by Lena Bourne
“Sorry,” he adds, and that finally jolts me out of my shocked paralysis.
I take his hand and lace my fingers with his.
“No, don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say. “It’s just that no one’s ever said anything even remotely like that to me and for a second there, I wasn’t sure if I was hearing you right.”
He’s staring down at our interlaced fingers, probably marveling at how white my hand looks against his tanned skin.
“I can’t believe that,” he says hoarsely. “How could no one ever tell you how gorgeous you are?”
“It probably had a lot to do with the fact that I hardly left my house,” I say. “I mean I did help out at the church a lot, but that was just down the block and even that wasn’t something I could do every day.”
“Church, huh?” he says in that tone non-churchgoers always use.
“My faith kept me strong,” I say, maybe a little too defensively.
“I have faith too,” he says and chuckles. “But you probably don’t want to hear about it.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask.
“Because it’s more like the superstitious kind,” he says, laying his other hand over mine. His skin is hot, and the warmth from it is creeping up my arm, pleasant like taking a bath is only this warmth goes deeper. I used to get cold all the time, even in summer. But if he was there to hold my hand, I’m sure I never would.
“So you’re more spiritual than religious, so what?” I say lightly.
He barks a harsh laugh. “Spiritual? I don’t think so. I just believe in omens. And see them all the time. For example, seeing you…I think that was an omen.”
“Of what?” I ask breathlessly. “What does that even mean?”
“I couldn’t figure it out,” he says. “But I think I got it now.”
“And what is it?” I probe.
He smiles at me and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“It’s not the right moment to tell you,” he says in a way that suggests he’s sheltering me from something bad.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me tight against his side.
“I just hope it’s nothing bad,” I mutter, enjoying the warmth of his strong body against mine and hoping, praying nearly, that nothing takes it away.
“It’s something I should’ve dealt with a long time ago,” he says cryptically. “And nothing for you to worry about.”
I lean against him like I’ve wanted to do since we sat down.
The wind is rustling the bushes all around us, caressing my face with its cool, fresh touch. But I’m far from cold. His warmth is more than enough to keep me warm, as I knew it would be.
All around us, the night is winning its fight against the day’s last light, but the sun hasn’t had its last say yet. The sky above the distant hills is awash in hues of red, purple, yellow, and pink. It looks as though a painter took a giant brush and painted them on. I read once that dessert sunsets are the most beautiful of all sunsets anywhere, and tonight I have to agree. Even though I have nothing to compare it to.
Blaze
I almost told her all about the dark and nasty things bothering me. Good thing her pureness and her light are strong enough to burst through even the darkness that’s been plaguing my soul for months now. Her body is so warm, so firm, and feels so perfect nestled against mine that I can’t believe I’m not kissing her yet. Or peeling off that tight top she’s wearing to reveal even more of her porcelain skin.
And yet, I do believe it.
She’s so much more than just a quick lay.
She’s delicate and untouched. Virginal and pure.
And more honestly present in the here and now than anyone I’ve ever met.
Over the years, I’ve earned my name many times over. I move quickly. Burn through things, and people too. Women mostly. But never without thinking.
The first stars are twinkling in the sky, bright and untouched just like her. Last night I dreamed of this moment. Tonight it’s reality. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. And yet, for the first time in my life, I want to take it slow.
She turns her head and looks at me, her eyes sparkling with a light no star can rival. Her pale, heart-shaped lips are parted enticingly. It’s an invitation I can’t decline.
So much for taking it slow.
I lean down and kiss her, slower and gentler than I’ve ever kissed a girl before. She tastes like a drink of cool clean water on a hot summer day. Like cold wind after feeling the burning sun on my back all day. Like peace and calm and everything I’ve never been able to hold on to.
At first, the touch of her lips against mine is softer than a soft breath. But the life and light so carefully concealed beneath her pure porcelain exterior burst forth as she kisses me more fiercely, hungrily like she’s been starved of kisses her entire life. I suppose she has.
Her need and her hunger wake a fire in me that rivals anything my blazing soul has shown me until now. I deepen the kiss, my tongue now at war with hers. Soft moans are escaping her lips, gentle and pure like birds singing in spring.
The heartbeat is her neck as I lay my palm against it tickles. But it’s strong and steady.
I knew she was magical the moment I saw her. But I never imagined just how much. Already I feel like a new man. Someone more than I was. Someone better.
She can save me. I just hope I can do the same for her.
Misti
I have been kissed before. Twice. Neither of those compares to this sweet influx of goodness flowing into my body via his firm, tasty lips. He even tastes like candy apples, and refreshing water and chocolate, and everything I’ve ever craved.
Desire, lust even, is not something I’ve truly felt before, and it takes me a few moments to recognize that I’m feeling it now. It’s like a fire twinkling to life deep in my chest, slowly and steadily becoming a bonfire, sending its flames outward all over my body—up into my neck and face, down to my belly and beyond, until every inch of my body is filled with its burning, yet seductive sweetness. I climb into his lap, and he cups my butt with his large hands, balancing me perfectly as I get my fill of the taste of him and all the hot burning bliss it brings.
