Page 16 of Savage Fire

Five men he knew and respected, would kill and die for, were all looking at him like he’d beheaded a baby and threw its body on the table.

Shit. His body vibrating with anger, he sucked in a long, slow breath, willing himself to calm down using years of self-training to push the rage deep down until it disappeared into the blackest pit, in the darkest part of his soul.

If he were being honest, he appreciated the loyalty and concern his brothers had for his woman. It meant they cared about her, would protect her with their lives. He understood where they were coming from—though they were on the outside and couldn’t see what Fang saw happening between himself and Tessa. They’d see, though. Once he had Tessa on the hook, in his Hive, they’d all be buying him apology bottles of Flecha Azul Cristalino tequila, and slapping him on the back for winning the unwinnable Tessa. His prize. His Fire. The woman who’d burned him, body and soul, with a single glance.

Dragging in another calming breath, he tipped his head in acknowledgement to his prez, a silent apology the man accepted with a nod of his own.

“We done?”

Another nod. “No—wait. We got some guests coming into town on Tuesday. Stone and a few of his men. Says he has some information for us that we might find interesting.”

Jagger “Stone” Dutchman, the founder and president of the one percenter Stonecutters MC out of Kingman, Arizona, was a badass motherfucker that suffered no fools, showed no mercy, and offered no second chances. He was also loyal to a fault, protective of his club, and had a head for underworld business that made his club tens of millions a year.

“You gonna share what this information is?” Hell Hound asked, cocking his head like the dog he was named after, the burn scar running over his cheek and neck giving him an air of menace.

Odin clinched his jaw. “Not until Tuesday. Got some things to look into first. Until then, Church dismissed.”

“Good,” Fang intoned, “’cuz I got shit to do before I get Tessa. No rest for the wicked, brothers.” That “shit” being making sure the house was cleared out for the night—no Bees buzzing around to cause a fuss—and that a nice, delicious meal was laid out waiting for them when he brought Tessa over. Tonight, Tessa was going to enter his Hive, and in the morning, she’d belong to him.

Without a backward glance, Fang strode from the room, ignoring the burn of pissed off stares boring holes in his back.

For the billionth time that day, Tessa checked her watch. Only ten minutes had passed since the last time she’d checked. She still had another two hours on shift, then another two hours after that before she was supposed to meet Fang at the clubhouse. It had taken almost two weeks for their schedules to allow the date he’d finally pulled out of her. Since her recovery and reinstatement with the Las Vegas Fire Department’s emergency services division, she’d been working the morning shift. Four twelve hour days, then three days off. Tonight, was the beginning of her off days, and she didn’t know if she should be excited about that because she would have three days off to just chill, or because those were three days she could potentially spend with Fang.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. Why was she even considering giving him more time than she’d already allotted for him and their date? When she’d drunkenly agreed (fucking tequila) to go on a date with Fang, she hadn’t considered that she would actually have to be alone with the man she’d been fantasizing about for a year. A man she actually saw herself with, living with, loving with. A man who’d, with one look, reduced her to wet panties, hard nipples, and a racing heart? A man who’d murmured into her ears in the dark of night, soothing words. And in the heat of the day, words of seduction. A man who knew exactly what he was doing—like a practiced seducer, honing his skills on her reluctant body. God, she wanted him, but she knew that wanting him was dangerous. But, for months, she’d ignoring the klaxon blaring in her ears, alerting her to the perils of wanting him, of letting him into parts of her life not even Skathi—her best friend—had seen. Those months between them had been bittersweet, feeding that longing for that one person that had always burned within her. That longing for a man who would see onlyher, want onlyher, cherish onlyher. And she’d foolishly wanted Fang to be that man.

He fucked that up, though, she thought, her heart twisting, remembering those women at the grocery store. Remembering Fang’s loose attentions and lack of simple consideration for the woman he was with. Tessa hated feeling sorry for that woman, hated that she also felt jealous of her, because being jealous of a woman on Fang’s arm was like being jealous of the next person in line for the hangman’s noose.

Step right up, dummy, her inner snark queen muttered.

Yup. She knew better, but she was still counting the minutes, the seconds until she could see him. Fang was a member of an MC, which went hand in hand with happily jumping from pussy to pussy, like it was an Olympic sport. With the way Fang looked, moved, and the big dick energy he gave off in waves, Tessa knew that Fang was a gold medalist in pussy. So why, if she’d been hurt before by Fang’s manwhorishness, was she giving him another chance to hurt her? Why, if she knew without a shadow of a doubt that his only aim was to get in her pants, wasn’t she texting him to cancel their date? Why was she setting herself up for another humiliating, heartbreaking experience?

