by Riley, C. L.
Bursting from the bathroom, with a towel slung around his hips, Boone looked like a rampaging warrior. His long hair, wet and loose, streamed over his shoulders. It took me a second to notice the gun in his hand.
“Who is it?” I hissed.
Instead of answering, he pulled on his jeans and stomped to the door.
“You need to back the fuck off, man!” someone shouted from the hallway. “You are way out of line.”
“No, he needs to get that bitch out of here! He’s out of line!”
Oh no. They’re talking about me.
Boone shoved the pistol in the back of his jeans and flung the door open. Everything became a blur of fists as he pounded the man who’d dared insult me.
I couldn’t make out who it was, but considering Boone was using his hands and not the gun told me this wasn’t an actual enemy or even a real threat. I recognized Bones, Grinch, and Leg as they struggled to separate the men.
With professional precision, Boone landed an uppercut that connected with his attacker’s jaw. The man tumbled back, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. I realized then, it was Crusher. He’d been hanging out with Twila earlier. It served him right.
“What the fuck was that about?” Boone demanded. His fists remained clenched.
Grinch answered first. “We tried to stop him. He started drinking Tequila again. You know what happens…”
“I don’t give a fuck. He’s not supposed to touch that shit,” Boone cut him off. “And why the hell was he insulting my girl?”
His girl?
As furious as I was over his betrayal, those two words still did funny things to me. He sounded so sincere. It wasn’t a stretch to think of him as my man. For the past two weeks, he’d been that and so much more. My protector, my friend, my lover…my everything.
Being with Conner Mills after him wouldn’t be easy, more like impossible, if the way I felt now was any indication. Boone had ruined me for anyone else.
Having someone with his sexual prowess as my first lover, made the idea of anyone else pale in comparison. There truly was no comparison when it came to Boone; and the reality was, I couldn’t think of anything more repulsive than my fiancé trying to please me with his practiced and predictable lead-ins to the sex we’d never actually had.
Conner had put considerable effort into wooing me, but I’d never once been tempted to falter from my no-sex-until-marriage commitment. Unlike other women, I remained immune to his charms. Even before my memory loss, I’d wanted Boone and had fantasized about him as my first.
The men continued to argue, offering a reprieve from my unsettling thoughts. I had way too many questions, and I didn’t want to deal with the answers.
After a few agonizing minutes, writhing on the floor, Crusher clamored to his feet and apologized to Boone, who accepted his handshake. Once the men were finally gone, Boone shut the door, his attention drawn to me.
I was still huddled in the corner like a tiny field mouse facing a feral cat.
“Come here, babe.” He opened his arms.
Without hesitation, I rushed into his embrace, breathing in his masculine scent. He smelled like soap, tinged with sweat from his skirmish. Clinging to him, I let myself get lost in the moment, forgetting my get even plans and his lies long enough to realize how right I felt molded against him. Now that I understood the power he held over my body, I found him impossible to resist.
“Crusher and Tequila do not mix,” he said more to himself. “That was fucked up. Fighting another brother is counterproductive in the worst way.”
“He didn’t really leave you a choice,” I soothed, running my fingers through his hair, enjoying its thick, smooth texture.
“You keep doing that and we won’t be sleeping anytime soon.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead.
“Sleep? I hear it’s overrated anyway.” I couldn’t stop myself from teasing him. I needed his touch.
Who was I kidding?
I needed him.
Boone
“Sleep may be overrated, but I still gotta finish my shower,” I ground out. “Join me?” As attentive as she had been since our return, I still expected her rejection.
Instead, she surprised me with her response.
“Are you saying I’m dirty?” Her anxiety over Crusher’s impromptu assault was evidently forgotten as she gazed up at me.
With the adrenaline from the fight coursing through me, and Olympia looking at me like I was her savior, my cock stiffened.
Fuck. This woman was killing me.
