Firetrap: The Soul Scorchers MC (The Scorched Souls Serial-series Book 1)

by Riley, C. L.

  “Lunch is …” I stammered, caught off guard by his gaze’s intensity.

  He licked his lips. “You go on. I think I’ll do a lap or two. Loosen up a bit.”

  It occurred to me then that I didn’t know what he was wearing. Did he keep swim trunks in his truck? He didn’t seem the type.

  “Can I help you?” he asked. His grin was back, and the feral gleam was gone from his eyes.

  “Are you wearing a swimsuit?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters,” I hissed. This man was maddening.

  “I’m covered.”

  “In what?” He wasn’t going to make this easy on me.

  Rather than answer, he pushed off from the bottom and swam away, his big arms churning through the water.

  He was telling the truth. He was indeed covered in a pair of ass-hugging, Calvin Klein, Micromodal, Boxer Briefs that fit him like a glove. Damn biker!

  I scrambled from the pool as gracefully as I could manage and grabbed my robe.

  I’d erred inviting Boone down here. Now I had to figure out a way to get him back upstairs before I made another, far more serious mistake.

  Boone

  I stopped at the pool’s shallow end, after six laps. It had taken that long to get my cock to behave. Walking across the patio in flesh-hugging briefs, with a hard on from hell, hadn’t seemed like the polite thing to do. I wasn’t known for being polite in my personal affairs, but this was business. Not to mention, I needed time to think. Olympia had me confused … again.

  One second she was insulting me, the next she was inviting me to lunch and letting me swim in her precious pool. The bitch was giving me whiplash.

  My stomach rumbles signaled it was time to eat, despite my conflicted feelings. I climbed out of the pool and made my way to a table in the shade, where Olympia was already eating. Her bodyguard and maid hovered close by, waiting for her instructions. The two were like trained lap dogs.

  I could only imagine how my brothers would torment me when they found out I’d “lunched” with the mayor’s daughter. Our newest prospects, two twins, Tinker and Tweaker, would have a heyday with the information. I decided right then; I wouldn’t tell them. In fact, I wouldn’t be sharing my afternoon’s activities with anyone. It was my fucking business who I ate with.

  “Enjoy your swim?” Her gaze slid down my chest, stopping to scrutinize my nipple piercings, before landing on my briefs.

  Fucking hell. Did she have to look at me like that? She was lucky I’d put the damn things on. It wasn’t uncommon for me to go without, and I had no qualms walking around naked either.

  “The water felt great. I’ll just eat and get back to work. I think I can have the entire project completed in the three days I scheduled for it. I want to spend at least a day on the painting portion.”

  She took a bite of celery. “Take your time. I can pay whatever it costs.”

  “You sure about that? What if money isn’t what I want?” What I really wanted to say was; ‘How about you give me twenty-four hours to fuck you senseless?’

  Depending on her performance that could easily count as payment and a tip.

  Her lips parted and she waited for me to continue, her expression unreadable.

  I quickly determined if I hoped to finish my meal, it would be in my best interest to keep that particular suggestion to myself.

  When she realized I wasn’t going to say more, we ate the rest of our meal in relative silence, except for the occasional this-food-is-good compliment, which made things a whole lot easier.

  I wasn’t a big communicator when it came to women. Suck my dick; roll over; spread your legs; were a few of my favorite phrases. I’d allowed my anger at Rita’s selfishness to mold my attitudes about the fairer sex. Olympia’s uppity behavior these past years hadn’t done anything to improve it. Add in the gold-digging bitches I took to my bed, and my view of women wasn’t getting any better with time.

  I had two boys from my marriage to Rita, and I didn’t have clue how to raise them. They’d been real mama’s boys in every sense of the word. I was only thirty-one, but they were a handful, easily wearing me out. I couldn’t keep a nanny, no matter how much I paid.

  I’d asked Rita to be my old lady at eighteen and married her six months later when we found out she was pregnant. She’d gotten clean and we had Joseph, now referred to as Joey. He was turning thirteen next month and wanted to follow in my footsteps. He planned to patch in as soon as he was old enough.

