Torched: Afterburn (Iron Serpents Motorcycle Club Book 2)

by Shay Mara

  : 12 :

  | TORCH |

  Balling up a polishing rag in his hand, Torch took a step back and looked over the 1955 Panhead shining pretty under shop lights. It was almost midnight, but after a week of grinding away, they were finally done with restoring and customizing his eight vintage Harleys. All of them were already spoken for and due to be delivered the next day. Between the bikes and extra repo runs, they’d be sitting on about a hundred grand. One week and another hundred to go.

  Christ, he was already fucking exhausted.

  He knew it wasn’t so much the workload or lack of sleep wearing him down, it was the inner turmoil of trying to keep up appearances outside the clubhouse. His old lady was perceptive, she could read his ass like a book; if they hadn’t already, the pieces would come together in her head. Every time he so much as looked at her, he worried he’d somehow betray the brotherhood and show his hand. And his brilliant fucking solution of avoiding her as much as possible had just made things a hundred times worse because she’d been way too accepting of it. Now he was just fucking paranoid that she knew about Cora and would put her ass in danger to pay him off herself.

  Did she? Would she? Was he reading way too much into it? There was no way to tell without straight-up asking and he wasn’t about to fucking do that.

  In desperate need of a drink, he tossed the rag and walked over to the clubhouse.

  The air inside felt thin, but it wasn’t the Colorado elevation at work. Tense brothers were milling around, obviously trying to get their minds off Buddha’s health and the debt owed to Cora by drinking it all under the table. But there was no escaping the black cloud hanging overhead. Even Liv, the woman whose smile could light up the darkest cave and who hopefully knew nothing about their problems, looked a million fucking miles away as she played pool with an equally somber Biff.

  Where the hell had she been all day? He usually got at least a text to ask if he was breathing, but he hadn’t heard from her at all since leaving the house before she woke up that morning. See? Too fucking accepting.

  Goddamn it, the fucking paranoia wouldn’t quit.

  He glanced around and saw Buddha standing in the doorway of his office. It looked like something was eating at him too. Considering this was the first time he’d been by the clubhouse all week, his appearance didn’t bode well.

  Buddha motioned for him to come in and closed the door behind them. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and two glasses were already waiting for them on his desk.

  Was he even supposed to be drinking on chemo?

  Fucking great.

  “Have a seat,” Buddha said, pouring them both a shot.

  Torch eyed him, his stomach feeling like he’d swallowed twenty pounds of rocks. “What’s going on, man?”

  Buddha exhaled and threw back his glass, then poured another. “Got a call from the oncologist today, the treatment’s not working.”

  Twenty pounds turned into forty. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “You know exactly what it means. It’s time to face facts, son, I’m dying.”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” Torch argued. “How the fuck can they know it’s not working yet?”

  “It’s been six weeks of chemo, my blood work should be showing improvement but it’s not. They know. Hell, I know. My only chance is a bone marrow transplant—”

  “Then we’ll get you a fucking transplant.”

  Buddha looked down and swirled his glass. “It’s not that easy. They already tried to find a match in the national registry, no luck.”

  “What about your sister in Orlando?”

  “My sister was adopted. She got tested but it wasn’t a match.”

  Shit.

  Torch finally reached out and poured back a drink, trying to quell the nerves that felt ripe to explode. “Then we all get tested.”

  “The chances are shit—”

  He slammed the empty glass down. “A chance is a chance! And fuck you for sounding like you’re giving up.”

  Buddha shook his head. “It’s not about giving up, it’s about being realistic. I’m gonna stop the treatment, son. I’ll have plenty of time to feel like death when I’m actually dead, I don’t wanna spend what time I’ve got left weak and shrinking away. How would that look?”

  “Who the fuck cares how it looks?” Torch demanded. “What if the chemo starts working? What if a match comes up, but you’re too far gone because you’re more worried about club image than staying alive? What the fuck’s wrong with you, man?”

  “I’m already far gone,” Buddha sighed. “They say three months without the meds and chemo, maybe six without a transplant if I keep doing it. That’s not worth it to me.”

  Not worth it? An extra three months was worth everything, it was extra time to find a donor. They could multitask, they had to.

  “I’m gonna call a vote,” Buddha added.

  “You’re not calling a fucking vote,” Torch growled, knowing exactly what the man was getting at. He wanted out.

  “Let me finish—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you’re about to say, brother, we don’t walk away from a fight. You started this shit with Cora and the coins. Unless you actually croak in the meantime, you’re gonna see it to the end with the rest of us. And the cancer too, you’re gonna fight like a goddamn Serpent. We’re your family, I’m not gonna give you my vote so you can go curl up and die with a clear conscience.”

  Without saying another word, Torch shoved his glass across the desk, got up, and walked right back out the goddamn door. He was done with this fucking conversation, Buddha could go find somebody else to entertain his death fantasies.

  Fuck that.

  : : : :

  | LIVIA |

  Rounding a corner after leaving the bathroom, I saw a furious Torch stomping out of the clubhouse. Seconds later, I heard his Harley starting up and taking off.

  Looking across the room into Buddha’s office, I noticed him leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples, so I strutted in and planted my ass in the chair Torch had vacated. “What happened?” I asked.

