Fire Meets Fire: Wretched Soulz MC

Chapter 15

I’d suspected part of the reason Chaz was helping me was because he’d like a sexual relationship. Old news, many men are attracted to me. Maybe it’s the way I’m put together, but often, as a strong independent woman, I imagine they think it would be a challenge to tame me. Sometimes I’d say yes, other times I’d say no.

From the time I’d met Chaz, he intrigued me. On the physical front, he’s got the strong, brooding looks, a muscular body that would attract me, and I’ve found nothing to dislike about his personality. While unable to admit it to myself, part of the reason I returned to the shop was to see him again. It’s been a long time since any man has stirred my interest. But just because I find him good-looking doesn’t mean I need to do more than admire him from a distance.

While we’ve had our ups and downs in such a short time period, I think I’m beginning to understand him. Like me, he’s a leader, and in that I consider him my equal. And strange for a man, I believe he regards me as a partner, not a possession. If it had been before, maybe I’d give it a shot. It would have been fine if my attraction to him had been one-sided.

But apparently it’s not. For some crazy reason, this man has put me in front of his club, and now I’ve got to throw a bucket of cold water over him. Whatever’s in his head about a me and him has to stop. He’s possibly given up so much, he deserves to know the reason.

But God knows, this is hard as fuck. I’m about to tell him things only disclosed before to my counsellor, and even that didn’t help. I’m laying myself bare, stepping back into my nightmare, and taking him along for the ride.

Drawing in an unsteady breath, I prepare to enlighten him. “Though I was captured along with the men, I was soon separated from them.”

He leans his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands, giving me all his attention.

“They had particular ways of torturing women, treating them very different from those with dicks.” Whether it’s the tremor in my voice or the way my hands shake, his eyes widen in understanding, and I’m happy I don’t have to spell it out. “Their torture of me wasn’t to get information. They didn’t expect a woman would know secrets worth knowing. They just saw me as a toy, something they had no trouble using.”

My hands clench and my leg starts bouncing. “They were clever. They didn’t bruise my face or anywhere visible, and they paraded me in front of the men, taunting them that I was cooperating. Mocking I preferred them to American men.”

He wipes a hand over his face. “Didn’t you correct them? And fuck, didn’t the other soldiers know they had to be lying?”

“It was made clear, if I said a word in my defence, they’d kill one of the men. The threat kept me quiet.” I shrug. “At first I think they didn’t believe our captors, but torture does funny things to a person. They killed anyway, and my lack of visible injuries, lack of protestation, well, I could see their attitude changing.” I swallow a couple of times to get saliva into my mouth as my brain conjures up the images in full technicolour. “They stripped me of my uniform, dressed me in their female’s clothes, and forced me to attend the executions, the beheadings. Parading me as a traitor was just one more cruelty for me and them. ”

Jesus. Fuck. He breathes out the words, but I still hear them. I rub at my temples, trying to clear my head, which is intent on showing me the sights, sounds and smells, throwing me back to that time. Of meeting the accusing eyes of the man about to be killed as he’d been told I’d helped them choose the next victim.

Their torture wasn’t just physical, it was mental as well. What could I have done? Protesting my innocence, screaming that, while not visible, I was being hurt as much as them, would only have resulted in more death. It wasn’t mine I was worried about, but I know playing with their captives’ psyche and emotions was an enjoyable game to them. If I’d stopped it, I might have escalated the end of everyone.

If hating me kept them alive, then that was the way it would have to be.

Chaz is waiting. I know I have to use the words to explain. “To the men held captive, I was being kept in luxury. I’d sold them out, was fed and clothed because I gave the terrorists what they wanted.” My hands fist, and my eyes shutter. “My brothers-in-arms thinking that was bad enough, but they had no idea what I was actually going through. I was a toy, and it wasn’t just their cocks they tortured me with.” Pausing, I can’t stop the whole-body shudder as I finally admit the consequences of how I was treated. “They may not have taken my life, but they took my present as well as my future. I can’t fly, and due to their tender ministrations, they damaged me so badly I had to have a hysterectomy when I returned. I will never be able to have children.”

Unable to stand receiving sympathy that would just sanction my self-pity, I fully close my eyes, resting my head in my hands. The cabin isn’t cold, yet my body is racked with shivers. Now I’m guilty I hadn’t explained how broken I was when we’d first met. He’d never have made the sacrifices he has if he knew I wasn’t worth saving.

As he stays silent, I feel the moments tick by. Eventually I stand and go stare out of the window, trying to focus on something that will take my mind away from the scenes that keep replaying in my head. As I feel the air change around me, I’m alerted that Chaz has stepped into my space.

His deep voice sounds from behind me. “These fainting episodes you have. They’re PTSD?”

