Wild Fire: A Chaos Novella Read online

  Dutch still said nothing.

  “Dutch.”

  “Maybe I’ll rough him up a lot.”

  “Dutch!” she snapped.

  “That’s the kind of hardcore Chaos is too,” he informed her.

  “Ohmigod, I shouldn’t have told you.”

  She was right.

  She shouldn’t have told him.

  “Are you being serious right now?” she demanded.

  “No, baby.” He gave her fingers a squeeze while he totally lied, “I’d never do something like that.”

  “You’re totally lying, aren’t you?”

  He decided not to field that one.

  “Dutch!” she snapped.

  “What would you do if some woman I didn’t want to touch my junk, touched my junk?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t rough her up,” she answered.

  “Babe,” he said low.

  He’d seen her go after her sister for doing a lot less just the day before.

  So she couldn’t stick with that.

  And she didn’t.

  “Okay, if I witnessed it, I’d probably lose my mind and I would like to say I could hold my temper without it getting physical, but your junk is your junk and that is so not okay. But I’d also like to think that, given time, cooler heads would prevail.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And you know where to find this woman and you know what she did. That’d be it?”

  She was silent.

  “Georgie.”

  She remained silent.

  “Georgiana.”

  His girl did not lie.

  So she burst out, “Okay, Dutch! My retaliation would be more cerebral and longer lasting, and there would be retaliation. But it wouldn’t be roughing her up.”

  That was a good idea.

  Retaliation that was more cerebral and longer lasting.

  He’d have to think on that.

  “Jackson’s totally going to lose his job or similar soon, isn’t he?” she inquired.

  Dutch couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “You’re gonna stick up for this guy?”

  “No. A reporter is asking for information and you don’t want to give it, just say no. So yeah, we were playing a game and I was giving him my time to get something in return, but that doesn’t give him carte blanche to grab my breast. But this is cruddy. He’s a jerk. We’ve had a really good day, finally, and we shouldn’t be discussing jerks. And I don’t want you to have to get involved.”

  Except that last part, he couldn’t argue the rest, so he ignored the last part and just said, “Okay, darlin’, we’ll stop talking about him.”

  “Thanks,” she rapped out. Then asked, “Are we gonna have sex tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Are we gonna have sex tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  She huffed out air.

  Then asked, “Am I gonna blow you tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I know I’m gonna eat you, and I’m not gonna do it sixty-nine. You’re too good with your mouth. It’ll fuck with my concentration when I’m goin’ down on you. So after I make you go, if you’re up to give some head, I’ll be all in.”

  “Then we have a plan,” she said curtly.

  “Sounds like it,” he said amusedly. “Though, we gotta get some food first. You wanna roll through a drive thru, order some Chinese, what?”

  “We have more than half a pizza left, since we got busy last night and didn’t eat it. We can have that.”

  He was disgusted.

  And he sounded it when he asked, “Leftovers?”

  “You don’t like leftovers?”

  “You eat leftover pizza for breakfast when you’re hungover. You heat it and eat it for lunch when you’re in a bind. You don’t feed it to your woman on night three of the longest date in history.”

  She now sounded amused when she asked, “Are those hard and fast rules?”

  “Emphatically.”

  Georgie busted out laughing.

  He tucked her hand into the bend of his hip and smiled at the windshield thinking he really loved the sound of Georgie laughing.

  “Chinese,” she said when she was done.

  “You got it, baby,” he replied.

  “Dutch?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You okay?”

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, touched her fingers to his lips, then tucked it back in his hip.

  “Yeah, Georgie.”

  “Okay.”

  They fell silent and neither broke it the rest of the way to his place.

  He let them in and Murtagh came right to them and shared how he felt about being left alone all day.

  In other words, the cat was ticked.

  Dutch locked the door, but when he turned to shrug off his cut, Georgie was there, and she hadn’t yet taken off her coat.

  “Did you want to go out and get Chinese?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  She put her hand to his chest, but she did it watching her hand, not him.

  She then traced her fingernail through the bottom, outside edge of his Chaos patch in a weird way like she was copying a line.

  Still, he thought he read what she was doing so he assured quietly, “I’m past what you said about bikers too, Georgie.”

  She tipped her head back.

  “Your dad made this scratch.”

  Dutch stilled, and asked, “What?”

  “This scratch.” She looked down and traced it again, then back to him. “It happened when your dad had this jacket.”

  He stared at her.

  She gave him a small smile that was a little wobbly.

  “I asked your mom about it the other night. I didn’t think she’d remember it, seeing as it’s a tiny little thing, and she probably wasn’t even around when it happened. Maybe didn’t even notice it. But she did. She said she couldn’t share precisely how it happened, but it happened when your dad took it off and tossed it aside when, uh…you know, they were—”

  “Yeah,” he grunted.

  “He saw it and he was upset that the patch was damaged. She checked it out and assured him it’d be okay. It was worse on the leather, but he buffed it out so it didn’t look that bad and you can barely notice it, unless you’re looking.”

  He’d noticed it.

  But he’d been looking.

  He didn’t think to ask about it.

