Blaze: Devil's Nightmare MC: Book 11

by Lena Bourne

  “People died because I left,” I tell her. “Friends of mine that had nothing to do with any feud. And it happened because I left.”

  “You going back won’t undo that,” she says softly, and sends my heart racing so hard I’m sure she can hear it.

  “And there’s deaths I could’ve prevented back home if I stayed,” I add.

  “Or you could’ve died yourself,” she says quietly.

  “Or that,” I snap even though I don’t want to.

  “You think your uncle would still be alive if you stayed?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I say and leave it at that. I don’t like this conversation. I want it to stop.

  This is a shit place to stop on a date too. The shore of the lake is covered with messy, short dried grass that’s thick enough to hide bodies, and the sand beach is littered and dirty. The overall effect isn’t romantic. It’s just depressing.

  I’m sure Reggie wouldn’t be dead if I was still there, fighting the fight. With my brothers gone, and me gone, the only males left were old men and young ones so strung out on meth they couldn’t walk straight, let alone shoot straight. Or make a plan beyond the next hit.

  I’m sure my dad’s gone that way too by now. He was halfway there when I left.

  Reggie never used. He just cooked.

  Someone has to keep us is bread, diapers, and guns, he’d often say. And that’s pretty much what he did. He never married nor had kids. I’m sure it was because he didn’t want to bring any more generations to the mess we’d made of our family over the years, but he never said that out loud. It’s easier to live a lie than dwell on a painful truth you can do nothing about. That’s also something he used to say. I never saw it that way.

  I hate imaging his dying on the side of a country road shot in the back. But I can’t stop it now.

  “I don’t think death is anything to look forward to,” she says. “Or rush towards. Trust me, I’ve known I’d die soon since I can remember.”

  “So did I,” I snap at her, but this time as she turns her head to stare at me, she doesn’t look away. Or flinch.

  “You’re healthy and you’re just throwing your life away because you think you have to,” she says. “That makes no sense to me.”

  My arm is still around her shoulders, because the last thing I want to do is let her go. Even though she’s pissing me off with her questions and her statements about something she has no idea about. None at all.

  “I fucking betrayed my family by leaving, and now I’ve betrayed the family that took me in because of it,” I snap. “There’s not much to get. I have to do what I can to fix it. Which isn’t much now, I’ll do what I gotta do.”

  I damn near shouted the last few words and even though her eyelids fluttered she didn’t shy away from me or look away.

  “I’m trying to help you,” she says.

  “I know.” I want to smile, but I’m not quite there yet.

  “But I’d help you the most if I stopped talking about this?” she asks and grins sheepishly. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  I nod, still unable to smile.

  “It’s not a good topic for me,” I say. “My family’s my family and it’s…it is what it is.”

  She nods and I pull her close. She may be the second most delicate thing I’ve ever held, but she’s also the most solid person I’ve ever known. Like a rock to lean on, or a thick oak tree with roots so deep no storm will ever topple it.

  “Let’s just enjoy the sunset now,” I suggest. I’m seriously starting to see the merit in Reggie’s line about pretending and living a lie.

  And I hope she will enjoy this sunset. I won’t. The sun is setting blood-red over the green waters and it’s matching the anger in my heart too well for me to see the beauty in it.

  Misti

  I’m starting to believe what they say about sunsets over the desert being the most beautiful in the world is true. The sun is setting bright red over the lake, the color of fresh blood, making me feel very panicked and claustrophobic and I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s the barren wasteland that is this shore of the lake. I know it’s not Blaze. His presence still fills me with the same hope and pleasant happiness it has since the first time I saw him.

  But something shifted in him as we stopped here and I think I know what.

  The only trouble is, he won’t talk to me about it. Won’t let me help him.

  And I know why that is too.

  Words can’t solve his problems. Especially not words spoken by a woman he hardly knows.