My hands found her hips, and I yanked her against me, grinding my hips. She whimpered and mimicked my response, her own hips undulating.
“You are a very dirty girl, Sally. A shower is exactly what you need.”
Her gaze darkened. “Is that all I need, Sir?”
I twisted her hair in my fist, forcing her head back. Damn if she wasn’t the best student I’d ever had. When it came to playing submissive to my dominant, I couldn’t ask for a more perfect combination of innocence and sexy siren. Olympia, AKA Sally, had both traits in spades.
I hated to admit just how relieved I was that she hadn’t remembered her past like I’d been afraid of earlier. Not having her in my life was inconceivable. I needed more time. Time to convince her she belonged with me, regardless of our relationship’s rocky beginning.
Maybe ‘rocky’ didn’t quite express how fucked up our start had been, but even with all the craziness, I couldn’t shake the feeling she was somehow meant for me. Until her, I’d never once considered the whole destiny thing, and I sure as hell hadn’t thought about settling down again, but she was changing me, chipping away at my hardened heart.
I’d harassed more than a few brothers about being pussy-whipped; looked like I’d added the title to my own repertoire. Who would have thought? Not me. Not in a million years.
“Boone…” she whispered. “You kinda drifted off there. Are you all right? Did Crusher hurt you?”
Releasing my grip on her hair, I chuckled. “Don’t mean to sound cocky, babe, but I promise you, he didn’t touch me.”
Her eyes flashed with something I wasn’t sure I liked before she offered a smile. “You? Cocky? Never.”
“Back to your question. You most definitely need more than a shower, but we’ll start there. After you, babe…” I gave her a gentle pat on the ass.
She pivoted to face the bathroom while pulling her shirt off over her head. I was right behind her, unclasping her bra with one hand and undoing my pants with the other. Tonight was turning out better than I’d believed possible. I intended to make the most of it.
Olympia
I reached over, expecting to feel Boone’s warm body. After last night’s marathon, I was shocked to find him already gone.
Did the man ever get tired?
I was deliciously sore all over – yet again. Every ache, pain, and twinge reminded me of how he’d tortured my body, wringing more orgasms from me than I would have believed possible. We’d started in the shower, following his fight with Crusher, and ended up in the bed after using the floor, the wall, and a chair for our explosive love making.
Boone was an expert lover. Not that I had anyone to compare him to, but I had no doubt he would come out the winner in any competition involving sex.
I giggled at the image of a Who Can Make Her Come the Most Contest.
Not funny. I mentally scolded. Not funny at all.
Considering I planned to destroy him for his manipulative ruse and list of lies, I needed to get my head on straight. No easy task when just thinking about him curled my toes.
I let out a long sigh, replacing my sex-driven thoughts with more practical concerns.
For now I intended to take things slow, adapting a watch and wait approach. Besides, I wasn’t real keen on venturing out in public, where our local arsonist would once again have access to me.
All things considered, calling my father and Conner seemed advisable, but I just couldn’t bring myself
to open that door. Once I let them in, my time with Boone would be over, and I couldn’t deny that Boone’s mistrust of the ATF had put me on edge. He wasn’t the paranoid type, and he’d been around the fire fighting scene long enough to know the ropes. I’d be wise to at least pay attention to his warnings.
With my memory restored, I remembered how his real wife, Rita, had died in a house fire. Supposedly she’d caused it by her drug-fueled behavior, but knowing what I did about my mom’s death, I suspected Rita might have been a victim of foul play as well. She had died about a year before my mom. In between her death and my mom’s, and then again after, there had been a string of unsolved fire incidents along the coast, the same incidents Conner and his team were investigating in conjunction with the current tragedies.
My mansion’s blaze, which I still couldn’t remember details about, the strip club fire, and the most recent disaster at the youth center had all resulted in deaths. If our existing arsonist was the one behind those other, non deadly fires, his need for violence had escalated again after four years of lesser crimes.