  His younger brother, Jordon Vance, JV to the guys, was the polar opposite. Artistic, intelligent, and far too feminine for my taste; he wanted nothing to do with the biker lifestyle. Granted he was only eight, and things could change. The two fought constantly, giving me a headache that never quite went away, no matter how many pain relievers I tossed down.

  Being raised in the club by its members, their old ladies and a swarm of their busybody women friends wasn’t ideal, but at this point, I didn’t see any other options. At least they were well cared for. Any one of my brothers would die to protect them.

  “Hey, earth to Boon. Where did you go?” Olympia snapped her fingers, interrupting my silent worry session. “Your eyes kind of glazed over.”

  “Got a few things on my mind. This was good, though. I appreciate the lunch, but I need to get back to work.” I had no intention of sharing my secret concerns with someone like Olympia, who would undoubtedly find a way to use them against me.

  She wasn’t letting me off that easy. “What’s the big hurry?”

  “Well, I scheduled three days for your job, and despite your offer to pay more, I’ve got other projects lined up.” I sounded harsher than I intended.

  “Fine. Suit yourself,” she snipped.

  Pushing my plate back, I rose from the table and went to find my jeans, which I’d tossed on a chair by the pool.

  A door slammed and footsteps approached from behind. “What the hell is he doing down here?” a male voice snapped.

  Yanking on my pants, I ignored the heated voices. I had no doubt about who’d intruded. It had to be the ATF asshole, Conner Mills. Evidently, he didn’t appreciate stopping by to find his future wife hanging out with the biker who’d been hired to remodel her bathroom.

  It was probably for the best anyway. I needed to put some serious distance between myself and the mayor’s daughter.

  Not bothering to stop, I thanked Sheila for feeding us, and headed back upstairs.

  An hour later, I was too curious not to check on Olympia.

  Standing on the balcony, I had a clear view of her and Conner kissing below. He whispered something and she giggled. “How could you be jealous of a thug like him? You should know me better than that. I was just being nice. I’d never be with a lowlife biker. I can’t believe you.” She slapped his arm playfully. “I learned to be the gracious hostess from my mom. She always fed the help.”

  The help? Lowlife biker? Thug?

  At my sides, my hands fisted; I took a deep breath, exhaling out my nose like a bull - a raging bull ready to fucking stampede.

  That stuck up little bitch.

  For a minute during lunch, I’d almost been willing to change my mind about her. Now? Not a chance. She was everything I’d thought she was and worse. Conner was definitely the right guy for her.

  Fuck this. I was done for the day.

  I gathered my tools and left the mess, something I never did. Tomorrow it would be all business for me. She could flaunt her ass and open her legs for all I cared. I was immune to Olympia Olsen.

  Yeah right. And pigs flied. And the Soul Scorchers were allies with the Hell’s Guardians.

  In other words, I was lying to myself and still craving a bitch who thought I was a dirty, worthless bastard.

  What I needed was a distraction. It was time to make the drive up Highway 101, to our strip joint’s underground club. There I would find a woman, or multiple women, ready and willing to submit to my unconventional demands.

  A
t least at ‘The Treasure Cove’, I’d experience the control that seemed to elude me when I was around Olympia Olsen.

  No more games; enough was enough. Somehow, someway, little-miss-perfect-princess would pay for her insolence today.

  Olympia

  I couldn’t believe Boone had up and left without even saying goodbye. Our lunch had been halfway enjoyable, and it seemed like we’d made progress, moving past most of our animosity to a more neutral, friendlier place.

  But in light of his abrupt departure, it appeared I had read more into our interaction. I’d make sure to avoid any liquor consumption tomorrow. Drinking lulled me into experiencing a false sense of security, and I started misreading people’s intentions.

  Adding injury to insult, he hadn’t bothered to clean up the bathroom. It was so messy I was stuck using the guest bathroom down the hallway, which was not just inconvenient, but frustrating. He could have at least left the room functional, so much for professionalism.

