Wild Fire: A Chaos Novella

by Kristen Ashley

  “And then there’s Hound,” she said.

  He stared at her.

  “Your Club has four pillars that hold it up,” she stated. “Kane ‘Tack’ Allen, the president, the visionary. The man who would stop at nothing to guide them to being the Club it was intended to be. Cole ‘Rush’ Allen, his son. The man who would take the reins and lead the Club into the future when they were as they were meant to be. Graham Black, the example. The man who exemplified everything they wanted to become. And Shepherd ‘Hound’ Ironside, the dependable. The backbone. The man who would sacrifice whatever he had to in order to get them there.”

  Now Dutch was finding it hard to breathe.

  “Two of those men are your fathers.”

  “I know,” he pushed out.

  “I don’t know, but I assume it’s hard being the son of either of those men. Never mind both.”

  Good fucking Christ.

  “Dutch, do you have any clue how unbelievably amazing you are?” she asked.

  Good fucking Christ.

  “Georgiana—”

  “They made you that, blood and guts, they made you that, Dutch. And you let them. You became you, not someone else, because of them and because of you.”

  “Stop talking,” he growled.

  “No,” she denied.

  Shifting out of cross-legs, she leaned over him to put her coffee on the nightstand, took his and did the same, and she stayed close.

  “They had a war to fight and you grew up under their example and you’re searching for your war when they gave everything so you wouldn’t have to do that.”

  “I’m not a man who can’t not have something to strive toward.”

  It came right out of his mouth, what was bugging him, and he didn’t even know it was that until that moment.

  “Okay, you know that isn’t a bad thing.”

  “I manage our shop. The auto supply side. The inventory. I do the books and give them to Rush. I make sure the shelves are stocked. I do the ordering.”

  “Dutch—”

  “It’s suffocating me.”

  And those words sounded like he was suffocating.

  Georgie didn’t miss it.

  “Stop doing it,” she whispered.

  “I gotta. It’s my part of being a brother.”

  “They would not want you to suffocate.”

  “They got mortgages to pay and families to feed.”

  “It’s driving you away from them.”

  Fuck, she was right.

  Fuck, she was so right.

  He averted his gaze.

  She grabbed both sides of his face and made him look at her.

  “You can’t be you without them.”

  “I joined them because I wanted to be a part of something.”

  “You are.”

  “I wanted to be a part of who they were…are.”

  He meant his dad.

  And his other dad.

  She pressed in on his face. “You are, Dutch.”

  “It isn’t there anymore.”

  “Because you’re not letting it be.”

  “What?”

  “You and I are going to find Carlyle. We’re gonna figure this out for him. Do you know how much faster that would go if a motorcycle club whose members know the streets better than the cops helped us out?”

  He sat up straighter, losing her hands, and Murtagh jumped off with an annoyed “Muwrrrr.”

  “Babe.”

  “Quiet, please, and listen—”

  “They’ve been through too much. We vote on shit like this and they’ll vote it down.”

  She sat back and asked a shocked, “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Watchin’ a documentary, even twice, does not mean you know my Club, Georgiana.”

  “No, but I stood in your own damned living room, with your brother and your dad, both in pain because you hadn’t shared, you hadn’t asked them to be at your side through this, and I figure it isn’t a stretch that every brother who wears your patch would feel the same way.”

  He shut up.

  “They are not going to vote this down, Dutch. They’re going to feel angry and betrayed you went this alone. And they’re going to feel pain too, because you’re drifting away when you are the bones of them.”

  Her words made something in his chest squeeze.

  Hard.

  “What?”

  “You’re him.”

  And at that, his stomach started to churn so much, he thought he’d be sick. “I’m not.”

  “Dutch, both of you are.”

  “Georgiana, don’t talk shit you don’t know.”

  “My God, Dutch!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Carolyn has been stealing from your brother for years to feed a drug habit and Jagger was justifiably angry when he found out. He called her an ugly name and within seconds apologized to me because he said that about my sister when I was around. That is your father. That is Jagger. That is you.”

