Firefight: The Soul Scorchers MC (The Scorched Souls Serial-series Book 2)

by Riley, C. L.

  How was I supposed to ever take a vacation when I was always busy with club business or work? And this post, guarding Olympia, might prove to be the most taxing job yet.

  I knew one thing. It sure as hell wasn’t a vacation.

  Our town was burning under our watch, and I was supposed to hideout in an isolated cabin with the sexiest woman I knew. Anyone else would be thrilled. Not me. I was furious.

  Pushing up from my chair, I stomped to the door and headed for the truck, once again questioning my sanity. My ploy to punish Olympia, for her plan to cheat me out of a few bucks, was the worst idea I’d ever had. Like I needed the money. And so what if she’d insulted me behind my back. It wasn’t the first time someone had made cheap shots at me when they thought I wasn’t listening; it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

  Now, because of my scheming, she’d turned my world upside down and inside out. How one woman could cause such a tornado of turmoil was beyond me. It seemed for now, I’d have to bunker down and survive the storm.

  Olympia

  I gasped for air and struggled to escape the flames.

  Thrashing to free myself, I realized I wasn’t engulfed by flames, but tangled in a silky sheet. Forcing myself to breathe, I opened my eyes.

  It was dark, but I could see the dimmest glow beyond the door that separated me from whatever waited just out of sight. Ajar about an inch, the light filtered in. Low voices drifted back to where I remained on the bed, trying to get my bearings.

  Boone was the one waiting for me on the other side of the door. That much I remembered.

  He had dragged me from our temporary home at the clubhouse, to an isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere. We’d left our kids behind in the care of another biker, the one who resembled a scary serial killer and refused to shave. I cringed at the thought, though my boys seemed to find him far less frightening than I did. For all I knew, he was the Mother Teresa of bikers, but if I had to guess, I’d say more like Jack the Ripper.

  Swinging my legs around, my feet found the floor. I noticed then that Boone had removed my jeans and shoes, leaving me wearing a snug T-shirt and a pair of skimpy panties. I glanced around the room, but failed to spot my jeans. Oh well. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen me naked and in every possible position last night.

  Speaking of which, my ass was sore from his spanking; my pussy ached like it had been impaled with a baseball bat, and my neck was tender from his grip. I had no doubt if I looked in a mirror, I would see light bruises that matched his fingertips, dotting my throat. They’d been visible this morning, to anyone sharing the kitchen with me.

  But despite the lingering pain, I wanted him again. Now.

  Like he’d told me, more than once, I used to be a big time slut; it appeared I still was a slut to want more punishment in my current condition. He’d also made sure to point out I’d been pregnant with our oldest son at fifteen, and that I’d gone as far to question his paternity.

  How many lovers did a fifteen year old girl have, for goodness sake?

  As a couple, we evidently had an open relationship. He’d mentioned that disgusting fact several times too. Again, more evidence of my slut-hood.

  Pushing those claims aside, I considered his gentler ministrations.

  He’d been so attentive following our rough sex play, massaging me with soothing ointment and even bathing me. Everything had been perfect, and I’d finally started to feel secure, until Twila attempted to stir up shit with her accusations. If that had been the only problem, I could have dealt with it. But adding to my confusion was our sudden flight from what was supposed to be an impenetrable, underground compound.

  What made the whole escape to this place even stranger was the fact that we had left behind our family and friends to avoid the ATF. That didn’t make any sense, not to me anyway.

  It seemed that a government organization equipped to deal with arsonists would be the ideal agency for us to turn to in light of my recent fire ordeal, but not according to Boone. My husband or ‘old man’ insisted he was the only one able to protect me from harm.

  Something didn’t add up. Actually, nothing was adding up right.

  I didn’t remember who I was or even a small piece of my life prior to Boone rescuing me in the woods. I’d had one lone memory, so far, showcasing Boone watching me at what had to be our swimming pool – pre-fire. But other than that brief vision, nothing, nada, zip. I was clueless.

  That needed to change.

