Nicky's Fire

by Nancy Fornataro

  "Chloe!" Nick's voice interrupted her thoughts.

  "What?" she said, with her eyes still trained on her plate.

  "Look at me, woman."

  Her eyes came up slowly, reluctantly. Nick's stare was curious now, as he studied her face. But his eyes were the same, dark and dangerous, almost evil.

  "Don't avoid me," he said softly, "don't ever do that. You're hiding something from me. I can feel it."

  Tiny laughed. "Maybe she's knocked up," he said, as he took another sloppy bite of spaghetti. Sauce dripped on his grimy shirt, and Chloe was glad he was with them. And she wondered what would happen when he left.

  A slight smile curved on her lips, as she asked, "You need a bib, Tiny?"

  With a mouth full, he replied, "Nah. I need an old lady to do my laundry, that's all."

  During the rest of the dinner, Tiny served as a buffer between them. The funny man. And, even he seemed to sense a change in Nick, as his glance met Chloe's several times. But Nick noticed the looks, and his eyes grew even harder.

  While she cleaned the plates, Tiny lumbered over to her and said in a low voice, "You think he's okay? He's actin' weird tonight. Doesn't seem like the same old Nick."

  She nodded. "I know. He'll be okay tomorrow, though." And she wished it with all her heart, that Nick would wake up and remember.

  Chapter Ten

  Tiny left early. She heard his motorcycle noisily pull away, and she groaned as she stepped out of the shower. She'd hoped she could be in bed before he left, so she could feign sleep, and avoid dealing with Nick. Maybe he'd stay in the living room. He often did, at night. She needed time to think, and she just didn't want to be alone with him. Not now. Not until he was himself again.

  Throwing on Nick's t-shirt, and after brushing and untangling her damp hair, she came out of the bathroom. Nick sat on the bed, shirtless, with his hands clasped together. And, the same look was in his eyes, as he studied her.

  "Take it off," he said quietly.

  She didn't want to. Not when he was looking at her like that. And her fear hung in the room like a ghostly shadow, creeping up on her until she could almost smell it. But, she finally acquiesced, slowly shucked off the t-shirt, and stood before him. She had no choice. Not really.

  He let his breath out in a long sigh, as his moody eyes traveled the length of her body then moved back up to her face. As he stood, he said in a low, almost threatening tone, "What were you and Tiny whispering about in the kitchen?"

  Her eyes darted around the room, as she replied, "When?"

  "Look at me!" he commanded, as he moved closer and grabbed her shoulders.

  She gazed into his eyes, and grew more fearful. This really was a different Nick. She didn't know this man, and yet, she did. It was bizarre, and the room took on an unreal aura with a faintly nightmarish quality.

  "I said, what were you talking about?" His tone was ominous now, and his grip tightened.

  But, she couldn't lie. He'd see it. "He...Tiny said he was worried about you. He said you didn't seem like yourself."

  He smiled a crooked smile. "Is that right?" She could tell he didn't believe her, not a word, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

  "Yes. That's what he said, Nick." And a flush moved up her face, as his gaze raked over her again.

  As he backed her against the wall, she felt the rough fabric of his jeans, and the warmth of his chest, as he pressed against her. He began moving, thrusting, and his head came next to hers. "Is that all?" he whispered.

  She stood, rigidly; afraid to let herself feel emotions for this man, the emotions she'd felt towards the real Nick.

  His tongue grazed her ear, and she closed her eyes, as his hand moved to the nape of her neck. This felt like Nick, and her emotions stirred.

  "Yes," she gasped, "that's all." Then, she inhaled sharply, as his hand tightened on her hair.

  "You're my woman," he said, in the same ominous tone, "my woman, understand?"

  His mouth claimed hers brutally, and she tried to push him away. But he continued grinding against her, thrusting insistently.

  "My woman," he breathed against her lips, "my woman. Don't forget."

  His hand fell from her hair, and he fumbled with his jeans, finally lowering them.

  "Nick, let's go to the bed," she implored.

  "No," he whispered, as he looked at her with hard eyes.

  Lifting her slightly, he plunged into her then stopped. She felt him pulsing inside her, as he said, "No one else, Chloe." His hand gripped her hair again, "No one else."

