Jake was dumber than Rafe gave him credit for. It was Edgar who stepped forward, one of the few other Kings Rafe knew by name, only because he’d been doing the handshaking in business for the club for the past few years, while Jake had cowered in some remote corner of the region. “We heard a few things about you and your boys last night, Corey,” he said, ambling toward where Corey stood.

  Corey didn’t move a muscle, chin up and arms crossed. Rafe moved closer, as did Zeke, with Harrison doing the same on the other side. “Yeah? What about me and my boys, Edgar?”

  “We heard you had your nasty, grubby hands on some of our girls. And we’re not all too happy about that.” Edgar gave a smug look, fingering the pistol at his waist. Rafe tried not to roll his eyes. Zeke would have the shotgun aimed and fired three times before Edgar could even draw that piece of shit.

  Corey laughed. “If they were your girls, why would they have any interest in us?”

  Edgar didn’t seem to think that was too funny, but Harrison coughed to cover a chuckle. “Maybe our girls didn’t welcome your attention, and that’s why we heard about it.” He pointed toward Rafe, who straightened further, making sure he pulled up to his full height. “This one had the nerve to put his hands on our president’s sister.”

  Corey elbowed Rafe. “Which girl was that hanging all over you, asking you to take her home last night?”

  “That was Kira. Oh, wait, is that Jake the Snake’s sister?” He mocked being stunned. “I had no idea. I guess it’s a good thing she’s still here, then.”

  Several of the Diamond Kings shifted, tensing at his words, and Corey gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, meaning he wanted his men to remain at ease. Edgar snarled. “What do you mean, she’s still here?”

  Rafe chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “What I mean, Edgar, is that she came home with me last night, and we fucked like rabbits. She stayed the night, and I don’t intend to let her leave anytime soon. So, your farce of a leader needs to come collect her if he wants her back. I’m done with him hiding from me like some scared little bitch. So, he can come and face up to me like a real man, or I’ll keep his sister. And eventually, keeping her alive won’t be an option.”

  “Did you just threaten to kill Jake Hawthorne’s sister?” Edgar asked incredulously, obviously seething. He turned his full attention to Rafe, getting much too close. Rafe’s hand squeezed tighter on his gun, and his arm tensed, ready to draw and shoot at any second. He wasn’t intimidated in the least. “Is that the message you want me to take back to him?”

  Unwavering, despite his distaste for the idea of hurting Kira unless it was the pain of rough play, Rafe gave a short nod. “That, and you can tell him that her pussy is like silk. I just might need to dive into it again.”

  Edgar jumped, and Rafe ducked, throwing a punch to his gut. The other Kings drew weapons, and the clicking of pistols and shotguns filled the air as th
e Devil’s Flames matched them with double the firepower. Rafe couldn’t focus on that, though, as Edgar grunted and threw a punch that would have landed on his nose had he not shifted to the right. Instead, it grazed his chin, and he came back with an elbow to the chin, followed by a kick to the side of Edgar’s knee with his steel toe.

  Edgar went down with a cry of pain, and when he aimed his piece at Rafe, Zeke kicked out to the side and sent the gun flying. Rafe pinned him with the M9, deadly serious. “Tell your lousy leader that, if he wants his sister back in one piece, I suggest he contacts me himself within the next two days. Or he’s going to get a small box with truffles made out of her various body parts.” He kicked up dirt in Edgar’s face, more of an insult than injury, though he knew it had to sting in the cuts on his face where Rafe had hit him.

  “Get out of here, Edgar,” Corey demanded. “Take your filth with you, and don’t come back on our property unless you have a death wish. I promise you, anyone who enters won’t be leaving except in a body bag.” That was tough talk for Corey. He wasn’t one to go for blood except in absolute necessity. But he was probably as tired of Jake’s games as Rafe.