  A woman who has seen none of the hardships he’s faced his whole life. Heck, I haven’t even faced the hardship of going grocery shopping for most of my life. How can I possibly understand growing up knowing your years are numbered, your family’s years are numbered and all because of a thing you had nothing to do with and no control over?

  Except. I do understand. Sort of. I understand the gist of it perfectly well. But where I had no choice but to surrender to my illness, to my brand of knowing I won’t live long, he’s had to make a conscious choice to do that same thing. And that’s what’s eating at him.

  I take his hand and look up at him. The red light of sunset is reflected in his eyes and his face. He looks like he’s covered in blood, but I chase that thought away before it even blossoms fully in my mind.

  “Let’s not go anywhere else tonight,” I whisper to him as our eyes lock. “Let’s just stay right here.”

  He grins, but it barely touches his eyes. “What? No dinner? No warm bed?”

  His words are clipped, their edges hard and sharp and unforgiving, but he’s trying to sound carefree.

  “We can build a fire,” I say and smile too. “I mean, you can build a fire, right? And we still have your blanket and some leftover sandwiches.”

  He smiles more serenely this time.

  “Yes, I can build us a fire,” he says in a dreamlike, faraway sort of voice.

  Then he leans down and kisses me, his lips chapped from the wind, but so warm and soft underneath the rough skin, I feel like I’ve just taken a sip from the fountain of eternal life. When I was very young, I watched a cartoon that featured one of those, and I spent years, literally years, wishing such a thing existed. That I could find it and drink a cup of the golden waters and then I would be healthy and all would be well. I never told anyone about this dream I had, not even Stormi. I always knew it was crazy. And I also knew she’d go out searching for it.

  I grew out of it eventually and accepted I’ll never find it because it doesn’t exist. Except now, I sort of did find it.

  Kissing him is like I pictured that golden, life-giving drink would be. Kissing him is what will give me eternal life. One way or another.

  16

  Misti

  It’s been a while since the sun finally set fully. None of the bloody carnage it spilled on the world before it passed out of sight is left. The sky is velvety blue, almost black and the stars dotting it are like diamonds, bright and beautiful, but in an untouchable, detached way.

  The bonfire he built for us is high and crackling merrily, warming my legs and my face, and washing his in an orange glow that perfectly matches his name. But the flames are hardly eating away at the darkness. I have my jacket zipped up to my chin, and leaning against his chest, his strong arms around me, his even heartbeat and healthy breaths keeping me safe and sound, pleasantly warm.

  A shooting star whizzes across the sky, sending a shower of sparks raining down.

  I gasp and point. “You saw that?”

  “Did you make a wish?” he asks, chuckling softly.

  I lean my head on his shoulder and look into his eyes the best I can. They’re dotted with the shimmering diamonds that are the stars above us, but in his eyes, they’re getting eaten by the flames of our fire.

  “I wish to only feel good for the rest of my life,” I whisper, making him laugh.

  “You shouldn’t have told me,” he says. “Now it won’t come true.”

&n
bsp; “That’s how you see it,” I say and grin at him. “But I disagree. Besides, you’re the one who can make that happen for me, so you should know.”

  He chuckles again, and this time his eyes contain only fire. It’s not just a reflection, not entirely. He slides his hand up my thigh, and I’m not sure this is what I meant, but as he unbuttons my jeans and his hand disappears into my panties, I have to admit, I kind of did.

  I gasp and moan as his fingers touch my clit, the sensation they wake like a very hot spot in a sea of ice. He unzips my jacket with his other hand then slides his hand down the front of my shirt. His touch is searing hot and fills me with a wild fire of bliss and desire that’s so strong and so hot, no cold wind, no freezing night can ever put it out.

  He kisses my neck and it all comes together. Like a ring of fire. Like a never-ending circle of pleasure. He caresses my clit, pinches my nipples, and kisses my neck. Rubs my pussy, licks my neck, and plays with my nipples. Before I’m ready, a rippling orgasm washes over me, coming in waves, each bigger and deeper than the last. Pleasant as watching the soft waves on the lake lick the sandy shore. Peaceful as listening to the soft wind rustling the grass growing all around us. Blissful as the bonfire crackling as its heat washes over us.