I’d watched enough police dramas to know some tragedy or trigger must have prompted his latest fire frenzy. My family, for some reason, was in the middle of his rampage. Had my father pissed off the wrong person?
As a politician, he was pretty popular. I’d never seen any evidence that his aspirations had created such a formidable enemy. That angle made no sense, but I couldn’t deny the obvious – first my mom and now me? There was no getting around it.
The Olsen family was a primary target.
At least Conner was good at his job. I knew he’d do whatever he could to solve the cases, though why he was wasting time focused on the Soul Scorchers MC was beyond me; unless, of course, I’d bought the ultimate lie.
Though from what I’d seen, starting fires and killing folks wasn’t what this club was about. They cared about their women and children and were seriously worried about everyone’s safety, so much so, they’d instigated the lockdown. I’d seen how the youth center’s fire had affected Boone. He’d been devastated. Maybe the other club was involved, because, regardless of Boone’s dishonesty with me, I in no way considered him or his friends the culprits.
If only I could recall my own fire escape.
For some reason, the essential information, like who I’d seen in the mansion that night, remained blurry, hidden behind a smoky screen in my mind; sadly, my two employees had perished, that much I was aware of. Yet I still felt detached from the ordeal, which made me feel even worse.
I sighed again, before rolling onto my side.
A tall glass of orange juice, a blueberry muffin, and a banana awaited me on the bedside table, putting a stop to my inner dialogue. The nearby alarm clock boasted 10:01 AM in glowing red digits.
Reaching for the juice, I spotted a napkin with a note scrawled across it.
Good morning, babe. Feeling sore? In a meeting till about noon. Miss you already.
Flopping back on the bed, I glared up at the ceiling. I could hear Boone’s husky voice calling me babe, teasing me about being sore. And he missed me…or so he said.
It didn’t matter what the truth was, because even a note from him sent my tummy into turmoil and fired a jolt of anticipation right through me, temporarily silencing any lingering guilt over my former employees.
Damn him.
In some ways, he was more dangerous than the arsonist. At least with the arsonist, I understood what he wanted – me dead, burned beyond recognition.
With Boone…I had no clue, everything was uncertain. His motives were a mystery; his endgame a big question mark. If he burned me, it would be a different type of death. He’d scorch my soul and slice up my heart, leaving me seared and scarred in the ashes.
Maybe their goals weren’t so different, after all.
Either way, I was in the midst of a firefight.
Boone
I left the police precinct, where the ATF had set up shop, far more confident than when I’d first arrived. My conversation with Conner Mills and an older FBI agent had gone surprisingly well, considering Conner had pulled out all the stops to make me look like a piece-of-shit thug, who fucked up just by breathing the same air as everyone else.
When he’d tried to railroad me, the veteran agent had put him in his place, a reprimand that Olympia’s fiancé had grudgingly accepted with a glare. There appeared to be no love lost between the two men, which only served to benefit me.
FBI Agent, Roger Wilson, was proficient and professional. From what he said, and more from what he didn’t say, I got the impression he wasn’t buying Conner’s theory that our club was behind the attacks. In fact, he questioned me more like a witness than a potential suspect, asking for my observations and thoughts on the arsonist’s identity and motives. I’d argued that starting the fires served no purpose for us and hurt our businesses and community ventures, which happened to be the truth.
Frustrated with my explanation, Conner suggested we were trying to bait the Hells Guardians, a speculation I countered with a big: Why the hell would we want to do that when things had been going so smoothly the past couple of years between the clubs?
Agent Wilson seemed to agree.
They requested I remain available for future questioning, something I’d anticipated. I made sure to remind them this was my home and I had no intention of going anywhere. As a gesture of my commitment to their cause, I extended the final olive branch, letting them know the Soul Scorchers would do everything possible, within the confines of the law, of course, to find the asshole responsible.
