Fire Meets Fire: Wretched Soulz MC

Chapter 14

I’ve lost my fucking mind.

From the moment I heard Slugger talking about selling out Queenie for money, all I saw was red, and from that point on, I’d acted purely on instinct and hadn’t stopped to think.

If Slugger hadn’t been there, I’d have whipped the brothers into church and educated them about a few things. I’d have knocked their heads together and tried to convince them to come around to my way of thinking. Legend would have been on my side, StoryTeller, too, I think. Maybe I’d have gotten enough ayes to keep her breathing. But though normally, as prez, I’d have the casting vote on any course of action, with the national prez in the house, all of us would be expected to defer to him. Especially when he was endorsing what clearly a lot of them were thinking. As it was, Slugger had already gotten them riled up, their mindset like a group of piranhas heading in for the kill. I had a vision of Helo descending the stairs and her being torn to pieces, though that wouldn’t have happened without her taking a few lumps out of my men. One thing I know for certain, she wouldn’t have gone easily.

I couldn’t risk it. Everything inside me had screamed, get her away. No time to stop and argue a battle I feared Slugger had already won. Getting her away would at least give me space to see if there’s another route I could take to sort this mess out.

My overriding compulsion was that I didn’t want Helo to end up dead.

It was only when I got some miles from the clubhouse, I’d realised how badly I’d fucked up. Even then, though, however I looked at it, if I wanted to save Helo, I couldn’t see any alternative solution. With her affliction, I couldn’t have simply handed her the keys to my bike.

But I can’t minimise what I’ve done. I’m not just a member of the Wretched Soulz MC, I’m their president. I’ve turned on my club. I’ve taken away their chance of becoming two million dollars richer, and all for a bitch who stole from us. If I’m lucky, I’ll be out bad. If I’m not, I’ll, too, have a price on my head, and the first Soul to see me will have orders to shoot first and ask questions after.

And fuck me, but I’d had no chance to explain, and now I’m risking that bullet in my skull not from one of my brothers, but from the woman who doesn’t yet know she owes me her life. Ironic doesn’t begin to cover it. She’s misinterpreted what I’ve done to keep her safe. Even if she doesn’t kill me, I’m going to have a fucking bruise from how hard she just bashed the barrel of the gun into my head.

“Calm the fuck down,” I rasp out. “It’s not what you think.” Belatedly I realise that telling a woman to calm down may not be the smartest thing.

It’s not, as that gun rammed into my skull once again proves. “You know about the bounty and you’re going to sell me out.”

Rolling my eyes, I refute, “Yes, I know you’ve got a fuckin’ big price on your head, but I’m not selling you out. I’m protecting you, woman.” While I’m irate at the situation, I try to keep my voice level, unsure how trigger-happy she is.

The car’s engine noise grows louder, showing it’s getting close, then dies as it comes to a halt. The gun moves from my head and now is jammed into my back as she shoves me toward the door of the cabin.

“Open it,” she demands.

I do, then she sidles around me, wrenching me around, so I’m framed in the doorway and in between my expected visitor and her. As the car pulls up, I only hope Jacinta looks innocent enough that Helo won’t pull the trigger.

“It’s someone bringing us supplies,” I say in an even tone, hoping the ancient bright pink sprayed Kia Soul will persuade her it’s no one intent on doing her harm. No self-respecting man, let alone someone with a grudge, would be seen driving such a car.

Another prod in my back. “Put your hands up.”

I do. Jacinta extracts a couple of bags from the car, then turns to face me. When she sees I’m clearly being held at gunpoint, she gasps loudly and the shopping drops from her hands.

“Madre de Dios, ?qué está pasando?” Copying me, she puts her hands in the air. “Chaz?”

“Who are you?” Helo demands. The gun still held steady shows she hasn’t yet dismissed our visitor as a threat.

