Fire Meets Fire: Wretched Soulz MC

Chapter 8

From the very moment I arrived, I didn’t believe that she intended to steal the bike. If she had, she’d have been long gone, and we’d have had a cat’s chance in hell of getting it back. If that had been her objective, Shitface would have been very unlucky to arrive in time to catch her, and if he’d attempted to stop her, I’ve no doubt I’d have found him in a heap on the ground.

It’s not even that I now know she’s a Night Stalker. It’s my own take on her, my intuition that she could give any man in my club a run for his money when it came to street smarts. But Iron and Bull would have thought I’d lost my mind if I hadn’t played along, putting her on the spot, letting her come up with reasons why we should believe her. I had enjoyed the word play with her. Until…

Until, fuck it, damn it, until she’d confessed as to why it would have been impossible—or at least, very unwise—for her to have ridden the bike away. The desolation in her eyes stole my breath.

Because it’s not fucking hard to understand how devastating that would be. If I couldn’t ride my bike, I don’t think I’d survive. I live for the open road, the freedom of the wind rushing past. And I’m just a biker. I would think as a fearless, revered Night Stalker, being told they could no longer fly would be crushing. How could I not feel sympathy for her? I have to clench my hands against my sides to stop from reaching out, pulling her close and hugging her, knowing instinctively someone who’s survived and excelled in a man’s world wouldn’t want to admit to weakness, nor need the comfort I itch to provide.

That’s when I started to put together that she was running for her life. Who the fuck could be after her? I mean, who? I’m having difficulty processing her having to stay under anyone’s radar. Unless it’s the law. Tapping my finger on my chin, I think for a moment. That has to be the most likely reason for her to be concerned about anyone checking her out. Any number of the alphabet teams could have been alerted.

What’s she most worried about? Is it because she doesn’t want to be locked up? I’m not quite sure they’ve yet built a prison to hold her, and apart from the petty theft enacted on us, I can’t see her as a hardened criminal. The way I read her is she wouldn’t be scared at the thought of escaping authority. She’d take it as a challenge, pitting her wits against theirs. Like breaking into our shop, it would be an adrenaline rush. No, from the way her face paled, her problem’s more visceral, a matter of life or death.

Maybe an ex?But again I find that hard to believe. If that’s the answer, even I wouldn’t like to meet the motherfucker who could take someone like her down. Any man brave enough to live with her would need to keep her happy or always sleep with one eye open.

An abuser?Again, I’d have thought anyone messing with her would soon find he’s picked on the wrong one. But I can’t forget the way she froze when I had her under me, and there was no denying her struggling had turned me on. And that, like a switch being thrown, had turned her off. Slave traffickers? Has she come to the notice of the wrong people? She might be able to take one person on, but could be overcome by numbers.

Or perhaps it’s something from when she served.

Or maybe… I purse my lips as I look at her. Maybe it’s all in her head, a result of some injury. Perhaps she’s just paranoid.

Whatever the answer is, I’ve got this strange desire to help her.

I’m not a man who’s ever been accused of being empathetic. Someone in my position can’t afford to be. If a brother’s in trouble, I might sympathise, but I’ll look at the situation calmly, identifying any risk to the club. I’ll provide help and support, but I’ll never get emotionally involved. In Helo’s case though, I feel her pain, can feel the anguish at not being able to ride.

I know I don’t understand the extent of it. How can you live life on the fly when you’ve got no transport to escape with?

I’m torn about what I should do. I don’t know whether it’s my dick talking when I remember how I’ve been attracted to Helo, but that’s precisely the reason that I should let her walk away. I just need to think of StoryTeller to realise I’m right to keep my distance. Just look at him now with not only his old lady but his two-year-old wrapping him around her little finger. My role is to protect my club, to make it a safe environment so people like StoryTeller can enjoy their families. It’s not to be distracted with a woman of my own, and the club girls are adequate for keeping my dick amused.

But when I try to dismiss her, when I think about walking away, my gut joins my cock in screaming I’m making a mistake. I try to rationalise that it’s just curiosity that I don’t want Helo to disappear without finding out her answers. That I don’t want her leaving until she’s helped us failsafe our security. Of course I’m not worried that her legs won’t carry her far enough to escape whoever’s looking for her. Why would I be?

I’m also not known for being indecisive, and one raised eyebrow from my VP shows he expects my answer. Quickly, my brain comes up with an option that I believe sounds reasonable. “You’re coming back to our clubhouse. There are things we need to discuss.” Like why you bring out emotions in me that I’d considered long lost.

