by Lilly Atlas
With a heavy sigh, Striker faced her. “I’m just going to say one thing, then I’ll leave you alone. You’re it for that man.” He pointed toward Hook with his beer bottle. “Always have been. He stayed away years ago because you were way too fuckin’ young and it would have been wrong. But it’s not wrong now, and he wants you even more. He won’t hurt you, Marce. Not like you’re afraid of. That man will not abandon you. Ever.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek then pushed off the wall. “Think about it,” he called over his shoulder.
An ache formed between her eyes and she rubbed it. Was everyone onto her issues? She took a long drink from the frosty beer and when she lowered the bottle, her eyes locked with Hook’s. He looked like every woman’s fantasy with a T-shirt stretched across his powerful chest and jeans that hugged him in all the right places. But it was his gaze that held her captive. Sad and hopeful all at the same time.
Someone came and whispered in his ear. He nodded then shot her a wink mouthing don’t move. It was time to face the music. Time to put on her big girl panties and talk to him. Time to admit that maybe she did have some hang-ups.
Damn, Marcie looked good in those tiny denim shorts with the form fitting yellow V-neck T-shirt. Yellow was such a great color on her. Sunny like her personality. She was so close to him, yet might as well be a million miles away for the emotional distance between them.
“You hear me, Hook?” one of the prospects asked.
“Yeah, man, sorry. You said the coolers need more beer?”
“Uh huh. Want me to fill them?”
“Nah, Prospect. I’ll get it.” The fewer people inside his house the higher the chance it wouldn’t be destroyed by the end of the party.
He held up two fingers and mouthed two minutes to Marcie. Hopefully she’d wait for him. It’d been almost twenty-four hours since their fight and she hadn’t spoken a word to him. In fact, she’d avoided him the entire day. Since she seemed to need a bit of distance, he gave her space to set up for the party and made himself scarce.
That had given him exactly zero opportunities to apologize properly and beg her to stay. Because he would beg if he had to. He just couldn’t lose her. Not to mention the friends he contacted in Seattle to give Tanner a little talking to couldn’t track him down. Neither could the police. He appeared to have vanished. Something was up there. Something that had his gut churning. Marcie needed to know, to be vigilant.
He stepped into the sizable room he used as an office on the first level of his house. Often times, after far too many hours at the garage, he brought paperwork home to complete in peace and quiet. The office served as a dedicated work space. Tonight, it served as extra beer and liquor storage. The temperature outside had soared during the afternoon, making it too hot to store the plethora of booze in the garage.
As he bent to retrieve a case of beer, something—or rather someone, based on the shape and feel of a male body—slammed into him from behind. Hook was an excellent fighter, but a sneak attack, an ambush from behind was nearly impossible to anticipate or defend against.
“What the—” The force of the assault caused a forward momentum Hook was helpless to avoid, and he crashed headfirst into the tall stacks of liquor-filled boxes.
Sounds of smashing glass filled the room as a tower of boxes came tumbling to the ground. Hook landed in the heap and grunted in pain as a final box plummeted into his shoulder. Shit. That was going to leave a significant mark. Not to mention the one that would be left by the sharp points of multiple boxes digging into his back.
One benefit to being a skilled MMA fighter was the ability to react instantaneously and be light on his feet, despite pain. Hell, pain was a given when a man’s fists connected with his body, no matter how fit he was. Hook shook off the discomfort and flew to his feet, assumed a fighting stance, and prepared to demolish his enemy.
A quick scan of the room revealed he was alone. No attacker. No threat.
“What the fuck is going on?” he muttered.
The room reeked of alcohol thanks to the destroyed bottles and soaked boxes, but Hook ignored the mess. It would keep. Priority number one was assessing the threat level to his guests, and Marcie. Especially Marcie.
With a roll of his sore shoulder, Hook stepped over the downed boxes and stomped toward closed the door. The knob twisted easily, but when he pulled to open the door, it didn’t budge. “Shit.” With more force, he jiggled the knob yanked like his life depended on it. Which it looked like it did.