“Jacinta’s the woman who takes care of the cabin for me.” I speak soothingly, but fast, seeing Jacinta looks like she might faint any second now. She doesn’t know I’m the prez of an outlaw MC. As far as she’s concerned, I’m just a city man who appears from time to time for a bit of R and R in the mountains. I doubt she ever expected I’d bring trouble to her door. I’m annoyed as good help is hard to find and I hope Helo hasn’t scared her off. Though, I suppose, in the scheme of things, losing the caretaker for the cabin is the least of the disruption she’s brought to my life. And it’s only a loss I’ll suffer if I stay alive.

“Open the back door,” Helo nods toward the car and demands. Luckily, Jacinta’s English is good enough to react to her command.

I wait as Helo analyses the situation. The trunk is open, only shopping bags have come out, and it’s obvious there’s no one in the car hiding. Jacinta couldn’t look more innocent if she tried. Though she hadn’t been issued with the instruction, she, too, has again lifted her hands high.

“Back up,” Helo states, applying pressure to my shoulder. I take a step back out of the way of the door. When she’s got us where she wants us, she calls out, “Bring the bags inside.”

Jacinta looks dubious, but I give her a reassuring dip and rise of my head. I wouldn’t put it past Helo to kill me, but I doubt she’d hurt an innocent woman. Bags in hand, Jacinta obeys, scurrying in quickly, dumping the bags, then turning to escape.

But she stops by me, and her work ethic clearly tops her fear as she asks shakily, “You want me to make bed?”

“I think we can handle that ourselves,” I tell her.

Helo quickly glances down at what Jacinta’s brought inside. Seeing just groceries, she says, “Just leave.”

Jacinta’s eyes narrow as she looks at me. “Mujer loca,” she decides. I have to agree Helo does indeed seem like a crazy woman. “?Necesitas ayuda? Help? You need?”

As much as a man held at gunpoint can, I attempt a reassuring smile. “Nah, I’m fine, sweetheart. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

“Go,” Helo directs as Jacinta seems to still be summing up whether I need rescuing or not.

It’s when I add another sharp nod, Jacinta throws up her hands, and with one last “Mujer loco,” mumbled half under her breath, she goes back to her car and opens the door.

“Padlock the gate,” I call out to her, and the up and down dip of her head shows me she’s heard and understood.

She slides into the seat, starts the car, and performs a complicated and unnecessary five-point-turn manoeuvre to get pointed the right way. Helo stands still as a stone behind me as Jacinta disappears down the track.

While she’s distracted, making sure our visitor leaves, I decide it’s time for me to take control back. Swinging around fast to take her by surprise, I grab the gun, wrenching it from her fingers. Now it’s me pointing the weapon.

“It’s time we had a fuckin’ talk.” As, at last, I’m now in charge, I can allow myself to be angry.

But does my tone of voice faze her? Not one fucking bit. Her eyes narrow as she glances at the gun in my hand, then, as if assessing she’s in no real danger, she turns her back. Stepping over to the table, she peers into the bags Jacinta had left. Extracting a package, she lifts it out, bringing it to her nose and breathing in deeply.

“Mmm. Coffee.”

Ignoring that the sound goes straight to my dick, I jerk my head. “Kitchen’s that way if you want to get some brewing.”

My stomach rumbles, reminding me we need other sustenance as well. As she disappears in the direction I indicated, I take the risk of putting my gun back in the waistband of my pants, then pick up the rest of the groceries to check. One of the contents should be a frozen pizza that won’t take long to prepare.

In the small kitchen area, she glances as I approach, but seeing a flat box has replaced the weapon, quickly resumes the task she’s begun. For a few moments we work together in silence. Once I’ve a hot coffee in my hand and the pizza emitting tantalising smells from the heated oven, I sit at the table and kick out the second chair, then jerk my chin toward her, then toward the seat.