His tongue in my mouth makes me wish for more. His hard cock beneath me tells me exactly what that more is.
My breaths are jagged and un-refreshing, but I don’t need air. I just need this kiss to never end.
He brushes his hands up my back, too softly, in my opinion. I want him to rip my clothes off and take me. Make me his. Show me what pleasure really is. But he’s gentle and slow and it’s plunging me into a sea of such warm, fuzzy delight I stop craving anything more.
One of his hands caresses my neck, sizzling hot against my always-cool skin. His touch is gentler than a breeze, yet more shattering than an earthquake. I shudder and moan as his other palm finds my breast and my hard, sensitive nipple. No one’s ever touched me there. For a moment, the fear that he’ll see the scars crisscrossing my chest and be disgusted, be turned off explodes in my mind. But in the next moment, the sweet delight of his kiss wipes them all away. This is no moment to fear things. This is a moment to enjoy.
As though to prove me right, he deepens the kiss while pulling me to his chest so tightly, I whimper. Not from pain. Just from knowing that in this moment I am needed and desired by this man.
He pulls away from the kiss and looks at me with deep concern in his eyes.
I smile. “I’m fine. Keep going.”
It’s not a lie. I’ve never felt better. Even though my heart is fluttering so hard I can feel it all over my body. I don’t think that’s from illness. It’s just from desire and lust, maybe even the first tendrils of love, and this perfect desert night, which has now fully risen above us. Uncountable stars are raining down their silvery light on us, covering us in their unseen dust of magic and wonder. I don’t ever want this night to end.
And I don’t think it ever can. It will forever live in my memory as the best night I’ve ever live
d.
Misti
Nighttime sounds have long since faded to absolute silence by the time even our fiery kisses can’t keep me warm in his arms anymore. I’m shivering, my teeth wanting to chatter even though they can’t because my lips are too firmly attached to his.
He pulls away from me and gazes into my eyes. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”
“Yes…let’s continue this somewhere a little more comfortable,” I say. The invitation sounded so good and enticing in my mind, but it came out in a stutter because I can’t keep my teeth from chattering any longer.
He smiles and rubs his hands up and down my arms to warm them. “Let’s go. You can wear my jacket.”
He stands up in a flash and it takes me longer to follow. The soft fuzziness the kissing and touching and fiery need are still flowing through my veins, but it’s not standing up to the cold night and the absences of his warm body to lean against very well.
He picks up the blanket and shakes it out, sending dust everywhere, wraps his strong arm around my shoulder, and leads me back to his bike. The moon is nearly full and already high in the sky and the silver parts on his bike are awash with its light, glowing. It no longer looks just like a regular chopper, but a magical ride—one that I know has the power to take me so far away from my dreary, sad life I won’t even remember it. I forget to be cold as I realize it.
He stuffed the blanket back into the saddlebag and is now standing there with his leather jacket in his hand. The moonlight is making the zippers and buttons glow magically too.
But he’s frozen in the act of handing it to me, mesmerized by something on my face it seems.
“What?” I ask and chuckle.
He shakes his head as if I’ve just woken him from a dream.
“Nothing,” he says and grins. “And everything.”
I wish he wasn’t speaking in riddles, but at the same time, the look in his eyes, that soft, desirous look full of wonder and magic is answering my question just perfectly.
He wraps the jacket around me, then helps me onto his bike, his jacket is hard and heavy, and nowhere near as warm as he is, but it smells like him, so it’s all right.
Moments later, we’re off. The rumbling of his bike is echoing in the nighttime silence and the silver parts are leaving streaks of perfect white light as we pass through the night. Magic. Nothing short of it.
I lean on him and watch the world rush past, feeling like we’re perfectly still even though we’re going fast. I want to savor this moment forever. I want to live in this moment forever.
But all too soon the streetlights of my neighborhood kill the magic of a silver-streaked night. But we’re about to create more magic. The house is dark, meaning Stormi is out, meaning we’ll be perfectly alone. Good.
He helps me dismount and leads me to my door with his arm around my shoulder where it most definitely belongs. The fear of what will happen when he sees my scarred body is much more real now, and growing more and more frightening with every step we take.
“This was the best night of my life,” he says as we reach the door.
I look at him sharply, because that’s goodbye I heard in his voice. Not anticipation of everything I want us to still experience tonight. The disappointment dispels my fear of letting him see all of me. Meaning it’s immaterial. Nothing to worry about.
“You’re not coming in?” I ask.
He smiles. Sadly, it seems to me. “Tonight was too perfect to rush into more.”
He leans down to give me a soft kiss and pulls away just as I try to make it deeper. He slides his jacket off my shoulders in the process.
“Why?” I ask, sounding much too desperate.
He smiles and caresses my cheek. “Because you’re worth more. I’ll take you to dinner tomorrow. And dancing.”
I almost tell him I’m not sure I can dance, but bite my tongue before those treacherous words leave my lips.
“I’d like that,” I say instead and he kisses me again, then walks away.
