Whiskey Burning (Iron Fury MC Book 1) Page 3

  I strum it softly, humming low under my breath, closing my eyes and letting the music take over. It’s a song that I loved once, whole-heartedly. It reminded me of home, and falling in love, and everything perfect with the world. I miss this kind of music. I’m so lost in myself, I don’t realize that Amalie has started to play. Her fingers glide over the keys, softly at first, and then with more ferocity then I could have ever imagined.

  My head jerks up and I watch her, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide. She has her eyes closed, and her feet are both oddly touching the base legs of the piano, as if she can feel the vibrations. She’s focused, her fingers moving with ease over the keys, and for a long moment, I’m stunned. I can’t move. Or speak. Or even breathe for a few seconds.

  She.

  Is.

  Incredible.

  I’ve never heard anything like it in my life. Never heard the beauty, the passion, or the intensity coming from the instrument she’s so passionately playing. Her head moves a little with the music, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape. She looks like an angel and she plays just like one. Only when she realizes I’ve stopped playing do her fingers come to a grinding halt. She looks up at me, and her cheeks grow pink.

  “Don’t stop,” I say, making sure she can read my lips. “That was ... Amalie, that was incredible. I’ve never heard anyone play so beautifully in my entire life.”

  Her cheeks burn now, and she smiles. Then she nods. As if asking if I really mean it.

  “Yes, yes!” I laugh, standing up and rushing over. “You’re incredible. I’ll pull the strings, I’ll make it happen, and if I do, will you come on tour with me? Will you play in my band? I have some new songs, a new album, that kind of soul is exactly what I need on it.”

  Her eyes get wide, and her mouth drops open. “Are you serious?” she asks, voice low.

  “Yes!” I cry. “Gosh, yes! You’re amazing. Will you do it?”

  She nods, making a happy sound. “Yes!”

  I’m beaming, I know I am, and I know she can see it. But this is just what I need. Someone with the kind of soul that can make my music what I need it to be. Amalie is that soul, I just know it.

  “I’ll talk to my manager tonight. Please, don’t leave. I’ll get you on my tour, and on my album, if I have to kill someone to do it.”

  Her eyes go wide.

  I laugh. “I’m joking.”

  She laughs too, soft, but it’s there.

  “I have to get going, but here’s my phone number,” I say, walking around the room until I find some music sheets and a pen. I use a blank one and write my phone number down on it, then I hand it to Amalie. “Send me a text, so I have yours, I’ll be in touch.”

  She signs something, then stops herself. Signing is easier for her, that much is clearer, probably because talking is harder for her to find the right pitch, hence why her voice goes from soft to slightly higher. I make a note to learn how to sign.

  “What did you just sign to me?” I ask her, lightly and with a smile.

  “Thank you,” she tells me.

  I beam. “I’m going to learn to sign, I promise. Oh, and, Amalie, can I ask if you put your feet at the base of the piano so you can feel the intensity, and therefore know your pitch?”

  She nods.

  I shake my head, in awe. “You’re incredible. Text me, okay?”

  She beams.

  Yes.

  Things feel like they’re looking up for me.

  ~*~*~*~

  MAVERICK

  “When you comin’ back, bro?”

  I put the cigarette to my mouth, inhaling deeply, then I answer the question one of my best friends and Vice President of the Iron Fury MC, Koda, asks. Koda is short for Dakoda. A name he despises. He claims it’s a girl’s name and “no one is to ever fuckin’ call him that”. His words, not mine.

  “Soon,” I mutter.

  “What’s keepin’ you away so long? Got some good pussy?”

  I shake my head with a gruntled laugh. Trust Koda to have his mind on pussy twenty-four hours a day. The man is a silent genius. He just won’t admit it. He has his own story, his own demons, and because of those, spends most of his time following hit men and tracking their kills. It’s somewhat of an obsession for him. He researches every one of their targets, and if he doesn’t believe the person is worthy of the kill, he makes sure they’re protected.

  I don’t know why he does this.