  Nodding weakly, she felt his lips against hers. He ground into her, but in spite of her fear of him this night, she felt herself responding. On some primitive level, she felt herself somehow responding to this new Nick.

  His hands were rough against her breasts, teasing one then the other, as he whispered, "You like that, Chloe?"

  "Yes," she murmured. She did like it. In some odd way, it was exciting, passionate, different.

  The hands moved down and cupped her buttocks, and lifted her up. Thrusting now, rhythmically within her, he laughed softly against her lips. His tongue rolled around their softness, before he whispered, "Yeah. I do too."

  His thrusting became urgent, and he groaned, "You're mine, tell me."

  "I'm yours," she gasped, as she spiraled towards her peak, clutching his back, her nails digging into his skin. Yes, she was his. Whether he remembered or not, she was his. The decision was made. She'd stick by him. No matter what.

  As his tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, he laughed softly again, and whispered, "If you ever go with anyone else," he stopped thrusting, and stared at her, the smile fading from his face, "I'll kill you."

  Chloe froze. Then she realized he expected a response. "I'd...I'd never do that," she whispered urgently, "you know me, Nick, I'd never hurt you."

  His look softened then, and he breathed, "Yeah. My Chloe." His look was one of dim recognition. Yes, he'd come out of it.

  She closed her eyes, as his slow thrusts began again. In spite of her fear, in spite of the change in Nick, her body still wanted him. As his hands came down and lifted her legs, he plunged deeper, deeply into the core of her, and her breath came in gasps. It was savage, primitive, and somehow, wonderful.

  His body took hers mercilessly, hard one minute, soft the next, caressing, demanding, until they seemed to melt into each other's arms. It was different, yet the same. The same man, but not the same loving.

  When it was over, he gasped, "I'm sorry. I saw you, and I couldn't help it. I don't want to lose you." He buried his face in her neck, and she felt him trembling.

  Stroking his hair, she murmured, "It's all right, let's go to bed, Nick."

  "But I shouldn't have. Not like that," his muffled voice replied.

  "It's all right," she soothed, "Let's go to bed now."

  He nodded.

  But Chloe woke the next day, and her body was sore all over. Her neck was stiff, and her back ached, along with her head. She moaned, and felt Nick move next to her.

  Throwing his leg over hers possessively, he said, "What's wrong, baby?"

  "I'm sore, Nick. Because of the accident, I think." And she thought of their lovemaking the night before, and knew part of her pain was from the hard wall.

  "Where does it hurt?"

  "Everywhere," she groaned, "especially my back. I must have wrenched it when I was thrown off the bike."

  "My poor baby. Nicky will make it better." He turned her on her stomach, straddled her, and she felt his hands massaging, kneading her. And while she luxuriated in the sensation, her thoughts turned to more practical matters. She had to get away from him today, and call Ellen from a pay phone.

  "Are you working on your bike today?" she asked slowly, her voice muffled by the pillow.

  "Yeah. Why?" His voice was suspicious.

  "I thought I'd go to the store. We need a few things. I can walk up. Walking is good for a sore back."

  "Okay. But only if you feel better."


  Later, Chloe's voice was frantic, as she spoke with Ellen's secretary. "Find her! I have to talk to her!"

  A few minutes later, Ellen was on the phone. "Chloe! What's wrong? I haven't heard from you guys. What's going on? Making any progress?"

  Chloe's relief was immense at hearing Ellen's voice again. She looked around the parking lot of the mini-mart furtively, as cars pulled in and out, hoping none of Nick's club members were around. "Listen, we have a big problem. We were in an accident on the bike- "

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yes, I am. But Nick isn't. He's lost his memory, Ellen. He thinks he really is a bike club member."

  "Oh, my God." Ellen's voice drifted off, and Chloe could almost hear the woman thinking over the phone. What could they do?

  But then, Chloe saw Nick's mustang pull up. She turned and bent her head, hoping he wouldn't see her. "Shit! Ellen, he just drove up. Listen, meet us in Ventura tonight. At that same bar. Maybe if he sees you, he'll remember. We can get away and talk, too." She hung up, and her mind raced, as she saw Nick walking angrily towards her.

