Blaze: Devil's Nightmare MC: Book 11

by Lena Bourne

  Blaze

  Time passes weirdly when you’re locked up in a dark cell. I already learned that when the Devils had me locked up and it’s even more evident now. This time, the images that flood my mind, more real than in life, are all of Misti. Her and me watching the sunset on our first date, kissing until the moon rose. Playing pool with her, as carefree as two random lovebirds with no baggage from the past, only the future to look forward to. Her gliding into my family home, awash in moonlight that clung to her even once she was inside to save my life.

  She saved my life long before then. She did it when she persuaded me to take her with me on this homecoming journey. If I keep my mind really still, I can even hear her tinkling voice. Telling me she loves me. Telling me she needs me to live.

  A loud shout rends the silence outside my cell. It’s an animal sound coming from a man’s mouth and it’s followed by two loud thuds against the dirt.

  A moment later the lock on the outside of my cell door breaks and the door is thrown wide open. A man is standing in the doorway, half his face covered by a dark bandana.

  “Blaze, we gotta go,” Ace says. “Change of plans.”

  My legs have fallen asleep from sitting in the same position for what I now realize must’ve been hours. I get up fast anyway, ignore the pins and needles and vertigo, and follow him outside. The compound is quiet and dark, the only light coming from the area around the gate. Ace is not alone, Eagle is with him. The compound is as quiet as the grave.

  “What did you mean by change of plans?” I ask as we walk almost silently in the near-perfect darkness cast by the wall.

  “We’re taking care of them tonight,” Ace says. “If we hurry, we might get the chance—”

  “Stop!” a shaky, young voice shouts behind us. “I will shoot.”

  “Get away from the wall!” Another, equally shaky voice says.

  I turn and take one step away from the wall. And come face to face with the barrel of a huge pistol held by a kid that looks so painfully like my little brother I almost run to him and hug him.

  But it’s not my little brother. It must be one of Old Bastard’s youngest sons. The gun he’s holding looks even bigger because his hands are so small.

  “You’re one of them,” he says in a high-pitched voice as he sees my face. But the hatred in the word them is very clear.

  The gunshot is deafeningly loud. The pain as the bullet hits my chest isn’t painful. Just hot. As is the blood that flows down my chest like tears.

  I want to take a step forward, but my legs don’t.

  I want to see Misti again and I do. She’s not here in this smelly, dusty, dark yard though. She’s on the back of my bike, leaning on my back and holding on tight to my waist. We’re riding into the pale golden sunrise, the whole world just ours for the taking.

  “Don’t kill them,” I tell Ace as he kneels by my side.

  But it’s Misti who is whispering in my ear, telling me she loves me, telling me she always will. Her voice is soft and melodic, and louder than the gunshot that’s still echoing across the vast fields of grass all around us.

  Misti

  I open my eyes to darkness, my heart racing, skipping beats, fluttering out of rhythm. My chest, my whole body is pressed down with the weight of the entire world it feels like.

  I can’t catch a breath, I can’t move and I can’t make a sound save for the wheezing that starts deep in my chest and sounds like a wail.

  “What’s wrong, Misti?” Stormi’s panicked voice reaches me. “Is it an attack?”

  “Blaze,” I manage to choke out from beneath the suffocating weight crushing me.

  “What?” Stormi asks.

  “Something’s wrong,” I say. “Something’s happened to him.”

  She sighs and caresses my cheek gently. “It was just a nightmare, Misti. I’ll get you a glass of water and your pills. They’re in your purse?”

  My heart is still fluttering, but its wonky rhythm is not the source of my overwhelming fear and anguish.

  “Yes, in my purse,” I whisper and try to take deep breaths while she gets out of bed in search of my pills.

  Just a nightmare. That’s got to be it. But I don’t remember dreaming anything. I just remember the sharp stab right through the heart that woke me. Him calling my name is still echoing in my ears.

