Flame (Ruin Outlaws MC #4) (3 page)

I stretch my arms out wide and turn over with my last bit of energy, the bed sticky from my sweat. His side of the bed is dry and cool in comparison, and it feels good against my raw ass and punished back. I can still feel his kisses against my ear when I watch him dip into the bathroom for a brief second.

"Jesus christ, Logan." I mutter and let out a long sigh. "That was fuckin' insane."

He laughs in response. I turn my head to face him as he leaves the bathroom and grabs his clothes again. "Where are you going?"

"I have to take care of some business," he says. "I wanted to check up on you first."

"Again? Let me come."

He hesitates and looks out the window. Cars drive by and the sound drifts up through the hot air. Was it that loud the whole time we were having sex? I didn't even notice it at all. "Where were you earlier?" I ask. Maybe I can get something out of him.

"Getting more ammo since you used it all up," he says. He pulls out a parcel from his jacket and throws it on the bed. The way it lands, it looks heavy. I pick it up.

"How much is this?"

"Three hundred rounds, but it's only pistol ammo. I need revolver ammo for your gun."

I turn on to my stomach and drag myself across the bed. He's sitting in his jeans, still shirtless and looking hot as fuck. I can't take my eyes off him and as ridiculous as it sounds, just thinking about him fucking me again is getting me wet. I stroke his leg and see if there's any reaction.

"I have to do a favor for someone to get it, which is going to be a pain in the ass."

"What kind of favor?"

"I think I need to get in contact with the cartel that did the drug run up to Arizona. Some of their members are fucking shit up around here, it sounds like. I need to show them the door."

I stare at him, not sure if he's kidding or not. I definitely didn't hear any sarcasm in his voice. "What? Like kill them?"

He stands up and my hand drops from his thigh. He slips his shirt on and I frown. "Hopefully not."

"So you're going to leave me here again?" The pained look he gives me makes me instantly regret it. I shouldn't try guilt-tripping him into things. He doesn't have a choice. "Okay," I give in.

"Damian is here, he'll keep you safe."

"Yeah, I'm sure," I say, leaning back and resting my head on the pillow. "Don't take forever."

"I won't," he says. He slips out the door and clicks it closed gently. I smirk. That fucking guy has got some real sharp talons dug in me deep, for me to put up with this shit. But no one can say he's a loser.

I wait for the howl of his engine to signal his departure, and it comes after a few moments. It sounds like he's making his bike scream just for me. To remind me that he's out there, doing whatever he can for me. For us.

. . .

Considering how much Logan is doing for us, it makes me feel like I'm not doing enough. I've pretty much been dragged along for the ride this whole time, and god knows, I feel like a burden. I did my best to learn how to shoot the other day, so hopefully if the situation arises, I'll be prepared this time.

I should do more, but what can I do? We have plenty of money, and if I'm not rough enough for Logan to take me with him on his... vaguely illegal excursions, what good am I to him?. I don't think I could stomach being his sidekick in crime anyway. Can you train that reflex? The one that makes your heart splash into your stomach?

I don't know. I climb out of the bed and dress myself for the day, pulling on some shorts and a thin shirt. I can't believe how much hotter it is here than up in Arizona, and I'm used to fucking 110 degree weather. It probably doesn't help this room doesn't have a ceiling fan, although I couldn't expect that, could I?

I fall down to my hands and knees and pull the duffel bag out from under the bed. I unzip it and pull out the revolver, still a bit dirty from our desert shoot-out. I decide I can at least clean this up, right? That'd be helpful.

I twist it around in my hand before locating the cylinder unlock. It flips open and reveals six empty holes. I tip the gun back and peer through them, the light shining through the smooth metal. Examining the gun now, I'm not really sure what I can do to clean it up. Maybe... Damian knows? He seems like the kind of guy to have guns. At least he has a computer to look it up instructions.

I pocket the gun which bulges through my shorts like I'm carrying some kind of weird fruit or I have a tumor in my leg. I pace down the stairs and look for Damian, but he's not at his usual post by the front door. His laptop screen is open and I sit down in the chair.