I watch, analysing her as she takes a moment before accepting the invitation. She’s not uptight, but also not relaxed, and hasn’t yet put down her guard. Wise, as she knows I’m the one with the weapon. Then I realise she doesn’t seem particularly bothered about the inequality, leading me to have my suspicions.

“You’re armed?”

Her eyes meet mine across the table, and one side of her mouth turns up. Guess she’s answered that. Ankle holster, I’d bet.

We both know where we are, an uneasy truce. Who’s going to survive the encounter may depend on who can draw first. I must need my head examined as the thought of meeting my match turns me the fuck on, meaning I subtly have to adjust myself to avoid the imprint of my zipper on my cock. That part of me thinks finding out whether she’d be just as feisty in bed is the most important thing to discover.

I can’t hope to think other than she’s worth it. Right now I’m a wanted man by my club. What the fuck have I done? But however I try to reason with myself, I can’t see how I could have done anything else. Queenie deserves a chance, and hopefully, as I’m the one who’s giving it to her, I’ll get my reward.

Luckily it appears she reads nothing of my thoughts as she cups her hands around her drink, then lets out a deep sigh. She grimaces slightly, and her brow furrows as though she’s perplexed. When she speaks, her tone is far from combative. “What the fuck is going on, Chaz? Why am I here? Why didn’t you just drop me somewhere and leave me?”

Good questions which I’m not sure I’ve got answers to, or none that she’ll want to hear. Sure, I needed to get her away safe, but why did I come with her? I doubt she wants to know how much she intrigues my cock, or all the very dirty things I want to do to her. Or, actually, it’s more than that. How much I want this amazing woman to be mine. Whatever, I’m a fucking grown man, a president with responsibilities. I shouldn’t be led by my dick. I take a couple of sips of coffee, then begin to let her into my thoughts.

“I’ve fucked up royally by taking you,” I admit, accepting what I’ve done today has been totally out of character.

If she wanted to hear I had a plan, I’ve clearly disappointed her. Puzzled eyes stare into mine for a moment, then she raises her chin. “I’d rather you were straight with me, Chaz. Are you going to betray me?”

I know she’s intelligent enough to understand that if I was, I’d hardly be telling her. But as I see her waiting for my response, I notice her concentration, analysing my features for the tiniest tell. But I’m going to tell her the honest truth. It’s up to her what she does with it.

I snort but with no amusement. “I worked for my patch, Helo, gave blood, sweat and tears to the club. Got the trust of my brothers. Carried on doing my bit, was made sergeant-at-arms. The brothers recognised my club meant everything to me, and when there was a vacancy, put me forward to be prez. Every day since, I’ve tried to be worthy of it.”

Her eyes narrow and she shrugs.

I raise my chin, waiting until I can see her watching me, hoping she’ll understand the seriousness of what I’m going to say. Inhaling sharply, I admit, “Bringing you here might, nah, will most probably mean, me losing my patch.” Which, before meeting her, was the most important thing in my life. I stare down into the coffee for a moment, then again raise my eyes to meet her face. In a solemn tone I voice the worst outcome. “I might be facing a death sentence.”

For a second she stops breathing completely. When she moves again, it’s to put her coffee cup down and to lean forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped. “What exactly are you saying?”

My shoulders rise then drop down. “I knew the size of the price on your head while we were still at the shop.” I watch her face remain expressionless as if she expected nothing less. “I decided to keep that info to myself, and Legend, who’d found that little tidbit out had his own reasons for not betraying a Night Stalker. But my other brothers? Two million dollars could prove one hell of a temptation, and you,” I point a finger toward her, “stole from us. Hell, most thought you intended to take off with the bike.”

She winces, conceding the point. “But you weren’t able to keep it quiet.”

Brushing my hands over my face, I grimace. “It wasn’t that. My tech guy is good, but your records are redacted. He got some help from another member of the club, one who’s in another charter. He was the one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and Slugger got wind of it.”

She’s gone tense as she asks, “Slugger?”

