Page 180 of Burning Ember

The location is in the middle of nowhere, past Belen. A great place to meet if you don’t want anyone to see you doin’ somethin’ illegal.

“Got an idea of who might have her,” I tell Dozer. “Davis. He knows about the price on her head.”

“And he’d do anything to hurt us. Let me wake everyone up. Go chug the hell out of some coffee. You look shit tired. Like if you mount your bike, it’s gonna end up tastin’ gravel.”

“No, I’m goin’ now.”

He slaps his hand on top of my shoulder, squeezes it. “Brother, if he’s meetin’ with Pappy and his boys, you’re gonna need us at your back. United—”

“We live, ride, fall.” I clamp my hand on top of his forearm. “But I’m pretty damn sure I’m in love with her so you’ve got five minutes. Then I’m ridin’ out, with or without you.”

Never turn your back on a man that doesn’t recognize his own demons.

EMBER

A door slamming jolts me awake. Blinking away the heavy sleep from my eyes, I take in my surroundings. I’m in the backseat of a car, and the only sound I hear is the constant hiss of the air conditioner. There’s no running motor, music, or proof that anyone else is in here with me.

The last thing I remember is the sedan stopping in front of me, and then Davis. I also recall him shoving a needle into my neck, but not much else.

Judging by how much sunlight is filtering in through the windows, I’d say it’s been hours since then, if not longer.

My entire body is a mass of pain, the side of my abdomen throbbing and mimicking my pulse. The only part of my body that doesn’t hurt is my left shoulder. However, that’s simply because it’s dead from lack of circulation.

I try to sit up a little to check if Davis is in the front seat. It’s nearly impossible with my hands bound behind me, and I regret the undertaking immediately. A sharp bolt of fiery pain shoots up my side, through my shoulder, and down my back. My muscles string tight, and breathing heavily through my nose, I grind my teeth and suck in air.

The door near my head creaks opens and Davis leans in. “Time to wake up. Your new ride’s arrived.” Grabbing me under my arms, he hauls me unceremoniously out of the backseat, not paying a lick of attention to my suffering while he does so.

As soon as I get to my feet, he’s behind me, forcing me forward. Each step takes herculean effort. My wound screams as if someone is pressing a lit torch to my skin and burning me from the outside in. The lava-like heat radiates outward from my side and flows up my torso. It literally feels like I’m dying. And with the amount of blood covering my clothes and skin, I think maybe I am.

I sway, stumble, hiss, and curl inward when it becomes too much to bear. I can’t breathe. I can’t move another step. I just want to lie down and let the ground swallow me up.

But Davis grants me no mercy and shoves me forward.

Instead of focusing on the excruciating agony flowing through me, I center myself around the only thing that feels remotely good and that’s the warmth of the dirt cushioning my feet. The wound still smarts when I put pressure on it, but the heat also somehow soothes it.

Lifting my head to see where he’s forcing me to go, I stop walking abruptly.

Queasiness rolls around in my stomach. Sweat breaks out on my palms and forehead.

Yes, I’m standing in the middle of the desert during a heat wave, but my reaction has nothing to do with the high temperature, and everything to do with the pristine and shiny new Escalade parked twenty feet in front of me. Its windows so darkly tinted I can’t see inside.

I don’t need to see him to know who it is though. The lavishness and the color of the vehicle give him away.

So when the driver’s door opens and Warner steps out, I’m on the verge of throwing up, but not surprised in the least. He’s everything I remember—tall, handsome, physically perfect in every way, and just as intimidating as the day I left him.

He’s wearing a beige suit, no tie, and a stark white shirt. The sun glints off his designer glasses before he removes them, and hangs them at the opening in his collar. With no barrier between his face and mine, I’m hit with what spun my head the first day we met, ice blue eyes, a flawless complexion, and sculpted features.

More beauty than any one person should possess.

And as simple as that, I relive in flashes how his actions changed our story from budding romance to a cautionary tale. One I didn’t know if I’d survive.

I try to twist away, but Davis won’t let me. So I appeal to the cop in him, “Please, don’t do this. You don’t understand what kind of man he is. The minute you leave, he’ll hurt me.”

As Warner gets closer, the side of his mouth lifts and his dimple pops. “There she is,” he coos. “My little phoenix, risen from the ashes.” Then his eyes roam over me, my hair first, then my face, my clothes, and my legs. His smile dims and I can’t help but find pleasure in that.

“Is that her blood?” Warner glares at Davis. “I told you that I didn’t want her harmed.”

“She was already shot when I found her. She won’t say who did it, but I expect it was one of the HOCs.”