  It was time for Boone to spill his secrets. I deserved to know what the hell was happening. My life was at stake. We had our two young sons to think about. His loyalty to his father and his club was borderline fanatical. I was his fucking wife, a wife he wouldn’t fuck until I remembered him. What if my memory never returned?

  The more I thought about that ridiculous new rule the more suspicious I became. Wives and husbands screwed around. Wouldn’t our sex games help me remember our relationship? Why would I be upset about enjoying sex with my husband?

  My momentary calm had morphed into a swirling storm inside me. I was ready for a fight.

  I flung the door open and marched into what had to be the cabin’s main room. The voices I’d heard were coming from a massive, flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Boone was stretched out on a leather couch, shirt off, his large frame filling the limited space. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing steadily.

  My gaze locked onto his body, and I momentarily forgot my anger. I stood quietly, admiring his sleeping form. My husband was male perfection, every muscle defined, tempting me to touch.

  I moved closer, walking as lightly as I could, finally reaching his side. The silver bars through his nipples begged to tugged, and I knew his tongue was home to a piercing that had tortured my pussy last night. I leaned over, prepared to kiss his strong jaw.

  His hand shot up, and he squeezed my wrist so hard, I feared he’d crush the bone. A gun appeared in his other hand; he pointed it at my face.

  “Boone!” I managed to cry.

  He released my arm and bolted to his feet. “Fuck, Olympia! Don’t sneak up on me like that. I could have killed you.”

  “What did you just call me?” I sputtered. Who the hell was Olympia? Probably one of the women he’d fucked.

  Before he could answer, a video played across my mind. I stood near the pool tables in a dark bar. Boone was across the room, next to a jukebox. Bent over the table was a blond woman. She clutched the table’s edge as Boone rammed into her from behind, fucking her like a pile driver. He slapped her ass hard, and she groaned so loud I could hear her over the blaring music. He held my gaze while continuing his onslaught.

  Fury boiled up inside me. “You fucked that woman at the bar right in front of me. Her name was Olympia, wasn’t it? Don’t lie to me.” I jabbed my finger into his chest. “You were staring at me the whole time.”

  He slid the gun into the back of his jeans. “What are you talking about? What bar? What woman?”

  I had to admit, he looked genuinely baffled.

  “How am I supposed to know? I can’t remember. I’m guessing you were fucking her for my entertainment, right?”

  Instead of answering, he noticed what I was wearing, or wasn’t wearing. His gaze traveled over me, stopping at the juncture between my thighs. What sounded like an appreciative growl rumbled from his chest, sending a flood of heat to my core.

  As hot as he made me, I wasn’t done. I needed answers. “Uh, hello…my face is up here. I have some questions. Let’s sit down and pretend that whole gun-in-my-face thing didn’t just happen.”

  He shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts and then nodded. “Fine, ask away. I can’t guarantee I’ll answer, but I’ll do my best.”

  I followed him to the kitchen. He poured a glass of Jack Daniels and added a few ice cubes from the freezer. I couldn’t help but notice we were well-stocked with food and other supplies. More questions invaded my mind, demanding answers.

  I slipped into a chair at the ne
arby table, hoping to keep our conversation more formal, which was ridiculous, considering I was in my underwear and he was stalking around without a shirt. Thankfully, he followed my example, pulling out a chair across from me.

  “Want a drink, babe?”

  “Oh, I’m ‘babe’ now. A minute ago, I was Olympia Somebody. Before that, you were ready to put a bullet in my brain. Care to fill me in?”

  “First, tell me about your memory. You had another flash, didn’t you?” He tilted the glass back, emptying the liquor.

  Without thinking, I grabbed the glass and got up, pouring him another.

  “Ice, babe. Just a few cubes,” he said softly.

  I added the ice and sat back down, sliding the glass across the table.

  “We were at a bar. You were over by the juke box, screwing some skanky older woman. She had nice tits. I was watching you from across the bar.”

  Recognition altered his expression. He knew what I was talking about. I could see it in his eyes. He didn’t deny it either.