I meet her eyes. “Some call him the national prez of the Wretched Soulz.”

“Some?”

I give a twisted grin. “It’s not confirmed. Officially, each charter of the Soulz is a law unto themselves.”

“So this Slugger holds some sway over your club.” She’s not stupid, but then I didn’t expect her to be.

I raise my chin, then lower it. “While you were sleeping, he arrived. Spouted about the bounty and got my brothers riled up about it.” My mouth quirks. “They’d all but gotten the Harley brochure out and were already ordering from it.”

She stands and walks over to the window, her hands forming fists. She doesn’t have to speak to let me know how upset she is that to my club her life’s worth no more than a few new motorcycles.

“I didn’t stop to think,” I tell her, again rubbing my hands across my face. “Some of the men would have been with me, but I think the rest would have seen no reason for not giving you up.”

“Because I stole from you.”

That’s it, exactly. Helo’s hardly some innocent looking for protection from us.

She stares at the trees outside. “You took the payday away from your club.”

Put so starkly, it sounds bad. “I’ve bought us some time.” I’m hoping I’ll be able to explain why and what I’ve done. Difficult when even I don’t understand my precipitous decision that I had to get her away. If she asked me for an explanation, I don’t know what I’d say. I just feel in my bones she’s someone who deserves to be saved. Maybe not just my bones, my cock had a lot to say about it.

“I don’t understand why,” she says flatly. “You owe nothing to me. You don’t know anything about me except I’m an ex vet.” She does that little shrug again. “I know some people are grateful to those who’ve served, but it has to be more than that.”

It’s hard for me to put what I don’t understand into words. “You’re fuckin’ brave, intelligent. You’ve probably faced death in the face a thousand times. To be a woman in the Night Stalkers you must have been a fuckin’ demon in the sky. A life like that doesn’t deserve to be snuffed out for whatever amount of dollars.”

“You know nothing about me at all,” she refutes, staring me down. “You surmise I’m a hero, yet you know little more than my name and rank. If I was a man, would you still be protecting me?”

I know enough about myself to know I would not. “A man could look after himself,” I say, immediately knowing that was unwise. As a literal hiss comes out of her mouth, I hasten to rectify my error. “So shoot me,” I start fast. “I noticed you were a fuckin’ woman.” I raise my hand to pre-empt her interruption. “I know you can protect yourself, but I didn’t want you to have to. I wanted to help you.”

“At the expense of losing your club?” Her words are spat out as if she doesn’t believe me.

I have to give her more. I have to lay all my cards on the table. Running my hands over my skull, I prepare to bare my soul. “Never wanted an old lady. If I want sex, I’ve any number of volunteers. Never saw a woman as my equal, as a companion or confidant.” I risk a glance up and see she’s listening avidly. “Until you, Helo. Suddenly you appeared in my world and turned it upside down.” I huff a mirthless laugh. “Here I am, spilling my cards, when even I can’t understand my reaction to you. And hell, I don’t even know how you look at me in return. I’m older than you?—”

There’s a ping from the oven timer. I stand and take out the pizza. Without me having to ask, she’s by my side and taking down a couple of plates. As if by mutual agreement, we suspend conversation as we both sate our appetites.

I’ve bared my soul, and now she’s going to reject me. Well, I deserve it. There I was, thinking I was some hotshot who had a chance with a superwoman who must be ten years off my age. The only reason she hasn’t immediately shot me down is she’s trying to be diplomatic about it. She is, after all, isolated in a cabin far away from any town, with no means of transport. And she doesn’t know me from Adam. I could have a suppressed anger inside me that won’t take well to any rejection.

I’m a fucking fool. I deserve to eat my own bullet.

Accepting I’ve probably already crashed and burned as far as any exploration of a relationship between us is concerned, like an addict grasping one last final fix before rehab, I can’t seem to take my eyes off her.

