Spark in the Ashes (Steel Souls MC Book 1) Page 10

  Well, fuck.

  That certainly put me in my place. Not having parents that gave a shit made me hardened to the whole family support, love, togetherness vibe, but seeing the hurt in her eyes, makes me feel a fraction of her obvious pain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …”

  “Forget it.” She shrugs, balling up the napkin in front of her and tossing it to the side of the table.

  “I didn’t know …”

  “How could you know? It’s fine.” She slides out of the booth. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath after watching her walk away. I scrub my hands through my hair, digging my fingers into my scalp as I wonder what the hell this is all about. What the fuck am I doing? Like I don’t have enough going on at the moment. The last thing I need is a woman complicating my life. Club girls like Kimmie have complicated it enough in the past, and I know it’s a much easier life if I get my dick wet without the emotional complications of a girlfriend or a wife. Hell, I’ve watched big, bad, grown men fall, all because of a woman and I never understood why, until now. I have a neanderthal need to claim her, a primal desire to own her, and perhaps what scares me the most is the compulsion to wipe that pain and fear from her soul, and to make her smile and laugh and mend, just for me.

  I pay the bill and lean against the doorframe of the exit while I wait for Sadie to come out, trying to push away the thoughts that are making me dissect everything spinning around in my head. I don’t need to overthink things. She’s just a woman, I’ve seen women before. I’ve been with them in many, many ways and she’s no different, I tell myself. But despite my own insistence, I’m battling with the niggling thought that I know something is different about her. She pushes her way out of the door and comes down the hallway, flicking her dark glossy hair over her shoulder. She smiles at me when her eyes meet mine, and I push off the doorframe and swing the door open for her. “Ready to go?”

  “Yep,” she says, stepping in front of me. As she moves forwards, the breeze catches her hair, blowing it back from her elegant neck, exposing the curve of her shoulder and making my mind wander, and my mouth moisten. Until a familiar growl of rolling Harleys fills the parking lot. I look ahead over Sadie’s shoulder and see three bikes. Three guys. Three leather cuts.

  White Wolves.

  Chapter 11

  I feel him tight against my back, and it’s all I can do not to stop dead and let him push himself up against me. He makes me feel vulnerable and exposed, but there’s something about him that makes me not care about all that because I also feel safe. Weirdly safe.

  Before I can take another step further, I’m picked up and hauled backward by his strong arms forced tightly around my waist, which pushes all the air out of my chest and makes my head spin as I struggle to figure out what’s going on here.

  “Ram,” I cough out on a whoosh of air.

  “Quiet,” he barks as he runs down the corridor we just came up.

  I push at his hands, but they’re clasped too tightly for me to loosen even just a fraction. “What are you doing?” I question, and immediately feel stupid for asking as I’m sure as hell, at the speed and urgency he’s moving, he isn’t about to stop and tell me.

  He barges against the fire exit, and it swings open, leading us out to the back of the diner. Ram drops me down and pushes my back against the wall, clasping my jaw tightly and forcing me to listen to him. “If they see you, you will be dead, understand?” The seriousness in his tone and his rasping breaths sends a chill down my spine, but I nod telling him that I’ve heard every word loud and clear. “If they see either of us, this might be the day we both die, so you need to do as I tell you.” I nod again, and he breathes deeply through his nose. “I’m going to see where they are. Then I’m going to swing the bike around here, and you need to jump on as fast as you can, and hold on as tight as you can, got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Where’s your gun?” he asks, raising his chin.

  “Here,” I tap the back of my jeans. “But it’s not—”

  “Have it ready,” he orders, not giving me a chance to reply as his mouth assaults mine—his lips press hard, his tongue forcing entry and searching for mine, his breaths fast and hard in his chest as a groan rumbles in his throat. He pulls away abruptly, and with the pad of his thumb quickly stroking my cheek and a wicked gleam in his eye, he makes off around the corner, and I drop my head back against the wall. It’s not until the lustful fog clears that my adrenaline spikes for a different reason, and I’m acutely aware of my surroundings. I have my gun, but did Ramsey forget he took my ammo? Shit. I’m completely unarmed. A shot makes me jump, followed by several more, then the roar of a Harley. Within a couple of seconds, Ram is screaming around the corner, and I leap onto the back of his bike as he comes level with me.