  But Georgiana Traylor, Ace Reporter did.

  And now he knew.

  Now he knew.

  He wore that cut every day, he wore his father every day, and now he knew what made part of that cut.

  “Jag got his bike,” he shared, his voice strange, hollow, far away.

  “Yeah?” she asked, shifting closer, probably because of his voice.

  “We had to pick between us, who got his cut, who got his bike. We couldn’t. Hound helped us. We both wanted the cut.”

  “I can see that.”

  “But then, before Ma handed them over, she kissed Dad’s bike with red lipstick. She told us she’d said goodbye and we could come get our dad’s stuff. We went right over. We both saw that mark, like, at the exact same time. Like it spoke to us. I don’t think either of us said anything for about five minutes. We didn’t move. We couldn’t tear our eyes off that kiss. Once we pulled our shit together, I swear to fuck, Jag protected that mark with everything that was him until he could get it sealed under a clearcoat. And when I got the cut, I felt kinda guilty I got it, since I knew Jag wanted it, and I had more of Dad than he did, even if it wasn’t a lot. But when Ma did what she did, I wanted the bike because, with her mark on it, it was both of them. You know?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

  “I couldn’t say anything. Talk about a switch. The decision had been made. But he’s my little brother. He barely remembers him. I do. I have that. He doesn’t. I feel that for him because Dad was such a Dad. I remember he’d make us peanut butter
and chocolate chip pancakes every Sunday. I remember how long his legs seemed, like they went on for miles, when he lay in bed beside me, reading me a book before I went to sleep. I remember how he’d stare at Ma’s legs when she walked around the kitchen in shorts with this smile on his mouth I didn’t get, because I was a little kid, but it made me feel safe and it made me know how much he loved her. I have all that. Jag doesn’t. And I feel that. I feel it. So I couldn’t say anything.”

  “Yeah, honey,” she said softly. “I totally get that.”

  “It’s weird, a five-year-old remembering all that.”

  “Very fortunately, not many five-year-olds lose their dad at that age. But grief seals memories hermetically, I suspect, even for five-year-olds.”

  Dutch didn’t suspect shit.

  He knew she was right.

  “She talked about him to you?” he asked.

  Her expression grew concerned. “She doesn’t with you?”

  “We avoid it. Losing him broke her. Bad.”

  “You need to talk to her about him, honey. You need it. And she needs to give him to you.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered.

  She smiled, small and sweet, pushed up to kiss him under his jaw, then she whispered, “I’ll order Chinese. What do you like?”

  “Sesame chicken. Orange chicken. Kung pao chicken. Cashew chicken.”

  “So something chicken.”

  “And egg rolls and pot stickers. Fried, not steamed.”

  She smiled again and then…

  Fuck…

  She kissed his Chaos patch where the scratch was.

  Then she turned and walked out, scooping up Murtagh along the way.

  He wasn’t thinking clearly, but still, he could swear that cat was looking over her shoulder at Dutch, his eyes screaming, “You! Come get me!”

  So he was sorta smiling when he shrugged off his cut.

  But he wasn’t smiling when he ran the pad of his thumb over that scratch.

  Now, in his way, he had them both too.

  “Hope I did you proud today, Dad,” he whispered.

  Then he cleared his throat.

  Turned.

  And shouted into the living room. “If you pay for that on your credit card, no sex tomorrow night either!”

  To which he got, “Dutch!”

  So he entered his living room grinning.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cerebral and Long-Lasting

  Dutch

  Dutch did a double take when Georgie walked into his kitchen the next morning.

  And that wasn’t about the fact he left her in his bed and told her to keep her ass there, he was going to bring the coffee.

  It was about the fact she was wearing glasses.

  “You wear glasses?” he asked.

  “Normally, I wear contacts.” She fit herself front-to-front to his frame, arms curved around his waist, looked up at him and murmured, “We’re having a lazy day so I’m not going to bother with them until you take me out to wine and dine me tonight, even though I’m oh-so-totally a sure thing.”

  He grinned down at her and slid a hand along her jaw into her hair.

  “You’re supposed to stay in bed,” he reminded her.

  “You were taking too long.”

  “Babe, I’m about to fill the cups. You had to wait two more minutes.”

  “Okay then, you don’t want to know why I came out.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Georgie.”

  “Dutch.”

  They went into staredown.

  His woman talked so he knew he’d win.

  And he did.

  “It’s gushy, but,” she pushed closer, “you were too far away.”

  He buried his hand in the back of her hair, the curls wrapping around his fingers like they were holding him there, and he dropped his face close to hers.

  And then he said, “You are so fuckin’ into me.”

  She rolled her eyes and replied, “Duh.”

  He bent further and kissed her.

  When he broke it, he said, “You look cute in glasses.”

  “I have it on good authority I’m cute a lot of the time.”

  “Yeah? Whose authority is that?”

  “He’s a badass biker. You don’t want to cross him.”

  Dutch was chuckling at the same time totally not caring if his caffeine fix came ten days from then, he liked Georgie in his kitchen, being cute, almost more than he liked her fifteen minutes ago, on her back, letting him eat her out.