  “Is this what you meant?” he asks mischievously, once I stop breathing hard.

  I peel away from him and turn, grinning at him. “Yes. But I want even more.”

  His eyes widen, a shocked but happy look in them. It turns to flaming red hot desire as I turn all the way and slide off my jacket. I grab the hem of my shirt and am about to pull it up when I remember my scars. Surely he’s felt them by now, but feeling them is different than seeing. And once he sees, he won’t think I’m beautiful anymore. There’s no way he could, no matter what anyone says.

  “Why’d you stop?” he asks, leaning back and looking at me with such unbridled desire in his eyes I feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment. “Take it all off.”

  “I’m…I…I’m scarred,” I manage to say in a choked little whisper. “Over my breasts and around my heart. From the surgeries.”

  Better to warn him, than to just spring it on him. Right? I definitely don’t want to see that stark hot desire in his eyes replaced by disgust. Or pity, which is what I think I’m seeing now, but I’m afraid to look too closely to make sure.

  He leans back towards me and runs his hand over my cheek, then over my chest. His touch is as soft as the brush of a feather.

  “And you think I’ll mind?” he asks.

  “I’m afraid you’ll be grossed out,” I manage to say.

  He shakes his head slowly and leans down to kiss me. I was shaking like a twig on turbulent waters, but as soon as his lips touch mine, that’s gone, replaced by the thrumming of joy and sweet bliss deep in my belly.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he whispers. “Nothing will ever change that.”

  “This might,” I say quietly, even though he sounds so sure I don’t even believe it myself.

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” he says more loudly and leans back again. “Take off your clothes.”

  The commanding tone in his voice adds fuel to the fire of desire in my belly. It’s so bright now that nothing else matters.

  I grin at him and stand up slowly. My side is burning from the heat of the fire as I kick off my shoes then slide down my jeans, stepping out of them as daintily and seductively as I know how. A searing sensation washes over me as I straighten up and this time it’s not just from the fire, it’s coming from his gaze as it caresses my bare legs. I grab the hem of my shirt again and this time pull it up over my head without hesitating. The fire in his eyes and on my skin is still there, even hotter than it was once I pull my shirt over my head and stand there in just my lacy bra and panties.

  “All of it,” he says hoarsely, and I reach behind to unclasp my bra, moaning softly as the cold air hits my freed breasts. The look of desire and lust in his eyes doesn’t change as he sees my scarred chest. Not even a little bit.

  He stands up faster than I thought a man his size could. He just stands there, barely an inch away, towering over me, his fiery gaze fixed on mine as I look up into his face, holding me in its thrall like a doe in the headlights. All that pent-up desire in his eyes finds release in the kiss he gives me, rough yet soft, hungry and full of need, yet as pleasant as summer rain on a scorching hot day.

  Before I know it, his jacket and his pants are off and his rock-hard cock is jabbing me in the stomach, somewhere near my belly button. I wrap my fingers around it, making him groan and sigh before he grabs my butt and grinds his cock into my belly.

  “I need to be inside you,” he whispers hoarsely.

  “I’ll try,” I say, my heart fluttering in my chest, beating like the panicked flutter of a butterfly’s wings in my chest because my fingers don’t reach around his girth and I’m a little scared.

  Though the memory of the orgasm just two of his fingers inside me created makes me think this will be a million times better.

  “We’ll go slowly,” he says, but doesn’t sound like he really believes he’ll be able to.

  Then he picks me up and somehow manages to sit down with me in his lap like I weigh nothing. I guess to him I don’t.

  His cock is hot and pulsing against my clit, turning even the serene, untouchable white light of the stars red with desire.

