Page 45 of The Fire We Crave

As he walks away, I hear Def Leppard’s “Love Bites” coming from the speakers. I don’t know who the fuck put the rock ballad on, but the last thing I need is to listen to lyrics talking about not wanting to touch someone too much because fucking them might make you go crazy.

Three hours later, when I’m so drunk I can barely stand, and Isla is trying her best to persuade me to take her to my room, those lyrics become all the more real.

Because Quinn arrives, and the rest of the world falls out of focus.

13

QUINN

I’ve been to Outlaw cookouts with Ember a few times. Once, when we were sixteen, shortly after my sister had started dating Smoke. I’d lied to my parents; told them I was going to stay at Dawn’s house.

I remember the way Mel had changed her look, pulling on the skinniest of jeans and wearing a vintage Poison T-shirt that she’d cut and snipped to give it a deep V-neck and cropped look that revealed her belly button piercing.

My parents didn’t know about the bar with little diamonds on either end, but I thought it was the coolest thing ever.

She’d promised me that she’d take me to get mine done by the same guy who did hers the day of my eighteenth birthday and we’d keep it a secret together.

And I remember how Smoke looked at her when she arrived. He paused, cigarette halfway to his mouth, looked her up and down, and smiled with approval.

So, it shouldn’t be right that I’m looking around the wide outdoor space at the rear of the clubhouse to see if I can see him. To see if he might look at me that way.

“Girls,” Butcher says, walking towards us.

“Dad,” Ember says, hugging him. It’s much more reserved than usual. Like the two of them are strangers. She told me a little of why things aren’t the best between them.

He tried to keep her and Atom apart, overstepping her boundaries and taking control of her life. Something she deeply resented.

I understand her feelings. But as someone with a dead mom and an absent dad, I’d give anything to have some semblance of family who actually cared.

“Hey, Butcher,” I say as he hugs me. He smells of sandalwood and leather. I’d never admit it, but I always thought Nolan Deeks was a hot older man. Like one of the daddies I read about in my romance books. With sharp eyes and even sharper cheekbones, and salt-and-pepper hair, I bet he could make any woman kneel at his feet if he called her a good girl. “Thank you again for providing me with some…protection.”

The word sticks in my throat. Even as I watched some friend of the club install new window sensors and door alarms and cameras, I was torn. Grateful for the additional layer of security but hating that it’s even necessary.

Butcher taps my cheek. “My job is to look after this town, sweetheart. And as Ember’s friend, you bounce to the top of that list.”

“Well, I’m grateful,” I say.

“Get yourselves drinks, and look out for each other,” Butcher says, and leaves the two of us to go talk to Wraith.

“Babe,” Atom says, snaking his hands around Ember’s waist from behind and kissing the side of her neck.

Ember grins, unabashed. “Hey, sweetie.”

“Fuck, you always smell so good,” he says, burying his nose in the side of her neck.

His words are a little slurred, but it simply makes the burly enforcer seem almost…playful. Not a word I’d usually associate with Atom.

“And you smell like ten shots of Kentucky Bourbon,” Ember says.

“Can I get you girls a drink?” he asks.

Ember holds up the cooler bag she brought. “Put these somewhere no one else can find them and only pour them for me and Quinn.”

“What?” Atom asks. He looks genuinely confused by the statement.

She shakes her head and grabs his hand. “Never mind, my little drunken boy, I’ll come with you. Want one, Quinn?”

“Would love one.” Ember’s a wine snob. She likes fancy unpronounceable wines from fancy places. And she doesn’t like sharing with people who wouldn’t know a specialty wine from a ten-dollar bottle from the store.

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