Reckless Road

by Feehan, Christine

  Zyah could see that. Every table was filled. There was a line of hopefuls waiting. Word of mouth had spread fast. Alena had her two brothers, Ice and Storm, chopping vegetables for her, and it was clear they knew what they were doing. In one corner, a man she didn’t recognize was putting the finishing touches on two plates right before he rang a bell and Lana collected the dishes.

  “Thanks, Glitch.”

  Glitch turned to catch four more plates Alena put in front of him with four different meals on them. It was fascinating to watch the man finish off the plates. Each type of meal was treated to a different look, one that enhanced the beauty of the presentation.

  Alena flashed her a smile. “Glitch is a genius. Who knew?”

  Glitch didn’t look up, but he smiled as he finished off the dishes and rang for Darby. He was very fast.

  “Did you train for that somewhere?” Zyah asked.

  Glitch shook his head as he started on three more Alena had put in front of him. “Watch a lot of cooking shows. They fascinate me.”

  Alena turned her head for a brief smile. “He’s really good.”

  Glitch looked pleased but kept working fast. Zyah moved to a spot in the corner to better observe. She could see that the four of them, Ice, Storm, Glitch and Alena, worked smoothly together, but Alena definitely needed more help in her kitchen.

  The back door swung open and a man stepped in, looking coolly confident. His gaze swept the room, smirking a little as he observed Ice and Storm chopping vegetables. He came boldly inside, his Diamondback colors sitting easily on his back. Ignoring the sudden tension in the room and the fact that the twins stopped chopping, he strode right up behind Alena as she was working and dropped a kiss on her neck. He acted as if he had every right to her, deliberately circling her waist with his arms and pulling her body into his possessively.

  “Alena.” He nuzzled her neck. “You’ve been working every damn night. This was supposed to be our night.”

  Zyah felt the instant tension in the room. She didn’t need her shoes off, or her direct connection with the earth, to know that every one of the members of Torpedo Ink, with the exception of Alena, was immediately on edge—and this man not only knew it but wanted them to be. He was openly taunting them.

  Keys very gently guided Zyah deeper into the corner of the kitchen and glided in front of her, shielding her with his body, as if there might be a fight, or he didn’t want the other man to get a good look at her.

  “Pierce.” Alena’s voice was soft with laughter. With something very close to affection. More than affection. “Honey. I’m working.”

  “Yeah. I see that. What are you supposed to be doing?” There was an edge of anger in Pierce’s voice. Hurt.

  Zyah’s heart clenched. Pierce was trying to cover that hurt, but it was there, hidden beneath that arrogant surface of anger and deliberate taunting of the others. These were men and women bent on covering their feelings no matter the cost.

  “This is the third time, Alena.” He dropped his arms and stepped away from her just as she turned around, a look of dismay on her face.

  “Our date. We had a date tonight. I’m so sorry, Pierce.” Alena looked at him a little helplessly. She gestured toward the dishes she was working on. “I still don’t have any help. I thought by now I’d find someone, but I haven’t.”

  “You never prioritize any time for us. I’ve made the trip over here numerous times, but you won’t do one little thing I ask of you. And you can’t be bothered to remember when we have a date.” He backed up toward the door, not looking at the others in the room, as if he were too humiliated to do so.

  He was embarrassed, but not to the extent he was portraying to Alena. The hurt was very real, much more so than the humiliation. Pierce didn’t strike Zyah as a man who cared what others thought of him. It would be so rude to slip off her shoes in a commercial kitchen, not to mention unsanitary, but Zyah’s gift worked so much better when she was barefoot. She wanted to get an understanding of Pierce’s true feelings for Alena and Torpedo Ink’s feelings about Pierce. The why of it all. The underlying reasons for the hostility. And there was real hostility between Torpedo Ink and Pierce. It came from both sides.

  Alena followed Pierce out the back door, closing it so they couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Ice swore under his breath while Zyah stepped around Keys and calmly surveyed the various dishes still cooking on the burners. Someone had to keep an eye on things while Alena was trying to put out fires in her personal life.