  Regrettably, on this thought, there was a knock on the door.

  Georgie grabbed onto his biceps, crying, “Quick! Hide!”

  “Babe,” he replied, that word shaking because he was laughing.

  He let her go.

  She sighed.

  He headed to the door.

  Murtagh followed him.

  He opened it to Carolyn.

  He immediately started to close it making a mental note to get a goddamned peephole, even if he hadn’t gotten one up until then because he didn’t want it fucking with the look of his door.

  She threw out a hand to catch it and begged, “Please, Dutch. I’m not here to cause problems. I’m here to talk to Georgie.”

  “That’s not gonna happen,” he informed her.

  “Serious. I’m not gonna be a bitch. I promise.”

  She said this putting her other hand on the door, and all her weight into both.

  “Stop pushing on the door, Carolyn.”

  Her gaze went beyond him, and she exclaimed, “Georgie! Please. I was out of line and I’m sorry. Totally. But I need to talk to you.”

  He felt Georgie’s hand on the skin at the small of his back because he was again only in his sleep shorts before Georgiana said softly, “Dutch.”

  Fuck.

  He opened the door.

  Carolyn came in.

  He shut the door, then moved to stand in front of Georgie so he was to the side, in order she could see her sister, but he was still out front.

  And he started it by laying his one ground rule.

  “Any shit comes outta your mouth to your sister that I do not like, I swear to fuck, Carolyn, I’ll put you out.”

  She stared at him, a weird longing on her face that started to make him feel nauseous, until he got it.

  It wasn’t about him.

  It was about what she lost in Jagger.

  “Carolyn,” Georgie called her attention.

  Carolyn looked beyond him to her sister.

  “I’m in a bind,” she said.

  Dutch crossed his arms on his chest.

  “I get it,” she continued. “It’s not your problem. It’s not anyone’s problem. But mine. But I’m going to be evicted, like, tomorrow if I don’t give them at least three months’ rent.”

  She stopped talking and Georgie didn’t start.

  “Georgie,” she pleaded.

  “I want to help you,” Georgie said in a quiet voice.

  Shit.

  She said she’d back down on her declaration and there it was.

  “But I can’t help you,” Georgie went on.

  Thank fuck.

  She was standing strong.

  Georgie kept going.

  “Because if I give you money…and three months’ rent, Carolyn, just saying, that will put me in a bind…still, I can’t know you won’t buy drugs with it.”

  “I need a roof over my head more than cocaine.”

  “You say that now—”

  “It’s not the problem you think it is.”

  “How am I supposed to trust that?”

  “Because I’m telling you.”

  “Can you put yourself in my shoes with me having your history, and I was saying these things to you, would you risk your nest egg that isn’t much, but it’s at least a little peace of mind, on me?”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Carolyn asked. “I can’t live on the streets.”

  “Mov
e in with Mother.”

  “She said no go.”

  “Move in with Dad.”

  “No way,” Carolyn spat.

  Since he knew where this was heading, Dutch had to intervene.

  And he did it to say a warning, “Georgie.”

  Georgie was silent.

  Carolyn looked between them, back and forth and again and again, fast.

  Then her hands flew out and she cried, “You’ve known each other…what? Days? And you’re picking him over me?”

  “You can’t live with me. I have a roommate,” Georgie pointed out.

  “She’s not there. She’s in Somalia or whatever.”

  “She’s paying for that space and not for you to stay there.”

  “I cannot believe my ears,” Carolyn spat, her tone and the twist in her face saying she was losing it.

  And that shit was not happening again.

  “Chill the fuck out,” Dutch bit.

  Carolyn glared at him then sucked in a breath.

  When she got a lock on it, she said, “I’ll sell some stuff. I have good stuff. Consignment won’t take long. I’ll take extra shifts. They’re always asking for extra shifts and I get time and a half. It’ll be a month. Most, two.”

  “No, Carolyn.”

  Carolyn tossed a hand Dutch’s way. “Okay, seems like you’re gonna be here most of the time, I can stay in your space.”

  “Carolyn, I cannot imagine how scary it would be to be evicted,” Georgie began. “But if it’s taken them three months to do it, you’ve had plenty of time to sort this out before the final hour. You have to have at least twenty, maybe it’s even thirty thousand dollars of stuff in your closet. That’s nearly two years’ rent. This is not my problem. It isn’t Mother’s problem. It isn’t Dad’s. It’s yours. You’re ticked at Dad he wouldn’t give you money to overspend and whatnot. But I’d bet he’d give you a room in his house while you sorted out your life.”

  “Guilt money and he owes me and you too,” Carolyn declared.

  “I don’t know how you figure that.”

  “He left us with her, that’s how I figure that. Why do you think I bump?” she asked snidely. “I mean, Jesus, Georgie, we can’t all be you. You never gave a shit about anything anyone thought. You just went along, being Georgie. Mom rides your ass to lose weight, you’re like, ‘Whatever,’ and off you go to Bonnie Brae Ice Cream with your girl squad.”

  “She’s ridiculous, Carolyn. She rode your ass about your weight too, and you’ve always been thin.”