That’s safer ground than going back through the things that were done to me. “Vasovagal Syncope is the official name. When something triggers me, my heart rate and blood pressure drop.”

“What are your triggers?” he asks, then quickly surmises for himself. “Let me guess, a man behaving in a threatening way, or children.”

That’s two of them. But there’s more. “The way the air moves. A certain scent on the breeze. A sound, a word. Practically anything can have that effect on me.”

“Is there any treatment?”

“Avoiding triggers?” I half-turn, letting him see that while they are so numerous and can come out of nowhere, that’s hardly something that I can achieve. “Oh, they suggest not getting dehydrated or stressed, and, of course, trying to stay in safe places so you don’t hurt yourself when the inevitable happens.”

“Like lying on a beam, shooting at members of an outlaw MC.”

“That’s not my definition of stressful,” I retort.

He chuckles loudly, then says, “I so want to give you a hug.” His hands lift, but they remain still in the air, a physical as well as verbal offer. Just one move on my part would take me into his arms. Human comfort that I haven’t felt for what seems like years.

Again, a shuddering sigh leaves my body. “I like you, Chaz. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I can’t repay you.” I give a sad shake of my head. “I suspect a major trigger would be a man trying to touch me.” And that had already been proven, the prominence of his enlarged cock had ended our fight.

“I can understand you not wanting a man to fuck you,” he states bluntly, his eyes narrowing. “I just think you’ve been on your own so long, you’d like someone on your side. A hug is all I’m offering.” He breaks off, harrumphs, then grins. “I’ve too much respect for my balls to push you too far.”

My body wavers toward him. Something about what he’s offering calls viscerally to me. He’s right. I’ve been alone far too long, all my life if I’m honest. I feel drained from my confessions, and the idea of leaning on someone if only for a short time is something I’m loathe to turn down.

But I need to warn him. I have no clue what my traitorous body is likely to do. “I might…”

“I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.” With that statement, he takes the decision out of my hands, placing his lightly on my arms and pulling me to him. His hold is so gentle there’s no way to feel entrapped, and with his palm on my head as encouragement, I place my cheek on his chest. He feels solid. He’s all muscle and no flab, and even though he’s not wearing his cut, the scent of leather still pervades as though it’s ingrained into his skin. I don’t feel trapped, nor afraid. For a while, he holds me without moving, then slowly he starts to stroke my hair.

His non-threatening, non-sexual caress calms me, and rather than the rate of my heart dropping, its beat seems to sync with his. There’s no telltale ringing in my ears, no dizziness, no signs I’m going to pass out. The longer he holds me, the more of my weight I give him, and the more I relax.

It’s a few minutes before his chest rumbles. “You think the person after you is one of those who survived?” I start to tense, and he continues his caress. “Or maybe a relative of one who died?

“I got a medal,” I whisper. “One I didn’t deserve.”

“You fuckin’ deserved it,” he snarls. If his words hadn’t been in my defence, the intensity of his tone might have frightened me. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he continues. “You probably saved lives doing your best to get the helicopter down, and then did what you had to in order to survive. You sacrificed for your country in ways men could never understand.”

I might not be a girly girl, but like most women, I thought one day I might get married and start a family. Or, at least, that I would have that option. Of course, not every woman can conceive, but few have the opportunity taken away. I suppose it’s human nature to want something when it’s no longer a possibility.

“Way I see it is you’re the same as someone who’s lost a limb though there’s no visible injury.”

“Being without an arm or a leg would be worse,” I disagree.

“But probably just as hard to come to terms with.”

His arms are too comforting, so much so I make myself pull away. I can’t get attached to anyone, not given the way I’m currently forced to live. I also don’t want to feel I owe anyone anything, and Chaz has risked everything to get me away.

Turning toward the window again, I wrap my arms around my body. It’s no substitute for his, but it’s far safer. I speak over my shoulder.

“How did you get Jacinta here when you threw your phone away?”

“I always carry a couple of burners in my saddlebags.”

Of course he does. But I’m glad he’s got a way to communicate. “Ring your brothers and go back to them. It might not be too late to mend your fences.”

“Darlin’, I sealed my fate when I took you away. The only recompense I could make is taking you back with me and that’s the price I’m not going to pay.”

“I don’t understand.” I’ve told this man he can have no expectations, no hopes of a future with me.

“Would it help if I say neither do I?” He comes up behind me, resting his fingers lightly on my shoulders. “I’ve got no fuckin’ idea what made me do such a crazy thing. I just knew I couldn’t let whoever that bastard is get his hands on you.”

“I’m no one to you.”

“For some reason, you are,” he contradicts. “At the very least I want a chance to get to know you and I couldn’t do that if I gave you up or if you disappeared halfway across the country.” His fingers squeeze gently. “Let me help you, darlin’.”