  “You okay?” I yell over the noise as we circle back around to the front of the diner and the only exit.

  “Never better, darlin’.” I laugh and hold on tightly to his waist as we pull away and watch the three Wolves come running out of the diner with their guns drawn. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure I busted all their tires.” Ram smirks over his shoulder and places one hand over mine as we pull further away from some very pissed off bikers. My mind, however, is tossing and turning and spinning in circles trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my life, more to the point, since I met Ramsey. It’s only been a matter of days since we first met, but we’ve been close, physically, and emotionally in a weird, warped, unconventional way. First, he seems to hate me and sends me away, then he drags me to his room, kicking and screaming, but he doesn’t hurt me, not really. Then he takes me for coffee. Coffee for fuck’s sake. After everything that went before, he took me for coffee! Such a normal thing to do—the kind of thing you might even do on a first date—complete with a kiss.

  My reverie is broken when the air around us changes, and it’s not just Ram’s bike I can hear along this road. We both glance back at the same time, and he mutters under his breath, tucking my hand tighter around his waist, then grabbing both bars and dropping his head between his shoulders before hitting the throttle hard. We accelerate forward, but I check behind us every other second and the guy is gaining. There’s only one of him on his bike and two of us on Ram’s which is making us slower.

  “You got your pistol?” Ram shouts back.

  “Yes. But it’s not loaded.”

  “I lied.”

  “You did?” I question. I guess he didn’t want to give me the power when we were back in his room. I didn’t even check.

  “Yes. Shoot his fucking tires out, and if that fails, aim for his heart,” he orders. I pull my gun and aim for his front tire. I’ve done plenty of shooting at the range, but they were all static targets, and I was never under such pressure with adrenaline speeding through my veins. My hands are shaking almost uncontrollably. I give myself a mental pep talk—I know how serious this could be if I don’t hit it right.

  I squeeze the trigger.

  It bounces off metal, and he keeps coming—keeps advancing on us. When I shoot again, nothing happens, “The magazine is jammed,” I yell over the roar of the bikes and the fear in my head.

  “Take mine,” Ram bellows, and I reach around his waist, pulling it from the front of his jeans and releasing the safety. I glance back and see the other biker reach into his cut. Reality slamming into me makes me more determined and more focused.

  It’s him or us.

  It’s now or die.

  I pull the trigger, and it hits. His tire blows with a bang, and the bike jackknifes out from underneath him, launching him across the asphalt as it screeches noisily into the roadside.

  “He’s down!” I tell Ram.

  “Anyone else back there?”

  “No, sir,” I answer, and I feel Ram groan in his chest.

  We ride for a while. Five minutes, maybe even ten, before Ramsey pulls off the main road and onto a dirt track. He drives as far as
the track allows before we come to a wooden gate and he cuts the engine.

  “Off,” he says softly, holding out his hand to the side to help me off. I place my hand in his, smiling as he wraps his fingers gently around mine. I never imagined such a bad boy biker could offer such little gestures of tenderness, even if it were preceded with an order. He follows me off the bike then pushes me gently in front of him, walking forward until I’m pressed between his chest and the five-bar gate. He takes his gun from my hand, tucks it away and runs his hands down the length of my arms. He tangles his fingers in mine and spreads them wide across the top bar, leaning into me and pushing his face into my hair. His hot breath fans the sensitive skin on my neck as I look out into the distance and get lost in sensation. A beautiful view, unspoiled for miles. Hills and trees graced only by lone birds gliding on the thermals then perching at the very tops of the trees to rest a while. The beauty of this place is overshadowed by the acute awareness of his warm, surprisingly soft, gentle lips pressing against my skin, then trailing along my shoulder and hovering in the curve of my neck as I tilt my head to the side to give him better access. I groan as he inhales and rests his head against mine for a second as if he needs the interval to gather his racing thoughts and feelings too. Just as I’m about to speak, his lips are back on my skin, disabling my ability to form coherent thoughts and rendering my words useless on my tongue. He sucks, and licks, and grazes his teeth against my flesh. The wicked sensation picking up the adrenaline from earlier and fast tracking it through every inch of my veins. His hands tighten over mine and his weight presses against me, pinning me between him and the gate, and covering me with his presence as much as his rock hard body.