  I sit up to accept the glass of water and bottle of pills Stormi is holding out to me.

  “Are you sure it’s not your heart?” Stormi says. “Maybe we should go to the ER just in case.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not. I hope Blaze is alright.”

  “I’m sure he is,” she says and sits down on the edge of the bed. “You’ve just had so much excitement these last couple of days. It’s bound to give you nightmares.”

  The sky outside the motel room’s only window is turning grey. Her phone vibrating next to the TV matches my labored breathing very well.

  She looks at me sharply, with worried eyes before she leaps up to get it.

  “Ace,” she breathes as she picks up.

  Her breathing is almost as labored as mine as she listens to him talk. And her eyes are so full of sadness as she fixes them on me that I can barely take a breath.

  “We’ll be right there,” she says and hangs up.

  “Tell me,” I choke out when she doesn’t say anything right away.

  “Blaze was shot,” she says quietly. “It’s bad. He’s at the hospital.”

  “Let’s go,” my body just moves on its own.

  I don’t remember getting dressed. I don’t remember walking to the car or it driving away. All I remember is the grey dawn that just won’t turn white and his voice calling my name right before I woke up. And all I feel is fear that it’s the last time I’ll ever hear it.

  Blaze was in surgery when we arrived at the hospital. Ace waited for us in the parking lot, covered in blood—Blaze’s blood—that had already dried and hardened and looked black. I nearly fainted just seeing it, never mind from hearing what happened. It was a freak occurrence. Blaze was shot by a little kid.

  Meant to be. Blaze was right all along. He was going home to die.

  I didn’t prevent anything. I just postponed it.

  I couldn’t think beyond that, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even cry.

  The sun is shining brightly now, blinding me as I sit in the waiting room with Blaze’s father, grandmother, and one of his cousins. Stormi is here too, holding my hand. I barely feel her touch.

  Another man was here earlier. He looked like a biker but spoke like a doctor. He told us the bullet should’ve killed Blaze. That it’s a miracle it didn’t. That it’s a miracle he made it to the hospital. And that it’ll be a miracle if he survives the surgery that he’s still in.

  Stormi is probably used to getting harsh, blunt news like that. My family has gotten it a lot from my doctors over the years. But I’m not. Neither is his family.

  I was supposed to be the miracle. The one that would bring them all peace. Instead, I heralded the death of their last son and grandson. Some omen.

  It’s impossible to read their faces. It’s like trying to read emotions off stone. But they have got to be thinking the same thing.

  A doctor is walking towards us, down the long, light blue floored hallway.

  I can’t read his face at all either. Mostly because my vision is starting to turn black at the edges and colors are starting to bleed into each other. They’re hospital colors so it’s all just shades of white.

  Blaze’s father stands up to meet the doctor.

  “We’ve managed to fix most of the damage and stop the bleeding,” the doctor says, and just like that my vision clears. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s young and strong and we’re hoping for the best.”

  I’m standing now too, hanging on the doctor’s every word, Blaze’s grandma beside me.

  “Can we see him?” his father asks.

  The doctor looks over all of us in one fluid gaze.r />
  “Only family and only one of you for now,” he says.

  Grandma grabs my arm and pushes me forward with strength I wouldn’t believe she had.

  “She’s family, she’ll go,” she says in a hoarse voice that sounds painful.

  Blaze’s father looks at her sharply, and she matches his gaze. He looks away and nods, then steps aside for me.

  I turn back to Stormi who nods and smiles faintly.

  “You call him back,” Blaze’s grandma tells me in an intense, hoarse whisper. “Only you can.”

  I nod, even though I’m agreeing to something I cannot do. Or can I? My legs are stiff from more than just sitting as I follow the doctor down the long, cool hallway.

  I see Blaze as soon as we turn the corner. He’s in one of the intensive care rooms, wires attached to his chest, tubes feeding his arms, the heart rate and vitals monitors beeping.

