Page 87 of Whispers of Fire

I gasp at the thought. I could never do anything that would involve hurting him in any way.

Fisting the sheet closer to me, I try to picture him to calm myself.

It will all be okay. I will figure this out.

It will all be okay.

Vox

As I drive in the night on the back of my black Harley, I can’t put away the image of my angel sleepin’ in my house, in my bed, with my t-shirt on.

Damn it, though I would have a heart attack from controllin’ my body to stay still and leave a chaste kiss on her forehead like a good man would do.

But I’m not a good man, and from our talk tonight, Rose isn’t afraid to embrace my darkness either. She says so, but I doubt she envisioned how far my madness can go. Either way, I’m not lettin’ her go now. Hence why I need to figure things out with Ares, cause there’s no fuckin’ way I’m leavin’ her here.

I park outside the club, noddin’ at Ash, smokin’ in front of the door. I enter with loud steps, headin’ directly to his office but instead I find him in the armory where we keep all our guns, rifles and explosives.

Ares practically lives at the club, no wonder he’s here. I haven't taken off my cut yet, and I step inside the dim room with walls covered in guns. Ares is polishin’ a Sig Sauer P226 like a jeweler would his gem.

“Hey,” I say, my voice harder than usual.

He doesn’t look at me but replies, “You did the inventory last week, right?”

“Of course, every Friday, everything is in order,” I answer, but I know he wants to count them again himself. Before a big event like a takeover, the control freak in him always bursts out.

“Gotta talk to ya.” The silence around us weighs heavier all of the sudden.

“I know. Otherwise, why would you be here in the middle of the night?” His voice is calm but that’s not how I like him to be. Ares is a wild card, naturally unhinged and point blank to the people he cares about. He only used his mind games on his enemies, and right now, he’s playing with me.

“Can’t do the take-over Sunday,” I state, knowin’ I’m crossin’ a fuckin’ line.

“Here we go again with the Mormon chick?” he asks, shakin’ his head slowly.

“Watch your mouth, Ares.” He locks his eyes with mine, tiltin’ his head.

“Keep your tone down, Vox, remember who you’re talking to,” he says, carefully taking a Glock 19 in his hand, weighin’ it.

“Ya know I live and breathe for the club.”

“And now you won’t? Cause of some girl, you’re turnin’ your back on your brothers? After I got ya out of the street, after I gave ya this position?” His voice is still too calm. I know he’s pissed but I’d rather have him yellin’ than cold like this.

“I’m not turnin’ my back on you, I never will. You’d have to kill me for it to happen.” My last sentence gives him a slight shiver, but he doesn’t let it sink in and stays as cold as ice.

“Then spell it out, Vox, cause I ain’t got time for this shit.”

That’s better.

“I’m gonna kill Alexander Skarn and take her with me to Seattle,” I state, cause it just got so fuckin’ clear in my head now.

“Nah.” He puts the Glock down on the shelf. “Remember what I told ya where I got ya from the streets thirteen years ago?”

I swallow. Yeah, I remember.

The rules he lives by, the one he kept followin’ for all these years.

Business before women.

“See, you remember. You can’t get all dreamy and shit with this girl on your mind when I need you sharp for the take-over and all the bullshit comin’ at us in the next months. Ya get me?”

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