Page 16 of Fire Meets Fire

Now he’s inside, Legend seems in no hurry to share whatever intelligence has come his way. Instead, he turns to the other man in the room. “How’s the family, ST?”

“Fuckin’ catch up later,” I growl. “Ledge, what do you want? And, ST, why are you still the fuck here?”

StoryTeller just grins and makes no move. I could put on my prez voice and tell him to get lost, but he already suspects I’ve got a special interest in the bitch, so I decide to let him stay. Only so I can show absolutely no reaction to anything Legend has to say.

Legend clears his throat. “I was interested in the broad who got through our security, so I sent the handcuffs she got out of to Mayhem in LA. I was hoping he’d find some DNA or fingerprints that might identify her.”

That’s caught my interest. Mayhem’s a man with a questionable past which we’ve only been able to guess at.Rumours abound that he originally worked for the FBI, but no one’s had confirmation. Initially there were concerns he’d been planted as a spy, but he’s proved his loyalty to the Wretched Soulz over and over. Legend’s good once you give him the information to work with, but Mayhem’s the man to go to if you’ve only got the bare bones. Which, in this case, was all that we had. I wave at Legend to continue.

Opening his laptop, Legend wakes it, then turns the screen my way. “Let me introduce you to Queenie ‘Helo’ May. An Army helicopter pilot, a Night Stalker no less.”

Sitting forward, I try to reconcile the service picture in front of me with the image I carry in my head. While the uniformed woman is more put together than the one that I met, there’s no doubting they’re the same person. StoryTeller, leaning over to see, lets air whistle through his teeth.

Before StoryTeller can make any comment, I ask, “Not serving anymore?”

Legend shakes his head. “Medical discharge.” As I open my mouth, he continues fast, “And that’s all she wrote. Everything else was redacted.”

“Night Stalker?” StoryTeller looks impressed. “There aren’t many women pilots, and to join that team you have to be one of the best.” As a former SEAL, he’ll know what he’s talking about.

“What’s with all the redacted shit?” I ask.

Legend shrugs. “Mission gone bad? Or a successful one they don’t want anyone to know about. Who the fuck knows?”

StoryTeller looks like he’s still getting his head around her role. Sweeping his hands through his long hair, he shakes his head. “Whatever it might have or have not said, woman’s a fuckin’ hero. I’ve had occasion to thank the fuckin’ Night Stalkers before. Their flying skills and nerve are exceptional.”

Which explains her bravado. And while I hate to think it, the reason she blacked out could have been why she was discharged.

Legend snorts. “After a career like that, she’s probably missing the adrenaline rush. Could explain why she broke into the shop.”

There’s nothing to disagree with in his statement.

Fuck, pushing boundaries, challenging myself, is probably something I’d do if I had to drastically change the way I live. I’m a biker as I like living on the wild side, putting one finger up to the world, telling it I’m going to make the most of my life, whatever the fuck it wants to throw at me. I’d rather go out early then die with a pipe and slippers at hand, with nothing to reminisce about except for a wasted and boring life.

I don’t know how long Helo served, but jeez, Legend’s right. What an adrenaline kick it must have been every time she took that helicopter up, flying over enemy lines. I consider my bike to be an extension of myself, knowing its limits and pushing myself and it to them. Is that what Helo felt like when she was flying?

Take my bike away and I’d be half the man that I am, and desperate for other ways of thrill seeking. Is this what Helo feels like?

Fuck it. Now it’s not just my cock that’s attracted to her. Everything about her intrigues me—her mind, her ability, her bravery, and despite her lack of physical ones, the mental balls she must have.

I’ve never looked at a woman and felt the need to tame her. Let’s face it, most patch chasers will fall at a biker president’s feet. But Helo? Hell, someone like her would take a lot of chasing. And for once, it might be worth it.

I’m fucked. If there was a chance to keep her off my mind, I’ve now lost it.

I’m barely able to restrain myself from leaping on my bike, racing to Harold’s, confronting her and doing what I can to make her mine.

And that’s the very last thing I can do. I’m the club president. I’ve far better things to do with my time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HELO

Harold hasn’t spoken to me for a couple of days, but I preferred his silence to all the shouting he’d done after the bikers had left. I couldn’t refute that it was all my fault that I’d brought the wrath of the Wretched Soulz down on both our heads. I had no reasonable explanation to give him, not without admitting what a charity case I really was. How could I tell him I’d not even the few dollars needed to pay for second-hand parts? I’d thought I’d found a good alternative option, but apparently outlaw bikers are far better at inventory than I’d expected. Who would have thought?

Now Harold’s out by five hundred dollars and I’ve no way to repay him. While I’d be willing to try my hand at anything, without any form of transport, it is going to be hard to get a job. I can’t access my funds as any use of a bank card would send out a glaring signal to show exactly where I am.

But Chaz had offered a way for me to earn the money back.

Yeah. Stupid I’m not. Test their security? They just want to take me captive again, and I doubt that a second time I’d get away so easily.

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