Walk Through Fire Read online

  She’d be back.

  And when she was back, she’d be calmer. She’d have taken the time to get herself together.

  And he’d know when she was back because he’d have Brody on that too.

  Then he’d talk to her right there in that fucked-up, immaculate house and then he’d finally find out what in the fuck was going on.

  He wanted to lead with his heart. All he could see was her face at The Roll. All he could hear were her words clawing at his soul.

  But he’d gone with his heart with Millie before. He’d sustained the blows she was delivering, not paying a lick of attention, walking away in an effort to end the pain.

  If he’d gone with his gut back then, he’d have paid attention. He’d have seen. He’d have heard.

  He wouldn’t have left her behind.

  He would have known all she spewed was shit and he would have gone back.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “Gut,” he decided.

  It cost him but High went with that decision.

  But before he did, he went to get his truck, drove to Ride, got some plywood, and went back to Millie’s to board up her door.

  Tyra

  I followed Tack into our bedroom.

  He turned on the light, moved to the bed, sat on it, and bent to his boots.

  I closed the door behind me and stood leaning against it.

  The drive up the mountain was silent and uncomfortable.

  My man was mad.

  “Kane—” I started.

  He lifted his head to look at me and I shut my mouth.

  “I told you,” he rumbled.

  “You don’t understand, honey,” I said softly.

  “No,” he bit, standing. “You don’t understand, Tyra.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Fuck, woman, can you honest to God stand there and fight your corner after witnessing how your fucked-up shit played out tonight?”

  “There can’t be that much feeling unless there’s that much feeling, Kane,” I pointed out.

  “Tell me, Red, when we were gettin’ together, you gutted me and I walked away from you, made it clear I wanted nothin’ more to do with you even if you sorted your head out. Some bitch you didn’t fuckin’ know got up in your business, shovin’ you at me only for you to take the hit of gettin’ shot down again and again and again, the brothers at my back delivering the same kind of blows. You’d want that?”

  “If I got you back, yes,” I whispered. “I’d take any hit over and over and over again until I got you back.”

  He stared at me.

  I held his stare and let the silence stretch.

  Then I ended it.

  “Tell me you saw her tonight,” I said.

  He looked away, tearing his hand through his hair.

  He saw.

  “She’s in pain.” I told him something he now knew.

  He looked back at me. “None of our business.”

  “Honey—”

  His next came as a warning whisper.

  “None of our business, Red.” He drew in breath and kept his eyes locked to mine. “You know it. You know how it is. Those boys, my brothers, your brothers, they fuckin’ love you, babe. Totally fuckin’ love you. But you know men like us. You fuckin’ know down to your soul men like us. You know this shit is not on. Your purpose is compassionate. But men like us, your methods are unacceptable.” He kept hold of my eyes and dropped his voice to gentle. “And you know it, baby. So you know this is none of our business.”

  “She might do something—” I started.

  He cut me off. “I’ll keep an eye.”

  I nodded. I’d take that because I had to but also because I knew he would.

  “You done now?” he asked.

  I shook my head and saw his jaw grow hard.

  But I told him, “I don’t like it. But I think I have to be.”

  His face relaxed and his order was quiet and coaxing. “Get ready for bed, darlin’.”

  I nodded again and went about doing that.

  I joined my man in bed.

  I didn’t sleep.

  My husband felt it.

  “You need to relax,” he said.

  “Do you think that High’s going to—?”

  “I think it’s none of our business.”

  I lifted my head. “Tack—”

  “Babe. No.” Two words, firm. And he went on just like that. “You are who you are and I’m with you because a’ that. I am who I am and you’re with me because a’ that. What we got, it works. Phenomenally. We do what we do, we are what we are and we get off on it, no holding back. But this is us. That’s the Club. That’s a brother. The same does not hold true with the brothers. You got your place in the Club. I got mine. We know our places, Red, and we don’t deviate. So until a brother makes somethin’ our business, it’s none of our business, yeah?”

  “I’m worried,” I shared.

  There was a vein of amusement in his gravelly voice when he muttered, “No shit?”

  “Tack.” It was a lame snap.

  He pulled me deeper into his arms and held me close.

  “High and me have not seen eye to eye on numerous occasions over the years but that don’t mean he isn’t Chaos. He’s Chaos, down to the bone. He’s a brother of my soul. So what do you think he’s gonna do?”

  There it was.

  Exactly what I needed.

  “Take care of Millie,” I whispered.

  “Yeah,” Tack whispered back, starting to stroke my hair. “Now, you gonna relax and go to sleep?”

  “I’ll try.”

  He sighed.

  Then he rolled into me.

  Once there, he muttered, “Know a way to make you relax.”

  He knew about seven thousand of them.

  Before I could say a word, he dipped his head to me, took my mouth, and set about making me relax.

  High

  The next day, High was back at Millie’s to be there when the men he called replaced the glass with another thick, bevel-edged sheet.

  Due to the fact that he swiped an extra key, he was also there three days later when the men he called installed the alarm system, which meant all the glass, windows, and doors throughout her house were wired for break-ins.

