Page 42 of Burning Ember

Bodie stops trying to molest Lo. “Why? You already in line old man?” Then his nose scrunches up. “Dude, that’s sick. She looks like she’s your daughter.”

“What? What the fuck?” Griz looks stunned. Like the thought never crossed his mind.

Bodie’s eyes widen to the size of golf balls. “Oh, my God, man! What if she’s your daughter and you don’t know it and you fuck her? That’s like fuckin’ incest.”

I shake my head and mutter, “Notlikeincest, Tweedle Dumb. Itisincest.”

Griz’s face pales then his eyes flash with annoyance. “Why the fuck would you say somethin’ like that? Now I’m not—you selfish son of a bitch!” He pushes Bodie back.

Bodie nearly falls over. He’s laughing so hard Lo has to do her best to try to keep him on his feet. “Well? It’s possible,” he says after he recovers.

Griz growls, “Anything’s possible, you fucknut. Doesn’t mean you go sayin’ just any ol’ thing that pops into your head.”

“Bet you a hundred bucks she doesn’t last another day,” Taz states.

A cunning smile spreads over Griz’s face. “I’ll take that bet. We gingers are stubborn. If she wants to be here, then she’ll stick around.”

“And who are you to talk?” Taz says to Bodie. “You keep scratchin’ at all the club pussy and bed jumpin’ like you’ve been doin’, you’re gonna have a few bastards yourself. Then your old lady’s got proof you been hittin’ it on the side and she’s gonna leave your ass for good this time,” Taz chimes in.

Bodie’s smile vanishes in a flash. He glares at Taz. “Why the fuck you always got to bring her up?”

“Just being the voice of reason.”

“Well don’t. Mind your own fuckin’ business.”

I’ve seen and heard this argument more times than I care to count. Next Bodie will insinuate that Taz has a thing for his old lady. Taz never denies it, which only perpetuates the problem. I know it’s not so much that he finds her attractive, well that’s a lie, every brother finds her attractive, but that’s not why Taz is constantly on Bodie’s ass about her. No, Taz hates disloyalty, any form of it. So he reminds the old lady’d-up brothers of their ties, every chance he gets.

I turn to the bar and when Lita comes over, I say, “Bottle.” She raises an eyebrow. “Jack,” I clarify. Yeah it’s one ofthosenights. A few seconds later, she hands it over. It’s three-quarters full, but I plan to rectify that shortly.

After leaving the main room, I head down the hall and take the stairs two at a time to the second floor. For some fucked up reason, my legs stall next to Dozer’s door and I can’t seem to move again until I’m sure there’s nothing happening on the other side.

But to make sure, I still peek into the crasher room where I find D passed out on a bed alone. The sight eases the knot in my stomach a little.

Once I’m in my room, I waste no time. I upend the bottle and start chugging. Needing to wash away this fucked up day. Drown out the images circling in my head, and get back to being numb. Forget that Dana version two ever walked through my door.

I drink and drink, until I’m hammered . . . and drink some more.

Then smoke and pace. And repeat.

I rub my hand over my buzz cut. Usually, I find the coarse hair scraping against my palm soothing, but not tonight. Tonight, no matter what I do, I can’t shut off my brain. I can’t keep the past at bay. I can’t fight the draw of the girl in the other room.

In my drunken fog, I do something colossally stupid. Something I know I shouldn’t. But if I don’t remind myself of why I need to stay clear of her, I’m going to break into Dozer’s room and do something even more stupid.

I need to shut down this hope that maybe with someone new I can forget my past and have a future.

I squat down, reach under the bed, pull out my black duffle bag, and set it on the bed.

I drag the zipper open. My stomach falls to the floor and my breath leaves me. The hole in my chest cracks wide. Searing hot pain shoots through my sternum and knocks me on my ass. I drop my ass to the bed. The bottle falls to the ground and spills out. I lean forward, cradle my face, and fight the pain with anger. It’s the only way I can stop myself from falling apart. When I’m teetering on the edge of sorrow, I push myself to the brink of rage.

I curse Dana. And God. And myself.

It was my fucking fault for trying to save a stray. For trying so hard to hold onto someone who was so used to being on the run. Who valued her freedom above everything else. Above anything I tried to give her. Even when I tried to give her all of me.

There’s always one dog more likely to snap at the hand that feeds it.

MAVERICK

Her hands grip the hem of my shirt . . . but before she can lift it . . . I beat her there. Reaching behind me, I pull it up and over my head and toss it aside. The second I do, I slide my hand behind her neck and pull her forward. Nose to nose. I breathe in her scent, her girly, fruity scent. I brush my lips over hers and she moans. It’s all I need to know that she wants this as much as I do. I crush my lips to hers. But it’s not enough. I want inside her any way I can. When I lick at her lips, she opens for me.