  Clearly, Alena found joy in her restaurant. Anyone could see that. Watching her expression while she cooked, while she put the assorted meals together, and feeling her energy made it very apparent: Alena not only loved what she did but she needed it as well. Zyah hoped Alena could make Pierce understand that she hadn’t meant to forget their dates while she was trying to get her restaurant up and running. She was working hard, pouring herself into it.

  Zyah certainly didn’t have Alena’s expertise, but she did have a certain understanding, thanks to Anat, of cooking times. She had good awareness of when foods were supposed to come off a grill or the heat. Instinctively, she pulled two of Alena’s pans from the heat.

  “Holy God in heaven,” Storm said. “Zyah, do you have a death wish? Alena doesn’t let anyone mess with her main dishes.”

  “They’re going to burn,” Zyah replied calmly, but her heart was pounding.

  “Damn it,” Ice exploded. “Who’s on her out there?”

  “Fatei, says she’s otherwise occupied right now,” Keys answered, letting Ice know another club member was watching her.

  “Do you want me to let it burn?” Zyah asked. “This chicken was for someone. Where’s the tag?” She found it and frowned, reading it.

  “No,” Storm said. “But she might kill us.”

  “Can you put it together like it’s supposed to be?” Ice asked.

  “I don’t know how. Do you have a picture? Glitch? Can you?” Zyah asked. “I think it’s chicken Kiev. They need to be drained immediately. I have to check that they’re done and not overcooked.” She did so carefully, checking for tenderness, willing each piece to be cooked all the way through but still be flaky. Thankfully they were, and they were filled with good richness inside. Definitely chicken Kiev, and a recipe she wanted, it looked so good.

  Glitch shook his head. “It always comes to me fully prepared. The plate, I mean. She has photographs of the finished dishes.”

  “Maybe there’s a description on the menu. Give me the menu and I’ll see what I can do. I’ll need the photograph as well.” Zyah wanted to run. She looked around, saw the nearest sink and washed her hands thoroughly while they scrambled to get the menu and photographs for her of the meal she needed to prepare fast.

  Zyah worked as quickly as she could, trying not to hear her heart pounding, following the description on the menu and the picture. She added steamed green beans and carrots topped with fresh whipped butter. She added rice pilaf cooked in chicken broth, with a few sprigs of parsley. When she was satisfied she had the four dishes as close to perfection as possible, she sent them to Glitch to finish off and turned to look at the next tags. It was better than looking at either Storm’s or Ice’s face.

  “You did good,” Storm whispered. “Alena would hate it if her customers had to wait or if she burned something she couldn’t repair. You did your best to help her out. That’s all she’s going to see. It’s on her if she chose to try to keep that stupid relationship going.”

  “It’s obviously not stupid to her,” Zyah whispered back as she looked at the next tag. This one looked much simpler. Only two plates. Both were the same. She could handle these with more confidence. “Perhaps she wouldn’t feel so alone if you got behind her a little more.”

  Storm didn’t reply, and Zyah busied herself setting up the shredded beef with whiskey sauce, which was already prepared—she just had to make up the actual plates. That consisted of shredding the beef and putting it on a platter, adding th
e sauce on top of the meat, putting slices of fresh green apple and cheddar cheese on top. Around the sides she added the slices of avocado, lettuce leaf, thinly sliced beefsteak tomato, pickle spears, grainy mustard and thin slices of toast.

  By the time she’d handed the plates off to Glitch, Alena had returned, rushing in and looking stressed, harried and guilty all at once. She avoided her brothers’ gazes, hurrying to the sink to wash her hands and then to the stove.

  Zyah stepped hastily aside, moving quickly to put herself in the corner out of the way again, twisting her fingers together. She could see Alena was upset and mortified.

  “Did my chicken Kiev burn? Storm?” Alena turned to her brother. “My chicken? My shredded beef? What happened?”

  “Zyah dealt with it,” Storm said. “She did a pretty good job from what I saw too. Unless the customers drop dead, you might want to hire her.”