By the time I left to head to the mayor’s, it was evident Conner regretted interviewing me. His fragile ego had been deflated like a wrinkled old balloon, making him look more like a spoiled rich kid with a grudge than a federal agent.
I was feeling damn good when I stepped up to my bike and reached for my helmet. Olympia had rocked my world last night with her bedroom antics, and I was looking forward to more of the same, once my club duties were done for the day.
The distinguishing roar of several Harleys, heading west on Main Street, grabbed my attention. I hoped it was my guys. A beer and burger with brothers after the meeting sounded good.
My mood plummeted when I recognized the riders. They were early.
Ringo, the Hells Guardians’ notorious Road Captain, came into view first, colors flying, flanked by two other bikers. A white cargo van followed close behind.
Pedestrians, both tourists and locals, stopped to gape at the intruders. Most Seal’s Cove residents were aware on some level of our violent history with the other club and weren’t big fans. Adding to the tension was Conner Mills’ and Mayor Olsen’s public accusations that bikers were behind the fires and the mayor’s abduction. Several people looked my direction trying to gauge my response.
I lifted my chin, acknowledging our ‘guests,’ and then mounted my beast, chrome gleaming in the late-morning sun. I knew exactly where they were headed, and I was tempted to follow, but my meeting with the mayor couldn’t be postponed. From the information I’d gathered from an inside source, who just happened to be a ‘friend of the club,’ the Mayor was working from his home office today and had no visitors scheduled. It was the perfect time for me to drop by. As much as I hated the idea of Ringo anywhere near Olympia, I had to trust my brothers to take care of her.
Club business came first. No exceptions.
With that in mind, I wound through town towards the Olsen property, pushing my worries about Olympia aside.
Five acres, just outside Seal’s Cove, was home to the remaining mansion and the burnt out skeleton of Olympia’s former residence. Just the sight of its charred remains chilled me. She could have easily died that night. Exactly how she’d managed to escape and what she’d witnessed remained locked somewhere in her mind along with her other missing memories. Depending on what she’d seen, she could be the key to everything, the one person who could identify the arsonist. No wonder Pyro had sent his goons
to find her.
Pyro…what a ridiculous name. It sounded like something a kid would make up. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to discover some kid had actually chosen the nickname, back when he was burning smaller targets in his own backyard. My assumption was a very real possibility, considering most arsonists were fire fanatics and started their careers at a young age; that much I knew from my training.
Whatever he chose to call himself, the fact remained; he excelled at what he did. He’d evaded capture for years. I planned to put him down once and for all. Three hots and cot were way too good for him. Prison, for people like him, was a playground. As far as I was concerned, he’d played his hand one time too many.
With the arsonist on my mind, I almost missed the two bodyguards who approached as I parked my bike near Olympia’s BMW. I remembered the car well. I was surprised she hadn’t upgraded to something more expensive.
“Can we help you?” the taller of the two asked, making no effort to hide his contempt.
I wanted to use the same uppercut on him that had nearly knocked Crusher out, but I refrained. The men were just doing their job, protecting the mayor from future kidnappings, or worse.
“Hoping to chat with the mayor.”
Before they could reply, Olympia’s father strolled onto the porch, undaunted by my appearance. “It’s okay. Let him pass.”
As if they had a choice. Had I wanted to get by them without permission, I would have.
The tall one shot me a look meant to intimidate. I just shrugged, giving him a not-so-friendly sneer.
Once inside, I was offered lemonade, which I accepted and was led to a formal sitting room. I felt out of place; my large frame stuffed into a plush floral chair.
Taking a seat across from a small table, the mayor watched me closely, unable to hide his wariness. Before Olympia’s recent fire, he’d been an athletic man. Now he looked shrunken and at least ten years older.
An uncharacteristic stab of guilt knifed through me. Losing his only daughter had obviously hit him hard. He’d lost his wife first and now Olympia. I almost wished I could reveal her condition as alive and well, but as planned, I offered my sympathy instead.