  A part of me wants to run away and pretend I never saw this. But the stronger part of me, the one that’s been where he’s lying, the one that can name every one of those wires and tubes he’s attached to, and accurately read every monitor displaying his vitals, give me strength.

  I don’t know if I can call him back. But I’ll try my hardest.

  For that, I’ll have to ignore the squiggly line his heart—his strong and steady heart—is drawing on the screen. The pattern looks more like what my heart does when it’s beating all wrong. I’ll also have to ignore how pale his skin looks, how sunken his eyes are, how a loud, thudding machine is breathing for him.

  “Ten minutes,” the doctor says and leaves me alone in the room.

  I stand by the bed and take his hand. It’s warm, like always. And fits into mine perfectly. As always.

  “Come back, Blaze,” I whisper. “We’ve only just found our lives. Don’t abandon me now.”

  The words are coming through my mouth clear and loud. Even my heart stops racing as I hear them.

  “Fight,” I say. “Fight for me, for us, for the peace you brought to your family. Fight to see it. Fight to live.”

  I think it’s the White Lady speaking, but the words are coming from my heart. And I know he hears me. I know he wants to do as I say. I know he wants to answer.

  But he can’t.

  And I’m afraid he never will.

  Death is peace. Passing is peaceful. That’s what my church teaches and it’s what I always believed.

  But this anguish tearing at me, ripping my soul and my heart to shreds is far from peace. It's my own newborn life force, the one he woke in me, calling to his. Screaming for his.

  But there is no answer.

  29

  Blaze

  At first, there was just darkness. I wasn’t falling through it, I just floated there suspended in nothingness. That faded. Now I’m sitting on the thickest branch of the old oak tree by my childhood home, leaning against the massive trunk. Pure, pristine white snow covers everything, feet deep and I’m staring at the empty bird’s nest, wishing. Wishing for so many things. To see my mother smile. To know my little brother as a grown man. To hear my uncle’s voice calling me to come down and spend the day with him.

  But most of all, I wish for night to fall, so that the moonlight could bring me Misti. From time to time I think I can hear her voice. Speaking softly, calling me to find her, telling me she loves me, telling me I did it. Telling me I can have peace now, and love, and happiness. All the things my heart always craved, but my mind knew I’d never have.

  At first, I could see her too. Her pretty, glowing face called me from the dark nothingness and brought me to this empty, cold, snow-covered world. But that was ages ago. A lifetime ago. She doesn’t appear anymore. And her voice is faint. More a whisper on the wind than words spoken.

  Maybe if I opened my eyes she’d be there.

  It’s a thought that’s been floating in my brain for a while now. It makes no sense. My eyes are open. I see the nest, the snow, the run-down house I grew up in, the grey sky covering it all.

  But maybe…

  Opening my eyes is neither easy nor painless. It’s like tearing the bandage off a wound that has already crusted over.

  But the pain was worth it.

  Misti’s pale, gorgeous face is looking down at me, her eyes wide, her pink lips forming a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. Then she smiles, twinkling stars appearing in her blue eyes.

  “Blaze, are you really awake?” she breathes.

  I try to say yes, even though I don’t know if it’s the truth. But no sound comes from my mouth.

  She leans down and kisses me, her lips soft, the taste of her sweeter than a drink of cool, clear water on a scorching hot afternoon. It clears my mind, clears my vision, brings back my memory.

  “How long have I been here?” I ask in a croaky voice. It hurts to speak. My throat feels like boiling water’s been poured down it.

  “Five days,” she says and in her voice, I can hear all the worry and fear those days caused.

  “I’m sorry,” I croak.

  She looks confused for a second and then smiles. “Don’t be. You did it. Your family has nothing to worry about anymore and you’re back with us. With me.”

  “You were with me the whole time,” I tell her. “I could hear your voice. I just couldn’t find you.”