  Dutch stared at her.

  “You’re right, I never had and never will have the absolute honor of meeting your father. And you’re right times two, all I know about him is that film, and getting to know you. You look like him. And you look at me like he looks at the camera in pictures I’ve seen of him—”

  “Stop talking.”

  “And you held Murtagh like he held you—”

  “Stop talking.”

  “And Murtagh is just a cat. God works in mysterious and sometimes hideous ways that are still wondrous. He took away Graham Black. But when He did, He left the world with two of him. Jagger and you.”

  He surged up, taking hold of her, and landed on her with her on her back.

  She let out a puff of air.

  “Stop fucking talking,” he bit out.

  She stopped talking.

  He scowled at her until, like he couldn’t hold it up anymore, his head dropped, his forehead slamming into hers.

  She didn’t make a peep.

  He shut his eyes, tight.

  And then she spoke.

  “You miss him,” she whispered.

  His throat closed, he moved to shove his face in her neck, and it came out strangled when he said, “Yes.”

  He’d been five.

  But he never forgot his dad.

  You don’t.

  You don’t forget that kind of love.

  It’s planted in you in a way that never dies.

  She slid her hands down his back, murmuring, “Baby.”

  He pushed his face in deeper, tightening his arms around her.

  When he felt she was having trouble breathing because she was bearing all his weight, he shifted so he had it in his forearms, but he didn’t take his arms from around her.

  “Talk to your brothers,” she urged gently.

  “I’ll talk to them,” he agreed.

  “About helping us with Carlyle…and other.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted.

  She glided one hand up to his neck and gave it a squeeze.

  He read her request, lifted his head and gave her his eyes.

  “You’ll find your passion, Dutch.”

  He wasn’t sure about that.

  But he nodded anyway.

  She took her hand from his neck, curled her fingers in and used the backs of them to stroke his jaw.

  He took her warning and was glad he read it before she asked, “Do you feel guilt you miss him so much when Hound gave you so much in his stead?”

  Christ, how was she driving to the meat of everything?

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “Hound was his brother. Do you think he wouldn’t have given you the same thing, perhaps not in those proportions, but in the way he could even if your dad had not died?”

  Jesus, he hadn’t thought of it like that.

  “No, he would have given it,” he told her. “They all did and do. They did it with Rush. Tabby. With Cutter and Rider, Tack and Cherry’s kids. Nash, Lanie and Hop’s boy. All of
them.”

  “It’s family,” she whispered.

  Fuck, it was in front of his face.

  It was what they fought for, what his dad died for.

  And it took Georgie to point it out.

  “Yeah.”

  “You can’t drift away from family, honey,” she said, smiled and finished, “ever.”

  “No.”

  “No matter what path you take, they’ll have your back.”

  His forehead dropped to hers a different way before he said, “Yeah.”

  “Okay, good we have this sorted out,” she muttered.

  He lifted his head. “You paid some serious extra attention to that movie the second time around, didn’t you?”

  “Well,” she shrugged on his bed, “I was into you.”

  Thank fuck, that made him smile.

  “I was gonna make you a quick breakfast before we hit it,” he told her. “But it’s gonna have to be fast food on the way to the Compound. I gotta call a meeting of the brothers.”

  She eased under him. “Good.”

  Yeah, what was happening here between them…

  It was a lot.

  Dutch bent his head and kissed her.

  And after all of that, what she gave him, where she took him, the release he felt inside, down deep, still not knowing what it meant to his future, but at least understanding what was there, his kiss was not quick.

  Since she was Georgie, she responded wholeheartedly.

  They got lost in it, some serious groping was happening, when a questioning, “Mwr?” semi-penetrated right before there was a hammering on his front door.

  He lifted his head, aiming his eyes to the door of his bedroom.

  “What—?” she started.

  He looked down at her.

  “Do you think Hound or Jagger told the Club about what we’re doing, and someone is here, angry about it?” she asked.