She eats with economical movements, as if putting fuel into her body means little more than me pumping gas into my bike. As she chews and swallows mechanically, she doesn’t once glance up, seeming to analyse every piece before eating. I decide she’s buying time, expecting to have to walk out of here and sensibly taking the chance to fill her stomach first.

When she swallows a final time, then rubs her lips with the back of her hand, she emits a heavy sigh. As I brace myself for rejection, she leans back and a clouded look comes into her eyes.

“I stole from your club as I didn’t think it was really theft if it belonged to criminals.”

After her opening statement, she glances up. I don’t know whether to laugh or be offended at her explanation, but as I can’t deny we pride ourselves on being a one-percenter club living outside society’s rules, I’m on thin ice if I deny the handle, even if I don’t like it.

Still, I do defend myself, even if the same can’t be said for a number of my brothers. “I’ve never been to prison in my life.”

There’s a slight upturn to her lips as she retorts, “Luck that you haven’t been caught?”

That about sums it up. Though I’d exchange the word luck with one that represented my intelligence, and my ability to stay one step ahead of the law. For an answer, I raise my shoulders, then after a second, lower them down.

Her mouth purses, and any sign of amusement is gone as though it was never there. “I should have known better than to mess with your club, but it was a challenge. My career—my old career—I had to do whatever was needed to get the job done, pushing my Black Hawk to its limits, using all the weapons at my teams’ disposal. Making decisions in a split moment, manoeuvring to give the gunners the best shots. Analysing masses of disparate data for hours, never letting my concentration falter. Missions were exciting, adrenaline filled. There wasn’t a second that you could relax. I’m used to burning energy, using my wits and judgement, balancing risks and benefits, changing a plan at the last second to accommodate new threats or information based on weather conditions or updated intelligence.” She pauses and glances toward me.

I lift my chin, showing I understand what she’s saying. Then, in case she doesn’t see my comprehension tell her, “Civilian life is boring.”

She snorts at my adequate summation. But hell, I don’t need that explanation. I, too, served, and while much was routine, shit came at you out of the blue and you had to react to situations. Had to cope with people being shot and injured—or worse—around you, and without pause take over their position, putting your feelings on hold until later. The military life is not for the faint-hearted, and it’s why so many veterans return unable to cope with everyday life. It’s why I joined the MC rather than seeking another occupation. I, too, understand the need for adrenaline, and to feel you’re in control of your own fate and eventual destination. Of course, in both circumstances, it’s not one big blast. In both the MC and the military, the majority of time is spent hanging around, trying to stay occupied while waiting for something to happen, then when it does, it’s all-hands-on-deck while the shit goes down. The down time can hang heavy, trying to find something to occupy your mind and your hands. Knowing this about her makes it less strange she took the risk of breaking into our shop. It was a challenge she couldn’t resist.

Helo’s just like me and my brothers. We may not make old bones, but what we do while we’re alive is make life worth living.

And fuck me, but her rationalisation has done nothing more than emphasise how she’d make an amazing old lady.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” I breathe out, not realising I’m speaking my thoughts aloud. “Perfect for me.” Sharp eyes meet mine. “I’ve never met anyone like you.” I indicate myself, knowing I’m overreaching, but unable not to try. “From the moment I met you, you intrigued me. You’re beautiful, sexy, but more than that, your soul calls to mine. Fuck, I’m messing this up royally. You probably wouldn’t even look twice at me. I’m too old?—”

“Not perfect. Far from it,” she interrupts. Bowing her head, her body shudders. As if it’s an effort to summon the words, her voices catches as she starts, “I was held captive for six months.”

I open my mouth to tell her I already know that, when she shakes her head, a silent plea with her eyes for me to listen.

It’s not long after she starts speaking that I, a hardened MC prez, am not sure I’m strong enough to want to hear the full story, let alone understand how she could have lived it. But instead of cutting her short and telling her I get the picture, I continue to listen.

I’m just glad we’ve already eaten.