On the screen, a window is open with a map showing directions leading out of the town into the desert between here and Santa Ana. Did he just leave? I don't even know if he has a car...

"Damian?" I call out into the house. My voice is dead against the carpet and there's no answer. I shout again and stand up and start searching around. There must be a garage or something attached to the opposite wall of this place, right? I stalk down the hall beside the stairs and find a thick door with a lock. I jiggle the handle and open it, revealing a deserted garage with an oil stain glistening in the center of the cement floor. "Great," I say. A toolbox is near the door in the garage, and I figure that's something that I might need. I grab it and take it back inside, mulling over the whole map mystery.

What's Damian doing out in the desert? Thinking about what Logan told me... I can only think of drugs. But that wouldn't really make sense. Just him? By himself?

Or did he go with Logan to solve our ammo issue? I thought Logan said Damian would be here to keep me safe. I sigh in frustration. What can I fucking do if no one tells me anything?

I go back to the computer and drop into the chair with as much dead weight as possible. I find a webpage detailing handgun cleaning, so I drag the laptop to the kitchen with me. I pull out the handgun and start following the instructions. The tools from the toolbox are more helpful than I thought they would be, but not for... their designed purposes. Mostly using them to help pry things apart and such.

After a long while where it feels like time has stopped, I'm done. I put the final polish on the gun with my shirt and admire it. It looks real good. Logan might even be proud. I take the laptop back where I found it and leave it on the desk. I don't want Damian to come home and think I was snooping around on his computer.

But I've already looked and I saw the map... So what else might I find? I pocket the revolver and sit in the chair and pull up Damian's browser history. Lots of porn... more and more porn... but then a couple of chat room web pages. Weird. They have names I can't decipher, and I feel a chill run up my spine when I see them. Not because I'm so embarrassed to not know Spanish, but because it just seems fishy.

Especially the timestamps. He was on those pages last night after Logan and I had gone to sleep.

Who was he talking to?

Probably no one, I assure myself. If anything, they're just like all the porn sites. Just dating hook ups or something. Maybe that's where he went. Just cybering with strangers seems like his ballgame, considering everything else.

I still wish that I didn't have to hang out here alone, though. I climb the stairs and find the duffel bag splayed open on the bed. I flip open the chamber and reload the gun with the last four rounds and click it closed. It's satisfying, knowing I can actually wield this thing. But at the same time, a little scary to think my life has come to a point where I need to use a gun.

Maybe to take my mind off things and be a little useful, I could go shopping for food? There's plenty of money still in the bag for me to use, and Logan should be back in time to actually enjoy it. I feel silly, like I'm playing housewife with a convict.

I want to bring the gun. I might need it. Too bad I can't carry it with these shorts. I change into something a bit looser to hide the gun. I pocket some cash before zipping the bag closed and pushing it under the bed. I go to the bedroom door. With my hand still on the knob, I survey the room and try to note how disheveled it is. I can take care of that later. I shut the door and descend the stairs quickly.

I'm sure there's a store nearby somewhere. Maybe a market?

Outside the apartment isn't any cooler than inside. Once I make it to the sidewalk the sun beats down on me. I shield my face from the heat and try to pick a direction to go. Logan took me left to that little restaurant the other morning. So maybe... Turn right? I note the building across from the alley incase I get lost, and start my way down the sidewalk, feeling the revolver's heft in my pants.

––––––––

M
y motorcycle has been running like shit lately. Maybe too rich with all the smog it's been kicking out. I need to take a look at it, but now isn't the time.

I asked Damian about the Samson brothers, but he didn't have a lot of information to tell me except what part of town they might be hanging out around. It's enough to go off of anyway, I'm sure I won't miss them when I see them.

Judging by what Damian did know, they're not Hispanic. That might make it a little easier, but then again, this is a border town. Whatever. He said the southend of the city is where they are usually fucking around. I'm antsy about running into Mr. Martinez again. I doubt he thinks very highly of me after I shouted at him at the drug drop.