  “You’re right. We were in the middle of a sex game. You wanted me fuck the bartender while I watched your reaction. You joined us later. It was one of our better nights.” He gave me a wolfish grin.

  For some reason, I couldn’t imagine myself having a three-way with that strange woman. “I don’t believe it,” I contradicted. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “That’s my point, Sally. You, the new you, without her memory, wouldn’t do that. Which is why we’re holding off on sex of any type. You can’t remember what you enjoy.”

  Slamming my palm on the table, I glared at him. “Being with you alone isn’t the same as screwing around with a stranger.” God, he was so frustrating! Why couldn’t he see the difference? “You know damn well what I enjoy! I enjoyed last night.”

  A strange ringing interrupted our argument. He practically flew from his chair and was back in the living room, digging in the couch cushions. Yanking out a phone, he put it to his ear.

  I could tell he was listening. He grunted a few times, once glancing my direction.

  More secrets; he was getting information that effected my life, information he needed to share.

  When he hung up a few minutes later, I was ready. I would remain calm and cool. “Honey, who was that?”

  His brow rose. “New tactic, huh?” he joked, but I could tell he was worried about something.

  “Please, tell me what is going on. Why can’t we talk to the ATF? They can help us,” I pleaded. “I need to know what’s happening. Was there another fire? When can we go back?” I realized too late that I was escalating again, firing questions at Boone before he could even answer.

  “Whoa. Hold on. That was Bones. Just checking in. He brought us supplies earlier, when you were sleeping. Yes, there was a fire. A youth center burned down. As for the ATF, they can’t be trusted. They have their own agenda in all this. You’re safer with me. If anyone outside the club learns of your whereabouts, you will be in danger. I need you to trust me.”

  “How can I trust you when you won’t tell me anything? I’m not even sure you’re my husband.” There, I’d finally said it.

  I wanted concrete evidence of our ‘love’ as Twila had suggested. Two memories, and some casual assurances from people I didn’t even remember, were no longer enough. I deserved proof. If he could show me something official that confirmed our relationship, I would trust him with the rest of this mess.

  Until then, I’d consider him a potential threat.

  I thought about my kids. JV’s arms wrapped around me almost qualified as the proof I craved – almost, but not quite. Even kids, especially ones with a father like Boone, could be convinced to lie. As unlikely as that scenario was, I couldn’t be sure. I needed to be more aware, wary even, of Boone’s intentions.

  His current intentions were no secret, as his gaze rested on my breasts, where it lingered. He was warring within himself about his stupid little ‘no touch’ rule.

  If he wanted a war, I planned to fight dirty.

  I rose up slowly, giving him a full view of my taut tummy. Making a show of it, I stretched and let out a little moan. “Hum-m-m, so what do we do now?”

  He finished his drink and slammed down the glass. “You go back to bed and rest. I go to the couch and pretend my hand is your cunt.”

  My mouth dropped open. That was so not the answer I was expecting. “I’m not tired. I just woke up. You can’t put me to bed like a little girl. What are you going to do, spank me first?”

  His eyes narrowed, and he ran his hand through his long hair. “Don’t tempt me.”

  Tempting him was exactly what I intended to do. There was no way he was keeping up this ridiculous charade. I might not trust him or believe everything he said, but one thing was certain, Boone Richards made my pussy purr, and like any cat, I would make sure I got petted.

  Bending over, I wiggled my barely covered bottom, and dug through a cabinet, pretending to search for something to eat.

  “What are you looking for?” he ground out, his teeth clenched.

  “Food.”

  Instead of commenting, he moved behind me, pushing against me. “Fuck, Sally, you need to put some clothes on…please. I don’t like this anymore than you do. I’m just tryin’ to do the right thing here.”

  I turned to face him, and he crowded me against the counter, caging me in with his big arms. The fire in his eyes took my breath away. Playing with this man was not a good idea. If I pushed him too far, I might get more than a spanking.

  That thought both terrified and intrigued me.

