Gunner's Flame Page 2

  “I’m fine,” I insisted for at least the tenth time, folded in on myself, arms clenched tight around my middle while fighting off visions of Mom wasting away on her hospital bed.

  Outlines of three bodies stood out in stark white chalk on the ground a little ways away, dark stains of blood still not completely dried or washed away. I tore my stare off the horrid sight, seeking out comfort.

  Gunner and his two friends stood with another cop a few feet away, but his dark-eyed gaze stayed on me.

  I heaved a sigh, settling my nerves the slightest bit at the understanding in his eyes, the connection I felt tugging us toward one another. I’d never felt need for someone as I did for Gunner, as though my body knew it would find solace and peace in close proximity to him.

  The cops had my name and number, knew where I lived, and had jotted down what story I could offer. I was free to leave, but I hesitated, still dazed and uncertain of where I should go, what I should do.

  Although I hated crowds, my cousin had insisted I go to the peaceful Veteran’s March for Peace, so I’d decided to take the train south into the city, but stay on the outskirts until our agreed upon time to meet.

  The silent beauty of the walking crowd had soothed me in ways I’d never again expected to feel and almost gave me the sense of comradery I’d felt for a short time while overseas. Hundreds of people, quite a few in old uniforms from all branches of the military, had made their way through the streets of D.C. to silently protest the ongoing war, the ongoing loss of innocent lives even if recruits signed up knowing the possible cost.

  Gunner and his two friends were of a rougher crowd, by looks, anyway. All three wore leathers and vests declaring them members of the Devil’s Outlaws, a biker gang aptly named from the northern suburbs, but I’d never been one to judge a person by their clothing choice -- especially since Gunner had seemed hell-bent on helping me transition back to civilian life.

  Also by looks, he was one of the hottest men I’d ever seen. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark tanned face, neck, and tattooed arms. He squinted in the sun while staring at me, lines crinkling the corners of his eyes as though he smiled on the inside.

  Considering what had happened, I shouldn’t have been thinking about how good-looking the man was. People had been shot to death a few yards from me for reasons I expected the law would never understand.

  Senseless shootings -- at a memorial, no less -- by a madman who didn’t deserve to live.

  I squeezed myself tighter, and moments later, Gunner made his way toward me, his long strides eating up the distance, his shoulders wide and set as though he could easily carry the burden of my world.

  His dark gaze flitted over my face as though seeking what went on in my brain, weakening my knees. “Did you come here alone?”

  “Yes. I took the metro.”

  “I thought you didn’t like crowds,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly.

  “I stay as near to the doors as possible and try to ignore the people around me.”

  “You’re very brave.”

  I snorted a sarcastic laugh. “Hardly.”

  “Any woman who joins the army knowing they could see combat is one hell of a woman in my book.”

  Warmth spread through me, and I actually found my lips tilting a bit. Guilt over a bit of happiness after what had happened quickly faded my lips to a flat line again. “I -- I don’t think I can get on the train now, though,” I whispered.

  Gunner grasped my elbow, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing in circles. “We have our bikes parked over by the Washington Monument. I could take you home if you’d like.”

  “I don’t have a helmet.”

  “Drac always has an extra shoved in his saddle bags,” he said, motioning toward the dirty-blond-haired biker still chatting with the cops.

  “Drac? As in Dracula?”

  Gunner’s eyes twinkled a bit as a corner of his lips twitched. “He likes to bite.”

  “Ah. And how did you get your nickname?”

  All traces of mirth on his face dissolved. “I’m an excellent shot.”

  A shiver slid down my spine, and I turned my train of thought off guns and war. “What’s your real name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Mitch Flannigan.”

  “So were you serious in that offer to take me home, Mitch?”

  “Fucking right.” His eyes glinted as he glanced at our surroundings. “No way in hell am I letting you leave here by yourself.”

  I found my lips turning upward again and loosened my hold on my waist.

  He slid his hand down over the rolled sleeves of my shirt, his fingertips hot on the bare skin of my forearm before grasping my hand as though our fingers belonged entwined. “Ready to get the hell out of here?”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  I sweated inside my fatigues by the time we reached the Monument, and until we made it out of the city, I leaned against Gunner’s back, my eyes closed, exhaustion fighting my thrill of being on the back of a motorcycle for the first time in my life.

  My parents hadn’t ridden -- they’d claimed all bikers were of the devil.