  And he took the call when Brody told him what hotel she was staying at in Paris. He also took more calls when she used a card so Brody could tell him where she had breakfast, lunch, dinner, got money, what tours she went on, where she shopped and what she bought.

  Last, Brody told High when she’d be back.

  Two weeks.

  He had to depend on his gut for two weeks.

  He applied for an emergency passport anyway.

  Just in case.

  Millie

  Twenty-one years ago…

  “Brother’s bummed,” Dog stated.

  I looked from the recruit behind the bar at the Chaos compound—a recruit who was no longer a recruit and that was why we were all partying since he and his new brother Brick had been fully initiated into the fold the day before—to the couch where Dog’s eyes were aimed.

  Boz was slouched there, deep in the seat, legs splayed wide, eyes aimed across the room.

  Dog was right.

  Boz looked bummed.

  Someone had to do something about that and I decided that someone would be me.

  I turned back to Dog and grinned. “This is a party, so that can’t happen.”

  He looked to me and winked. “Go get ’im, girl.”

  I slid off my barstool, grabbed my beer, and said, “Tequila. Stat.”

  Dog turned, nabbed a bottle of tequila from the back of the bar, and handed it to me.

  I lifted it. “Perfect medicine.”

  At that, he smiled and muttered, “No doubt.”

  I tipped my head and smiled back, then moved through the room, past the pool tables, toward Boz, my feet in biker boots, my ass covered in cutoffs, my top barely covered in a halter.

  As I approached Boz, he didn’t even look
at me.

  The guys looked. They hugged. They even touched, a hand or a waist, sometimes a tug of the hair. I was a girl. I was showing skin. They were men in the sense they were men. This happened.

  But I was an old lady, so it happened in a certain way that would not communicate anything that Logan wouldn’t like.

  It was respect to him.

  It was also respect to me.

  It was Chaos.

  I finally got Boz’s attention when I threw myself onto the couch beside him and declared, “Know a boy who looks like he needs a buzz.”

  He smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then tipped his head to the bottle. “You gonna take care of that for me?”

  I extended the tequila. “Absolutely.”

  He grabbed it, murmuring, “Gratitude, sister.”

  Sister.

  I sighed happily and slouched next to him, our bodies touching from shoulders to knees.

  He uncapped the bottle, flicked the top, and it flew then skidded across the floor, unheeded, several feet away.

  I watched as he took a healthy tug.

  When he dropped the bottle, I asked, “You okay?”

  “I’m good, Millie,” he told the room.

  And he lied.

  I looked from him to the room and I saw the party.

  I also saw something else.

  I was an old lady, so I wasn’t let in on a number of things. If the boys were at our place and conversation turned to something that wasn’t mine to know, Logan gave me a look I knew and acted on without question. I then would get out of earshot, going upstairs to listen to music in our bedroom or going to the second bedroom to study.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t hear things or see things.

  And right then I saw things.

  What I saw was Tack, Brick, Hop, and Black standing in one corner, huddled and talking, beers in their hands, none of this happening in a way that seemed they were at a party.

  I also saw Naomi, Tack’s old lady, sitting at a table with Keely, Big Petey, and Bev, a new girl who was hanging around that Boz normally, if he wasn’t in a crappy mood, would be paying attention to. Keely, Bev, and Big Petey were shooting the shit. Naomi had all her attention focused on her old man and she didn’t look happy.

  The woman rarely looked happy but in this instance, she looked less happy.

  And last, in another corner, I saw Chew and Arlo talking with my man.

  They stood with Crank.

  Crank was Chaos’s president. Crank was a decent guy but he was also the only one who kind of freaked me out.

  I couldn’t put my finger on it but every brother I knew was genuine. They were who they were and showed it, no bullshit.

  I got a weird feeling that what made Crank went deeper, possibly darker. That feeling told me he didn’t share it all. And it was so stark compared to how all the other brothers were it freaked me.

  I watched and saw that Crank right then was not paying attention to Chew, Arlo, or Logan, who were also huddled and talking.

  He was staring at Tack in a way I found chilling.

  I didn’t know what this meant. All I knew was that Brick and Dog were fresh brothers. Hop too.

  And they’d all been recruited by Tack.

  All the brothers could put forward a man to become a recruit but Tack had been busy the last few years.

  I also knew Chew, Arlo, Boz, and Logan had all been recruited by Crank.

  So had Black.

  But Black was standing with Tack.

  There was a split. I felt it. It wasn’t tension, nothing with the brothers was that perceptible.

  But there was a vibe.

  Things were changing in the Club in a lot of ways. The store and garage were getting busier, the Club pushing for that, which meant Logan was working more. It also meant, since the brothers split any profits equally, he (which translated to we) was making more money.

  Like, a lot more money.

  Though there was more and that more meant Logan was busy far more than he’d ever been before on Club business that had nothing to do with the store or the garage.

