I’m not without restraint. I can take a mental picture of that and put it in the spank bank for later, no problem. But fuck, it ain’t gonna be easy.
I slip back into the shadows, biding my time for a few minutes before I decide to call it a night. I stand there in the silence, smoking and watching Ember’s house. One by one, the lights go out, until the only one left is in a window upstairs and to the right.
Her bedroom.
No shadows pass by the window. She’s being careful not to get too close. In case I’m out here, watching.
Goddamn right I’m out here, sweetheart. Thanks for lettin’ me know you’re thinkin’ about me, too.
My cock hardens again.
I take another drag on my cigarette, shift from one leg to the other, watch as a lone car passes by. I make a mental note to drive my SUV tomorrow, for comfort’s sake. It’s been a long time since I’ve done any stakeout or surveillance work. I’d forgotten how fuckin’ boring it is.
This ain’t the normal way I spend my evenings, that’s for sure. If I wasn’t stuck out here tonight, I’d probably be balls-deep in some chick right now.
And even deeper into a bottle of Jack.
Christ, I could use a drink. Especially considering I almost cost Tank and Cady their lawyer just now. The last thing I want to do is fuck up their lives. Again.
Tank doesn’t know that, though.
Oh, he knows something’s wrong. He’s cottoned on to the fact that lately, there’s something I’m trying to drown at the bottom of a bottle. None of the other Lords have paid any attention, except for him. Hell, it ain’t like a biker who drinks a lot is anything unusual, so there’s no reason they’d notice.
But Tank’s my best friend. He knows me too damn well. He hasn’t come out and asked me point-blank why it seems like my life is self-destructing from the inside.
Not that I’d tell him. Coward that I am.
Right now, though, none of that shit matters. As long as I’m sober enough to show up and do my job, it ain’t anybody’s business but my own what else I do on my own time.
And right now, my job is to protect this shit-hot lawyer from Cady’s ex.
Maybe if I do it well enough, I’ll eventually let go of the guilt I feel.
That’s the least I can fuckin’ do.
For my best friend.
But especially for Cady and Wren.
Ember’s bedroom light finally goes out.
I smoke the last cigarette in my pack, hidden from view and staring in silence at her house until the cherry of the cigarette creeps up and burns my fingers. As I stub it out against the tree, I remember that’s called an ember, too.
When it’s gone, I take out my phone, check the time. It’s late enough for me to call it a night. I decide to go home, grab some sleep.
Back at my place, I park my bike, unlock my door, and shuffle through the blackness into my kitchen. I don’t bother turning on the lights. I know where the whiskey is.
I pour myself a couple fingers. Go to the living room, sit down on the couch.
My stomach rumbles from lack of food, but I ignore it.
I’m one finger down when I decide to make a phone call. I hit the number on my screen, wondering if this will be the time I find out it’s disconnected, or I’ve been blocked.
The call goes to voice mail, like I knew it would.
You’ve reached Richard. Leave a message.
I don’t.
Instead, I hang up and set the phone down, turning the ringer off so I won’t hope for a call back.
When the whiskey in my glass is gone, I go back to the kitchen and grab the bottle. Back on the couch, I think about December Wells as I drink the liquid fire that loosens my muscles and unclenches my soul.
December.
Ember.
Ice. But also, fire.
She feels like a contradiction. A puzzle that’s tugging at me.
I find myself wanting to solve it.
7
Ember
I stand in the entryway of my house, back against the door, for a full five minutes. Frozen to the spot.
The unexpectedness of Striker’s touch — the way his callused finger lifted my chin up to his face — shocked me. Even now, I feel the absence of it.
That, and the way Striker’s voice softened when his eyes met mine. I know it’s how he convinced me to keep Tank and Cady on as clients.
Damn my weakness. Damn his eyes. Those dark, brooding pools that seemed to pierce right through me.
I keep replaying the conversation in my head, even after I’ve gone back inside. How Striker went from cocky, to demanding, to pleading with me not to drop Cady and Tank as clients. I don’t know why he’d care so much about me taking their case over anyone else. All I know was, the relief on his face when I said I’d keep them on was unmistakable.
Getting ready for bed, I can almost feel his eyes on me as he stands out there in the night. Though I would never admit this — especially not to Striker — his touch just now awakened something in me. A desire I pushed down deep when I was still with Mark, out of self-preservation. The promise of contact. Skin to skin. Rough to smooth. Hard to soft.
Once I’ve turned off my bedroom light — once I’m safely in the dark was in the dark — a small part of me can’t resist imagining that I was bold enough to stand in front of the window as I undressed and got ready for bed.
If he’s still out there, what would he think if he saw my naked body in silhouette?
What would he do if I went outside again? If I walked up to him, closing the distance between us, until nothing but the crisp night air separated us. The cool air caressing our skin. Pebbling my nipples.
It’s an effort not to touch myself — to give myself the pleasure I haven’t desired in ages — and imagine it’s him doing it to me.
Sleep is a long time coming. When it does, the arrogant biker — too handsome for his own good — even penetrates my dreams.
Looking in the mirror the next morning, my puffy eyes are an embarrassing reminder that I’ve barely slept.
I decide to let Bert out in the backyard, instead of taking him for his morning walk. “Sorry, buddy. No walk for you this morning. But I promise I’ll take you for a nice long run when I get home tonight. Deal?”
Bert doesn’t seem convinced. He tilts his head at me and gives me a low groan, as though he’s questioning my honesty. He knows me too well.
Yawning, I cling to this mug of fresh-brewed coffee like it’s a lifeline and open the back door to let him push through. I follow him out, then sit down on the steps leading down from the back deck to drink my coffee while he does his business.
It’s not that I don’t want to take Bert out as usual. It’s just that I’m just not quite ready to face the day yet. And by “the day,” I mean I’m not ready for my new reality of being guarded day and night by an outlaw motorcycle club.
I bring the mug to my lips, gingerly taking a sip of the hot liquid. I still don’t know if Tank is overreacting about my needing protection. It’s still hard for me to believe there’s anything to Tank’s worry that Cady’s ex could come after me. As a family law attorney, I’ve had to deal with an angry spouse of a client here and there, but nothing that truly made me afraid. Certainly nothing that has ever made me feel like I needed to consider hiring personal protection. I still viscerally dislike the idea of someone out there, surveilling me.