Chapter Four
Inferno
The morning peeked slowly through the blinds in thin stripes of pale golden light cutting across the bed to make Juniper seem more ethereal than she already did.
Once she’d passed out, she hadn’t moved.
Her weight settled against my chest, one arm flung over my ribs and her hair spilling in ringlets across my skin.
I could feel each breath she took, steady and deep.
Her lips were parted slightly, the red long gone.
What color on her face remained was just her.
Just the woman. And she was even more beautiful than she had been the night before.
My arm had gone numb under her hours ago, and I didn’t give a good Goddamn.
My club-issued quarters had never felt comfortable when it was this quiet before. Usually the silence pressed and brought back painful memories. Sometimes I filled it with the television or music. Not this morning. Today the quiet sat easy and so fucking peaceful I never wanted it to end.
My mind drifted. It did that sometimes in the mornings if I didn’t want to get up immediately.
Three weeks back I’d run a controlled burn for the club.
We’d torched Enclave éclipse and hadn’t lost a moment’s sleep.
Nothing in the surrounding area had anything other than mild heat damage.
The Miles family had quietly taken care of those properties.
I remembered the acrid smell as the electrical short I’d rigged sparked and flamed.
The flames had taken structure and the whole thing burned hot and fast. The concrete slab had survived, though was no doubt severely degraded.
Everything else was gone. We’d even volunteered to help clean up the mess after the fire department finished their investigations.
That was the last major task I’d done before this woman landed in my lap at Throttle. Juniper stirred against me now. Her fingers tightened against my ribs, then relaxed. A small sound escaped her. Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open.
“Sleep, honey,” I said. My voice came out rough with sleep. “It’s still early.”
She made another sound, deeper, and settled. Her breathing evened out. The arm across my chest grew heavier, and she settled back into a peaceful sleep.
I waited until I was sure she was under again.
Then I carefully extracted myself so I didn’t disturb her.
When I freed myself, she rolled onto her side, curling into the warm space I’d left, one hand clutching the pillow where my chest had been.
The blanket had slipped to her waist. My T-shirt rode up her back, exposing the dip of her spine and the curve of her hip where the sheet had tangled.
I stood beside the bed and looked at her. Morning light caught the auburn in her hair and turned it copper. Sleep had dropped her guard completely, the tension she wore like armor during the day loosening its hold. The burns on her forearms caught the light too, pale lines against her skin.
I pulled on my jeans from the floor and fastened them before padding downstairs and through the common room. Empty bottles lay scattered on the pool table. A jacket draped over a chair. The clock above the bar read 6:17.
The kitchen smelled like yesterday’s coffee and the lingering ghost of whatever someone had reheated earlier. I started a fresh pot and leaned against the counter while it brewed and my stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since before Throttle.
The refrigerator yielded eggs, bread, and butter, so I cracked four eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork until the yolks broke.
I scrambled some eggs, made some buttered toast, and set them on a plate.
I divided the eggs between two plates and added a slice of cheese to each because cheese made everything better.
The coffee finished and I poured two mugs, setting them on the counter.
I hadn’t made breakfast for two in a long time.
Had I ever? I’d have to think about that one.
I found a big party tray the old ladies sometimes used and managed to fit both plates and mugs on the thing, getting back upstairs easier than I’d first feared.
When I reached my door, it stood slightly ajar.
I nudged it wider with my boot and found Juniper halfway across the room, dressed and putting her boots on.
Her car key lay on the coffee table in front of her.
She froze when she saw me. The red dress was wrinkled but intact.
Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot, and she’d found her lipstick somewhere because the red was back, bright and deliberate across her mouth.
I had the feeling her whole outfit was her armor against the ridicule and rejection she’d experienced last night with her ex.
Though, a part of me really wanted to see her back in my bed in my T-shirt.
Or nothing. The wide-eyed look on her face said she thought she’d make it out before I returned.
“Morning,” I said, giving her a wink.
I crossed to the small table by the window and set the plates down. The coffee mugs followed. Steam rose from both in thin curls. I pulled out a chair and sat. “Eat something before you drive.”