  I got the sense he liked it at the same time I got the contradictory sense that it troubled him. I also got a sense that whatever this was was a moneymaking venture that had nothing to do with selling auto supplies and building custom bikes and cars or even growing and selling pot.

  Logan didn’t talk about it and I knew he wouldn’t so I didn’t ask so I couldn’t know.

  This troubled me.

  That concern didn’t run deep. I wasn’t out and out worried. I wasn’t questioning things. I knew these men. I knew this family.

  I also knew they were bikers, lived in their own world, had their own rules and did things their own way and those things were whatever the hell they wanted to do.

  Last, I knew that if they stayed solid and strong, they could get away with doing whatever the hell they wanted to do. In fact, their bond was so powerful, if they stuck together, they could achieve anything.

  This was the part that troubled me.

  Because I sensed a split. I sensed that Boz didn’t know which way he was leaning. And I saw that it seemed that Logan had cast his lot with Crank and I didn’t know if that was the right choice.

  I sipped my beer, staring at my man, watching him nod at something Arlo was saying, lost in these thoughts until I felt my knee nudged by Boz.

  I looked to him and at what I saw in his eyes, I held my breath.

  “It’s always gonna be good,” he said quietly.

  “Okay,” I replied just as quiet.

  “High will make it that way for you, babe. You know it. Yeah?”

  Something was wrong in the Club.

  But I knew what Boz said was right.

  And that was all that I needed.

  “Yeah,” I whispered.

  He grinned at me and it again didn’t reach his eyes.

  Then he kept doing it and finally committing to it when he offered the bottle of tequila to me.

  “Time for us to get smashed, gorgeous,” he declared.

  I took the bottle from him and replied, “No truer words were spoken.”

  Then I threw back a healthy slug.

  “That’s my girl,” Boz stated, and when I looked at him, he had humor and approval gleaming in his eyes. His earlier look of uncertainty and disquiet was gone.

  I’d done my job.

  So I handed him the bottle and slouched deeper into the couch, slouching into Boz as he shifted to curl an arm around me and I shifted to curl my legs on the seat, resting my head on his shoulder.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” he warned, giving me a squeeze. “After another coupla shots, I’m kicking your ass at pool.”

  “The hell you are,” I returned. “We’re fifteen and twelve with me being the fifteen and about to make it sixteen.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You’ll see,” I muttered, sucking back more beer.

  When I was done, the tequila was in front of my face and I took the bottle from Boz.

  I also threw back another slug.

  When I was done with that, my eyes hit on my man.

  He was smiling at me, his smile content and not troubled.

  I knew it before but I knew it even more then.

  Boz was right.

  Whatever was happening in the Club would happen.

  But Logan would keep it good for me. It’d never touch me.

  Not ever.

  Not ever.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Finally

  Millie

  I SAT IN the back of the taxi, exhausted beyond comprehension, my phone to my ear.

  “No, I’m good, Dot,” I told my sister, a complete and total lie since travel and jet lag were kicking my ass. “Is my car at my house?”

  “Alan and I took it there yesterday, babe. Also straightened up a bit,” she shared cautiously, giving me the information and doing it not wanting to remind me why my place was left the way it was. “B
ut do you think you should stay there?” she asked, then suggested, “Maybe you should stay over here.”

  I wanted to stay with my sister and Alan and the kids for as long as I could stay with my sister and Alan and the kids since I intended to move as soon as I could to Arizona, and I wouldn’t be able to see them whenever I wanted to see them.

  But I was wiped and being wiped and needing sleep and clear headspace to get on with doing what I needed to do were not conducive to having two kids under the age of ten in the house.

  “I’m gonna crash at my place,” I told her. “And I’ll be fine,” I assured hurriedly, hoping she’d believe me even knowing she wouldn’t. “I just need to get my head together, start getting other things together, and maybe tomorrow night I can come and stay with you?”

  “You can stay with us anytime, you know that,” she replied.

  I did.

  And I would.

  For as long as it took me to sort things out with work, get my house on the market, and get the hell out of Denver.

  “Right,” I said. “I’m almost home. When I get there, I’m going right to bed. When I can think straight, I’ll call you and we’ll plan. Okay?”

  “Okay, Mill. Whatever you need.”

  That was what it had always been from Dottie.

  Whatever I needed.

  And nearly two weeks ago, after I’d driven like a lunatic to get home after what happened at The Roll, packing like a crazy person, only grabbing the things I needed, all this so I could get out of there and fast just in case Logan got a wild hair and followed me, she’d again done just that.

  Given me what I needed.

  I’d woken them up when I’d made it to their house. Then I’d blathered and bawled, letting it all hang out, everything from what happened in Logan’s RV to Hop singing “Far Behind” and all the rest.

  As he listened, Alan, a good man, a good husband, a guy who loved his wife like crazy and loved her sister, too, had kept it together by the skin of his teeth. I knew he was close to ballistic. That ballistic being hunting Logan down and giving it his all to beat the crap out of him (which would be an interesting scenario, as Alan was a badass so it would be a close match, though I suspected Logan would fight dirty).