Nothing.
“All right. Very funny, fuckstick. Who the fuck is holding the fuckin’ door closed? Stop hiding and confront me.”
Crickets.
What the fuck was going on?
The shatter of glass spun him toward the window behind his desk. Dark gray smoke filled the room, singing his lungs and burning his eyes. “Fuck!” Orange flames licked up the long curtains and the wooden blinds ignited in a flash of heat.
He hurtled himself against the door again, to no avail. As he breathed in, his lungs spasmed, protesting the smoky poison that took the place of clean oxygen. Harsh coughs racked him and he dropped to his knees as the need for fresh air became imperative.
Christ, he had to get the fuck out of here. Something was seriously wrong; his house was under attack from an unknown enemy. Thoughts of Marcie flashed through his mind. Was she safe? Was she protected? Striker would move heaven and earth to keep her out of harm’s way, but was he in any position to do so?
Hook squinted. Tears poured down his face as his eyes rejected the toxic burn of the smoke. He couldn’t see two inches in front of his face, and his lungs screamed with the need for oxygen. If he could get behind the desk, he could throw himself through window and outside to where air, and possibly an ambush awaited. It wasn’t an ideal solution as the entire window was engulfed in scorching flames.
Drop down. Wasn’t that what he’d heard to do in a house fire? It couldn’t make the situation worse. On shaking hands and knees, he crawled along the floor feeling for the desk.
With each fraction of an inch forward, the temperature grew more unbearable, until he could barely force his arms and legs to advance. Hook’s arm flew across his face in a feeble attempt to block the searing heat. Dizziness swamped him and he jolted with fierce hacking coughs as he tried to suck in air. Darkness clouded his vision and memories of Marcie played through his mind.
He was going to die. The possibility of death was something all MC members faced at some point, and most didn’t fear it, especially if it was in defense of the club. But dying with tension between him and Marcie? Dying without telling her he fucking loved her and wanted her in his life forever? That shit didn’t sit well.
With a burst of energy, he drew his shirt over his mouth and nose and tried to crawl forward, but the need for oxygen won out and he collapsed in a prone position.
He kept Marcie at the forefront of his mind while darkness rimmed his vision. Marcie’s face, Marcie’s laugh, the way her pussy gripped him tighter and hotter than he’d ever experienced. The way she burrowed into his heart and made him love her with every fiber of his being.
Seconds before the blackness overtook him, Hook remembered the broken cases of spilled beer and booze.
Fuck.
The entire room was going to blow in a matter of minutes.
Chapter Fourteen
Pop pop.
Marcie may not have had much, if any experience with firearms, but she knew the sound of gunfire when she heard it. You didn’t grow up in a horrible part of town with a parent who spent most of her time sleeping with men on the wrong side of the law without ever hearing the pop of a gun.
“Marcie, get the fuck down.” Striker sprinted back toward her, his mouth in a grim line and a look of rage in his ice blue eyes.
His words kicked her into gear. She immediately dropped to the stone ground and crawled toward the edge of the house. Striker reached her by that point and jerked her around the house by the waistband of her denim shorts.
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His inhalations were harsh and choppy, but his hands held steady as he peered around the corner, weapon at the ready.
Still on her hands and knees, Marcie drew in a breath and shook her head, trying to slow the rush of blood in her hears. She gripped Striker’s leg and peeked around him into Hook’s yard.
Tanner stood in the center of the yard, a wicked looking assault rifle in one hand and some poor trembling mess of a girl held tight against his body with the other. God, where had he gotten his hands on a weapon like that?
“No one gets hurt as long as Marcie comes out here in the next ten seconds.” Tanner’s hair was a mess, his clothes were rumpled, and a crazed look of the insane gleamed in his eyes. He’d completely lost his shit.
“Oh my God, Striker,” Marcie whispered. “I need to go out there.”