  Conner, on the other hand, had done the exact opposite, staying forever, only leaving when I told him I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open.

  After hanging out all afternoon and evening, I couldn’t be more relieved to have him gone. He rarely left work early, and his behavior had been unprecedented. It seemed the green eyed monster was alive and well in my fiancé. I’d had to reassure him several times that I found Boone primitive and boring. After multiple assurances, he had finally relented and apologized for his jealous behavior, citing his love for me was deeper than he’d realized.

  Talk about bewildering, one man running out the door and the other refusing to go without a good solid shove from me.

  I’d never seen Conner insecure, and it wasn’t a good fit for him. Instead of appearing vulnerable and open, his actions today made him seem weak and desperate; two traits I found highly unpleasant. I could never imagine a man like Boone being envious, at least not in a way that made him appear weak.

  Not Boone.

  He was confidence rolled up in a rough and rugged package, dripping with raw masculinity so strong, just looking at him had my knees buckling.

  Adding to my frustration and confusion was the glaring fact I couldn’t eject the image of Boone striding towards me in his clinging boxer briefs. He was seriously packing up front. No Photoshop needed for him. And his backside was just as tempting as the front view. His ass looked hard enough to crack an egg on.

  I snorted. That was quite the vision.

  If those mental pictures weren’t bad enough, I was plagued with a question that I shouldn’t be asking in the first place.

  How would I feel if Boone kissed me?

  I had no doubt it would be panty-melting, not at all like kissing my fiancé. Not that Conner wasn’t skilled when it came to giving pleasure, because, he was. He knew all the right moves, and my body responded; even so, it felt mechanical. For me the passion and the thrill just weren’t there. I wanted my first time to be spectacular, with my body exploding like ‘Fourth of July’ fireworks.

  My future husband would never give me what I craved, and pretending that marriage would solve all our problems, was outright absurd and childish. He’d left a trail of broken hearts behind, before committing to me, but I couldn’t begin to grasp what all his past lovers saw in him that I didn’t. I’d tried to find that same spark and failed.

  In relation to the firework comparison, I expected sex with Conner to be like one of those sparklers little kids waved around, while the bigger kids got to light off the more exciting rockets or illegal motors.

  Sex with Boone Richards would be like the finale at a professional firework display: colorful, loud, and lasting. Most of all, it would be dangerous.

  My phone chirped, interrupting my wandering thoughts and signaling an incoming text message. I glanced at the bedside clock. It was 2.30am. My chest tightened, and a stab of adrenaline spiked through me.

  What if it was Boone? Maybe he’d been thinking about me too. My cell phone number was listed on the contract forms, along with my father’s.

  I reached for my phone, wide awake.

  Disappointment quickly doused my excitement. It was Conner. He never stayed up this late.

  Can’t stop thinking about you. Let’s move the wedding up.

  Stunned, I sat up, clutching the phone. He had to be kidding. Maybe he was drunk. Only problem with that idea was the fact Conner didn’t drink during the week - ever.

  The phone chirped again.

  You’re probably sleeping. We’ll talk tomorrow. Love you. He’d even added a silly heart at the end.

  Flopping down on my back, I groaned. Why now? Why me? Any other woman would be thrilled.

  I was horrified.

  A picture of my mother’s concerned face intruded, adding to my middle-of-the-night-misery.

  She’d died and left me alone without a woman’s guidance. I missed her sage council, her unconditional love and ability to listen without judgment. Damn it! I missed everything about her.

  “I am not going there,” I hissed. Angry, I’d let my emotions get so out of control. “You. Will. Not. Cry,” I repeated the mantra I’d come to depend on.

  Swallowing hard, I choked down an uncharacteristic sob. I struggled for several long minutes to regain control, pushing back the pain and locking it away in the compartment reserved for anything related to my mom, more specifically, her death.

  Taking slow, deep breaths, I centered myself. Once I was calm, the answer was obvious. I didn’t need my mom here to know what her advice would be. She would tell me to follow my heart.

  My heart was warning me that Conner was not the man for me.