She stayed where she was. “I was just --”
“Leaving. I can see that.” I picked up my fork and cut into the eggs.
They were still warm. “Your car’s where Darby promised.
Nobody’s touched it. But I’ll feel better if you eat first.” I grinned.
“Consider it payment for putting one over on your ex, birthday girl.” She looked at the plate.
Then at me. Then at the door. The war playing out on her face in real time looked like pride versus hunger versus whatever story she’d been telling herself about making a clean exit.
“Come on, Juniper. Food’s getting cold.”
She gave a very put-out sounding huff but crossed to the table. Pulled out the other chair and sat. Picked up her fork. Took a bite. Her eyes closed for a second. When they opened, she turned to look at the window instead of at me. “This is good,” she said. “Really good.”
“Thank my mom. She taught me three recipes before I left home. Eggs, grilled cheese, and how not to burn water.”
That got a smile out of her. Small, but real. She ate another bite. Drank some coffee. The tension in her shoulders started to loosen, little by little.
I let her eat in silence for a while. The morning light had strengthened, turning the stripes on the bed to solid bars of gold. Outside, the compound was coming awake. Someone’s bike rumbled to life in the parking lot below and a door slammed out in the hall somewhere.
When her plate was half empty, I said, “Tell me about Brett.”
Her fork stopped midway to her mouth. She set it down carefully. “What about him?”
“However much you want to tell me.” I knew she was ready to bolt the second she could, and I wanted to prolong her visit as much as I wanted her to finish her breakfast. For some reason, taking care of her seemed the most important thing I had to do.
She took a long drink of coffee. Set the mug down and turned it between her hands.
“He’s just a guy. A jerk, but harmless. He’s some kind of big shot real estate agent to the rich and powerful in Nashville.
I guess he’s good at his job but bad at relationships.
” She shrugged. The movement was too casual to be genuine.
“We were together two years. He moved into my place after my grandmother died and helped me through some stuff. Then last night he decided I was too much and not enough, all at the same time, and dumped me over pork chops.” She looked up with a bitter smile.
“Too much and not enough,” I repeated.
“Yeah. You know. Needy but boring. Emotional but predictable.” She picked up her fork again and pushed eggs around the plate. “Standard breakup script for a guy who’s already got his next girlfriend lined up.”
“And the blonde at Throttle?”
“Apparently the next girlfriend.” She looked up at me then and her smile softened into genuine thanks. “But he got the message last night, thanks to you. Trust me. He won’t be back, and I sincerely appreciate your help.”
I’d seen men like Brett before. Men who built their self-worth on having women they could diminish.
Very likely he needed to be the smartest person in every room and couldn’t stand it when someone else held the floor.
Men like that called women emotional when they actually meant they didn’t like being held accountable.
Brett wasn’t harmless. No man who made a woman feel lesser-than just to boost his own ego was ever harmless. But she wasn’t ready to hear that and pushing it would only make her defensive. And shorten the time I got to spend with her.
“He ever put hands on you?” I asked, giving her an intense look I hoped made her afraid to lie to me.
She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. Just words.” She looked off. “Lots and lots of words.” With a sigh, she set her fork down. “I’m not some damsel in distress, Inferno. I picked a fight with him at Throttle because I was pissed, not because I was scared.”
“I know.” I reached across the table and touched the back of her hand.
I needed to see her smile again. This subdued, almost defeated version of Juniper made me physically ache, and I rubbed the center of my chest absently as I cleared my throat.
“You picked a fight with me too, remember? Hopping on my lap like you owned the place.”
That got a real laugh out of her. The sound filled the room and lessened the band around my chest somewhat. Her shoulders dropped another inch. “God, that was bold. I still can’t believe I did that.”
“Believe it.” I finished my coffee. “You’ve got a pair on you, birthday girl. I respect that.”
While she finished eating, we sat in comfortable silence. She reached for my jacket, still draped over the chair where she’d left it last night, and dug through the pockets. Her phone came out. The screen was dark.
“I turned it off before I left for Throttle and forgot about it.”