  I don’t know the full story.

  All I know is Mal lets him do it and never interferes. I know he had a twin brother and that brother was killed. That’s as much as he’s ever divulged to me. He’s a good man. Solid. Great heart. Terrifying soul. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him. He’s the kind that’s never angry, but he has a deadly silence that makes your whole body stand on alert when he’s in the same room as you.

  Koda is the face of Fury.

  He is dangerous.

  “No pussy, bro,” I finally answer.

  My mind drifts to Scarlett and the way her sweet fingers touched mine tonight. I wanted to pull her off the stage, lift that pretty little dress up, and bury my dick so deep in her we both forgot our own names. It’s been a long fuckin’ time since I’ve looked at a woman more than briefly. The women I’ve fucked, since ... since her ... I barely speak to, I don’t know their names, I just take what I need and move on.

  But that girl has captured my attention.

  Maybe it’s the agony in her eyes. The way they are begging for someone to save her.

  I snap myself out of those thoughts when Koda speaks again.

  “Got some trouble goin’ down around here. Would be good to have you back in on the action.”

  “Yeah,” I grunt. “Mal mentioned that. You figured any more out yet, or still wonderin’?”

  “Can’t figure out Jack shit. Tryin’ to find ties to whoever this sneaky little fuck is that’s runnin’ drugs through our town and causin’ an uproar, but he’s clever. Sneaky. He’s movin’ them state to state and we’ve yet to figure out how he’s done that without any trails.”

  “You got a name? Maybe I can look into it while I’m out here on the road.”

  “No name. Closest we’ve got is Ice. That’s what they’re all callin’ him. Could be anyone. Could mean anythin’. Could be a name used as a distraction. We’re pullin’ in a few junkies tonight, see if we can’t get some information from them.”

  “Be nice, Koda. Don’t cut anyone’s balls off tonight.”

  He chuckles, voice low. “You know I love riddin’ this world of the scum that walks it, brother.”

  “Indeed, I do. Times up. I need my beauty sleep.”

  Koda chuckles. “Too late for that. Get home soon, we need you, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I grunt. “Later.”

  I crush out my cigarette and head back inside my stringy, run-down hotel room. I should get on my bike and head back, forget the pretty girl with the broken brown eyes that has captivated me. But fuck if I can do that. Where her bus goes, my bike goes. I need to know more about her. I need to know what it is that makes her eyes look so fuckin’ pained.

  Damn her.

  Scarlett Belle.

  I reach down, curling my hand around my dick. It’s hard. Fuck. I stroke once, then twice, and let my eyes close.

  She better be fuckin’ worth it.

  Something is tellin’ me she is.

  -4-

  SCARLETT

  “I want her on tour with me and on the next album,” I say, arms crossed, trying to keep calm.

  “We don’t have room for anyone else, Scarlett,” Susan grinds out. “You have exactly what you need. You don’t need anyone else on the team. We have an adequate and talented amount of people already.”

  She’s not hearing me.

  She never hears me.

  She wants all this music. They all do. This perfect persona. The perfect country music star. The perfect songs. They expect all this out of me, yet none of them are willing to give me one
single thing I need to make that happen. They want magic at their very fingertips without even having to wave a wand. I need Amalie on my team, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get her there, even if it makes them incredibly unhappy.

  “I want her on, Susan. I don’t ask for anything. Not a single thing. I do everything you tell me to do. There isn’t long left on my tour, and then we’ll be returning home to make another album. I don’t see how she’s going to interfere with any of that.”

  “She’s deaf, Scarlett.”

  That makes me irrationally angry. Why are people so quick to jump to conclusions? So quick to assume that because someone is a little different to the rest of us, that they’re not able to do and achieve the same things. I’m rarely disappointed in Susan, but right now, I am. Deeply, deeply disappointed.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” I say softly, making sure she can see the disgust over those words in my eyes.