  Scrambling to his feet, Edgar snorted at them, still posting up. “You’ll pay for this, Chambers,” he said to Rafe, spitting at his feet. Zeke moved so fast he was little more than a streak, swinging the butt of the shotgun straight into Edgar’s temple and knocking him out.

  “Someone needs to come collect the trash!” Zeke called out with a grin, walking away.

  Rafe knew the other crew wanted to attack, but they were too scared without Edgar’s go ahead, and that amused Rafe even more. “I’ll hold onto his bike for him,” he said, sauntering over to the machine and running a hand over the seat in admiration. Then, he straddled it, daring one of the Kings to stop him.

  Slowly, engines began to crank, and one by one, the group turned and left the property, two of them taking a moment to sling Edgar onto the back of a third’s ride, half conscious and barely hanging on. When they had all finally left the property, Rafe’s brothers turned back to the clubhouse, disbursing but still on alert. All except for Corey and Zeke, who both came at him.

  Considering the very different expressions they wore, Rafe thought it would be easier to deal with Corey’s displeasure than the mocking and humor Zeke promised. “Now, you’ve got the top two pissed at you, Rafe. Are you going after both of them?”

  Rafe shook his head, clenching his fists around the handlebars of the motorcycle to maintain control of his temper. “Edgar’s weak. He’s going to beg for his bike, and once he gets it back, he’s going to bow down with gratitude and scamper away.” He shook his head. “The only reason he has all that bravado is because the Kings are behind him. And he has no loyalty to Hawthorne, either. He’d sell out his president in a heartbeat to save his own skin.”

  “That could be to our advantage,” Zeke acknowledged.

  But Corey’s brow grew heavier, his scowl deeper. “Don’t count on it. And don’t trust them.” He sighed and closed his eyes, obviously irritated and trying to calm himself. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing, Rafe. The minute I think you’re out of control, this ends, and the girl goes. You got me?”

  “I got you,” Rafe growled. Corey walked away, but Zeke stayed, and Rafe wanted to roar with frustration. He didn’t have the patience for his friend’s taunting.

  But it didn’t look like Zeke was going to give him the choice. “So, I guess the whole hands off idea didn’t work out,” he snorted, not even trying to contain his laughter.

  “None of your business, Zeke,” Rafe muttered. He should turn over the engine and take the bike for a ride, see if he could rough it up a bit before returning it to its asshole owner, but Zeke wasn’t finished, and Rafe somehow decided he deserved the verbal assault for his decisions.

  “Maybe not, but you did say you weren’t going there, bro. So, what changed?”

  What was he supposed to say? She seduced me. Bullshit. He’d barely tried to contain his own desire, and if he was honest with himself, he’d wanted her far more than he was willing to admit out loud. “I drank too much, Zeke. That’s all. She’s a hot little piece of ass, and with beer goggles and the fuzz of the booze, I didn’t have the self-control I intended.”

  Zeke nodded, the mirth gone, replaced by a serious, concerned look. “I hope that’s all it is, Rafe. You know, this might come down to a gun to her head, and when that time comes, you can’t falter. You can’t let a little sweet ass and hot sex screw with your head if you want your revenge.”

  Rafe flinched internally but kept a hard expression and tense shoulders. “Trust me, Zeke, no one knows that better than I do. Nothing is going to get in my way when it comes to making Jake pay for my sister’s death. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to run this baby up the road and see if I can’t scratch up this fresh paint job.”

  Zeke laughed. “Sounds like a good idea. You want me to watch your lady friend for you?”

  “No,” Rafe snapped, probably a little too quickly. “I know you, and I don’t think you’ll keep your hands to yourself. It’s bad enough I fucked up. Don’t make it worse. Just leave Rocky on her. He knows he’ll never get patched if he does anything but stand there and refuse to let her leave. Or let anyone else in.” He added the last with a possessive feeling clenching at his chest that didn’t make sense. But the hell if he was going to let Zeke or anyone else get close to Kira. For better or worse, she was his prisoner, and he would tear anyone who touched her limb from limb.

