Page 8 of Fire

Ford doesn’t say anything else. He just stands up and leaves. I stare after him. I imagine this is the last time I will ever see him. It shouldn’t upset me, and yet, it does. I shake my head. This is why I can never be trusted to bring a man into my son’s life. I’m already infatuated with a man I don’t know. A man who is evidently working for the Korslova family. That’s just more proof of how stupid I am. I thought I had left my bad luck in Virginia.

I was wrong.

5

FORD

I don’t know what the fuck I expected when I brought the detective up to Grace. Okay, that’s wrong. I thought she would admit that she’d been seeing him. Never in a thousand fucking years did I expect her to say she had shit against the Korslova family. Korslova is a rising Russian crime family. Sure, they’re a few steps below the Levkin family, but they’ve been itching for years to move up in the ranks. I’ve heard talks that after Ivan killed his brother and put his nephew in as the leader in the Russian territory that the Korslovas were trying to assert themselves. I knew Grace was special and I was claiming her. I just didn’t have a fucking clue that she was a key piece in the puzzle between warring families in the Russian Bratva.

Jesus Christ.

I’ve never had good luck with women, but this is ridiculous. I shouldn’t have walked away from her yesterday. After the bomb she detonated, however, I had to. I needed time to regroup and get my head together. A smart man would walk away. I’ve never been smart when it comes to women. My daughter Lyla’s mother is just further proof of that. I can’t walk away from Grace. Sure, I want her. It’s more than that, though. There’s just somethingabout her that feels special. Despite the shit that she’s dragging along with her, I want her.

I stare at the number written on a torn off piece of notebook paper that’s lying in front of my knee. The stark white paper shows up brightly against the black silk of the bed sheets that I’ve been sleeping on while here at the Saint’s clubhouse. King is standing over me. I look up at him with a sigh.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I grumble.

“Someone needs to. You make this call and you’re liable to cause trouble for that girl,” King cautions for the millionth time.

“I don’t want to cause her trouble, asshole. I just want …”

“To get laid? Go find someone else.”

“That’s not it, either,” I huff. I thrust my hand into my hair, staring the bastard down. If King switches to the Saints, I’ll miss him. We’ve been together for a long time. He and Grunt have been my only support at times. T came in and joined the ranks, but there’s a connection that I have with King that can’t be replaced. We’ve fought wars beside one another. I push those thoughts away. He needs to do what is best for him. His divorce hit him hard. King’s always wanted one woman and one only. I thought Shelby was going to be that for him. I don’t know what direction he’s going to decide to go, but I find myself hoping he finds what he’s always craved. If ever there was a man who deserved a good woman, it’s King. I’m not sure what I deserve, but I have a feeling Grace Sutton is the woman that’s going to bring me to my knees. I didn’t think I was the kind of man to give any woman that power, but clearly, I was wrong.

I look up at King. He seems resigned, then shakes his head and walks out. I pick up my phone, dialing, waiting for someone to answer. By the fourth ring, I’m about to hang up just as someone picks up.

“Black Stone Ridge Stables.”

“I’m looking for Mr. Garcia.”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Garcia isn’t?—”

“Tell him I’m calling about Grace Sutton,” I interject. I’m not about to let the woman on the phone bullshit me. She’s clearly fielding calls.

“Hold please.”

I don’t respond, but I nod—even if she can’t see me. I’m about to throw down with this Cruz Garcia. If he thinks he has a claim on Grace, he needs to think again. I also need to know what kind of deal he’s made with the Korslovas. If he has my woman in hot water, he better start enjoying the last of his days.

I’m going to end him.

6

FORD

“You’ve got about fifteen seconds to tell me who the hell you are and why you’re calling about Gracie. Time starts now.”

“I have two questions, and you better come up with some good damn answers, because if not, me and my club will be knocking down your doors today,” I growl.

“Your club?” he asks, but he doesn’t sound worried at all.

“Demon Chasers MC out of Virginia.”

“Little far away from home, aren’t you?” he laughs. The motherfucker is either stupid or has balls of steel.

“I’m in your neck of the woods visiting allies,” I supply. I don’t know why I answer. I suppose I’m willing to play along—to a point.

“Saints or Ferals?” he asks, surprising the fuck out of me. Apparently, Detective Garcia has been here long enough to know the local clubs.

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