  “Listen, Scarlett, I understand you’re feeling lost right now. We can all see it. But this is your career. We can’t put anything in the way of that. I don’t feel like this girl will enhance anything. In fact, if I’m being truthful, I think she’ll be nothing but a distraction.”

  “I need this,” I urge. “Susan, I don’t ask for a single damned thing. I need this. You want me to stay at my best, you’ll let me have it. I won’t stop until you do. In the end, it really isn’t your choice.”

  Her face goes a little red. “I’ve sacrificed a lot for your career and you, Scarlett. Now is not the time to throw down with me. You will not win.”

  Now I’m seeing red. Nobody around here takes me seriously, and I’m tired of it. So fucking sick of having a voice that simply is not heard.

  “I respect you,” I say carefully. “I don’t ever go against anything you say. But in this, I will. I want her on my team. I want her playing in my next album. I need her. I wasn’t asking for permission.”

  Susan is going to pop a top, I can see it in the way her eyes flare and her face gets red. I’m fairly certain she’s holding her breath. I need fresh air and to get out of this damned place with all these controlling people.

  “I’m going out for a bit. It’s late. I need space.”

  “Scarlett!” Susan barks. “You’re not to go out on your own.”

  I keep walking.

  I shouldn’t, I hate myself for it. I don’t like upsetting people.

  But I honestly don’t know how much more they expect me to take.

  I walk outside of the hotel and onto the sidewalk. I’m wearing a hat that covers most of my face. If I keep my head down, nobody will recognize me, not at this time of the night. I need to take a walk, clear my head, figure out the right way to do this that isn’t going to cause World War III to begin. I move down the sidewalk, focusing on the way the gravel crunches beneath my shoes.

  Music can be heard from a few blocks down, coming from a bar, I’d guess. I gravitate closer to the sound, listening as a funky R’n’B song comes on the loud speakers. Laughter trails out, and as the place comes into sight, I smile. These people, dancing, laughing, drinking, doing whatever the hell they want, look happy. Not one of them isn’t smiling or bright.

  A longing in my heart, a deep ache, reminds me that I no longer have that feeling.

  And I’d do anything to get it back.

  Keeping my head low, I walk past the bar but stop when a loud but husky laugh travels in my direction. It’s not aimed at me, but it stands out from the rest of the chatter around me. It’s familiar in some way. I tilt my head to the side and listen as I pair up a voice to match that laughter. It’s a deep, throaty voice. I’d know it anywhere. It’s the same voice I heard at the fountain. It was the man who spoke to me.

  I turn quickly, lifting my head and looking over to where the sound is coming from and my eyes fall on the most gorgeous, rugged, familiar biker I’ve ever seen. It’s him. The man from my show. The man who was following my bus. The man who spoke to me. Maverick is the biker who has been following me? I’m so lost, so caught up in staring at the gorgeous, mesmerizing man, that I don’t realize my face is now in full view.

  “Scarlett Belle?” a female says, and then her screech can be heard through the entire bar. “Oh, my god, it’s Scarlett Belle!!!”

  I take a shaky step back as heads start swiveling in my direction. Maverick’s head jerks up, and his eyes lock on mine. Those incredible green eyes pierce through me, and I can’t move. A group of girls start throwing back their chairs as they stand up. They’re going to rush me, and I literally have nowhere to go. This is bad. I’m not supposed to be out here.

  I’m frozen in the spot.

  I should not have come out alone.

  Before my brain can process what to do, Maverick walks over to the low brick wall topped with a garden that separates the bar from the sidewalk, puts one hand on it, and swings over top of it as if he jumps things like that for a living. His boots hit the ground with a thud, and then he’s striding toward me. He’s a whole lot bigger when he’s walking at me like that and, suddenly, I’m a little concerned.

  I don’t know him.

  What if he’s a stalker? A killer? A rapist? God. I didn’t think this one through.

  I take a step back and go to raise a hand, but he reaches me just before the girls hit the sidewalk, drops his shoulder into my belly, and launches me into the air, then he moves with quick strides toward the dark road. I’m in complete shock and am unable to do or say anything. Is he carrying me? Oh, God. He’s carrying me. I squirm, but it makes little difference to him. He reaches his bike, tosses me onto my feet, throws a leg over it, and barks, “Get on.”

