Walk Through Fire Page 4

  I was complete with Logan.

  And I also knew it was no longer that I could fall in love with Logan Judd.

  It was that I’d started doing it at his first “hey.”

  No, when I first saw him walk into Kellie’s house.

  And I was still doing it and knew I’d keep doing it until the deed was done.

  Which, with the rate I was going, would take another date.

  This, for some reason, didn’t freak me.

  No.

  It should. It should freak me. It should feel wrong.

  But it only felt right—oh so right…

  I… could not… wait.

  He pulled his face from out of my neck and I instantly missed his heavy breaths there.

  But when his eyes caught mine in the moonlight, I suddenly declared, “I’m not easy. You’re my second. And if you think I am and this isn’t about the fact that we’re good together… if you’ve missed what’s going on with us… if you take this, what just happened, and don’t call again… all I can say is… your loss, Logan Judd.”

  I said this and I did it with attitude.

  But I also did it completely terrified by the very idea that he might not call again.

  He grinned and his body started shaking on mine.

  “That it?” he asked, his words also shaking with humor.

  “Yes,” I answered, deciding from his amusement not to be freaked that I’d just blurted all that out.

  “Just sayin’, already got our second date scoped out,” he replied.

  I relaxed under him and did it biting back a whoop of glee.

  “And the third,” he continued.

  I slid my hand up his spine.

  “All the way to the sixth,” he kept going. “And then it’s your turn to decide what we do, so best start thinkin’, Millie, ’cause that’s gonna happen next week.”

  Man, oh man, he had our first six dates planned.

  He was going to call me again.

  And again.

  And again.

  And this made me unbelievably happy.

  “I like you.”

  God, still blurting!

  The grin he was still wearing got bigger.

  “That’s good seein’ as you just let me have you as in all a’ you. I liked it a fuckuva lot but even if you hadn’t given me that, I also liked shootin’ the shit with you so think it’s safe to say I like you too.”

  I turned my head to the side, suddenly scared at how relieved I was that he liked all he’d gotten from me and wanted more.

  “Millie,” he called.

  “Hmm?” I asked the tall grass at the side of the blanket.

  “Beautiful, look at me.”

  At the “beautiful,” my fingers clenched into his skin and my eyes went to his.

  “No bullshit, baby,” he whispered the second he got my gaze. “I am absolutely, one hundred percent not missin’ what’s goin’ on.”

  It was then I suddenly wanted to cry because I’d just been made love to, had my first orgasm, and was still connected to a man I liked a lot, a lot, a lot in a way I knew I was falling in love.

  “This is kinda crazy,” I whispered back.

  “This is all kinds of crazy,” he agreed. “Crazy good. And we’d both be fools, we don’t roll with it.”

  He was right. I knew it down deep.

  I slid my hands up so they were both cupped, one over the other, at the back of his neck.

  “I really liked that,” I told him softly. “What we just did.”

  He dipped his face closer and gave me a hint more of his weight, replying quietly, “Got that when you came for me, darlin’.”

  “Does our second date involve more of that?” I asked, and watched his eyes begin to shine.

  “Definitely.”

  “Good,” I whispered.

  More shining from his eyes before I lost that shine because I closed mine, seeing as he was kissing me.

  In the end, our first date involved more of that.

  I got home late.

  I knew my parents worried even though they didn’t say a word.

  But Logan and I had plans to go out the next night.

  So I was walking on air.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Thank You

  Millie

  Present day, two and a half weeks later…

  I STOOD IN front of my bathroom mirror wearing my undies and bra and holding the handle of a large hand mirror.

  I turned and lifted my free hand to my neck. Sweeping aside my hair and holding it at my opposite shoulder, I raised the mirror and looked.

  I forced my eyes to stay open even when I wanted to squeeze them shut.

  Unless I looked, I didn’t see. And my hair was long enough that it was rare I caught a glimpse.

  And if by chance I caught a glimpse, I’d pretend I didn’t.

  Now I was looking.

  And there it was, as it would be since it was a tattoo.

  Well done, the artist a master, not faded at all.

  Then again, it was all in black.

  Squat words that scrolled long in a beautiful, flowing script: Only him…

  And I knew the second part of that tat started on Logan’s hip bone and ran across his hip, in bold scripted black underlined with a flourish of barbed wire:… only her.

  The words and memories burned through me as I dropped my hair, turned, set the mirror on the counter, and moved toward the walk-in closet in the bathroom.

  It was time to get dressed and go.

  It was time to find Logan.

  It was time for him to know.

  * * *

  I stood removed, watching and feeling shock at all the changes I saw.

  There was a blazing campfire like days gone by. Also as in years past, one of the brothers had hauled logs in his truck to the field so they were positioned around the fire. And there were tents dotted around with the requisite bikes.

  But the tents were bigger, more expensive.

  And there was not one but three tricked out RVs parked facing the campfire and two deluxe travel trailers set up as well.

  When I knew Chaos, they did well and this well didn’t entirely come from their custom car and bike garage and the automotive supply shop they ran but other not-as-legal enterprises.