  Alena looked up, her gaze searching until it rested on Zyah. “Thank you. I really appreciate you stepping up. That’s not happened before.”

  Zyah nodded. “No problem. But I really do have to get home. My grandmother gets very anxious if I’m too late. Since the robbery, she’s been on edge.”

  “She does know that our brothers won’t let anything happen to her, right?” Alena said. “There haven’t been any other tries at getting into your house, have there?”

  “No, I’m sure you would have heard about it,” Zyah said. She was the one who was uneasy, not her grandmother. And it was mostly because she didn’t like being away from Player at night. It was strange that he didn’t seem to have the same kinds of episodes during the day that he had at night. He was in pain. He had the terrible migraines, but he didn’t have the breaks with reality that he had when he went to sleep. She didn’t want that to happen when she wasn’t there.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Alena said, falling into step with her. “I’m not like that. This restaurant really does matter to me. It does. It’s just that Pierce does too, and I’ve put him off so many times lately to get this business up and running. He’s been good about it . . .” She trailed off and rubbed the back of her neck, frowning as she said the last.

  “Everyone’s entitled to a bad day, Alena. I’ve certainly had my share,” Zyah assured.

  “Well, if you ever want a second job, it’s yours,” Alena offered. “I mean it. I could use the help.”

  “Thanks. When I think my grandmother is safe, I’ll take you up on it.” She meant it too. She wasn’t someone who liked to sit around the house all the time. She was used to working long hours. And she didn’t want to brood about Player. It was going to hurt like hell when she had to let him go.

  They were on the floor moving between tables now. The soft murmur of people talking, clearly enjoying their food and the atmosphere, appealed to Zyah’s sense of harmony. Somehow, Alena’s state of mind jarred the notes just a bit, so the melody was that bit off. Something wasn’t quite right.

  “See that man sitting over there in the corner?” Alena whispered. “The one with the little boy who looks to be about two?” She indicated a very handsome man who was leaning toward a little boy with a mop of dark hair, wiping gravy from the child’s chin. “That man is trouble with a capital T. He comes in every week and sits at that table with his boy. And he’s nice. I know. I had Code check him out. Like the real deal. A good guy. He takes care of that boy by himself. The mother’s out of the picture. And he’s a firefighter. Works for the fire department. EMT on top of it.”

  “Why is he trouble?” Zyah asked. They were at the double doors of the restaurant. The doors were thick and beautifully carved. She touched the wood and instantly knew Player had been the one to carve the doors for Alena.

  “Look at Darby. Be casual about it. She’s Czar’s oldest girl. He adores her. The club adores her. And she’s looking at Mr. Firefighter. Mr. Dad. Mr. Super-Hot Guy.”

  Zyah glanced at Darby, and sure enough she was looking at the man with interest. More than interest. “How old is he?”

  “Unfortunately, not very old. He’s twenty-three. Had the kid when he was twenty-one. He’s smart and was already in school for firefighter, EMT and paramedic. He continues with his schooling. And he’s looking back at her. I can’t blame him. She looks older than she is. She works hard and she likes children. But Czar would kill him for looking.”

  “You’d better give her that information,” Zyah said. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

  “I do so love a good Romeo and Juliet story.” Alena sighed.

  Zyah shook her head. She was afraid Alena might be taking that story a little too far herself.

  EIGHT

  Zyah sat in the armchair across from the bed trying to puzzle out what was causing Player to continually have such horrific, traumatic nightmares when his brain was slowly repairing itself. They were four weeks in. Four weeks. He was so much better. During the day, he was up and talking with her grandmother. Entertaining her. He was pale but getting stronger every day. His balance was still a little off. It wasn’t like he could go run races, but it was a brain injury.

  Steele continued to come every day, but instead of twice a day, he was coming once a day. Zyah could tell the brain injury itself was mostly healed. Steele didn’t want Player overdoing anything. He wanted him up and walking around, with his brothers supervising. He liked him with Anat, outside when they could sit for small blocks of time, nothing strenuous. Player was stronger, there was no doubt about it, but the nightmares and horrendous migraines were as bad as ever.

