Gunner's Flame

by Lynn Burke

  I studied his eyes, the truth in his warm gaze settling my nerves enough the dizzying panic lightened. “You’re saying we’ll have a future?”

  “I want that with you more than anything, Shelby.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, it’s kinda soon to be saying shit like that, but I’ve never been surer of something in my life.”

  My lips twitched. “Will I need to get a tattoo like Angel’s?”

  He groaned and clenched his eyes shut.

  “Property of Gunner right above my pussy…”

  “Fucking red hair.” He groaned again and crushed me to him. “Don’t ever shave that beautiful pussy.”

  I actually giggled, my face smooshed against his chest.

  “You don’t have to get a tattoo, but I wouldn’t mind hearing you say it.”

  Pulling back, I smiled up at him. “I belong to you, Mitch Gunner Flannigan, and I’ll be your property -- if you’ll have me.”

  “Goddamn, what a woman.” He crushed his mouth to mine, erasing all thought but the taste of his breath, the smooth glide of his tongue along mine. “Go on,” he whispered against my mouth just as my body started to warm in all the right places.

  One last brush of my lips against his, and I turned, my legs still shaking but resolve settled in my stomach. The knowledge dozens of Outlaws manned the streets, that Gunner would soon join me, kept me moving. I had a future to look forward to.

  “Val,” Gunner said behind me, “shut it down.”

  I moved onward, same as marching into war -- but without a gun of my own. I bit down on my tongue to keep myself grounded, breathing exactly as Gunner had told me to. Eight in, five out. My heart pounded in my chest, my gaze flicking from person to person, across the street and back.

  You can do this. You can do this.

  Where would Pauley be? No flash of red hair, no long trench coat caught my eye. No opened windows in the building Brewer had been sure Pauley would use to lay in wait.

  I perched on the edge of one of the patio’s chairs at the café, my throat tight, hands shaking and clutched on my lap.

  “How are you?” My head jerked up to the waitress. She smiled and handed me a menu. “Electricity just went out, but it should be back on any second. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “C -- Coffee,” I somehow managed.

  “Sure thing. Cream and sugar?”

  “Mmm.” I managed a nod.

  “Will someone be joining you?”

  I tried to answer but had to clear my throat. “Yes.”

  She left another menu and turned away toward the café’s door.

  My ears buzzed. Face heated, neck hairs rising. I scanned the entire area, not recognizing a single soul.

  The café’s door opened, pulling my focus behind me. Inside, tables sat along the glass windows, every single one of them full of smiling, chatting people who didn’t have a care in the world. They didn’t know I’d brought danger to them -- possible bullets to rip through them.

  Images flashed -- blood and staring eyes. Mouths opened in silent screams.

  I fought for breath, my hand rising to my throat, and I blinked as my focus snagged on someone sitting at the café counter, their back to me.

  Pauley.

  A bulky coat stretched across his broad shoulders, the type that would easily hide guns. He’d colored his red hair a mousy brown, but I would know my only cousin anywhere.

  I fumbled for my cell in my back pocket, whimpering while trying to swipe the screen on. I couldn’t get the fucking thing to work! My head jerked up -- Pauley hadn’t moved. I jerked my head to my left, my body shaking, a whine building in my chest -- Gunner approached.

  Pauley wouldn’t use a bomb. He had other men to off Gunner had said.

  I spun back toward my cousin.

  He sat angled on his stool, gaze locked on me. The jacked zipped clear to his chin -- and a small backpack sat on the bar in front of him.

  The blood drained from my face, and I cursed myself -- cursed him -- for bringing war home to soil that should have been safe for returning vets, for the civilians whose freedom we’d both fought for.

  “Please, Pauley,” I whispered, my voice strangled as the fingers of panic tingled up my spine and dug into my skull. “Please, don’t.”

  Darkness crept in my periphery vision as I fought to breathe. Fought to keep focused on him -- watch his every move.

  He grinned, his eyes wild.

  I felt myself falling, but managed to shift toward Gunner, my hand held up, telling him to stop.