In that moment, she remembered the Fang that sat beside her hospital bed, holding her hand, feeding her ice chips when she was too weak from pain meds and surgery to lift her hands. The Fang that advocated for her when the nurses and doctors refused to listen to her or answer her questions. The Fang she remembered from those nights of recovery in her condo, when he’d rush to her room in the middle of the night, offering her solace in the dark, a drink of water to quench her thirst, and then a broad, capable shoulder to cry on. WiththatFang she’d been weak, vulnerable, showing her soft underbelly to a predator. But in those moments, too, he hadn’t been Fang the manwhore MC Road Captain, he’d been Fang, the man, the comforter. Her champion. In those moments, she’d fallen for him. So fuckinghard.

And that was why her stupid ass was excited about their date tonight, because no matter how many times she reminded her foolish heart about those women she’d seen him with at the grocery store, or the fact that Fang was a sexual beast capable of ruining her for other men, her heart refused to extinguish that last burning ember of hope. Hope that what she and Fang had shared those months together was real, and their connection—both body and soul—had potential for more.

Was tonight “more”? Could she expect Fang to be the Fang from those post warehouse months, or would it be the smirking, bad boy Fang from before the warehouse and after the grocery store?

“Hey, Earth to Tessa!” a shout jerked her from her thoughts, and the heat of embarrassment rushed over her face. Stiffening her back, she turned to glare at Tommy, her shift partner for the week.

Tall, blonde, with blue eyes, dimples, a surfer boy tan, and dreamy, chiseled features, Tommy was a handsome man with a swimmer’s body, a charming smile, and a slightly larger than average dick. Yeah, she knew how big his dick was because three months ago, she’d finally given in to her need for some sexual healing and followed him home from the bar one night after a hangout with their work colleagues. God, she knew it was a mistake the moment she agreed to a one-night stand, but she went anyway—and she’d enjoyed herself. Tommy knew how to work a woman’s body. Unfortunately, he’d gotten a taste of Tessa and was hungry for more, laying on the extra charm over the last several weeks, looking for a repeat. He made no secret of wanting her back in his bed, but she knew that once was enough to scratch the itch, and that they needed to keep things professional between them from now on.

Going home with Tommy hadn’t just been a mistake because they worked together, though. It was also a mistake because she’d been looking to take her mind off of a certain manwhore biker. She used Tommy. She’d used his dick. And the guilt was there every time she looked at him, saw that knowing smile, and remembered that, when she riding him in his bed, she was picturing someone else beneath her.

Dammit!

“Sorry, Tommy,” she grumbled, annoyed at her thoughts and those pangs of regret. “What did you say?”

Tommy, sitting in the driver’s seat of their EMR rig, leaned back in his seat, his gaze scouring her face, his expression pensive.

“What were you thinking about that you didn’t hear me saying your name five times?”

He’d called her name five times? Shit, she was really lost in her thoughts of another man while sitting next to a man she’d banged just three months before. Ugh, the regret was a pain in the ass.

Shrugging, she worked to play off her discomfort by offering Tommy a playful smile.

“I was thinking about all the pie I’m going to eat the next three days,” she replied, which wasn’t really a lie. She had two apple pies in her fridge, waiting for her to heat, top with French Vanilla ice cream, and consume. She’d have to add another hour or so to her workouts at Savage Fist in the three mornings a week she hit the gym, but it would be worth it. She’d already hit the gym that morning. After a fifteen-minute chat with her mom, who hadn’t picked up for their first call last week, she’d worked off the wariness, worry, and guilt from that call on the speed bag. Yeah, she needed pie. Pies from Danny’s were worth their weight in gold and precious jewels.

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “Pie, eh?” Suddenly, the air inside the rig cabin crackled with intent. Shit. “Well…feel like sharing some of that pie with me? Maybe for breakfast in the morning?” His gaze darkened, his eye lids growing heavy as he poured desire and lust into his gaze, eating her up even though she was wearing the least sexy thing she owned: her EMT uniform of navy trousers, button down, and black, non-skid boots. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun low on her head, and she was sans make up. Basically, she looked as androgynous as a mannequin right then.

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