Bull snorts, Iron swings around fast, staring at me with narrowed eyes, while the woman herself takes a step back, looking a combination of perplexed and worried.

“Why the fuck should I do that?”

Because I can protect you.Luckily, I prevent those weird words from coming out of my mouth. “Because we’re not finished with you yet. I want to know exactly how you accessed the shop, bypassed our security and managed to wheel out a bike.” There. I feel like fist pumping the air because I’ve made some sense.

“I can give you that info right here and now.”

“You could,” I agree, scrambling to come up with more. “But you could also work with us to keep people like yourself out of this, and our other businesses in the future.”

“A bitch as a fuckin’ security consultant?” Iron barks. He sweeps his hands back over his bald head and for a second, his piercing eyes stare at me. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

I’m more interested trying to read the expression on Helo’s face, but what I see makes me think I’m not likely to take her on in a game of poker. She could be carefully considering my proposal or already have dismissed it as a joke. She could also be plotting my death.

While my eyes are on her, I hear Bull telling Iron that this is no normal bitch, that her training and skills, as already demonstrated, might indeed have something to offer the MC. For a second, I want to hug my VP for seeing things my way, then want to slap myself upside the head. See? I’m already letting a bitch get to me.

I’m about ready to rescind my offer when her features suddenly unfreeze, forming a frown which is accompanied by a little shake of her head. “You want the bounty.”

For a second I’m nonplussed then I realise what she must mean. I feel heat come into my cheeks at the realisation she thinks so little of us, of me, before I accept she’s only our reputation to go on, and by preference, we’d rather appear like demons than angels.

There’s a tinge of ire in my voice as I rush to set her straight, snapping, “Ain’t going to fuckin’ snitch on you. Don’t fuckin’ care if you’re wanted by the feds.”

Bull coughs loudly, getting my attention, then he nudges me, indicating he wants to talk to me privately. Following him, I let him lead me a few steps away. Leaning to speak into my ear, he says, “You make a good point about the feds. Before we let her into our house, don’t you think we ought to know why she’s keeping her fuckin’ head down? If our digging has revealed her location, we could already have heat on our tail. Not sure I want to be caught harbouring a criminal. Or not when it’s not one of ours.”

No MC wants the feds’ attention. They’re always just one step away from slapping a RICO indictment down and the whole club ending up in prison. I stiffen, berating myself that my VP has had to give this lecture to me. I should have paid her the five hundred dollars I promised and let her walk away. He’s utterly right about not inviting trouble into our house and fuck it if that’s not what my dick wants to hear.

Iron joins us with a frown on his face. “Hear your concerns, VP, but look at the girl. Sure, she knows how to defend herself, but I don’t like the thought of a woman being on the run with no transport.” As sergeant-at-arms, he’s all about safety. But even though I should be relieved he’s thinking along the same lines as me, I can’t help eyeing him suspiciously, wondering what his interest is in her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Look at her.” Iron jerks his head over his shoulder. Both the VP and I turn our heads. We catch her in an unguarded moment, when for once she’s looking unsure of herself, scanning her surroundings as if she’s waiting for someone to suddenly jump out. “Remember how she just passed out for no reason? If she has one of those attacks, she’d be vulnerable. Anyone could take advantage of her. I agree with Prez. Let’s get her back to the compound and give her some breathing space.”

“We could dump her back at MacPherson’s.” Fuck, I hate that that practical solution came from my mouth, but it would make sense. And, maybe, in the long run, be beneficial to my mental health.

“Nah.” Bull defiantly folds his arms. I suppress my sigh of relief. “There are a lot of unanswered questions. For one, I’d still like to know who she’s running from.”

“Find that out and we might be able to help,” Iron insists.

The VP snorts. “I was thinking more about heading off trouble coming our way.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I allow myself a moment to get my head straight. I’d be a piss-poor prez if I ignored what my righthand man had to say. Lowering my hand, I roll my shoulders. “Okay. Let’s see what she has to say.” Turning around, I look for Shitface. Spying him, I order, “Prospect, get this bike back inside, and start doing your fuckin’ work.” I take the few steps that brings me in front of the woman. “You, come with us into the office.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to come to the clubhouse, so you can answer some questions here.” I read her reluctance and try to sweeten the deal. “And it does seem I owe you five hundred dollars. I’ve got that in the office.”