  “Sit on it,” he says, that edge of command back in his voice, even as his eyes wash over me with all the fiery softness they always do.

  I swallow hard and adjust my position to do as he asks. The head of his cock brushes against my clit and he grins as I moan.

  One of his hands is holding my waist firmly while the other is guiding his cock. I moan and sigh lots more as he rubs the head over my clit a few times, back and forth, the sensation it wakes in me very much like getting doused in fiery hot jets of water. Only on the inside, as though my blood is carrying the flames.

  I gasp and moan so loud it echoes over the water as he pushes the head of his cock into me. I slam my hands on his chest, my arms shaking with the strength it takes not to collapse on him as I make sense of what just happened. The sensation was not unlike getting struck very hard by something very heavy. Only it was all pleasure, so good it bordered on pain.

  “Stop?” he asks, his eyes locked on mine as I open them.

  I shake my head. “More.”

  He grins and takes over, guiding me further onto his cock with both his strong hands firmly holding my waist.

  He’s not going fast, not being rough, but every inch of his cock entering me makes another volley of searing, breathtaking pleasure slam against me. For perhaps the first time in my life, I am not aware of the beating of my heart, because feeling this is more important. But my heart is beating very fast, I do know that. He pushes in and pulls out, goes deeper, keeps it shallow, and I love every moment, want more, need more. The heat of the fire washing over my back is nothing compared to the searing hot pleasure his cock inside is waking.

  I was so right.

  This is better.

  This is the best it can get.

  My body wakes a little more with every thrust, becomes more aware of itself and the strength it holds deep within, buried beneath years of being too sick to do anything but worry, and fret and prepare to die. I can practically hear the hard shell that I’ve been encased in cracking and falling away as the pleasure of him inside me and the fire on my naked back consumes me.

  I take over, sliding up and down on his cock, breathing heavily and moaning, images coalescing before my eyes like water and light swirling together. But I’m doing what feels good, what comes naturally, letting myself have a little piece of something I thought I never would.

  But my heart is what it is. And right now, it’s fluttering in my chest like a very tired butterfly. The vision of flames washing over his face as his eyes sparkle like diamonds is getting eaten away by pure darkness at the edges. But it�
��s not the sickly kind. No. It’s the kind that only all-consuming pleasure and bliss can bring. I don’t have to worry or fear.

  I let go. Let myself surrender to the bliss, the light and the dark, and everything in between.

  And as the volleys of pleasure and bliss finally bring me down I know I got my wish. This is the best you can feel. Ever in this life.

  And I can’t wait for more.

  17

  Misti

  Loud banging on the door sends my heart fluttering and skipping before I’m even fully awake. The walls of the motel room are shaking from the knocking, and I’m pretty sure the whole room is too, including the bed. Or maybe that’s just the beginning of my attack.

  “Blaze, open the door!” a man yells harshly from the other side of the door. It’s followed by more banging and Blaze springing up from the bed like he wasn’t asleep at all.

  “Blaze!” the man yells. “Now!”

  He looks at me, his eyes still half closed with sleep. He’s only wearing his t-shirt and boxers, and the look in his eyes is more apology and panic. Maybe there’s nothing to be afraid of.

  “What’s happening?” I ask breathlessly.

  He picks up his jeans off the floor and pulls them on clumsily, skipping on one foot as he tries to get the other one into the hole.

  “I don’t know,” he tells me, as he finally succeeds in pulling up his jeans.

  “Blaze!” the man yells again.

  He walks to the door but looks at me the whole time. “You just stay well back.”

  “What’s going to happen?” I ask, my voice screechy and loud.

  “Nothing, I hope,” he says and opens the door wide.

  A group of men with angry faces are standing by the door, all wearing black leather jackets, half their faces covered by bandanas. The morning sun is bright and inviting behind them. But it’s casting them in a harsh black shadow. I don’t think this will be a good morning. I think it might well prove to be the worst morning I ever woke up into.