  A raven circles over us and cries, and it’s that one simple act of nature that splits my concentration and my mind jumps to life, screaming at me to take control of this situation. I’m not in control of this, and it’s not that I don’t like it, I do. I like it too much, and I can already feel my defense slipping and falling around my knees. I’m lost to him, to the sensation of his protective body over mine, to his lips on my skin, to the high he’s making me climb, to a fairy-tale where he’s my knight in shining armor coming to rescue me. But I’m not a damsel in distress, and I don’t need rescuing, do I?

  I wiggle my hands, trying to drag them out from underneath his, but he presses harder, keeping me in place.

  “Ramsey,” I say breathlessly, knowing I have to get a handle on this. I have to get a grip on myself.

  “I love it when you say my name,” he rasps, breathing heavily in my ear before sucking the lobe between his teeth. My body reacts, sending electric pulses through me, and my knees weaken despite my attempt to stay in control.

  I vowed to always have control in this kind of situation. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t let a man influence my mind with his body, or with what he did to mine. Sexual encounters have previously always been on my terms. Fully controlled and with no emotion. I always chose to sleep with guys that were grateful for the attention. The ones that weren’t well-practiced and didn’t try for anything more than I was willing to offer them. That way I could control the situation. But this is worlds away from my past. From the second we met, Ramsey threw out my rule book and started to write his own.

  “I feel you fighting it,” he whispers, sliding his hand from mine and trailing his fingers lightly up my arm, along my neck, and into my hair. He entwines his fingers and grips firmly, turning my head to him and releasing my other hand so I can turn my body, pressing my chest against his. I hold onto the gate that’s now at my back, with my arms spread on either side of me. Ramsey holds me by my hair—his other palm pressed against my chin with his fingers cupping my face. He’s not gentle, but it doesn’t hurt, in fact, ironically, I feel more protected, more at home, than I ever have before now. “What do you want, Sadie, girl?”

  “I—” I try to think. What is it I want? What is my aim in life, my purpose?

  “You want a nice little day job, a husband, and a couple of screaming kids?”

  “No,” I answer immediately. This wasn’t ever something I dreamt about. But I do dream every night, and what is it I dream about? “Revenge,” I say, and he grins. That cruel, special smile spreading across his lips and letting me see the dark soul within him that calls to mine. “I want revenge.”

  “Then I guess we’re driven by the same thing,” he speaks against my lips, resting there for a heartbeat before unapologetically taking my mouth and commanding my mind just like he does with every other situation I’ve seen him in.

  I submit. Not because I’m weak, or naïve. But because I want to. Because it feels so damn good, and because for the first time in my life it’s actually something I desperately want with every breath. I would feel like I was doing myself a disservice to deny the carnal desire that consumes me when it comes to him.

  As his tongue wraps around mine and his lips seal our breaths, I feel his soul speak to mine. Damaged, broken, but fighting back, whatever the consequences. He’s not a threat to me. He doesn’t want to shoot, or maim, or torture me for his own warped gains. But he might pose a greater danger. Getting under my skin, and seeing into my soul could expose me to him in the most vulnerable way possible, but I would rather risk it than live an empty life—bitter and twisted and unknowing.