  Don’t…

  Blue sky filled my vision seconds before inky blackness claimed me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gunner

  Shelby’s face turned white as a sheet as she stared into the café’s windows, and I hurried forward.

  “He’s in the café!” I barked into my comms microphone, sure as fuck she stared at her cousin.

  Eyes wide, she turned toward me, her hand raised, but I refused to pull up short. Fuck Pots and fuck the fact she’d seen something jarring enough that she’d slumped over and fell to the sidewalk.

  “Fuck!” I hollered, sprinting, my heart thundering in my chest. “Austin!”

  Someone dropped to their knees beside Shelby -- and one of the café’s windows exploded outward along with two men in a rain of shattering glass and flying fists.

  “Van, now!” I hollered in my mic, shoving at the people who stood between me and Shelby. “Out of my fucking way!”

  A few grunts sounded -- flesh connecting with flesh, but I focused on Shelby. Lips parted, skin snowy-white… I grabbed her up in my arms and pushed through the crowd, head jerking toward the right where Val had parked.

  A black van sped forward and slammed to a stop beside me, the side door flying open. Shelby cradled to my chest, I moved aside as two Outlaws dressed all in black hopped out and hurried around me.

  I didn’t need to turn to make sure they’d help Austin drag Pots’ ass into the van. My focus remained on Shelby’s fluttering eyelashes the rise and fall of her chest as I settled onto the van’s passenger seat.

  A few voices hollered -- a few muffled curses -- and the van shifted as bodies tumbled in.

  “Go!” Austin growled, the side door slamming.

  Val drove off, his voice muffled in my earpiece, telling the other Outlaws Shelby and I were with him when someone asked what the fuck had happened to me.

  “Mother fucker,” Austin growled. “Sick fuck!”

  Pots lay like a rag doll on the van floor, blood pouring from his nose, eyes closed.

  Austin held a remote detonator.

  My focus jerked back to Pots and the jacket ripped down the front -- no bomb. “Where is it?”

  “Café,” Austin growled. “Goddamn backpack.”

  I eyed the detonator as Shelly shifted in my arms. “Check him for a cell. Backup in case that didn’t work.”

  “G -- Gunner?” Shelly mumbled, and I squeezed her tighter.

  “I’ve got you, sweet thing. Everything is going to be okay.”

  “Bomb,” she whispered, her eyes clenched shut.

  “We got him. No one got hurt.”

  She melted against me, her hands fisting in my black sweatshirt. “Thank God.” A shudder racked her body, and I stroked her hair, whispering all sorts of nonsense, my lips pressed to her temple as she trembled against me.

  My earpiece crackled a few times, and I listened as Brewer and Drac filled the team in on the Outlaws clearing out of D.C. and getting my Mustang.

  The rush of adrenaline faded, leaving my limbs weak but ready to punch the shit out of something.

  Shelby rested her palm against my chest, and I tipped my head back against the seat, eyes closed.

  Shit could have gotten bad -- beyond fucking bad.

  I swallowed down rising nausea, imagining a bomb had exploded the window rather than Austin and Pots. The café had been packed. Dozens would have died, and all because of me.

&n
bsp; An ache settled in my chest, like a goddamn knife twisting, determined to cut out my heart.

  Three civilians had already lost their lives along with two others from my SEAL team because I’d messed up -- and fucked up Pots’ head as a result. Shelby had claimed he’d always had a screw loose, but the massacre in Afghanistan, the loss of our SEAL team had sent him AWOL.

  My fault.

  I swallowed back my groan, my jaw clenched.

  “Fucker is waking up,” Austin muttered.

  “Knock his ass back out,” I growled through my teeth.

  The thud of a fist against flesh sounded, and I breathed deeply, trying and failing to keep my goddamn head and body calm.

  * * *

  I wanted to stay wrapped up in Shelby, take her to her room above the club, but I had work to do.

  “Take him to the shed,” I said, climbing from the van with Shelby still in my arms.

  The ride out of D.C. had nearly driven me insane with thoughts -- guilt, grief for lives lost on my account, the need to end Pots’ life even though he’d at one time been like a brother to me. The need to bury my dick inside Shelby and forget every goddamn thing that had happened the previous few days.