Still addressing my comments to the world outside, I speak softly, “I was released from the hospital, came back and started to rebuild my life. Not that I knew where to start. There wasn’t much call for a pilot who could no longer fly, or even a mechanic who couldn’t drive. I was trying to work out what to do to survive when the threatening letters began to arrive.” I pause, thinking back to how it all began. “I didn’t think anything of them until they became more detailed and revealed shit that wasn’t in the public domain. Then…” Automatically my shoulders shrug as the remembered pain comes back to me. “I was actually coming back from a job interview when two masked men chased me.” I pause, wondering how much I need to say. Then decide my injury speaks for itself and that there’s no necessity to go into the horrors of that day. “They thought the pain would be enough to disable me, but they were wrong. I got away. But it was obvious from then on, I needed to take the threats seriously. They knew my address, so I moved. More letters arrived. They were tracking me in some way. So I packed a bag, ditched my phone and took out as much cash as I could before stowing my cards away. I’ve lived off the grid since.”

“Did you go to the police?” When I’m slow in answering, he prompts, “Well?”

Slowly I dip my head up and down. “I did.” For all the good it had done. “They weren’t interested.”

His eyes narrow. “Not fuckin’ interested? Surely you showed them your shoulder?”

I had, but it hadn’t helped. “There was a photo of a Marine on the detective’s desk.” My eyes glaze as I remember.

“My son relies on pilots like you to get him out, not to crash.” He’d sneered as though I’d done it on purpose. “You’re accusing men who are either dead or returned half the men that they were.”

He was right. One had lost a foot, another half his arm.

“And here you’re sitting in front of me, nothing the fuck wrong with you and making up stories about real heroes. At worst, you’re attention seeking. At best, you’re suffering PTSD, probably because you spent six months without being allowed to put makeup on.”

I hadn’t realised I’d repeated what the detective had told me out loud until Chaz swears violently, and follows his exclamation by telling me, “PTSD is a given. No one could have escaped without that.” He brushes his hands across his head. “Being captured was bad for everyone, but the men weren’t tortured all the time. You were. You were kept away from your fellow soldiers and isolated. You were made to put on a show so they wouldn’t be killed in front of you. Losing a limb is fuckin’ hard, not denying that, but it can be compensated for. No one’s ever going to be able to give back what you lost, or for you to forget what you’re carrying around in here.” He taps my forehead as he finishes his monologue.

I suppose this part is hard to explain. “I knew I’d made a mistake trying to involve the authorities. I couldn’t tell them anything to explain.” I hold up my hand to pre-empt him asking why. “I knew it was all connected to my last mission, and who was on it and why was classified.”

“Surely you could have reported it to someone in your unit?”

“It seemed easier to run.”

“What about friends, family?”

“Most of my friends were people I served with. As for family, I’ve none.” He must remember the explanation of how I got my name, how no one wanted me from the start.

After what had happened to me, I hadn’t connected with any of the people I’d known previously when I returned. How could I admit I’d been raped repeatedly? How could I try to pretend to be normal when suddenly I might fall unconscious at their feet? It had been easier to make a new start, to have to think about nothing other than surviving day to day. Trying to cope in a world without a safety net of my savings or a bed of my own on which to lay my head kept me focused on moving forward.

“So you’ve never considered making a stand?”

Pulling out of his arms, I take a step back and glare. “Against what? Someone I don’t know who’s coming for me?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t take you for a coward.”

I’ve never been called a coward in my life. My muscles tense as I take a step forward and growl, “I’m no fucking coward.”

“Walks like a duck…”

I swing for him. Anticipating my move, he blocks my fist, grabbing hold of it, using my momentum to turn me and entrap me with my back to his front. When I go to use a move that will release me from my hold, he roars out.

“Listen to me. If you had the balls to fight the right people instead of the one that’s trying to help you, maybe you wouldn’t be such a mess. I’m not your fuckin’ enemy.”

He doesn’t remind me he walked out on his club to be with me, though he could easily take that advantage. If he had used those words, I would have ranted and reminded him I never asked to be rescued. But that he keeps the part he played in keeping me safe quiet somehow emphasises the importance of words he’s not saying more than those that he does, and instead of fighting him, I start thinking.

I don’t even know what I’m doing to myself. I’m a warrior, yet I’ve run from this situation. Maybe there was more I could have done, more help I could have requested, but instead, getting away seemed easier than facing my literal demons.

Because I have enough dealing with the ones in my head.That’s what I’m trying to run from, and yet they always keep up.

I’m a fucking mess.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here.” Suddenly the weight of what he’s done seems too heavy a load to carry, added on top of everything else.