  His nostrils flared. “I can smell your arousal. You need to go put some fucking pants on. Your clothes are in the bedroom closet.”

  I knew I was wet, but damn.

  Trying to move, I pushed against him, but his arms remained locked in place.

  “If that’s what you want, let me go,” I squeaked, suddenly unsure.

  Staring at my mouth, he took a long, shuddering breath and stepped back.

  I brushed by him and dashed for the bedroom, feeling like a scared little girl who’d teased a rabid dog. If I wasn’t careful the dog would bite.

  Back in the bedroom, I collapsed on the bed, panting.

  This wasn’t going to work. I didn’t care how unsafe I was on the outside. I needed to get away from Boone, because the way he made me feel wasn’t safe either. Figuring out how to ditch a man like him wouldn’t be easy, but I had to try. If I stayed, he’d crush my heart.

  Boone

  Holy Fuck. I stomped to the front door, flinging it open and half-stumbling onto the porch. The night time symphony halted, offended by my intrusion. I stared into the darkness, and the sounds resumed.

  I needed to call Bones back and make him understand. For the first time I could remember, I was close to losing it. There was no way in hell I would be keeping my hands off Olympia’s sweet ass for a week, maybe even longer.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  It was doubtful I’d even make it through the night.

  And I wanted to break another rule and spill everything I’d learned during my phone conversation. Bones had called to share the latest news from town. He’d barely set foot in the clubhouse, before being pulled into his office by Eggs and Spyder. They’d dropped the latest bomb.

  The mayor was back.

  Olympia’s father had supposedly escaped his kidnappers and was now on a crusade to save Seal’s Cove, which included stopping the arsonists and finding Olympia. He’d told anyone who would listen that a biker gang had abducted him. They didn’t have many details, but Spyder was doing his thing on the computer, hacking and cracking, looking for clues.

  It didn’t made a damn bit of sense. As if the mayor could trick a group of hardcore, kidnapping criminals into freeing him, and I somehow doubted he’d fought them with his fists and lived to tell about it. The whole thing was utterly unbelievable. There was no way in hell the Guardians would be so shortsighted and careless, or stupid, for that matter.


  I intended to have a friendly chat with the mayor. He’d hired me to work on Olympia’s bathroom, after all. That gave me reason enough to drop in and express my condolences; maybe he’d respond better than Olympia had when I’d paid my first visit following her mother’s death.

  The minute I was back from my ‘trip’ to Seattle, I’d be paying him a visit.

  “Boone…”

  I felt her behind me, in the doorway, even before she said my name.

  “The mosquitoes will eat you alive out here. Why don’t you come back inside? I promise; no more games.”

  I wished I could promise the same. This whole situation felt like a game, right down to the reason people were getting murdered.

  Someone was playing a serious game with our minds and our lives.

  “Boone,” she repeated. “Let’s find something to eat. Hungry woman here!”

  I didn’t answer, but left my spot at the porch’s rail behind and followed her back into the cabin, securing the door behind us.

  “You cooking?” I grinned, deciding to embrace her lighter mood. I’d had enough heaviness to last a lifetime.

  “I’m thinking about it.” She raised a brow, daring me to comment on her nonexistent culinary skills.

  “Keep right on thinking,” I teased.

  I hadn’t commented this morning, but from what I’d tasted of Olympia’s cooking, meal preparation wasn’t on her list of talents. She’d certainly earned an ‘A’ for effort, but it was obvious she’d always had the help cook her meals in the past.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

  I cleared my throat. “Nothing, babe. The eggs were just a little on the soggy side. And I do like salt, but…”

  She laughed. “Blame the woman next to me. I was just following her lead.”

  “Come here,” I curled my curled my trigger finger, motioning her over.

  Her smile faltered.

  “Babe, I just want to give you a hug. We’re a team. You have a right to be curious and ask questions, considering you lost your fucking mind.”

  She smirked first, and then smiled, shaking her head. “I’m not sure I like it when you put it that way. And are you sure we should be hugging? You know what they say?”