  “What are you going to do to him?” Shelby whispered as I set her down on the edge of the bed.

  “Don’t ask,” I said, the words clipped.

  “Gunner…” She grabbed hold of my waist and pulled me close to lay her cheek on my stomach.

  I wrapped my hands up in her hair and held her close, jaw clenched and gut churning. “I have responsibilities.”

  “I -- I know you do, I just…” She heaved a sigh and tilted her head back, her eyes wide and glassy, face still pale. “I guess I would rather not know.”

  Lips pressed tight, I nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She swallowed as I studied her face. “Do you want me to have someone come stay with you?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Just hurry back.”

  I placed a chaste kiss to the top of her head and tore myself away. Fucking the adrenaline out of my system would have been much more pleasant than what awaited me, but I had a role to fill.

  Bowie had driven my car back from D.C., and I met him in the compound’s parking lot. Gaze narrowed and jaw clenched, he glanced at the shed. “Fucker in there?”

  “Yeah.” I strode forward, and Bowie fell into step beside me. “I just want him gone.”

  “We’ve got to make him pay first.”

  My jaw clenched as I nodded my head.

  Pots sat on a straight-backed chair in the center of the room, one that had held countless bodies in the past. No trace of blood, guts, or gore clung to the plastic chair or the cement floor, but the stark nakedness of the small building revealed all a person needed to know -- the shed had been built for one thing, and rarely did a person who crossed the Outlaws survive its hold.

  Austin had taken up a position behind the chair, arms crossed, face a mask I couldn’t read. The tension buzzing around him, however, let me know he was ready to let loose with his fists and finish what he’d started.

  Face already a wreck, Pots peered up at me as I stood in front of him, legs wide, hands clasped behind my back. “You sick fuck.”

  He grinned, mangled lips, teeth, and blood -- something I’d seen countless times. “Hey there, Gunner. How are ya, old friend?”

  I glanced down over his attire -- Austin had ripped off his old coat and the dark T-shirt beneath. Tattoos covered his chest and arms, double what he’d had in Afghanistan. “I failed you,” I heard myself say the thought flitting through my brain.

  “Goddamn right you did.” Pots spit a glob of blood onto my boot.

  I peered down at the dark red splatter for a few seconds while gathering my self-control. “It was my fault our team almost got wiped out --”

  “Shut the fuck up, Gunner,” Brewer grumbled from behind me. “Wasn’t your goddamn fault. Attacking was the right thing to do.”

  “And men lost their lives because of it.”

  “But this fucker had already lost his marbles,” Drac said from over my right shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself for his fucked-up head.”

  Bowie moved to stand beside me, twisting his knife in his hand. “Fucked-up, fault -- doesn’t matter. This fucker made his own goddamn decision to try to take out an Outlaw.”

  “Penalty for that is death,” Austin said, his tone low, sending a shudder through Pots who continued to stare at me.

  “Got that fuckin’ right,” Drac agreed.

  Shelby’s cousin, her last living relative -- and it was up to me to speak the word that would end his life. My stomach clenched, but I nodded my head. “Bad decisions bring about consequences, Pots,” I murmured down at him, hoping he saw what it cost me to tell him so. “Reap the whirlwind.” I smashed a fist into his nose, snapping his head back against the chair. Blood gushed down over his lips and chin, dribbling onto his chest.

  He grinned, red smeared over his teeth. “See you in the afterlife, fucker.”

  I stepped back, my gaze unwavering as Bowie stepped in.

  Pots’s screams rang in my ears, every slice of Bowie’s blade make me clench my jaw tighter. My head fucking pounded, but I didn’t move, didn’t flee the shed like my feet wanted to.

  Austin took over for a time, blow after blow pulling grunts and whimpers from Pot’s busted mouth.

  One ear sliced off, the other mangled to the point I couldn’t recognize the lump of flesh, nose bent, jaw broken -- Pots paid the price for fucking with the Outlaws.

  “Enough,” I finally said, as Pots’ head hung low, breath a mere wheeze from his mouth. I pulled my gun from behind my back, slid the hammer back, and with a steady hand, pressed the barrel against his temple. The fucker didn’t deserve a final word -- he only deserved death.