  "Who were you calling?" he said loudly.

  Her mind spun furiously, as he grabbed her arm. Looking up at him innocently, she said, "You, Nick. My back was hurting and I thought you could pick me up."

  His look softened, but then he frowned. "I saw you talking."

  She smiled. "I was swearing when you didn't answer the phone. You know I always mutter to myself all the time."

  Leading her to the car, he said, "You should have let me get that stuff at the store."

  "Hey," she said lightly, "are we still meeting Ellen tonight?"

  Opening the car door, his look was blank. "I guess. If your back is better. Ellen. Yeah, I guess."

  "Remember? We were supposed to stop in Ventura on our way back from the ride. I'd like to see her, Nick. She's expecting us, and she's my best friend. I tried to call her, but she's never home." It might work, she thought. Sounds plausible.

  "Yeah, right. I remember."

  But she knew he didn't. And Ellen was her last hope. If he didn't recognize Ellen, she wouldn't know how to bring him back.

  The drive to Ventura was a long one for Chloe, and she stared wistfully at her hometown of Thousand Oaks as they passed by. It had only been a few weeks since she'd been home, but she longed to stop and see something familiar, something that was her very own. She was tired of Nick's house, tired of dirty bikers. Tired of it all.

  Nick watched her as they rode along in the Mustang. She seemed so sad tonight.

  "You okay, baby?" he said softly, wishing he could read her mind. She wasn't like this last night at dinner. Although, even then, he sensed a reluctance in her. But she'd looked like a frightened doe last night when he'd...

  "Sure," she said absentmindedly, as she continued staring at the view.

  Guilt plagued him then, and he regretted last night. He shouldn't have taken her like he did. And he tried to remember their previous lovemaking, but he couldn't. He didn't deserve her. Not at all. Not the way he'd acted.

  "How is Ellen these days?" he said casually. He couldn't recall this friend of hers either, much as he tried.

  Chloe turned in the seat to look at him. She wore a white tank top and tattered jeans. They looked familiar, though, but when had she worn them before? He searched his mind, but nothing came.

  God, she was beautiful. His woman. How could he be so lucky? He must have done something right. In the past, that is. Now, he couldn't do anything right since the accident. Reaching over, he stroked her wavy hair.

  "She's fine," Chloe said softly, "we just saw her a few weeks ago." Her eyes searched his face seriously.

  Something, an impression flashed across his mind, a fleeting memory, but then it was gone. "Right," he replied, as he tried to will it back again.

  The bar was as nasty as Chloe remembered, and she saw Ellen waiting anxiously for them at the same table they'd shared several weeks ago. The same motley oil derrick bums were there, loudly shouting about a boxing match on the ancient television in back of the counter.

  Chloe held her breath and watched Nick's face as they sat down. But there was no glimmer of recognition, nothing to indicate he remembered Ellen. Just the same blank stare.

  "So, how are you guys doing?" Ellen said carefully, as her eyes moved from one to the other.

  "Good, except for the accident," Chloe said nervously. "Tell her about it, Nick."

  He frowned deeply, then stared moodily ahead. "You tell her."

  "How's your head?

  Chloe's eyes met Ellens, saying silently what the woman already realized. Then she told her about the accident, as the bartender brought their drinks.

  Ellen looked at Nick with concern. "Have any dizziness?"

  He snorted. "What are you, a nurse or something?"

  Ellen raised her eyebrows. "Yeah. Something like that. Don't you remember, Nick?"

  He was growing exasperated. He knew this woman. Somehow, he knew her, but he couldn't place her, and it was frustrating. "I gotta piss," he finally said. "Be right back."

  As he walked into the restroom, Chloe quickly leaned forward. "What can we do, Ellen?"

  The woman sat back against the booth. "We'll have to call it off." Her tone was quiet, and her mouth was firm.

  "No!" Chloe whispered, "We're so close! And besides, how could you get Nick out of Culver City? He wouldn't go."

  "If you tell him, he may not believe you. Plus you'll expose yourself." Ellen sighed. "But if you feel you want to continue with this thing, I trust your judgment. I'll call the hospital, and talk to the doctor who treated him. Maybe he'll be able to suggest some way to revive his memory. I thought seeing me might trigger something."