  Although grief tightened my throat, I couldn’t help the snort that escaped me. I sat behind the Devil’s Outlaw president -- that’s what the patch on the front of Gunner’s vest claimed -- his bike rumbling between my thighs and the heat of his hard back pressed against my chest. A handful of other Devil’s Outlaws had met us at the Monument, and since I lived a little farther north of their compound, we rode as a group, the rumbling engines and feeling of… family… like I hadn’t known in a long time soothing me almost as much as Gunner’s solid warmth I pressed against.

  While my cousin and I had kept in touch over the years, it’d been almost a decade since I’d seen him last. We hadn’t ever been close, but when your only living relative reaches out, you don’t turn them away -- even if they never felt like family to begin with, even if nothing but bad memories filled your head when thinking of them.

  I’d shot him back a text before climbing on Gunner’s bike letting him know I was okay and that I would give him a call later.

  Gunner continued north when his gang exited the highway, and I squeezed him again as a way of thank you. Getting out of D.C. on the metro would have been a nightmare even worse than getting out of the city on two wheels, one that probably would have ended up tanking me in a major panic attack, landing me in a hospital bed.

  Once off the highway, I hollered directions on which way to go to the small, two-story house I’d grown up in. The feeling of emptiness since I’d returned, the knowing that my ex wouldn’t ever visit again, sit down to dinner with me and my mom, made my eyes sting.

  While he’d told me over the phone a month earlier that he wanted space, I hadn’t considered how much space he’d meant. To find out he’d been fucking another woman made the decision to end things completely an easy one. Having to do so while my mother had lain dying sucked ass. At least her illness had given me something to think on other than the hurt in my chest.

  Gunner pulled into my parents’ driveway -- my driveway, I reminded myself -- and cut the engine. The sudden silence and lack of vibration between my legs crashed the held-off exhaustion down over me.

  I struggled off the bike, fumbling with Drac’s helmet as my hands and legs shook.

  “Here.”

  I hadn’t realized Gunner, too, had climbed off the bike and taken off his helmet. He helped me with mine as my heart beat heavy in my chest. I breathed in. His subtle cologne, the lingering traces of his deodorant, whatever it was, smelled divine. Mouth-watering.

  I sighed as his fingertips brushed against my neck. “Want to come in?” The sun light in the west caught him full in the face. Eyes dark as espresso peered into mine, and while I felt sure my body would have warmed through and primed ready to fuck in other circumstances, I didn’t have the energy or brainpower to give over to physical needs beyond sleep.

  “Don’t want to be alone?” Gunner alre
ady knew I lived alone -- that my mom had died a few days earlier -- but I’d left out the part about my asshole ex.

  “No,” I whispered, so damn tired I wanted to curl up on the driveway and close my eyes forever.

  He dipped his head and followed my stumbling steps into the house that still smelled of my mom’s perfume. Tears stung again as I locked the door behind us and slouched on the bench in the entryway to untie my boots.

  The rustle of Gunner’s movements in doing the same kept the loneliness that had plagued me for three days at bay. In silence, I pulled off my uniform top, the air-conditioned coolness prickling my skin beneath my army-green T-shirt.

  Barefoot and finally cooled off, I led the way into the kitchen and pulled two beers from the fridge without asking if Gunner wanted one.

  “Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze latched onto my face.

  We cracked them open together and sucked them down. A cold beer hadn’t ever tasted so damn good.

  “You doing okay?” Gunner asked, setting his empty can beside the sink.

  “I think so. Just really tired.”

  “Bedroom upstairs?”

  I nodded, and he laced his fingers through mine, tugging me back to the entryway and the stairs leading to the second floor.

  “Second door on right,” I mumbled as I stepped onto the landing behind him.

  “Bathroom?”

  “Across the hall.”

  He led me into the bathroom, and I stood, swaying on my feet as he turned on the shower. “You’ll sleep better if you at least rinse off.”

  I nodded, and he pulled a towel from beneath the vanity and hung it on the hook beside the shower, his movements sure and steady as though unfazed by what we’d been through.

  He met my gaze for a long moment as though searching out my thoughts, my emotions, through my eyes. “Take your time.”

  “Y -- You aren’t leaving, are you?”

  “Not unless you want me to.”

  I shook my head, and he shut the door behind him, leaving me alone. My hands shook as I stripped and tugged my hair free of the bun I’d wrapped my waist-length hair into. The heat of the water beat against me, and I closed my eyes, imagining the pounding water washing away the pain, the horror of what we'd seen and experienced in the previous couple of hours.

  Images flashed behind my closed eyes, and tears slid down my cheeks to join in the water that couldn’t wash me clean.