“Don’t you dare move one muscle, babe. You take one step toward Tanner and I guarantee Hook will make it so you can’t sit for a week. Just before he rips off my balls.”
“Striker, he’s going to hurt her.” Her voice shook and panic worked its way up her throat. No way could she hide like a coward when someone’s life was at stake.
“Look around, hon. There are armed bikers all over. He won’t kill her, he’d be dead two seconds later. He needs her to get out of this alive. Your boy may be crazy, but he obviously didn’t think this through too well.”
The acrid smell of smoke irritated Marcie’s senses. “Do you smell that?” She scanned the yard and looked down the length of the back of Hook’s house. Black smoke poured into the air from the opposite side of the house.
“Oh my God, Hook. Striker, the house is on fire and Hook’s in there.” She tugged at Striker’s jeans and pointed. Fear like she’d never known threatened to overtake her ability to function. Hook was in serious trouble; she knew it in her gut with one hundred percent certainty. “I have to get in there to help him.”
With her pulse pounding hard, lightheadedness swamped her and she started to crawl back around the house. Only fifteen feet separated her from the sliding doors to Hook’s house. If she went fast enough, there was a chance she could reach the door unseen by Tanner. A very slim chance, but one she was willing to take to save Hook.
“Hold the fuck up, Marce. No fuckin’ way can I let you crawl out there in plain sight,” Striker whispered.
“Then go distract Tanner, because there is no way you’re keeping me from Hook.” She gave Striker the most serious look she could muster with the high level of terror coursing through her. “We’re wasting time.”
If something happened to Hook before she had the chance to apologize, before she had an opportunity to tell him how much she loved him, the rest of her life would be completely worthless.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Okay, I’m going out there and I’ll draw his attention away from this area. Move your ass as fast as you fuckin’ can, babe.” Striker dashed forward. “Hey, Tanner. Let’s talk about this, man. No one has to get hurt here today.” As he walked into the yard, he circled Tanner. “Why don’t you let the girl go? She has nothing to do with this.” Tanner’s attention followed Striker as he moved toward the back of the yard.
“I’m unarmed, can’t hurt you. Just let her go.” He’d stowed his gun in the small of his back and held his hands up in a gesture of submission.
“No. Where’s Marcie? I want her here, now.” He waved the rifle around as he spoke and his innocent hostage whimpered.
The second Tanner’s focus shifted from the house, Marcie scrambled forward on hands and knees, ignoring the sharp bite of rocks that ground into her palms and bare legs. She was too afraid to stand, too afraid of making noise and drawing Tanner’s attention. When she reached the sliding glass door, she pried it open as slow as she dared. Time was not on her side.
“Okay, man. I think Marcie would be willing to talk with you if you dropped the gun.” Striker increased his volume as she slid the door as if to block out the sound of the glass door gliding on the track. She slipped in the house and rose, her legs aching and quivering all at the same time. Without wasting a second, she raced toward Hook’s office.
Wrapped around the doorknob, tied in what appeared ten knots, was a rope. The opposite end was tied with another obscene number of knots around the banister of the staircase across from the office. Hook had to be trapped inside. The rope was so tight around the doorknob, there wasn’t a chance of unknotting it or slipping it off.
Maybe she could snap it with tension. “Hook!” she screamed as she crashed her shoulder against the door again and again. The only sound that greeted her cry was the crackle of flames. Dark gray smoke poured from the crack below the door, stinging her eyes and filling the air around her. Drawing in a full breath became difficult.
“Goddamn it!” she yelled, pushing against the door all her might. It didn’t budge. “Please.” Her voice was desperate to her own hears. Tears coursed down her cheeks and her lungs seized as deep coughs jolted her.
She dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the first sharp object she encountered, which happened to be a large butcher knife from the knife block. In no time, she was back at the office door, sawing through the rope like a madwoman. If there was a morsel of positivity in this fucked up situation, it was that the rope was thin and frayed with relative ease. With two hands wrapped around the knife handle, she drew it back and forth through the rope, over and over again. A primal roar erupted from her and with one last jerk, the rope split. Marcie landed hard on her bottom, but paid no attention to the pain in her tailbone. She dropped the knife and jumped to her feet and shoved the door open.