I can’t take my eyes off him. Not until he’s just a speck at the far end of the arrow-straight road of my street.
I was disappointed at first, but as I unlock the door and let myself into my dark home that’s also been my prison my whole life, I realize it’s not so bad at all. My body might have been ready to give myself to him fully. But I don’t think my soul is quite there yet. And good things are always worth waiting for. I know that very well.
Blaze
It wasn’t easy leaving her at the door of her small dark house and riding off. Her eyes followed me down the well-lit residential street, boring into my back like hot pokers until I thought the curve at the end would never come.
She’s too full of wonder to pluck and eat in one sitting. I’m too impatient to fully believe that. So I had to get away before I did something we’d both regret. Not that I think I would. But everything loses its interest for me so fast. I don’t want that to happen with her.
I concentrate only on the sound of my bike rending the night silence, only on my headlights illuminating the black road before me, think of nothing but how perfect she tasted and how right she felt in my arms. No regrets! I promised myself to live my life that way a long time ago. I’m not about to start regretting things now. But more than once I wanted to turn right back and go to her. Finish it. Give in to my flaming desire to have all of her tonight, come what comes.
What stopped me was all the women I’ve done exactly that with in the past. And now I can’t even remember all their faces.
That will not be Misti.
She’s more than a woman. She’s an omen. Of good things to come, I hope.
A soft, cool wind is blowing as I turn off the road and onto the desert sand. Before long my eyes and mouth are full of it, but I keep going to get as far away from the road as I can stand.
Being in the desert at night is as close as you can get to being alone in the world, with nothing but the clear starry sky above you and the velvet night all around. I stop by a copse of rocks, get the blanket and lay it out on the hard dusty ground, sit and lean against the widest of the rocks. The day’s heat is still radiating from its center, warming my back and making the nighttime chill easier to bear.
I can still taste Misti on my lips, still have her peachy clean scent in my nose. Still wish I was lying in her arms right now, instead of getting colder and colder out here in the empty desert.
I love being alone. But tonight the empty silence is oppressive.
My phone buzzes and I’m not even a little bit annoyed at being interrupted. Tonight’s no night to spend alone with my thoughts.
“Where are you?” Colt says breathlessly. “Didn’t you get my messages?”
I take the phone away from my ear and check the screen. I have three unread texts and 5 unanswered calls. I’m guessing they’re all from Colt.
“I was busy,” I tell him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing good,” he says. “Some idiot, no name MC thought it was a good idea to attack us here. The clubhouse is blown to shit and Cross wants all hands on deck.”
I shoot to my feet so fast electric yellow lights explode before my eyes.
“Anyone hurt?” I ask.
The silence that follows is all the answer I need even before Colt mutters, “Yeah.”
“I’ll be right there,” I tell Colt and hang up.
The death and destruction I’ve dealt out since joining Devil’s Nightmare MC has been weighing heavy on my soul these last couple of months. And we’re about to deal out some more.
I don’t know how to feel about that. But I do know I will avenge every one of my brothers that got hurt.
I take my dark blue and white bandana from my jacket pocket and wrap it over my mouth. I plan on riding out of the desert fast and I’ve already swallowed enough sand.
I come from a large family, but it’s family in name only. Colt was my only family back then and in the years I’ve been with them, the Devils are starting to become the fam
ily I never actually had.
There is nothing I won’t do for any of them.
7
Blaze
A cloud of smoke is hanging over the clubhouse, visible from far away, obscuring the stars, dark grey and nasty against the velvety blue, peaceful night. My throat and nose are on fire from the stench of burning chemicals and charred wood before I’m even within sight of what’s left of the Vegas Clubhouse, as the MCs HQ out here is called.
Not much is left of it. The bar attached to the rectangular, three-story sleeping area, is just a pile of smoldering, blackened wood and only one of the walls of the sleeping area remains standing. The rest is a pile of charred drywall and beams, what’s left of the white catching the moonlight and glowing mockingly. Five fire trucks are parked around the scene, but the firemen are already clearing up the tools of their trade. The crews of the six ambulances is only just getting started, it seems.
I stop in the darkness about fifty yards away and try not to take too much of it in, even though that’s impossible.
The building collapsed onto the parking lot and here and there among the smoldering rubble, moonlight gleams off the chrome handlebars and hubcaps of my brothers’ bikes. It’ll take a master mechanic to put those back together. Luckily we have one of those in our MC. But whether the owners of those bikes will ever claim them after they’re fixed is a question I don’t want to try and answer right now.
Even as I think it, two paramedics in their black and red uniforms come into view, carrying a stretcher between them. A brother is lying lifeless on it, one heavy, tatted-up arm hanging limply off the side.
With my eyes, I follow their progress to an area shielded by two ambulances where five more brothers are lying on stretchers on the ground. The three gurneys are occupied by women. One of them is so covered in blood, I thought she was wearing a full-body leotard.
Paramedics are working on them, moving fast, their actions practiced and robot-like. And completely useless, it looks to me. None of the victims are getting up, none are even stirring.