  “No fucking way,” he answered.

  The hammering kept coming.

  He saw Murtagh bounce out, clearly kitty-ticked at the disturbance.

  Dutch felt him. He was biker-ticked.

  “I’ll get it. You stay here,” he ordered.

  “Dutch—”

  He kissed her, this time quick. “I’ll handle it and be back.”

  Then he rolled off her and out of bed.

  When he got to the door, and opened it, it wasn’t a huge surprise, what was on the other side.

  It also was.

  Last, it was aggravating.

  But apparently, Jagger didn’t waste any time.

  “Where is she?” Carolyn demanded, landing a hand in his chest and shoving him aside as she stomped in.

  He took a breath to control his temper, a mistake, because it took too long before he began, “Caro—”

  “Bitch, I know you’re here!” she shouted down the hall. “Get your traitor ass out here!”

  Dutch closed the door and moved between her and the entryway to the hall at the back of his house.

  “Calm down,” he ordered.

  “Fuck you and fuck her!” she spat, then leaned to the side to scream around him, “Georgiana, get your fat ass out here!”

  Uh…

  No.

  Fuck…

  No.

  “Get out,” he demanded.

  “Fuck you,” she repeated.

  “Out of my house, Carolyn.”

  “Fuck you, Dutch!” she shrieked.

  “For heaven’s sake, keep it down. Dutch has neighbors,” Georgiana said from behind him.

  He twisted at the waist, saw she’d put on a mauve satin robe that had a subtle print of purple and white flowers with black stems. It had billowy sleeves, was super short so it showed her long legs, and was gaping open at the top, so it also showed her generous cleavage.

  Even without makeup and her ponytail messed up from them making out, or maybe because of it, she looked like she was ready to step in front of a camera for a catalog shoot.

  “Ohmigod, I cannot believe you’re doing Dutch Black. Fuck me over and take the brother!” Carolyn accused.

  “Go back to the bedroom,” he demanded Georgie’s way.

  “Dutch, honey, this is mine to deal with,” she replied, arriving at his side.

  “Dutch…honey?” Carolyn asked snidely.

  They both turned to her.

  She homed in on Dutch. “FYI, she thinks bikers are trash. So she might like what you do with your dick, but you’re just rough trade to her.”

  This did not affect Dutch in the slightest because he knew the kernel of truth behind it was gone and the rest of it was just Carolyn pissed that her own shit was blowing up in her face and she was lashing out because of it.

  However, in the mix of the second drama they’d had that morning, he’d momentarily forgotten that his Georgie had a temper.

  And she liked him.

  So what Carolyn said was not a match strike to create a flame.

  It was a lighter to a powder keg.

  “You…goddamned…bitch!”

  Her last word was pitched so high, it was a wonder his windows didn’t shatter.

  But Dutch didn’t have time to shake off his ears ringing.

  Georgie launched herself at her sister.

  He just managed to catch her at the waist and then he pulled her back three feet.

  She strained against his hold and yelled, “Let me go!”

  “You couldn’t take me,” Carolyn taunted.

  “Skin and bones and drug addled? You don’t think?” Georgie returned.

  Oh shit.

  “Baby,” he whispered, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her tighter to him as she kept fighting his hold.

  “I’m not drug-addled!” Carolyn shouted.

  Georgie gave up the fight but kept up the lean.

  “You’re a goddamned cokehead,” she retorted.

  “Georgie,” Dutch warned.

  “Am not!” Carolyn shrieked.

  The front door opened.

  “And a whore!” Georgie yelled.

  Oh fuck.

  Jagger walked in, along with their Chaos brother and bud Roscoe, who was undoubtedly bringing Jag to get his truck.

  They both read the situation immediately, thus both wasted no time positioning. Roscoe at Carolyn’s back for possible containment purposes. Jagger at her side, for the same and for a better view of the action.

  “I’m not a whore!” Carolyn yelled, but looking the woman’s way, Dutch saw that got in there.