  “I was sure that if your heart stopped mine would too,” she says in a small, frightened voice. “So I called your name over and over, trying to bring you back or at least let you know that I was with you.”

  I try to sit up, but she lays her hand on my bare chest lightly. It’s enough to still me. And infuse me with enough electricity to keep my heart pumping right for a long time yet.

  “You still need to rest,” she says. “I’ll call the doctor and nurses, tell them you’re awake. They’ll want to run some tests to—”

  “Kiss me again first,” I say, smiling as I interrupt her.

  And she does, the touch of her lips sweeter than getting all those things I always wanted and never got. And much more lasting. This is forever. And it feels damn good.

  Misti

  The last five days have been the longest in my life. I feel like I lived my whole lifetime in them. The sad part at the end.

  The first day, while he was still on the breathing machine, they only let me into the room for short periods. The rest of the time I spent on the padded benches in the waiting area. Stormi rented a room nearby and even convinced me to sleep the night there on the second day. But it was no use. Only nightmares waited for me there. I sleep better on the benches at the hospital. At least here, he’s near.

  Not as near as now. I’m lying beside him on the bed, his arm around me, his body warm, his heartbeat not as steady and strong as it was, but it’s getting there.

  The doctor was in and explained how incredibly lucky Blaze was. The bullet missed his heart, and his spine on the way out. But it nicked his aorta. They managed to fix it and it seems to be holding, the doctor said. But his heart might never be as strong as it was. Might. That’s the word I’m focusing on. I know what it’s like to live with a bad heart and I don’t wish that on anyone. Especially not Blaze.

  “I guess we’re joined at the heart in more ways than one now,” he says quietly.

  I burrow in closer to his side. “Your heart will heal completely. And I think mine will too, now that I have you for good.”

  “Thank you for calling me back,” he says. “I wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for your voice in my head. Even before it happened you were with me. And you didn’t leave.”

  I kiss his chest right beside the bright white bandage covering his wound.

  “There is no leaving you,” I say. “Not for me.”

  “Right back at you,” he says. “It’s what kept me alive, I’m sure. Thank you.”

  “You showed me what life really was,” I say. “I’d say we’re even.”

  I look at his face. His eyes are still a little unfocused but they’re glowing with that same fire that’s always been t
here, since we met. It was burning very faintly for the first few days after he woke up. I was afraid I’d never see it again.

  “Let’s never be apart again,” he says.

  “That’s the best idea you’ve had yet,” I say and move up so I can kiss him.

  Every time we kiss, his heart beats just a little steadier, just a little stronger. Mine does too. I don’t need a monitor to tell me that. The lightness in my body and the strength that comes with it is evidence enough.

  We have many years before us. For the first time in my life, I know that without a shadow of a doubt.

  Blaze

  With Misti lying next to me, I feel like I could get up and walk out of this hospital room, carrying her in my arms. But while my mind is all for it, my body is far from actually doing it. I heard what the doctor said, and I’m doing my best to ignore it. It’s easier when Misti’s awake. When she’s sleeping, like now, the thoughts of never being able to do all I once took for granted turn dark and suffocating.

  The bullet might have missed my heart. But it caused enough damage to give me arrhythmia, which could be permanent. As in forever. As in no running, no excitement, no trusting my body one-hundred percent ever again.

  “Are you thinking the dark thoughts again?” Misti asks sleepily.

  Her eyes are fixed on my heart rate monitor. I think that’s where she’s reading it from. Or maybe she just reads it straight from my mind. That’s how connected we are, so I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she could.

  “The doctor said maybe it won’t heal completely,” she says. “He also said it could. But I understand. I think I can safely say, I know exactly how you feel.”

  “No, sweetie, don’t say that. I’m just feeling sorry for myself over nothing. At least nothing compared to went through. What you’re still—”

  She props herself up by her elbow and gives me a soft, lasting kiss to shut me up. It works. It works very well. Better than any medicine, anyway.