Page 9 of Fire Meets Fire

People can have many reactions when I’m incapacitated. Some walk away in disgust or embarrassment, thinking I’m drunk. Others may try to help but have no idea how. I forget how often an ambulance has been called, only for me to dismiss them when they arrive. Harold was different. He chased away the deviants who’d decided it was a good time to steal my backpack and instinctively knew what to do by staying by my side until I returned to my senses. Then after I answered in the negative when he’d asked if there was someone to call, or someplace he could take me, he’d ushered me into his truck and had given me a ride. We’d come straight back to his ranch.

I instinctively trusted him. Somehow, we both recognised each other’s demons. I didn’t need to hear his screaming nightmares to know he was a fellow PTSD sufferer, but what trauma he or I hid, we kept to ourselves.

I never had family, but if I had anything to compare him with, I’d say he’s acted the role of a grandfather. A lonely man,I think he was pleased when he found an excuse to keep me around, despite how much he protests to the contrary.

We both know here isn’t where I’ll spend the rest of my life, but I’m so thankful and grateful to him for now. It’s why I’m doing the best I can on the almost impossible task of restoring his son’s bike to factory condition, and doing it as cheaply as possible.

Of course, pilfering what I can is not only exercising my warped sense of helping out, but also keeping my skills intact.

My conscience? Well, you can’t really steal from criminals, can you?

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAZ

As I wake, I’m aware I’m sporting an uncomfortably rock-hard cock. It’s more than just the morning wood that assails most men. It’s the vestiges of the dream I’d just had and lingering memory of the woman I met last night, well, more accurately, of her ass that I’d imagined I was hammering into. When I recall her mouth came into play in some parts, my hand reaches down and squeezes the base of my throbbing cock.

Damn it. I’m a man in my forties not a schoolboy who can’t control himself. Trying to get my unruly appendage to calm down before I make a mess of my sheets, I force myself to pull my focus away from her physical attributes and instead on the fact that the woman in question is now a captive of ours. Or dead.

Nah. Something tells me whatever happened to her wasn’t fatal. Of course, that could be wishful thinking as she’s got certain attributes it would be a waste not to explore. No, she’ll be awake and… I grin, picturing how spitting mad she’ll be when we visit her this morning. Then I frown. We’d been well matched in that fight until I came down on top of her. I’d been prepared to be sent ass over tit as she got out of my hold, but instead, she’d frozen.

Why?She’d been giving me a good run for my money before she’d suddenly stopped. At the time, I’d taken it for the gift that it was rather than putting much effort into wondering why. But now, in my bed, I go back over what had occurred.

She’d frozen, paled, gone shaky. She’d tried to recover herself, but then she’d fainted. Or gone comatose.

I must have just hit her too hard. For all her skills, she’s a woman, and they’re not called the weaker sex for nothing. For a second I feel guilty, then remember she was stealing from us. If she hadn’t wanted to get punched, then she shouldn’t have been fighting. Briefly I wonder whether Legend was right, and we should have gotten her medical treatment. I consider again what if we return to find a dead body, then decide that would at least remove a complication from my life. Not only wouldn’t I have to deal with her, but I wouldn’t have to work out why just one sight of the woman made me dream about her last night.

I can’t recall hitting her hard enough to cause a concussion, unless her skull’s like an eggshell. No, what I remember is her expertly blocking punch after punch, forcing me to change my approach and come up with some decidedly ungentlemanly blows. I’d enjoyed the competition until… Again, my eyes narrow as I think back. What had caused her to go still after I’d taken the advantage and gotten her on the ground? Had something about me being on top triggered her? My cock had definitely gotten hard. Rethinking the event is not helping me now as I try to ignore that unruly appendage.

The answer hits me like the ice cold contents of a bucket of water, and the woman herself had given it to me. I’d recalled the conversation I’d all but forgotten.She’s been abused all her life.. She’d admitted a past that forced her to learn to defend herself.

Fuck, Any idea of her making reparation for her theft by way of her body may have to be put aside. I’m no rapist. I’d rather kill the bitch than force myself on her.

Shit. That only confirms that maybe I’m on the right track. But I’ll never know until she tells me the answer.

I start to plan what I’ll do when I next see her. Will I immediately let her out of her prison? Nah, where’s the fun in that? I’ll torture her with the thought she’ll never get out unless she confides exactly who she is and what she wants, and what the fuck is wrong with her. She had the audacity to steal from the club, and no one fucks with the Wretched Soulz and gets away with it. She’s got some punishment coming and I’ve just got to work out what. And it will be me that doles it out. The thought of one of my brothers laying their hands on her makes me see red.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Throwing off the sheet, I make my way to my shower, rubbing one out as soon as the water flows hot, hoping now my cock’s been relieved I can start thinking rationally. But any easing it provides me with is only fleeting. Just the thought of seeing her, of questioning her, of possibly getting my hands on her, if only to shake some sense into her has me ready to go again within moments.

At last I admit I haven’t looked forward to something as much as seeing her again in years. My heart rate speeds up, my muscles are quivering, and I’m almost as excited as the first time I put on my cut. Of course, I could be ill and on the verge of a heart attack, which would be a far more reasonable explanation other than a random bitch having gotten me riled.

Ignoring the urge to relieve my cock for a second time, I switch off the shower, dry myself, and complete the rest of my morning rituals on autopilot, my mind totally focused onher. I’m still barefooted and just zipping my jeans when a knock comes on my door.

Opening it, I find Mac who’s been a member for the past couple of years. After a year of prospecting and answering to the name Shitface, we relented and agreed on a cut down ofhis surname for his final road name. Though we now do have another Shitface as a prospect, it was too good a name to give up.

“Whatchawant?” I mumble, fastening the button to close my fly.

“Bull called me. Tried to call you?—”

Turning, I roll my eyes. My phone is on the nightstand, obviously uncharged. “What he want?”

“He went to check on the bitch you caught yesterday, but found she was gone.”

Gone?“What do you mean she’s fuckin’ gone?” I roar, my hands reaching for him and grabbing the sides of his cut. Thoughts of how I was going to get payment from her now pushed out of my head.

“Whoa. I’m just the messenger.” Mac holds up his hands and blanches.

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