  I pulled the trigger, sending a rain of blood and gore splattering against the far wall.

  “Get rid of him,” I muttered, finally allowing myself to look away. “And clean this shit up.” Without another word, I stalked from the shed, my heart hard, beyond all fucking redemption.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shelby

  Mental exhaustion kept me immobile for almost an hour. I stared unseeing at the tan wall, hands lax in my lap as a hint of muffled music rose from the first floor. My mind replayed every second I’d sat at the café’s table, every heartbeat that I thought would be my last -- the consuming need to keep Gunner from harm.

  The tension riding him as we’d driven back to the compound radiated off his body, not allowing me to relax in his arms. I’d clung to him, though, needing his strength, the physical hold keeping my thoughts grounded.

  I’d known Pauley lay on the van’s floor; I could taste his blood in the air. He would have blown the bomb, killing dozens of people, destroying dozens of others’ lives. I should have gone to the authorities -- at least he would have landed in jail rather than the cold grave I expected the Devil’s Outlaws would dig for him.

  He wouldn’t survive the day, of that I was certain.

  I should have been sickened, or at least saddened by the thought of losing my cousin, but I couldn’t find an ounce of empathy for him in my heart. He’d destroyed that by thinking to detonate a goddamn bomb in the middle of D.C.

  Heaving a breath, trying to cleanse my heart and mind of the previous week’s bull, I kicked off my shoes. I stripped down to my skin, leaving my clothing on the floor, and stumbled into the bathroom.

  The handle squeaked as I turned it, sending a rush of water out of the showerhead, and I climbed in, my body numb. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back, allowing the warming water to soak my hair, creating a heavy mass pulling my head back farther.

  Tremors rose to life, light at first, but growing until my entire body shook. Arms wrapped around my middle, I closed my eyes, giving over to the release I needed. Sobs poured from my lips until I rested my forehead against the tile wall, my mind and the well of tears inside me empty.r />
  My face felt swollen, my nose a clogged mess, my body aching.

  The bathroom door opened, pulling my head up. A dark, bulky shape shifted around the small bathroom, shedding clothing, and I realized the ache within me wasn’t from exhaustion, but need.

  Need to be reminded I lived. Need of assurance we faced a safe future. Need to be overwhelmed by the man who had swept into my life unintended, but so wanted.

  Gunner pulled open the shower’s glass door, his face deadpan, eyes vacant.

  We reached for each other at the same time, both of us letting out a shuddered sigh as our bodies pressed tight together.

  He wrapped his hand in my hair, holding my face against his neck as I squeezed his waist.

  I wanted to ask him a million questions, but he shuddered, and I bit my tongue, soaking in his warmth, his strength, as I imagined giving him the same from me in return. As the Outlaws’ president, I expected he gave the orders -- to live and to die. Having to make such a decision over my cousin couldn’t have been easy, even if Pauley had planned on killing dozens of others.

  Gunner slowly slid his hand down over my back, the roughness of his palm leaving tingles in its wake. He cupped my ass cheek in a firm but gentle grip.

  I tilted my head back to peer into his dark eyes. The mask had ripped away, leaving him vulnerable, open to my perusal. “Are you okay?” I heard myself whisper.

  “Make me forget, Shelby.”

  His rumbled tone licked a fire to life between my thighs, and I pressed onto my tiptoes to kiss him. Lips brushed once, twice, before need took over, our tongues warring, teeth nipping. The truth we lived swelled inside me, and I grasped at his back, whimpering, rubbing myself against his cock as it thickened between us.

  “Shelby.” He whispered my name like a prayer, and I sank to my knees in front of him, my gaze locked on his eyes as I took him into my mouth. Jaw clenched, hands gently cradling my face, he stared down at me as I tried to do as he asked -- make him forget.

  Every slow glide of his length against my tongue made my pussy pulse with the need for him to be buried deep inside my body, but I laved and nipped at him, wanting nothing more than to erase everything but the feel of my mouth and tongue on his cock.