I watch as she seems to eye up her chances. She’d given me a run for my money one-on-one, but her gaze peruses Bull and Iron, and then encompasses the other members of my crew standing close by. After a moment of calculating the odds which are clearly stacked against her, she dips her head, and starts to move into the garage.

She knows where the office is. Of course she does. With the number of times she’s robbed from us, the shop’s become her second home. I’ve no hesitation in taking Weasel’s manager seat behind his desk. Iron grabs a chair, and places it in front of the desk for her, while Bull stands behind her with folded arms.

Again with a cursory glance to consider her options, she takes the seat that’s been offered. I take a moment to study her. This is no ordinary woman, and I try to see beyond the short blonde hair that frames her delicate face, and focus away from her athletic form. I’d have previously said I’m a tits kind of guy, but despite her lacking a lot in that area, there’s something about how she’s put together that makes it hard for me to concentrate.

She’s no simple piece of ass. No, she’s one of the legendary Night Stalkers. That she’s got nerves of steel is a given. There’s no point in me coming straight out and asking her for information she doesn’t want to share. She’s been trained to withstand interrogation and torture. Push too hard and all I’ll get is name, rank and number. And only if she’s prepared to give me that.

If I want information out of her, I need to be clever. So instead of shooting straight for the heart of the matter, I ask her something easy to answer and deigned to make her relax. “How did you get in this time?”

Her cheeks puff then relax, as if she was expecting something harder, and her lips curve up. “I noticed an animal had started digging a burrow close by the fence. The earth was loose, easy to scoop more of it out and enough for me to squeeze underneath.” She pauses and grins. “The cameras don’t pan that low, so I crossed to the shop on my belly, undetected.”

I have to do no more than raise my brow toward Iron, who gives me a sharp nod. “I’ll go check it out.”

As he leaves the office, there’s no twitch on her face that would suggest what she’s told me is a lie, no expression of awkwardness that she’s going to be found out. I don’t doubt for a moment she’s telling me the truth.

“We need to put cameras at ground level?” I ask.

She chuckles softly. “Or get the existing ones to pan lower.”

I give her an appreciative chin lift, showing I’ve conceded her point. Though the information is useful, I doubt we’ll have many more thieves like her turning up. Not ones who aren’t deterred by the Wretched Soulz logo above the door that is.

I analyse her face, and while I want to try to find out who’s after her, Bull is right. If it’s the feds, we’ll have to think carefully about helping her. But if it’s not? Well, a promise of our assistance to get whoever it is off her back might tempt her to stay around longer. Just to help us make our ship watertight, of course.

“Any other observations on our security?”

Her eyes sparkle. “Any sign of that five hundred dollars?”

Chuckling, I open the desk drawer and unlock the cash box, taking a wad of bills out. After counting them, I slide them across the table to her. Without checking the amount, she slides the money into her pocket. For a moment, I expect her to bargain for more before she shares her info, but no, she starts to speak.

“Your locks are standard, and you need better ones,” she begins, and then goes on to list a few other observations she’s made. She’s got a few good points and I notice small raises and dips of Bull’s head, showing he’s mentally noting them.

With the money in her pocket and our obvious acceptance there are things we could improve, I see her settle back in her chair, crossing her legs but unfolding her arms. She looks more at ease than I’ve so far seen her, so it’s now I can start.

“Who’s after you?” My lazily toned and out-of-the-blue question will hopefully catch her off guard.

It doesn’t work. Her back straightens again and she shrugs.

“Woman, you speak to us, we might be able to help,” Bull states gruffly from behind her.

Still no response, just a hardening of her eyes.

“Is it one of the alphabet agencies?” I probe.

That gets her brow furrowing, and she gives a rapid shake of her head with a dismissive smile. “Definitely not.”

I hear Bull’s audible exhale, and my heart rate eases as well. If no one in authority is after her, it’s more likely there’s an ex who we can take on.

“Who is it, then?” Bull, having been reassured, asks gently. He comes around to the side of the desk, leaning forward and placing down his forearms.

It’s him she looks at. “I’m not being obtuse. I don’t exactly know who’s after me.” The words are softly spoken, and she grimaces after they’ve come out of her mouth.

Bull’s eyes flick to mine, then back to her. “But someone is? Someone you know with the resources to find you?”