  It had nothing to do with his desire for her, or anything else, for that matter. He had no misplaced sense of loyalty. It was merely protecting his interests, assuring that she wasn’t damaged goods when he released her.

  Or so he told himself.

  With a fierce kick, he started the bike and spun a circle around Zeke, kicking up enough dirt to make his friend cough and curse loudly as Rafe pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. Just a few miles, he thought. He’d test out the machine, see what it could do, and kick up enough rocks to tear up the flames on the sides of the bike. No Diamond King should have those flames anyway.

  Then, he’d come back and figure out what to do with Kira till that dick brother of hers finally decided to handle his own business. He didn’t need temptation staring him in the face indefinitely, or he’d give in like he almost had before the Kings arrived. And he couldn’t do that. He’d had his fun, and he couldn’t risk any further connection with Kira.

  He’d not only stepped across the line; he’d destroyed that line as he leapt over it with enthusiasm. One night could be excused, especially under the circumstances. But now, it was time to put business first. Rachel deserved the retribution Rafe had promised when she’d died, and he was going to claim it for her, whatever it took. And Zeke was right; he couldn’t let some hot chick compromise his ability to take drastic measures to make sure Jake paid for his sins.

  6

  It hadn’t taken Kira long to discover that there was no way out. She’d figured Rafe would put a man on her door, and she didn’t even bother trying to leave that way. But she’d checked the window. It opened maybe three inches, and wouldn’t budge any further. A crack whore couldn’t have slipped out through that opening.

  The small space had, however, allowed her to hear some of what was going on. She couldn’t catch every word; they were too far away. But she recognized Edgar’s voice and hoped like hell Rafe had smashed the guy’s face in. She also gathered that, if Edgar was talking, Jake hadn’t come, and that had her fuming.

  No weapons had been fired, but Rafe hadn’t come back after the roar of a gang of motorcycles faded into the distance. She’d heard another bike take off and figured it was him, and she’d deflated. For some reason, she’d expected him to come back with adrenaline and the flow of excess serotonin fueling him and making him hotter than ever.

  It seemed like hours when she heard the bike return, though relatively little time had passed. She wasn’
t one to sit around and do nothing, and it made the day drag. And when the door burst open, Rafe standing there with an expression to rival the devil on his cut, her mouth went dry.

  “You coming?” he asked, impatient.

  Kira frowned, not having realized he intended for her to go anywhere. “Um, sure.” She stood and straightened her clothes, realizing she still hadn’t showered and wore the same thing she had last night.

  “I thought you could use a change of clothes and something to eat,” he told her, sounding like he was forcing himself to be civil. Gone was the flirtatious, enticing man from last night, replaced with a guy who seemed haunted by a very rough past. Briefly, Kira wondered if she could coax the other version of Rafe back out, but she didn’t dare try now, especially as she noticed the way her stomach growled. She hadn’t thought about food until he mentioned eating, and she needed to get some sustenance so she could think straight.

  Because there was no excuse for the dirty things she wanted to do to a man who was holding her hostage.

  Eager to feed the right kind of hunger, she followed him out of the bedroom and through the front of the clubhouse, where there were far more men than there had been last night, and a few women as well, draped over various club members or hanging on the bar. Several of them eyed her, both men and women, none of them looking particularly welcoming. Of course, they likely all knew who she was, and she figured that was probably a source of contention. No club agreed on everything, and she doubted most of them wanted her here. And for those who weren’t opposed, they didn’t trust her.

  It was almost a relief to get outside, away from prying eyes, but she stopped cold as Rafe threw his leg over a very familiar bike. “Did you kill Edgar?”

  Rafe grunted. “I wish. He was a bit unconscious when they left.” He gave her an animalistic grin that might have frightened someone else but had her wanting to tear his clothes off. “He’ll get his ride back, with a few extra miles. He just has to come back and grovel.”