  I grab the hem of his t-shirt and push it up over his toned, tight belly, sliding my hands up and over his abs and chest, hungrily exploring his smooth skin and not caring about the consequences. He drops his hand from my hair but places it on my cheek to mirror the other with a groan. He pulls me to him, our bodies and breaths close, so close, yet it’s not close enough. I slide my hands around his waist and feel out every dip and curve of the muscles pulled taut across his back. As his hands leave my jaw and start to explore my body, I groan deeply in the back of my throat—an involuntary action that I’ve never experienced before.

  But then another noise distracts me, his cell.

  I pull back, but he pulls me closer, ignoring the call. “It might be important,” I say.

  “It’s not,” he grunts, before kissing me hard. “This is more important than anything.” The cell rings off, and I settle back into his kiss, his touch, his urgency to consume me. But it rings again, echoing around us and making it impossible for me to concentrate. I push at his chest and reluctantly pull my lips away from his. “You should get that.”

  “I should throw it down the fucking valley,” he curses, before grabbing it out of his pocket and answering the call. “YES,” he barks. I cough out a laugh at the frustration etched across his face. He smirks and shakes his head, but the lightheartedness lasts only a second as I hear bellowing from the other end of the call. Ramsey nods, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand, “I’ll be right back.” He jabs his finger to his cell and ends the call, glancing up at me under his brows. “We gotta go.” He snatches up the helmet that has been hooked over the handlebars and goes to place it on my head.

  “Why do I have to wear that?”

  “Because I say so.” He wiggles it into position and fiddles with the strap under my chin.

  “But I didn’t have to wear it before,” I complain.

  He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and gives me a hard stare, but with a smirk tipping the corner of his lips. “That’s because we were being chased and stopping you getting shot was more important than arguing over protecting that pretty head of yours at the time. Stop acting like a teenager and do as you’re told.”

  “Or what?” I challenge.

  He pushes the length of his index finger under my chin and tilts my head up. “Or I’ll bend you over my bike and spank your ass until it’s red raw and you won’t sit down for a week.”

  “Oh,” I say quietly, biting my lip to stifle the grin that’s bursting out of me. He raises a brow and doesn’t even wait for me to challenge him on this before straddling his bike. I follow, climbing on behind him, pressing myself against him tightly and taking a second t
o run my hands over his chest one last time before I have to hold on for real. He throws me a look over his shoulder before starting up and pulling away.

  The ride back to Ramsey’s headquarters is smooth, quiet, and contemplative. On the long, straight stretches of road, he lets go of the handlebars with one hand to entwine his fingers with mine, and just like each time we’ve encountered each other in any way, I wonder why he fascinates me so much, and why I feel so safe in his presence. He’s an outlaw, probably messed up in a ton of illegal shit, shit I have no business in, and that I don’t want to be mixed up with. But I can’t throw off the draw that I have to get mixed up with him, the only man that has ever looked so deeply into my soul, the only man that has made me feel alive—an individual, not just a woman to be used and thrown away. I’ve never gotten close to any man, other than Vaughn, the man that might as well be my father. He’s loved me, protected me, and guided me through all life’s problems ever since the night that changed my life. He’s the man that knows me better than anyone, but he doesn’t really know me at all.

  Chapter 12

  The prospect on watch duty slides open the gate as we approach. I swing the bike into my usual parking space and cut the engine. Having Sadie with me will give me a momentary reprieve from JJ’s wrath. But he’s pissed, so pissed that even Satan would hide from him at this moment in time. I knew taking Dago and Spice was risky. I knew it would either piss them off or show them we mean business, and apparently, the fact that I blew out The Wolves’ tires back at the diner and nearly killed one of their guys when his bike spun off the road makes me look guilty about having something to do with their disappearance. If I weren’t guilty, I would have faced them, so they seem to think. Maybe that would have been a better option—they weren’t likely to shoot in such a busy public place. But having Sadie with me changed my train of thought, and I couldn’t risk them taking a good look and coming after her to spite me. The Wolves are sick fuckers, twisted in the head, and would do unthinkable things to my girl just to prove a point, so I took a risk by shooting first and thinking about it later. I can deal with JJ—I’ll have to, and between us, we can handle The Wolves.