  Zyah hadn’t dared sleep in the guest room. She showered when she came home from work and just went straight to her bedroom, giving her grandfather’s charcoal drawing her traditional hello and pressing a kiss to her father’s intricate scrolled frame with two fingers before sliding into the chair beside the bed. Player always said the same thing.

  “Not safe for you in here.”

  She always said the same thing right back to him. “Not safe for you without me.”

  He couldn’t exactly argue with her. They stared at each other in the darkness. Why did he have to be so damn gorgeous? Why did she have to like him so much? When she was in his head, there was nothing of the smiling man he gave to her grandmother. With the things she saw in his head, she didn’t understand how he could smile.

  “Babe. Really. You gotta let them take me back to the clubhouse. Steele can take care of me.”

  “And what happens when you fall asleep, Player, and your mind starts with that weird illusion? It’s happening every single night, and the effects are getting stronger. If we can’t figure out what’s happening soon, something bad is going to happen.”

  They had to talk about it. He didn’t want to. He never wanted to bring his nightmares out into the open. He wanted to pretend illusions were illusions and nightmares were nightmares, but that wasn’t going to help either one of them.

  “You’re right, Zyah. Absolutely right, which is why I have to go. We can’t take chances with Anat. I can’t. I’m not willing to take a chance with either of your lives, and I have the feeling that’s exactly what’s going on here.”

  Player stretched his arms behind his head, locking his fingers beneath the thick mass of unruly hair she had the sudden urge to tame. He stared up at the ceiling, not at her, giving her the impression he didn’t want to look at her.

  “We’re still going to talk about this,” she said stubbornly. She hadn’t gotten as far as she had in the business world by being a shrinking violet. “I’m in your head every night, Player. It isn’t like I haven’t seen what’s there. Maybe it’s real, maybe it isn’t.”

  She knew it was real. No child thought up those kinds of horrors. That dark, dank basement with the rats and chains and too little food. With the pedophiles and bloody bodies. The torture, shivering and biting cold. The discipline and punishments, the turning of bodies into weapons. Most of all, learning to build bombs. She closed her eyes, grateful Player was staring at the ceiling. Let him think she thought his dreams
were a child’s nightmares.

  “I have no idea why I keep having dreams at night.”

  Zyah analyzed his tone. There was truth, but also a lie. “You often had nightmares even before you had a brain injury.”

  “Could you just not put it like that?”

  She winced at the venom in his voice. He really didn’t like the term brain injury. She’d noticed when Steele had used it a couple of times Player had gone quiet and not responded. He’d been very moody lately. She hated not being able to read him. He saved his sweetness for her grandmother. She wanted that sweetness for her, but then it was dangerous wanting that side of him. She was already too entangled with him. She didn’t want to be wanted because they had off-thecharts chemistry—sex was great until it wasn’t—or because she could fix his brain when he came apart. She wanted someone who loved her, not just needed her.

  “I’m sorry, Zyah. I shouldn’t be snapping at you. I need to be outside. Riding on my bike. Feeling the wind in my face. I don’t know. I just feel like something bad is going to happen. And if it does, I don’t want it to happen anywhere near you or your grandmother.”

  That was all true. She heard the sincerity in his voice. She could listen to his voice all night. Every night. She could lie in bed beside him, feeling the heat of his body, or sit, like she was now, and just feel him close to her and be happy with him in the same room. She didn’t understand why he didn’t feel the same way.

  It wasn’t about him being a player like she’d first thought. He was a good man. She knew that from being with him every single night. She was in his mind. She was connecting with him. He was holding back from her. Deliberately.

  She got that he’d been shot, that the injury had been life-threatening, but they shared the same mind every night. Healing him the way she did, she had to give herself to him, surrender who she was to him. He saw her, saw into who she was, just as she could see him. He was rejecting the person she was, and that hurt.