Fire Meets Fire: Wretched Soulz MC

Chapter 6

Sitting, perusing the club’s latest set of accounts, I glance up when a knock comes on the door. In one smooth action, I close my laptop, sit back and fold my arms, while simultaneously calling out for whoever it is to enter. To be honest, I’m glad of the interruption. While a necessary evil, I find the day-to-day running of the club boring and I’d about reached the point where the numbers were blurring and no longer making sense.

“Ah, StoryTeller,” I greet the newcomer, a smile curving my lips. My grin broadens as I see the two bottles that he’s holding. “Come on in and take a load off.”

Before he sits, he hands one beer over to me. “Am I interrupting?”

“Fuck no.” Then when guilt assails me, I am, after all, the prez and signed up for this shit, I add, “Well, yeah, but nothing I can’t pick up later.”

StoryTeller chuckles softly. He’s heard me moan about the mundane work before. He knows doling out a beatdown to some deserving fucker is much more my style. After opening his beer by using leverage against my poor abused desk, he raises a leg and rests his foot against the wood. He leans back, takes a swig, then focuses his eyes on mine. “Sheri’s pregnant again.”

Again? Hell, can’t StoryTeller catch a break? Or, is this what he wants? To be tied down even when there are plenty of woman in the sea? Images of the woman I met a week or so ago flit through my head. It’s all too often I find myself thinking about her, having to stop myself getting on my bike and riding back to that farm which appears to be her lair. Then I remind myself that whatever pull I felt toward her was just because I found her lack of fear for the Soulz and her actions intriguing. Sure, I can use my memories of her as fuel for my spank bank, but I’ve no desire to see her again in person. Or shouldn’t have. Helo. Where the hell did she get that name? I give myself a mental slap and regard the man in front of me.

For StoryTeller, it had been different. Finding Sheri had grounded the man I’d never thought would come in off the road. He’d been nomad for years until he’d met her. Their first child had been an accident, a result of a coupling under forced circumstances, though Maria, the kid who was born nine months after, was, even in my view, quite delightful. As the only offspring of a club member, she’s spoiled rotten and a complete handful. I don’t envy her parents. But it’s clear StoryTeller adores her.

Having delivered his proclamation, StoryTeller’s face is blank as he waits presumably for some kind of response. What is he expecting? Permission to bring another kid onto the compound? My blessing, congratulations? Or is it commiserations he’s after? What do I know? I’ve spent my life doing my best to avoid complications that give you responsibility for eighteen years after.

After more than a couple of beats have gone by, I manage to find something to say. “And that’s… good?” I’d faltered between saying the opposite first.

A snort bursts forth from StoryTeller and he grins wide. “Fuckin’ ace,” he confirms. “Though I can quite see how you wouldn’t understand.”

Scratching my jaw, I realise he’s right. I don’t comprehend. My life revolves around making the best life possible for my brothers. Protecting them takes all my time. A woman would be a distraction. One kid, let alone two, would be impossible. How could you cope when you’re pulled so many ways at the same time? As for StoryTeller? He’s clearly already handed over his balls to Sheri and their daughter.

A son to follow in his footsteps, I could see some attraction in that. But… “What if it’s another girl?” I grin, interested in how he’ll cope.

He shrugs and chuckles. “Just have to make sure my double-barrelled shotgun is loaded.”

The idea doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. But then, he’s never fazed, even when Maria twists him around her finger in the clubroom. I’ve seen him seriously pretending to have a picnic with her while carrying on a conversation about transporting guns with Iron. Being a dad seems to come naturally to him. I suspect he’ll be fine with two.

If he has a son, I might even beenvious. What man doesn’t want someone to continue his line? To pass on what he’s built, knowing he’ll be leaving a legacy, and that he’ll be remembered into the future.

But, for a son, I’d need a woman. I scoff at myself. Best I focus on grooming one of the younger members when it’s time to find someone to step into my shoes.

“Congratulations,” I find myself saying belatedly.