  “What do you call taking money for services rendered, Carolyn?” Georgie asked.

  Christ.

  “Ohmigod, you did not just say that to me,” Carolyn stated, looking struck. “In front of Jagger, no less.” She jabbed a finger at Jag.

  “You didn’t think to keep Georgie out of it?” Dutch asked his brother.

  “I didn’t say her name, or yours. She figured it out,” Jagger replied.

  Shit.

  “Yeah, I figured it out, because she’s up in my shit so much, like now, saying whacked crap to me, it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to jump from that, know we asked Dutch to pick her up, and she was all over running her mouth to him like she does to me,” Carolyn supplied.

  “It had to end, Carolyn,” Georgie pointed out.

  “You can’t see me happy. You could never see me happy,” Carolyn accused.

  “What are you talking about?” Georgie’s tone was confused.

  Carolyn pointed at Jag again. “He makes me happy and you took him from me. You don’t get it, but Chanel slides make me happy, and you don’t want me to have them.”

  “It’s not about the Chanel, Carolyn, and you know it,” Georgie retorted.

  “Bullshit, I’m just not into the same things you’re into and you don’t get it,” Carolyn returned.

  “Girl, if I could afford Chanel, I’d be all over it. I just can’t…so I don’t,” Georgie shot back, and Dutch took note of what she said.

  He’d heard of C
hanel, had no clue otherwise, but his woman, like everyone else, had birthdays, and Christmas was not far away, so he’d talk to Lanie, or Elvira, and figure it out.

  Carolyn changed tactics and said pathetically, “You took him away from me.”

  “You do coke?” Jagger asked unemotionally.

  Carolyn took a step his way. “Jag, sweetie.”

  He took a step back and she halted.

  “Do you snort coke, Carolyn?” he pressed.

  “Just a bump every now and then. I work a lot, Jagger. You know that. A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do to keep going.”

  “When we were beginning, you pulled out a vial, and we had this conversation,” Jagger reminded her.

  Carolyn’s jaw moved as she clenched her teeth.

  They’d had that conversation.

  “I told you dope was a dealbreaker,” he went on.

  “You smoke pot,” she accused.

  “Pot is not coke,” he stated.

  “It’s a drug,” she said.

  “It’s rare I do it, like, how many times have you seen me high?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Yeah,” Jag said. “Maybe what? Three? Four? And I’ve known you that many years?”

  “Jagger—”

  “And to get my buzz, I don’t suck anyone’s cock,” Jag went on.

  “Oh boy,” Georgie whispered the same time Dutch muttered, “Jesus,” and this was the first time Roscoe verbally entered the scenario and he did that with a grunt.

  “That’s a whore, Carolyn.” Jag was relentless. “Like it or not, you made me a goddamn john to get your fuckin’ fix and you into dope was already a dealbreaker, and you knew it. You puttin’ me in that position, we are dead. Like we didn’t exist. And you know that too. So don’t pile shit on Georgiana she doesn’t deserve. And really do not take your fucked-up mess into my brother’s home and spread it around. This is not gonna win me back. Nothin’s gonna win me back. What it’s gonna do, instead of bein’ dead to me, you’re not dead. But I’m gonna hate you, which I do at this moment. Can’t stand the fuckin’ sight of you. And that’s on you too.”

  “Jagger,” Carolyn breathed, horrified, hurt, even destroyed.

  But Jagger just sounded over it when he sighed, “Get out, Carolyn.”

  Carolyn didn’t move for what seemed like years before she slowly turned to Georgie and declared, “You’re dead to me too.”

  Georgie’s body jolted and Dutch tightened his arms around her to hold her close.

  Jagger got her attention back when he shared, “And my hatred just grew. ’Cause you’re blaming your sister, who loves you, worries about you, has tried to do right by you, and you’re all right to stand there and gut her. Fuck off, Carolyn. Honest to Christ, it might take Dutch and me a little while, but I bet it won’t take us long to talk Georgie around to understanding she’s better off without you.”