  Clearly, things had gotten even better and I knew part of that was Ride becoming outlandishly successful, something you couldn’t miss even if you tried since everyone in Denver knew about it.

  I just wondered if the other part also kept going.

  We’d never had RVs.

  Or, I should say, they never had.

  I was no longer someone who could refer to Chaos as “we” and they were sticklers about that kind of thing, so I knew I shouldn’t even think that way.

  I stayed removed and watching, seeing brothers I knew. Even though they’d aged, I recognized them immediately. Boz, Hound, Big Petey. There were brothers missing, including Arlo, Dog, Brick, Hop, Black, Chew, Crank, and, most surprisingly, Tack, who was one of the more intense members of Chaos, but he seemed more Chaos than the average brother and considering they were all in—blood, guts, and glory—that was saying something.

  Logan had been wary of Tack, telling me when I’d asked, “Good man, good brother. But Tack’s got ideas and the way shit is, my best bet is to lay low, see if he decides to play ’em out, and if he does, how.”

  Logan had not shared these “ideas” with me. That was brother business and he’d gently but definitely firmly shared that brother business was not my business.

  I was okay with that. My man was far from stupid and I knew the brothers that made up the brotherhood by then, so I knew why he was in it.

  And I trusted him.

  The last was the bottom line, really.

  In the end, I’d needed a lot of trust.

  But it had never wavered.

  Not once.

  Though, he didn’t know that because I didn’t share that.

  I�
�d shared the opposite.

  I set those thoughts aside and studied the rest of the Chaos crew. There were more than a few younger guys I didn’t know, some of them with women I also (obviously) didn’t know.

  This shouldn’t have been surprising, even though it was. The Club recruited and did it regularly. When I was with Logan, they were looking into opening another auto supply shop in Fort Collins and only brothers were involved in that (or anything to do with Chaos).

  However, the sheer number of new, younger men shocked me. They outnumbered the members I knew and that made Chaos—something that was so familiar to me, once a part of my life with me being a part of their family—unfamiliar and that caused a pang of hurt I knew was not my right to feel.

  Though, one of the girls I suspected I knew except when I knew her she was a whole lot younger.

  Tabitha Allen. Tack’s daughter.

  Like she had back then, she looked just like her dad, except female. She was just as beautiful as he had been handsome. And she was clearly with one of the brothers, a tall, lanky, good-looking one who was also very with her.

  But no Tack.

  And no Logan.

  This meant I had to go in search of him.

  This was a daunting prospect. The rally had grown over the years. It appeared triple the size it used to be. And I knew by some of the flags flying or pinned to the sides of RVs that the clubs there were not just from around Colorado but from other states as well.

  Wild Bill was likely raking it in.

  But I had all weekend. Wild Bill opened it up for setup Thursday at noon with the rally officially beginning with a concert on Friday evening.

  It was now Friday night, nearly ten o’clock, when all the brothers should have arrived and started kicking back and letting loose.

  However, watching them around the campfire, although there were beer bottles, smoking of two kinds, whisky being passed around, this was not the Chaos letting loose I’d been used to way back when.

  Chiefly, there wasn’t a single outsider approaching them to buy weed.

  On this thought, I moved away knowing from the prime location of their camp that they’d either sent a recruit in the early hours Thursday morning to camp out on the road and then move in to stake claim to their space or the recruit had actually camped out by the side of the road Wednesday night to do it.

  And their spot was prime. They were far enough away from the music they could hear it but it didn’t drown out conversation and you could bed down and it not bother you much, or perhaps in those RVs it was drowned out completely. Also, they were on the other side from Wild Bill’s kitchen tent (which I’d noted when driving in was now four big tents), so the smells of cooking—no matter how good they were, they were also constant—didn’t permeate the air.

  However, the Chaos camp wasn’t too far you couldn’t wander to what was known as the Trench.

  The Trench was the area in the middle of the activity close to the stage where you went only if you didn’t know better, were too drunk to care, you were so badass you could handle whatever was thrown at you, or you had your man with you who was so badass he could take care of whatever was thrown at you.

  I’d loved being in the Trench. It was heaving. It was out of control. It was loud and crazy. And to be in it, you had to let go, give in to the flow or you’d panic and be lost because you didn’t get out until the ripples of the Trench naturally spewed you out.

  You could make instant friends with a look or instant enemies with the same.

  But usually, it was friends. Although fights could (and did, regularly) break out, they never got (too) out of hand.

  This was because everyone loved Wild Bill, so it was rare they disrespected him by doing something problematic that could mean the cops would show up.

  In fact, in all the years since he’d been hosting the rally, which by now had to be at least thirty, the cops had only shown twice (that I knew of and even not going anymore, come early October, I paid attention to the news just in case).

  The Trench was just a big, crazy party and it used to be every night for three nights Logan would guide me in and stick close to my side as we had the time of our lives until the undulations spat us out. Then we’d go back to Chaos, sit around the fire, shoot the breeze, drink, neck, and end up in our tent, where we’d fuck.