I don’t mind her attention turned away from me as it seems she’s responding to Bull more than myself. Any jealousy I’ll deal with later, but for now, I want to know what we’re dealing with. Yeah, we. She’s got my help whether or not she wants it. Why? I’ll analyse later.

She might be watching the VP, but she’s not answering. Bull pushes again. “If you don’t know who, what makes you think anyone has it in for you? Must be pretty serious if you’re living off the grid.” He pauses, swallows, then notes, “You must have a veteran’s pension, yet you’re hurting for just a few bucks. You’ve already told us you think this phantom person has resources, so surely you have some clue, if they do exist, who it is.”

A few moments pass and I don’t think she’s going to answer. When she does, she doesn’t use words. Instead, she pulls down one side of her t-shirt. I hear Bull’s gasp first until she turns herself around, presenting me with the shocking image of her left shoulder. It’s a mass of healing tissue, no longer red and raw, but showing enough to let me know how painful the original injury was. I hiss in air through my teeth and Bull does much the same.

“Blowtorch,” she explains undramatically.

“In your job?”

She snorts softly. “I wish it was. No, this is just a taste of what he, they, want to do to me. I got away. This time.”

Moving away from his sentry post, Bull stands, props his ass against it and faces her. “Why use a blowtorch?”

Her voice sounds monotone, but fire sparks in her eyes. “To remove my Night Stalker tattoo.”

I can’t help my breath exhaling on a hiss. Sure, we remove the tats of traitors, and I’ve seen how painful that is, but more than the physical torture, for us, it’s the tangible loss of brotherhood. Like our, luckily few, turncoat members, she’s lost her badge of honour, something that she fought to earn and reflects what she is.

Bull, likewise, looks shocked, but it’s him who recoups first. “If you don’t know who, then surely you’ve got some reason of why?”

Suddenly finding her hands interesting, she stares at them lying in her lap. I notice they’re twisting together, the only outward sign she’s agitated. “It’s classified,” she says softly.

Leaning back in my chair, I first fold my arms, then exchange a glance with my VP. “A mission or op?”

The slightest movement of her mouth shows me I’m on the right track. I look again at Bull, who shakes his head. It’s clear he’s assuming the same as me, that we’re unlikely to get more out of her at this point other than, as I suspected earlier, her name, number and rank. But fuck it, that injury to her shoulder shows the real danger she’s in. It wasn’t a bullet, though, apparently, they’d gotten close enough for that. It’s a sign someone wants more than her death. They want her to suffer.

Well, they won’t be getting another chance to get close. While I don’t understand this powerful need to protect her, and though I know if she knew my thoughts she’d laugh in my face, something tells me she’s mine to care for and look after however much she protests.

There’s absolutely no doubt I want to know more about Helo. Or Queenie, I muse, recalling her real name. I’m not sure it suits her. She doesn’t look regal to me. She looks like a warrior. That makes me think about the parents who named her, and her family. Why hasn’t she gone to them?

Without realising I’m going to speak my thoughts aloud, I find myself asking, “Queenie? That your real name or another nickname?”

Having surprised her, she can’t hide the pain that sweeps briefly over her eyes. Quickly bringing herself back under control, she scoffs. “Oh no, that’s all mine.”

“Family name?” Bull asks, quite reasonably.

When her eyes come to mine, I raise a brow. Shaking her head, air leaves her lungs before she refills them to ask, “You really want to know?”

I shrug. She’d answered my question. I’m pretty sure that’s her legal name. I’ve got that power over her now which is what I wanted.

I think had I pressed, she might have kept it to herself, but with a roll of her eyes and with absolutely no self-sympathy, she tells us how it came about.

“I was an abandoned baby, found in a dumpster in Queens.” Her shoulders rise, hover, then fall back to their original position. “It had been a cold night so was touch and go whether they could save me. I think the medical staff were more worried about that then being very inventive when it came to names. I doubt they expected me to own it long anyway.”

But she fought and survived. As I suspect, she’s been doing all her life.

“And May?” Bull enquires. “Is that from your adoptive family?”

She gives a delicate snort. “That was the month I was found.”

“Original,” I say, while thinking that’s a fucking sad story. No parents who’d spent months agonising what to call their child, no family name to give her, let alone people who wanted her.

“And the rest of the story? Adopted into a loving family?” I prompt.

The scorching look tossed my way shows I couldn’t be further from the truth, but her button-upped expression suggests that’s all the information she’s going to impart.