He accepts with a chin raise, then smirks. “So, what’s going on with that woman you’ve found yourself?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap back. “I’ve no fuckin’ woman.” I deny everything even though I know exactly who’s he’s asking about. As if I haven’t just had my head full of her.

“No?” He’s unrepentant. “You found a thief but couldn’t keep hold of her, then she made you, and the rest of us, look like fools when she got the upper hand in the old dude’s barn. She had you by the balls there, Prez.”

My knife is out of its sheave and quivering tip down in the wood before the last word is out of his mouth. “Don’t push me, ST.”

But instead of being cowed, the fucker laughs. “Not often someone gets the better of you, Prez.”

Not often? Never more like. Well, not until her. And isn’t she full of surprises? A seasoned hand-to-hand combat fighter, an escape artist, a crack shot, and someone who doesn’t stand down. She’d be such a challenge to bring to heel. And there it goes. Thinking about how exactly I might tame her gets my cock revving to go. He doesn’t seem to give a damn that my mind sees a huge red flashing light over her head, telling me to stay far away. It seems he likes a feisty woman and shows it by chubbing up every time she crosses my mind.

StoryTeller’s watching me carefully. I force myself to show no expression on my face and refuse to shift in my seat to ease the predicament thinking about her has again caused.

“Doesn’t seem like she’s going to take you up on the challenge you issued.”

It doesn’t. I should be pleased, not disappointed. It’s been seven days since we confronted the oddly named Helo at Harold’s, and since then, there’s been no sight or sound of her, and no evidence she’s been around. And we’d know. Weasel’s been watching his stock like a Hawk. What the fuck kind of handle is Helo anyway? I’ve spent far too much time wondering whether it’s short for Eloise or something. I’ve no fucking idea why I’m bothered by it anyway. Even if my dick got its way, babe or good girl would do when I was fucking her.

Shit. There’s my boner again.I’m not a kid. I’m a man in my mid-forties and should be able to control myself. That bitch has got trouble stamped all over her forehead. I’m glad I hadn’t seen her again even if my dick is not.

My thoughts make my voice gruffer than I want. “Of course she hasn’t.” As StoryTeller’s eyebrows rise, I rush to correct any misassumption. “We scared the fuck out of her. She won’t be back.”

He doesn’t need to know how much part of me had hoped she’d take up the gauntlet I’d thrown down and try to break into the yard again. Oh hell, why don’t I just admit it? She intrigues me, and I want to know more about her. I still feel slightly guilty about how she passed out, wondering whether I hit her too hard which is stupid. If she’d been a man, I wouldn’t give a fuck. I’d successfully hidden my feelings, but I’d been relieved when we’d seen her the next day that she didn’t seem to be suffering any lingering effect. Well, she didn’t go comatose and fall from the rafter so I presume she was okay.

StoryTeller grins. “She was something, though, wasn’t she?”

I apply my best poker face and hope that he doesn’t know how close he is to the mark. I guess where he’s concerned, a woman has changed his life, and now he wants the rest of us loved up and locked down. Ain’t never going to happen to me. Firmly I repeat in my mind, my only interest in Helo is making sure any loopholes she found in our security have been tightened up. And, perhaps, that I still think her becoming a sweet butt would be better compensation than the five hundred dollars I charged. She could service all the brothers… Fuck no.

“Is that all you want?” Losing patience more with myself than with him, he bears the brunt as I snap, “Some of us have got work to do.”

He chuckles, shows me his finger, then presses his hands down on the arms of the chair. He’s halfway to standing when there’s another knock at the door.

“Enter,” I call out, not sure whether I appreciate yet another interruption. The answer’s certainly no when Legend bursts in and I hear the words that come out of his mouth.

“Got info about that thieving broad.” He pauses, then helpfully adds, “Helo.” As if there was any other bitch stealing from us.

StoryTeller, goddamn him, sits himself back down. His folded arms posture and the smirk on his face tells me he’s not moving despite me gifting him one of my fiercest stares. Without appearing to be over-interested, I beckon our information guru to take the second chair in front of my desk. “What you got?” I half want to know, half wish I never had to hear that name again. Oh fuck, I’m kidding myself. I want to learn everything he’s found out.