  I open my mouth, close it, then open it again.

  “No,” I screech.

  He gives me a narrow-eyed look. “I’m not a rapist, a killer, or a stalker. You either get on the bike with me and I’ll take you back to where ever you came from, or you go and face them.”

  He jabs a thumb toward the massive group of people rushing toward us.

  God dammit. He knows I don’t really have a choice. Facing a group of people like that on my own would end so badly. Probably worse than getting on this bike with a stranger. At least he’s only one person. I can run away from him. Them, on the other hand, not so much.

  I throw my leg over the bike, and he starts it up. It roars to life with an angry growl that I can feel travel right from my tip toes to the top of my head.

  “Hang on, darlin’,” he barks. “I don’t ride softly.”

  Shit.

  I wrap my arms around the big, strong biker and he spins out onto the road with an angry roar. I scream, pressing my face into his back and clenching my eyes shut. I can smell the leather of his jacket and feel the strong ridges of his body beneath my fingertips. But I don’t open my eyes. Not right away. For a while, I just hang on, terrified, worried about falling off, going over every horrific scenario that could possibly happen right now.

  Then something happens.

  We’re on the road. The wind is ripping through my hair, trailing it back behind me. The bike is rumbling beneath my body. And I lift my head from the stranger’s back and breathe in the crisp night air that fills my lungs. I feel the way it tickles my skin. I feel his leather jacket beneath my fingers. I feel ... free.

  So. Incredibly. Free.

  ~*~*~*~

  I don’t know how long we ride. It isn’t long, or maybe it just feels like it isn’t because of the rush coursing through my body. But, eventually, we come to a stop at a beach. It’s dark out, only the streetlights shining down over the well-worn pathway running along the soft sand. I can hear the waves crashing against the shore as soon as the bike stops.

  And when the big man in front of me moves, I go still.

  Oh, shit.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Is he going to rape me? Kill me? Film me and make a big scene? What the hell was I thinking getting on a bike with a complete stranger and riding off into the night? I’ve lost
my mind.

  “Calm down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, peeling my fingers off his jacket and throwing his leg over the bike, getting off. “I’m not here to do any of the horrible shit you’re thinkin’ right now.”

  I glance at him, looking up from under my lashes at the massive biker staring down at me. He really is bigger up close. God. So big. So beautiful. His face takes my breath away—it’s the nicest, most dangerous face I’ve ever encountered on a male. It makes my heart do funny things and my stomach clench in a way I’ve never felt before. I won’t get started on the tingle between my legs.

  “Why did you help me then?” I say, my voice small. “And why have you been following me?”

  “I helped you because it was me or that group of drunk bitches with phones. Pretty sure you don’t want your face all over the internet by tomorrow morning. Not to mention you’re about five foot nothing. They’d carry you off without even making an effort.”

  He makes a valid point.

  “And the following me part?”

  “You told me your name at the fountain. I was curious.”

  I blink.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it, darlin’. Now get off the bike.”

  I do as he asks, climbing off the bike and rubbing my arms. It’s cool out with the wind whipping in from the ocean. Maverick nods his heads toward a park bench underneath one of the street lights. “You want to sit?”

  I study him. His explanations were so simple. So straight to the point. That either means he’s telling me what I want to hear to lure me to some sort of trap, or he’s telling me the truth. Something about the way his eyes hold mine, without hesitation, tells me he’s telling the truth. After all, he could just throw me over his shoulder and take me anywhere he wanted, and I’d not be able to fight him off.

  So, I walk toward the park bench and put my bottom down onto it, turning to face the mysterious stranger, just slightly. He places his big, ringed hands onto his faded-out jeans and stares straight ahead.

  “Want to tell me what you were doin’ walkin’ around so late at night all by yourself? Isn’t a girl like you supposed to have bodyguards?”