  It had been awesome.

  And being there again after all those years, it occurred to me just how narrow my life had become.

  There was a day I was up for anything and with Logan at my side, safe to do it.

  So I did.

  Now I didn’t.

  I wandered away from the Chaos camp and edged the Trench, thinking I was glad that Logan hadn’t been with them. I didn’t want to make an approach with the guys around.

  It wouldn’t be awkward, making that approach to Chaos. It would be dangerous. Not to my body, to my mental health.

  I knew the guys who’d been around back then would know and feel the same way about me that Reb did. I figured the younger ones had heard the history, perhaps without names, but a whisper would tell them who I was and they wouldn’t be any more welcoming.

  So it was find him elsewhere.

  Which was good.

  I scanned for Logan as I moved, skirting the edges of the Trench, careful not to get sucked in. As many good memories as I had in there, I couldn’t go in. Not without being three sheets, not without someone to take my back, and not in the clothes I was wearing.

  I didn’t own biker chick attire anymore. I didn’t live in jeans and cutoffs and tees and tanks and halters. Dripping with silver. Wrapping kickass beaded headbands around my forehead or covering my hair in a bandana and being able to get away with it. Wearing a tee of Logan’s and belting it to make it a dress that was precariously close to showing ass cheek and not giving a damn.

  I’d been all in. I’d embraced the biker life like I’d been born to it. I’d done it so thoroughly, at first my parents and Dottie were terrified, utterly, completely, so much they’d eventually broken down and shared it.

  Then the weeks had passed into months and they got to know Logan.

  Honestly it hadn’t taken him much time to win them around.

  He loved me. Was besotted with me. Treated me like porcelain. And he showed all that.

  But it was more.

  He was respectful. He didn’t curse around them, smoke or drink (too much), or maul me when they were near. He called Dad “sir” and Mom “Mrs. Cross” until she sat him down and begged him not to do it because, “You’re a part of our family now, Logan. It’s time to call me ‘Mom.’”

  In the beginning, they’d hated me with Logan.

  In the end, they’d been devastated when I’d sent him away.

  They didn’t understand. They’d both talked to me about it then, asking why I’d ever let go of a man who loved me that completely and wanted the things they wanted for me, a safe home, marriage, and a big family.

  They didn’t know.

  Only Dottie knew.

  Still, to this day, no one knew but Dottie.

  And if I could find him, now Logan would know.

  I just hoped I didn’t have to brave the Trench to find him.

  I moved around the Trench, watching the revelers, taking in their attire, and thinking about how I wore different clothes back then. I was in jeans, boots, a sweater, and a leather jacket but my whole ensemble didn’t cost me fifty bucks because I’d scored kickass threads from some vintage shop or bought my tee at a concert or from a roaming vendor at a rally.

  My ensemble cost over a thousand dollars (not including jewelry), and I might be among bikers, but they’d know it.

  So I kept to myself, scanning faces, peering into the outskirts of the Trench, weaving around bodies and bonfires and tents and bikes.

  I was nervous, most definitely. But I’d had two and a half weeks of practicing what I was going to say. Not only that, but also practicing how I was going to get Logan to listen to me.
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  I had the words down pat.

  So I had that part covered.

  What wasn’t covered was the fact that I had no idea what his reaction would be (or what my reaction would be to his reaction, though, I’d run a few of those around in my head as well, about seven thousand of them).

  I just hoped that when it was done, when I’d explained, some of the scars would heal. At least enough that I could move on. Know he understood and finally—way too late but not never—close the book on that chapter of my life, give Logan that closure, and let us both go forward without that wound damaging our souls.

  On a mission, I kept looking and did it for hours. Sometimes finding a safe spot to stop and watch just in case being on the move was why I was missing him. I even hung close to Wild Bill’s kitchen, thinking Logan might come to get a brat or a paper basket of late-night, drunken-eating gravy fries (Wild Bill’s specialty).

  I saw Wild Bill. He was now old as dirt and looked it, but even though it was past midnight, he was serving up fries to bikers and their babes, doing it smiling.

  Finally, I realized it was time to give up. At least for that night. I was getting tired, things were getting rowdier (the Trench) or quieter (the outskirts), so people were settling in for the night one way or another, and if Logan was there, he’d be doing the same.

  Therefore I needed to pack it in, go home, get some rest, and come back the next night.

  I didn’t think of finding Logan with a woman (which could be possible).

  From the conversation I overheard at Chipotle, it seemed he was getting divorced or was finalizing but he could have moved on (though whatever ended that relationship was not him straying—he’d never do that, not in a million years, I knew that for certain).

  But I’d deal with that if it happened and when I told myself I’d deal, I also told myself that it might even be good. He’d have someone and I wanted him to be happy.

  And if he had someone, it might free me to find someone. Knowing Logan was with someone (and hopefully happy this time, as a possible divorce stated he hadn’t been the last time—but I tried not to think about that) might release me from his snare and finally allow me to move on.