I turn down a deserted side street and cut through a bunch of buildings. The layout of the city is coming back to me. When we first entered the town, it was like a hazy memory that I could barely grab onto, but the longer I'm here, the more the fog lifts. Hell, it feels just like yesterday I was down at the range shooting with Surge.

Surge. I wonder what he's doing to handle the situation with the Skeletons. I've known him for so many years but still don't have that much insight on what makes him tick. I guess I've never really given a shit, but maybe Cassie is changing that a little.

Funny. I thought I'd be the one hardening her after all this crap, but the more she lingers on my mind, the more I feel myself going soft. It's almost... frustrating? She's cheery even down here. I'll look at her and expect to see her sad or defeated after all the shit I've torn her through, but she just smiles at me. She tells me to think positive and try not to be so negative. I can't help it, but... maybe I can learn.

I make the engine growl a couple of times and glance around for any suspicious people lurking about. Any white people at least. There's a bar down the street, its small sign barely noticeable against the bright sky, but I remember it. I'll get information there.

I glide my bike along the sidewalk and jerk it to a stop, dropping my feet to the ground in the same motion. I kick the stand down and shut the bike off, before throwing myself over the seat and climbing onto the curb. The door to the bar is heavy and cold air blasts my face as I pry it open against the pressure.

It's dim, with no windows streaming light inside. It almost reminds me of the bar back in Arizona, but then again, any bar might do that to me. A couple of people turn and glance at me from their stools, but they quickly turn back to their beers once they get a good look. It's dead. I head up to the bar and sit on a stool, and the bartender walks over to me and greets me.

"
Hola, señor, ¿como estás?
"

"
Bien
," I nod to him and lower my voice, "
¿Hables inglés?
" He nods and I lean across the bar. "Have you heard of the Samson brothers?"

His smile fades and he frowns a bit as I mention the name. He dips his voice low and peers at me. "Maybe I have. Why?" His accent is still thick, but not indecipherable.

"They owe me something and I need to get in touch with them."

"They're bad news," the bartender says, "I'd stay away from them if I were you."

"Good thing you aren't me. Tell me where they are."

He sighs and steps away for a moment, acknowledging the other customers who need new beers. I watch him refill their glasses and say something to them to the effect of "hold your fucking horses," which makes me smirk a little. He's on edge. When he returns to me, he puts his hands on the bar.

"I think you should leave."

This isn't getting me anywhere. I shake my head. "No, I need to know where I can find them."

The bartender smiles and straightens himself up, asking me if I want a beer in Spanish. I look at him and something in his eyes tell me I shouldn't refuse. I nod and he goes to fill a glass for me. I try to catch what he's doing, and briefly see the white bottom of a paper coaster before he slips it under my beer and slides it toward me. I take a sip and thank him, and pull out a twenty and leave it on the bar.

I pick up my beer and coaster and move toward a secluded corner of the bar. The coaster is a bit damp from the wet glass, but the writing on the bottom is clear as day. An address and time. I don't look at the bartender again as I finish my beer and head out the door.

The address is familiar to me, but I can't recall why. The name of the place sounds like a bar, and the street is fairly close, so I guess Damian wasn't off the mark when he said the south end of town. The time is later today, later than I'd like. What should I do until then?

I get back on my motorcycle and start the engine. With a couple flicks of my wrist, the engine races loudly against the building. What am I doing out here anyway? Am I really going to take on these two thugs?

From what Jimmy was saying, the brothers sound like kids. I've handled worse before, but this feels off. Wrong somehow. My mind goes to Cassie, and I fight back the urge to go to her. I can't describe my feelings, but they're wavering and torn inside my chest. It's uncomfortable, and I'd rather ignore them. I can either go protect her and let my hard edge soften, or confront these two punks head on and test my resolve. I still have to be sharp, or what good am I?

Driving down the side streets, I find the address and bar. It's open, and even darker than the last one. Inside, there's a handful of pool tables, torn and beaten, and a couple people eating bar food at a table in the center of the room. I find a corner and sit down. I need a drink. Especially with all the strange thoughts tumbling around in my head right now. Hell, I'd like a smoke too, if I hadn't quit that shit.