Page 29 of Fire Meets Fire

I put Helo down in front of the chair and tell her to sit while I change the linen. She eyes the bed and other shambles with a curve to her lips.

“Chaz, I’m dead on my feet. I can sleep anywhere. Just pull the covers up and I’ll lie on top of them.” Her hand failing to hideexactly how wide her yawn is shows me it’s rest she needs more than pampering.

I watch as she efficiently bends and takes off her sturdy boots, then simply loosens her belt before lying down on the comforter with a sigh. She props herself up on her elbows to ask, “Does that door lock?”

“Yeah. It will lock behind me, and only I have the key.” I don’t add most of my brothers could easily pick their way in if they wanted to, and the lack of that addition means my reassurance works.

Her chest sinks as a sigh of breath leaves her. Momentarily I wonder whether it’s a sign of trust she’s giving to me that she appears relaxed in my bed, or whether her recent episode has emptied her tank. My lips twitch as I strongly suspect, weak as she appears, should I try to take advantage and get handsy with her, I’d soon find myself on my ass.

As if confirming, although she appears otherwise, like any good soldier, she’s still on high alert, one eye cautiously opens. “You still here?”

I can’t admit I have a strong impulse not to leave her, and I don’t understand what drives it myself. It’s not to ensure her safety. She’s in less danger here in my room, in this clubhouse, then she would be anywhere else. It’s like there’s something elemental drawing me toward her, wanting to immerse her into my life. These totally alien thoughts cause me to wonder if again I’ve been subjected to some virus or nerve gas.

Now her second eye opens, and I feel like an ass. She must be tired, both from being awake all night and her last episode taking it out of her. I should leave her to sleep. While I’d like nothing better than to stay with her, on her part, trust only goes so far.

She’s magnificent—her job, her role in the masculine world, her acceptance of risk that few civilians would ever contemplate.No wonder I admire her. Before I leave, something drives me to take a step closer and show my appreciation by saying in a low voice, “Thank you for your service.”

Her head raises fast off the pillow as she again balances her weight on her elbows. “Don’t say that. I had a fucking job many people would die for. It wasn’t work. It was pure fun, in control of a machine that could bring death or save lives. I was a thrill seeker, and the Army allowed me to be what I wanted to be. So don’t thank me.”

How can I explain I’m not thanking her for doing her job, but for the way it all ended? One day, she was in control, living her dream, the next, she had no say in whether she’d live or die, and no way to influence the matter. Deciding it’s best to stay quiet rather than try to put into words the admiration and compassion I feel for her, I raise my chin then lower it.

She nods in return, then leans back on the bed, and her eyes close. This time it looks unlikely they’ll reopen.

I pause for a moment, watching her, then, realising that’s a bit creepy, quietly leave. The lock snicks reassuringly behind me.

I stand, my back against the wall outside the room for a moment. Part of me is surprised she didn’t wait to relax until I left, and there’s a warmth in my chest when it dawns that it demonstrates to some extent she already trusts me. Before descending the stairs, I lean my head against the wall, as I become conscious that she’s partway won my trust too. Although my words and actions might have looked otherwise, there wasn’t a moment when I’d thought she’d intended to steal the bike. There’s just something inherently honest inside her. And, while I wouldn’t be a good MC prez if deviance didn’t run through my blood, she must have recognised when I do give my word, I mean it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAZ

Eventually, I push myself away from the brickwork when my thoughts start going in directions I don’t want them to go, as my brain points out I’ve never been intrigued or interested in a woman before, or not beyond what she can sexually offer me. I still can’t work out whether she’s the best or worse thing to happen in my life, but for certain, she’s making me consider things I never have before. Making an effort to blank her from my mind, I clomp down the stairs in my usual fashion, pausing at the bottom step to see who’s in sight.

Bull’s there, of course. He followed me back from the shop but hadn’t entered the clubhouse and was unaware of Helo’s recent collapse. Beard, our treasurer, is also here, though fuck knows why, as is Claw. My eyes roll as there’s only one reason they’re hanging around. It’s clear to see what Bull’s done with his time, gathering the troops and gossiping.

He swings around as I approach. “You make her pass out again, Prez?” He makes a show of sniffing under his arms. “Maybe you need to use better deodorant.”

After showing him my finger, I glance over to see Sheri standing in the kitchen doorway wiping her hands on a towel. Asmy eyes narrow at her, she shrugs as if she couldn’t see why it would be a secret.

I turn back to Bull in time to see him wink. “You get her settled…” he pauses to give me a knowing nudge, “in your bed okay?” I don’t know whether to be annoyed or proud of the speed at which he thinks I can work. I’ve only been gone a few minutes.

“I don’t take fuckin’ advantage of comatose women,” I snap. “Anyway, she’s crashed. There’ll be time to talk to her later.”

My VP turns serious. “You get much out of her after I left?”

I don’t want to share her secrets. Or not just yet. “Not a lot,” is all that I give him. Then, before he can accuse me of losing my touch, I add to pacify him, “We talked enough for me to earn her trust in so far as to get her back here to get some rest. Once she’s recovered, then it will be time for an inquisition.”

He looks unconvinced, as if I’m losing my touch, but shrugs as though my non-answer will for now satisfy him. When Mac approaches with something on his mind, Bull gives me a mock salute and goes off with him.

I glance around, looking for Legend, hoping I’m right to trust him to keep his mouth shut. I should be the only one he’s told that she’s got such a big bounty out on her, and to keep her out of harm’s way, that’s the way it has to stay. None of the men in front of me are giving off any vibes that I may have brought home a payday. Although I do overhear some comments about how that thieving bitch owes something to the club, and some suggestions of how she could make recompense which make my hands fist.

Grimacing, I can’t blame them. Only I know the full truth about her, and while it doesn’t condone her stealing from the club, I’m prepared to overlook her minor misdemeanours – they weren’t more than any of us would do if driven to find some way to survive.

I might be the prez, but the club’s run on democratic lines, and there could be some brothers who’d prefer to have the money in our coffers. While I hope most wouldn’t want to sell a woman out, they’d be right to say the only thing we really know about her is that it was our shop she robbed. It worries me that my brothers might only measure her worth in what she could bring to the club. At the moment, they’re talking about sex. But if the truth got out, I worry about whether I’d be able to control them. They haven’t caught the same sickness I have.

It makes it more crucial that I talk to Legend, but he’s not in sight. The door to his office is open and his desk unoccupied, so leaving that talk in abeyance, I turn on Claw, hoping to get the talk in the room away from the woman currently occupying my bed. “Why aren’t you laying down ink?”

The enforcer grins. “Finished my client early and not got anyone else booked. Clarise is dealing with walk-ins.”

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