Now he’s inside, Legend seems in no hurry to share whatever intelligence has come his way. Instead, he turns to the other man in the room. “How’s the family, ST?”

“Fuckin’ catch up later,” I growl. “Ledge, what do you want? And, ST, why are you still the fuck here?”

StoryTeller just grins and makes no move. I could put on my prez voice and tell him to get lost, but he already suspects I’ve got a special interest in the bitch, so I decide to let him stay. Only so I can show absolutely no reaction to anything Legend has to say.

Legend clears his throat. “I was interested in the broad who got through our security, so I sent the handcuffs she got out of to Mayhem in LA. I was hoping he’d find some DNA or fingerprints that might identify her.”

That’s caught my interest. Mayhem’s a man with a questionable past which we’ve only been able to guess at. Rumours abound that he originally worked for the FBI, but no one’s had confirmation. Initially there were concerns he’d been planted as a spy, but he’s proved his loyalty to the Wretched Soulz over and over. Legend’s good once you give him the information to work with, but Mayhem’s the man to go to if you’ve only got the bare bones. Which, in this case, was all that we had. I wave at Legend to continue.

Opening his laptop, Legend wakes it, then turns the screen my way. “Let me introduce you to Queenie ‘Helo’ May. An Army helicopter pilot, a Night Stalker no less.”

Sitting forward, I try to reconcile the service picture in front of me with the image I carry in my head. While the uniformed woman is more put together than the one that I met, there’s no doubting they’re the same person. StoryTeller, leaning over to see, lets air whistle through his teeth.

Before StoryTeller can make any comment, I ask, “Not serving anymore?”

Legend shakes his head. “Medical discharge.” As I open my mouth, he continues fast, “And that’s all she wrote. Everything else was redacted.”

“Night Stalker?” StoryTeller looks impressed. “There aren’t many women pilots, and to join that team you have to be one of the best.” As a former SEAL, he’ll know what he’s talking about.

“What’s with all the redacted shit?” I ask.

Legend shrugs. “Mission gone bad? Or a successful one they don’t want anyone to know about. Who the fuck knows?”

StoryTeller looks like he’s still getting his head around her role. Sweeping his hands through his long hair, he shakes his head. “Whatever it might have or have not said, woman’s a fuckin’ hero. I’ve had occasion to thank the fuckin’ Night Stalkers before. Their flying skills and nerve are exceptional.”

Which explains her bravado. And while I hate to think it, the reason she blacked out could have been why she was discharged.

Legend snorts. “After a career like that, she’s probably missing the adrenaline rush. Could explain why she broke into the shop.”

There’s nothing to disagree with in his statement.

Fuck, pushing boundaries, challenging myself, is probably something I’d do if I had to drastically change the way I live. I’m a biker as I like living on the wild side, putting one finger up to the world, telling it I’m going to make the most of my life, whatever the fuck it wants to throw at me. I’d rather go out early then die with a pipe and slippers at hand, with nothing to reminisce about except for a wasted and boring life.

I don’t know how long Helo served, but jeez, Legend’s right. What an adrenaline kick it must have been every time she took that helicopter up, flying over enemy lines. I consider my bike to be an extension of myself, knowing its limits and pushing myself and it to them. Is that what Helo felt like when she was flying?

Take my bike away and I’d be half the man that I am, and desperate for other ways of thrill seeking. Is this what Helo feels like?

Fuck it. Now it’s not just my cock that’s attracted to her. Everything about her intrigues me—her mind, her ability, her bravery, and despite her lack of physical ones, the mental balls she must have.

I’ve never looked at a woman and felt the need to tame her. Let’s face it, most patch chasers will fall at a biker president’s feet. But Helo? Hell, someone like her would take a lot of chasing. And for once, it might be worth it.

I’m fucked. If there was a chance to keep her off my mind, I’ve now lost it.

I’m barely able to restrain myself from leaping on my bike, racing to Harold’s, confronting her and doing what I can to make her mine.

And that’s the very last thing I can do. I’m the club president. I’ve far better things to do with my time.