  Expecting to see anger in his eyes for unceremoniously intruding, I was taken aback when he looked up and all that came across was pain and confusion. Buddha was many things, but openly emotional wasn’t one of them. Neither was confused, the man walked and talked with purpose under any circumstance. Even a cancer diagnosis hadn’t seemed to throw him off his game.

  But this? I felt like I was in the company of his shadow, and it wasn’t because he’d lost weight. He looked utterly deflated.

  “I know he told you about the cancer,” he muttered, pushing a glass of whiskey across the desk. “Have a drink with me, toots.”

  I complied and leaned back in my own chair, staring at him and waiting for some kind of explanation.

  “He’s pissed ‘cause I’m stopping the chemo—”

  “What? Why the fuck would you do that?” I demanded.

  “It’s not working, Liv. There’s no point.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  He sighed. “I didn’t wanna believe it either, but it’s a fact straight from the doctor. My blood counts aren’t improving, the only option now is a bone marrow transplant and he already checked the registry. I’m not gonna go through all this shit for a couple extra months, fuck that.”

  That didn’t mean anything, I refused to let this goddamn illness get the last word over someone I loved. “Then we all get tested,” I said.

  Buddha gave me a pained smile. “Those were your old man’s exact words. I swear you two are the same fucking person.”

  That was true, especially when we were both right. Sensing an opportunity to crack some of the tension, I rubbed my chin and asked, “Did I forget to shave this morning?”

  Buddha chuckled and shook his head. “You’re a beautiful person inside and out, sweetheart. The best thing that stubborn fuck ever did was getting you down the aisle. He’s gonna need a strong old lady next to him wh
en I’m gone and I can’t think of a better woman for the job. You ground him.”

  Instead of turning into a blubbering mess, which was exactly what my tear ducts wanted to do, I cleared my throat and redirected back to business. “Okay, none of that shit right now,” I huffed. “Here’s what’s about to happen… You’re gonna keep doing the chemo. Two weeks, that’s all I’m asking. If we can’t find you a donor by then, I’ll back off and you can do whatever you want.”

  He gave me the infamous Buddha side-eye. “Sweetheart, the chances—”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about statistics right now,” I cut in. “This club has over five hundred members alone, never mind prospects, old ladies, crawlers, and hang-arounds. They don’t even need to go to a clinic, I read up on this stuff when Torch first told me and the test is just a cheek swab. I’ll arrange for lab techs to go to clubhouses—”

  “I can’t ask all those people do that. And who the fuck would pay for it anyway?”

  “You can’t ask them to stick a q-tip in their mouth? Are you serious? I thought the whole point of this club was brotherhood and family, that we unconditionally back each other up.”

  “That’s exactly what it’s about, but—”

  “But nothing. Either it’s true or it’s not, and you have a duty to set an example. You’ve been the president for twenty years, fucking act like it.”

  Buddha pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. Did the truth piss him off? Tough shit. “Careful, toots,” he warned. “I’m not your man.”

  Obviously, but they weren’t all that different either. “Yeah, well, you’re just as pig-headed, so I know asking nicely won’t work. You want me to start sugarcoating shit now?”

  He crossed his arms across his chest, but his terse expression warmed a little. “Nah, I like you the way you are.”

  “So we have a deal?” I asked.

  “Not so fast,” he said, shaking his head. “This deal’s a little one-sided, I’ll need something in return. You wanna play at my level? Let’s go all in.” The way he looked at me suggested he was about to toss out something he knew I wouldn’t like, probably something he assumed I wouldn’t agree to.

  He thought he could get me to back down? Good luck. I snickered at the thought of Buddha trying to beat me in a negotiation, especially when his life was on the line. I loved the man too much to be steamrolled. Swiping the bottle of whiskey from his side of the table, I poured both of us another round and got comfortable. “Okay,” I said, my veins properly lubed up with alcohol, “state your position.”

  He raised a brow and cocked his head. “I know if this doesn’t work and my fate’s sealed, shit could get real bad at the end. I’ve got no intention of waiting around to die in a hospital bed, shittin’ in a goddamn bag ‘cause I can’t even walk. If it gets to that point, I want you to help me.”

  That was it? “Of course I’ll help you,” I assured him. “We’ll all be here to—”

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” he interrupted. And then, looking me straight in the eye, he played his actual hand in a single, blunt sentence. “I want you to kill me, Liv.”

  It felt like my jaw hit the floor so hard the earth stopped spinning. Did I really just hear him say what I thought he said? “Buddha, that’s fucking insane,” I fumed. “You can’t be serious, how’s that even close to a fair trade-off? The whole point is to save your life.”

  “I couldn’t be more serious. Both of my parents died of cancer, I know how brutal those last days can get. And you’re right that I have a duty to this club, I’ve devoted my whole life to living by its code and leading by example. Our constitution says we don’t kill ourselves or brothers in good standing, I can’t do it myself and I sure as shit can’t ask one of my guys to do it either.”

  “I would think a terminal illness would be some kind of extenuating circumstance,” I pointed out. But then I realized I was kind of making an argument for putting his request on Torch or one of the other brothers. “Not that I condone your line of thinking,” I added.