A blast of molten air and thick smoke slammed her as she stepped into the room. Her lungs immediately rejected the unclean air, throwing her into a painful coughing fit. She dropped to her knees in attempt to avoid the worst of the heat and smoke. With her hands in front of her and the flames licking her skin, she felt along the ground. Hook had to be in here. Why else would the door have been roped shut?
Her hand smacked into a cardboard box and for just a second, she froze. Jesus Christ. There was so much alcohol in here, the second the flames reached those boxes they were both deader than dead.
The room spun as her need for oxygen grew stronger, but she battled it. Miles of pure air waited just outside and she’d have it when she rescued Hook. Blindly reaching out, her hand encountered a man’s heavy boot.
With a small sliver of hope, she rose to her feet. She couldn’t see a damn thing and coughs racked her body continuously, but somehow she found the strength to grip Hook’s feet and drag him toward the door.
Step after step she pulled him from the room and down the hall toward the front door of the house. Smoke now filled the hallway, but she’d spent enough time here to make her way without vision.
Just as she was mere feet from the front door, she slipped and fell to the ground. “Get up. You’re so fucking close.” Her voice was a raspy mess. She tried, she really and truly tried, but all strength had fled. Her legs refused to hold her and her hands slipped from Hooks boots each time she tried to tug him closer to the door.
“No.” Sobs alternated with uncontrollable coughs until she could do nothing but curl on her side and ride out the wave of agony.
The sound of the front door slamming into the wall was the most welcome sound in the world. “Marcie?” Striker’s voice was music to her ears.
“Here,” she tried to call out, her raspy voice no match for the roar of the fire and the approaching sirens.
“Jesus Christ. Jester, get the fuck in here.” Striker rushed in and crouched beside Marcie.
“Take Hook first.” She doubled over as diaphragm spasms assaulted her again.
“Shhh, honey. We’ll get him.” He stroked her ash laden hair. “Jester, get Hook. I’ll take Marcie.”
“On it.” Jester’s booming voice cut through the roar of blood in her ears.
Seconds later, Marcie’s eyes slammed shut as the daylight brightness became too much. Her instincts
took over and tried to suck in fresh oxygen, but her lungs were too full of garbage and the most painful coughing spell attacked her.
“Shh, try to settle, hon. An ambulance just pulled in. We’ll get you some help.”
“Ta—” She let out a harsh cough. “Tanner?”
“You don’t have to worry about him anymore, hon. I’ll fill you in on it all later. Just concentrate on taking some deep breaths.”
A few seconds later, the cool sheets from the gurney soothed her hot skin as Striker laid her down. She turned her head to see Hook laying on an identical gurney, his eyes closed, clothing singed and raw burns over parts of his arms. The oxygen mask on his face gave her hope that he was still alive, but her heart couldn’t give up the fear of losing him just yet.
The EMTs worked on her, placing oxygen on her as well and assessing her vitals, but she tuned them out. All her remaining energy was focused on Hook, on willing the universe to allow him to wake up.
After what felt like an eternity, he jolted, his entire body rising from the gurney as horrible hacking coughs gripped him. As painful as it must have been for him, Marcie had never heard a sweeter sound in her life.
It meant Hook was alive.
It meant she had a chance to tell him she loved him.
Chapter Fifteen
Pain registered first. The biting sear of intense heat scorching his flesh. The stabbing pain in his abused lungs, starved for oxygen. Completely out of his control, Hook’s muscles jerked and contracted over and over as his system tried to dispel the poison and replace it with oxygen.
Once he calmed enough that his brain could engage in thought, he immediately needed to know if Marcie was safe. He clawed at the mask over his nose and mouth. “Marcie?” His ravaged vocal cords wouldn’t allow more than a weak croak. Men in uniform worked around him, ignoring his words.