Page 6 of Damascus & The Wildfire
Hatchet choked. I laughed as he sputtered, delighted to have caught him off guard.
He wiped his mouth. “Fuck. You trying to kill me?”
I feigned innocence. “I wanted to see if you truly drew the line at shopping. Friendship requires flexibility.”
He leaned in closer. “If that’s what friendship with you looks like, I’m willing to negotiate.”
I arched a brow. “What exactly are your terms?”
“Hmm,” Hatchet hummed, stroking his beard as he pretended to ponder the question. “First, I get to take you to my favorite taco truck for brunch. Second, I always get to pick the music in my truck. Third, I have a strict no-pants-after-midnight policy.”
I nearly spat out my drink. “It seems we may be at an impasse, biker boy. I always pick the music.”
Hatchet grinned as he closed the last bit of distance between us. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll agree to that, as long as you don’t play any Taylor Swift,” he said in a low voice as his fingers lingered on the side of my neck. “I have to draw the line somewhere, sweetheart.”
For a heartbeat, I let myself enjoy the warmth of his touch and our easy flirtation. Then the world tilted, and I froze as the unwanted memories flooded my mind once again.
Taylor Swift blaring in my Lexus. Tires screeching. The cry of metal on metal. Steel piercing through Alec’s chest. My hands, cut from shattered glass, covering the wound. The smell of copper filling the car as blood flowed under my palms. Alec’s shaky fingers tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as he called me “sweetheart” one last time and apologized over the approaching sirens. His expression went slack, his eyes blank, before I had a chance to insist that I was the one who should apologize.
A crushing weight pressed on my chest as I stepped backward. “I’m sorry. I need a minute.”
Hatchet’s brows furrowed as I stumbled toward the edge of the clubhouse, my lungs clawing for air as the laughter and music faded behind me.
Chapter Two
The scent of woodsmoke drifted on the warm Texas breeze, wrapping around me from where I sat in the shadows near the edge of the bonfire.
After a long week dealing with a clusterfuck of a misunderstanding with the Red Rock Riot, a New Mexican MC led by two men who made Thane look like a teddy bear, and planning a sitdown with the Fort Worth mafia, I needed a drink.
Kenna’s laughter floated above the bonfire’s crackling and the twang of Hank Williams. She was all fire and warmth, offering too much light for a dark soul like mine. But that didn’t stop the envy from pooling in my chest as she flirted with Hatchet.
He lit up the space. Sometimes I wanted to hate the prick. He made it look effortless, drawing people to him in a way I couldn’t imagine. He might be my best friend, but it still grated on my nerves.
I forced my attention back to Fuse, a longtime friend. But even as we talked bikes and business, my gaze kept drifting back to Kenna. The chatter between her and Hatchet quieted, and I couldn’t quite place the mix of emotions that flickered across her face. One moment, she was soft and happy, her eyes alight with laughter. The next,something brittle and broken flashed through her expression. She flinched, and the light in her eyes snuffed out like a birthday candle on a windy day.
I knew pain when I saw it. I’d lived with it long enough in my forty years to recognize it in others.
She muttered something to Hatchet, then slipped into the darkness.
It certainly wasn’t the response Hatchet expected. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his easy smile faltering before he strolled over to where we sat, his usual swagger muted by confusion.
I narrowed my eyes and glanced back to the darkness where Kenna had disappeared, the shadows swallowing her whole.
“Where’s Kenna?” Eva’s question cut through the music and chatter as her eyes searched the area.
“She kind of stormed off.” Hatchet sounded uncertain—a tone I rarely heard from him.
Reaper leveled a look at him while Eva shot him a murderous glare.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
Hatchet held up his palms and took a step back. He’d seen what Eva was capable of, and he sure as shit didn’t want to be on the receiving end of her retribution. I’d laugh at the sight of our enforcer backing down from a five-foot-something woman if I wasn’t worried about why Kenna pulled away.
“Nothing. I swear. We were talking about music. She just … fell apart.”
Eva’s anger flickered to guilt as understanding dawned on her face. “Shit. I forgot,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Forgot what?” I asked.