  "Yeah. No luck."

  But, in a tense, low tone, Ellen said, "Listen, Chloe. You're in more danger now than before. If you feel things are getting out of hand, call me, and we'll get you out. Anything could happen now."

  Chloe's face crumpled, not from facing danger, but from the thought of Nick never recovering. "I don't want to leave him. I'm worried about him, Ellen. He could get in trouble, and I want the old Nick back. The one I used to know."

  Tears streamed down Chloe's face, as Ellen reached out and grabbed her hand. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

  Chloe nodded, and wiped her eyes with her fingertips. "Yes, I am. But I love the man he was. And I want him back. He's like an empty shell now."

  But then, Nick returned to the table, and gave Ellen a sharp look. His arm wrapped around Chloe, and he said, "What's going on? Why are you crying, baby?"

  He frowned at Ellen, and she let go of Chloe's hand.

  "I'm...I'm just stiff all over, Nick," Chloe said softly, averting her eyes from his stony gaze.

  "Let's go," he said harshly, before he stood and pulled Chloe up next to him. The look he gave Ellen was nasty, and Chloe was glad she wasn't on the receiving end of a look like that.

  "Remember what I said," Ellen warned calmly, undaunted by Nick's stare.

  Chloe nodded, and Nick led her from the bar.

  After they were seated in the car, he turned to Chloe. "What happened in there?" he said. "What did she mean?"

  Chloe sniffed and replied, "She just told me to take hot baths for the muscle stiffness." She was lying to him, and it felt uncomfortable. She'd never lied to him. And she hated doing it, but she had no choice. Not now.

  Nick nodded, seemed satisfied, and started the car.

  All the way back to Culver City, Chloe tried to think of ways she could tell Nick who he really was. But would he believe her? And if he didn't, what would be the consequences? She'd seen violence in his eyes since the crash, but so far, it hadn't been directed at her. But, it could be. If he didn't believe her, it could be.

  They arrived at the house, and Nick followed her in. When she turned to look at him, his hand was rubbing his temple, and there was a grimace on his face.

  "Sit down," she told him, "I'll get you a soda."r />
  "Bring me a whiskey instead," he said irritably, as he sat on the couch.

  "Do you think that's a good idea-"

  "Just bring the damn whiskey!" he yelled.

  Chloe hurried to the kitchen, so he wouldn't see her tears. He'd never yelled at her. Not like that. Then, she grew angry. And she knew she'd have to stand up to him, and keep at least a portion of the power.

  Wiping her eyes, she returned to the living room, and said quietly, "Get it yourself. And don't talk to me like that again. Ever."

  She started walking into the bedroom, but he caught her arm in a vice-like grip.

  "Let me go," she said, from between clenched teeth.

  "You're my woman," he said in a threatening voice, "and I can talk to you any way I want."

  She looked down at him coolly. "No, you can't. And if you do, I'm leaving. Now."

  "The hell you are!" he yelled, as he bounded up and grabbed her other arm.

  They faced off, eye to eye, she standing rigid and he lurking powerfully over her like a jungle cat stalking prey.

  He pulled her tight against his chest, until his lips were inches from hers. His eyes were wild, dark, and they seemed to sear through her soul, as he stared heatedly.

  "You're not going anywhere, Chloe. If I have to watch you every second of the day and night. You're not going."

  His breath smelled faintly of pot and whiskey he must have had earlier in the day, and his eyes were cold and brutal. She searched his face, again, for any faint glimmer of the Nick she knew before. But there was nothing. Nothing but this fierce stranger holding her.

  Slowly, she said, "I can walk out that door right now, Nick. And you can't stop me from leaving." She knew, in her heart, that she couldn't leave him. But he needed to know that she was serious. He needed to know that he couldn't push her around, that she wouldn't allow it. She couldn't back down now. He'd have the advantage.

  And she remembered, almost with amusement, what he'd said at dinner one night. Women are soft, men are hard. And, looking at him angrily now, she thought, how wrong you were, Nick. How very wrong you were.