Page 132 of The Fire We Crave

“Prez,” a prospect says. “There’s a woman at the clubhouse gate asking for you. Said to tell you that the bloodstain came out for the price of a wet-vac hire.”

My dead heart thuds. A single drop of anticipation.

Greer.

Memories of that night strike me. Of being stripped of my cut in the van and being bundled into a car too small for my frame. Of leaning on Greer as she helped me into her house. Of lettingher operate on me on her dining table and having her stitch me up and care for me and control my fever.

Of telling the brothers to not come get me yet.

Of pretending there was heat around her house to keep them away.

Of tearing myself out of her warm bed, away from her warm body.

Of making the much younger surgeon a promise.

Then breaking it.

“Let her in. I’ll meet her outside the clubhouse.”

Club life isn’t for everyone. The fewer people who know who she is to me, the better. She already risked herself for me. Being an accessory to the club comes with a price.

As I walk outside, I find there’s a bubble of excitement in my belly at the thought of seeing her. Suddenly, it matters that I didn’t shower this morning and there’s whiskey on my breath.

She’s not in her car, but a black one. And when she pulls up outside the club, she doesn’t smile when she sees me. God, I forgot how pretty she is. All that white-blonde hair is bundled up in a tight braid and covered by a black ball cap. The brim does little to hide the sharp cheekbones and wide blue eyes.

But even in the half light, I can see the shadows beneath them.

“Greer,” I say, “you shouldn’t have come here.”

She glances around and takes a step closer. “Is there somewhere we can talk? Privately?”

I glance around the deserted lot in front of the club with nothing but lines of motorcycles and trucks. “Here is as good as any. It’s packed inside. You doing okay?”

She huffs. “Since the day you woke up, crawled out of my bed, and just left?”

I point to the clubhouse. “You clearly knew where I was.”

“I don’t chase men across the state.”

I look at those fat lips, wanting to feel them on me again. Although the surgeon might be closer to a navy bootcamp officer in tone, when she came apart in my arms, when she trusted me enough to give her the orgasm she couldn’t find anywhere else, I wondered for a moment if anyone else would ever do it for me again.

“Then, why are you here?”

“The men you were fighting—is it over?”

I shake my head but figure the truth will get her out of here faster than anything else. “For now. Will take a lot to come back from what we did. But this is my life. Not sure it will ever really be over. Why?”

“Is there any way they could possibly know about me?”

I shake my head. “Not unless you were followed tonight.”

“I borrowed a friend’s car and made sure I wasn’t followed. Hence the hat and clothes.”

The black makes her look like she’s about to break in through the ceiling of an art museum and steal some shit.

“So, they can’t possibly know about us?” she asks again.

“No. And you should go to make sure it stays that way. I’ll always be grateful for your help, and I’m sorry for leaving without a word, but it’s better that people don’t know there’s a link between us.”

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