  If not Conner, who? Boone?

  No way.

  Society girls didn’t marry outlaw bikers. And I had no illusions when it came to Boone and marriage. He wasn’t a one woman man. I’d have to settle for sex without commitment.

  At this point, though, sex with Boone sounded so much better than a lifetime with Conner Mills, commitment or not.

  Staring through my patio doors, my gaze landed on the sky’s biggest and brightest star. I remembered when I was a little girl and had made wish after wish on the evening’s first star, trusting all my dreams would come true. Most of them had, including Conner. He was the type of man I’d always wanted to marry; a prince charming all the girls wanted; a man with a bright and promising future.

  My father expected us to get married and stay married. Conner’s family was already busy planning and preparing for our future ceremony. There was little doubt in mind that Conner would end up creating his own version of ‘Camelot’.

  My dad was talking about supporting his future run for mayor and believed Conner could continue working for the ATF in some capacity, as well as handling a small town like Seal’s Cove’s politics, at the same time. I would be expected to stand at his side every step of the way, supporting him, putting up with his long work hours, and acting as a buffer between him and any problems that threatened to derail him from his fast track to the top.

  I was trapped. Stuck. My life was mapped out, and I was simply along for the ride - an extended, boring, and utterly unremarkable ride.

  Unless … a sense of childish hope gripped my heart.

  Slipping on my yoga pants with my oversized T-shirt, I made my way to the balcony and swung open the double glass doors. The summer night was cool, the sky clear. I looked up, finding the blinking star.

  “Star light, star bright, first star I’ve seen tonight. Yeah, I know you might not have been the first but … oh, never mind. I wish I may, wish I might, have the wish, I wish tonight.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut like I had so many times in the past, I let myself hope for magic. Without it, I was doomed to a marriage and a life I no longer wanted.

  Boone

  “What a bitch,” Grinch growled, before tipping back his beer. “Who the fuck does she think she is?” His face was contorted in rage. He didn’t appreciate the labels Olympia Olsen had used to describe me.
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br />   Against my better judgment, I’d provided a snapshot of my day with Olympia for Grinch. He was probably my closest friend, next to Leg, and I needed to blow off some steam.

  Before I could respond, Amber, one of our hottest strippers, bowed over, thrusting her ass towards me. On the private stage, in front of our table, her ass was so close to my mouth I could take a bite if I wanted.

  She peered at me upside down through her parted legs. “You can touch, Boone. The house rules don’t apply to you.”

  Grinch growled again, signaling his frustration.

  He’d been trying to get with Amber for the past two years. She was polite, but never gave him more than a friendly nod. He’d paid her God knows how much to dance for him all night, and Grinch was fucking grumpy to begin with, thus the name.

  Christmas time was the worst. The happier folks got, the angrier he became. Bones had to keep him busy on extra club projects, from the last week in November until after the New Year. Anything to keep him occupied. The first year he’d joined our charter, we thought he was kidding about his anti-holiday stance.

  We learned the truth the hard way.

  He’d demolished the two competing Christmas tree lots in Seal’s Cove, leaving kids crying, parents screaming, and whole lot of people scared shitless.

  Bones had to pay off the police and promise it would never happen again. He’d kept the promise, but it hadn’t been easy. Grinch was no fuzzy ‘Who’ from ‘Who-ville’. He was a two-hundred and forty pound, ex-con who hated everyone and everything. The one thing he had in common with Dr. Suess’ Grinch, besides a bad attitude, was a hell of a lot of hair, all over his face.

  He cared about two things; the club and my dad, which by default, meant he cared about me.

  Grinch, legal name, Michael Paulson, had bunked with Bones in prison, forging an alliance. They were released the same day, and when Grinch had nowhere to go, my dad made him an offer he couldn’t turn down.

  Grinch was a mastermind when it came to finances and money matters. From inside, Bones had been planning ahead like any smart business man. He suspected that Mick, the treasurer at the time, was skimming off club profits, taking advantage of Bones’ incarceration - a serious and fatal mistake.