  “But you get it, right?”

  I didn’t say anything. What could I?

  “Liv,” he continued, “I know you get it. You’re the smartest and most understanding bitch I know. You’re asking me to go two more weeks of feeling like shit, I’m asking you to shave a couple weeks off the worst of it. I realize it’s nowhere close to being the same, but that’s what it’s gonna take for me to do what you want.”

  Frustrated as hell, I got up, took a swig straight from the bottle, and sat down on the corner of his desk. “That’s one hell of a counter offer.”

  “I’m an outlaw, baby. Haven’t gotten this far without learning how to get what I want.”

  “I see that,” I smirked. “Okay… you have a deal.”

  He leaned back in his chair and raised a brow. “What?”

  “You have a deal,” I repeated. “If I can’t find you a donor, I’ll help you die.”

  “Are you bluffing?” He looked dubious.

  “I think I might be calling your bluff. Unexpectedly, judging by the look on your face.”

  “This isn’t a battle of the wills, Liv. You agree to this, you’re giving me your word, and you know keeping your word is important around here. You wanna sleep on it?”

  No, I didn’t want to fucking sleep on it, I knew exactly what I was doing. I also knew Torch would probably lose his shit when he found out. But Buddha was a grown man of sound mind who’d put in enough time on the planet to decide for himself when and how he wanted to leave it. Who was I to deny his last wish? I’d violently killed a man before, I could easily procure some kind of drug cocktail and help Buddha wash it down, right? It wasn’t like I had a choice, euthanizing their president wasn’t something any of the members would want to live with.

  Besides, I wouldn’t actually have to go through with it. I would find a donor, even if I had to get on my bike and personally scour the fucking country looking for one. Any thoughts of the worst case scenario would just have to wait until it came to it. If it came to it.

  “I don’t need to think on it,” I answered. “I’ll do it, but I need your word too.”

  Buddha slowly stood up and gave me a hug. “You’ve got my word, sweetheart, and my fucking respect. We’ll do this shit your way for now.”

  “My way’ll work.” I snatched the bottle of whiskey and tossed it in the trash can. “And no more booze for the next two weeks, I don’t wanna have to look for a liver too.”

  He chuckled and took my face between his hands. “Love you, sweet girl.”

  “I love you too, Buddha. You’re not going anywhere, don’t underestimate me.”

  “I wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”

  : 13 :

  | TORCH |

  After riding around aimlessly for an hour to clear his head, Torch was torn between going home to his old lady or just following the wind until dawn. He was pissed and confused and just plain miserable. And weak. Christ, he felt like everything was spinning out and there wasn’t shit he could do to control the damage. He’d been able to keep his mind off of it over the past week, but now Buddha’s “predicament”—as he preferred to call it—was starting to eat away at him.

  Buddha wasn’t just a man he respected and took orders from, he wasn’t just another brother, he was like a father. Actually, no, not like a father, he was his real one. He was the man who’d found a scared and angry sixteen-year-old kid in a rain-soaked alley and taken him in as his own, no fucking questions asked.

  Torch remembered the night well, the details had never faded from memory. He remembered shivering as he cowered under a piece of cardboard to shield himself from a downpour; the feeling of panic when three shady-looking bikers rolled up and made him stand so they could look him over; and his sheer fucking gratitude to the leader of the pack who respected his request not to call the cops.

  That night, Buddha only asked him two things: whether he needed help and whether he had anyone who could do it. Torch nodded
at the first question, he’d been sleeping under bridges for over a week and couldn’t even sell drugs to get by because he had no money to buy them. He figured maybe the big, burly dudes would spot him a twenty or something. But when he shook his head at the question of having friends or family, Buddha didn’t pull out his wallet, he told him to get his ass on the back of his Harley.

  Yeah, he’d been old enough to know better than to put his life in the hands of a man who looked like he’d done time in Rikers. But despite the tatts and a hunting knife hanging from his belt, there was a real kindness in Buddha’s eyes even back then. Torch remembered staring at him for at least a full minute, trying to decide whether to hop on or run for his life, but in the end he went with his gut. Not once had he regretted it.

  Buddha didn’t just help, he gave Torch a brand new life. Asking nothing in return, he gave a strange kid a place to sleep and took him under his wing. He fed him, clothed him, and brought him to the shop every day so the brothers could teach him how to fix up cars and bikes. Until he turned twenty-one, Torch carried around a fake ID, also courtesy of the club. At first it was so he wouldn’t get taken into foster care if the cops ever asked for identification, but after he turned eighteen and was allowed to prospect, it became more for underage drinking with the boys. Buddha and the club had loved him, protected him, and bled for him. If that wasn’t the definition of family, he didn’t know what was.

  And they were fifty miles away.

  Shit, how the fuck had he ended up halfway to the Nebraska border?

  Spotting a gas station up ahead, he decided to pull over for an energy drink. He’d gotten a second wind after going at it with Buddha, but exhaustion was starting to set in again. There was no better place than the open road, especially at night, but what the hell was he doing out here when he desperately needed sleep and had more than eight hours to spare for the first time in days?