  Chapter Three

  Gunner

  Appropriate or not, I rifled through Shelby’s bureau, pulling out comfortable-looking clothing rather than the sexy underthings I’d have loved to see on her body. The second she’d stripped down to a mere T-shirt, nipples pebbled from the cold air of the house, my dick had decided to fuck with the goddamn situation and enjoy the sights.

  And her ass beneath those damn fatigues? Shit. Even better than I’d imagined.

  I adjusted myself, teeth clenched, and made my way back across the hallway to the closed bathroom door. My soft knock went unanswered, and I opened the door enough to speak though. A blast of that herbal scent from her shampoo tightened my dick to the point of pain.

  “I got you some clothes,” I said, slipping them onto the sink beside the door, keeping my gaze averted from the shower directly ahead.

  “Thanks.” Her voice broke.

  “You okay?” How many times had I asked her that, knowing she’d say yes even though she wasn’t? I wasn’t usually one for a loss of words. “Shelby?”

  “Y -- Yeah.” She sniffled a bit, and the shower shut off.

  I forced myself to step back into the hall and quietly closed the door in front of me. Shelby had to be in shock -- I wouldn’t put it past her to climb out of the shower without a thought of her nudity while I stood in the doorway.

  Dick aching, hands clenched at my sides, I told myself she needed a friend, nothing more. Sitting on the edge of her bed to wait for her didn’t lessen the tight confines of my leathers. A bookshelf on the far wall held old paperbacks, pictures, and knickknacks, and even an old gray stuffed bunny that looked well-worn and well-loved.

  I wondered at her life before that day, her childhood, what happy moments she’d tucked away in her memory. I wondered, too, at the life ahead of her and how she would cope with becoming a civilian again -- alone, without family except for a cousin she wasn’t close with, and without the brotherhood-type club that had helped me.

  While I expected she wouldn’t be able to handle group therapy, I knew of two therapists who would fit her in if asked. Talking her into it would be another matter altogether since most returning vets didn’t want to be seen as being weak -- even though seeking help wasn’t, in my book.

  With a shitty family -- old, drunk dad, deceased mom, younger sister addicted to pain killers -- I’d been thankful to find someone who helped me unload. I’d had a few girlfriends here and there, but none of them had understood my need for the Navy and the Outlaws after getting out. I needed that companionship, that brotherhood that gave my life meaning after struggling to adapt to home again.

  Shelby’s arrival in the bedroom’s doorway prickled my skin with awareness and wiped all thoughts but her from my head.

  Waves of damp red hair hung to her waist. She’d gone without the bra I’d included in the pile of clothes, and the tight T-shirt revealed every goddamn curve of her plump tits, including her tightened nipples.

  I clenched my teeth and tore my gaze off her before my eyes could eat up her long legs encased in dark leggings and wonder at the color of hair hiding her pussy. “Come over here,” I said, pulling back her comforter and angling my body away from hers to hide my straining erection.

  She obeyed without a word, curling on her side to face me, hands folded beneath her cheek. Light blue eyes fringed with equally pale lashes with a hint of red at their tips, peered up at me as I slouched to a crouch beside her bed.

  My hand moved on its own to smooth strands of her hair away from her face, and she sighed, her eyelids fluttering shut beneath my touch, her freckles stark against her pale skin. “Will you stay while I sleep?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “Yes. Beside me, please.” Her brow furrowed. “I -- I can’t be alone right now.”

  Knowing there was no way in fuck I could crawl under the covers and hold her close, I laid down on top of her comforter behind her after texting Brewer to let him know I wouldn’t be returning to the compound that night. Shelby turned and tucked herself into me the best she could considering the blankets between us and let out another sigh.

  “Thank you for saving my life and bringing me home.”

  “Thank you for allowing me to be your knight in shining armor.”

  A huff of light laughter escaped her, and my lips responded. I pulled her closer, settling her cheek on my chest and rubbed my fingertips against her scalp.

  “Promise you’ll be here when I wake?” she murmured, her voice fading.

  “Promise, sweet thing. Close your eyes and sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Seconds later, her breathing evened out, and I stared around her room as the sun slowly sank, leaving us in darkness. I’d promised to keep her safe -- physically -- and fuck if I didn’t feel the need to hold her fragile heart in my hands, soothe the panic and continued war going on in her head.

  I was all-too familiar with both. Hell, I still sometimes had triggers that set me off, tightening my chest and squeezing the breath from my lungs. While some soldiers returned from war hesitated from getting help, I’d been too damn distraught to not find a way to cope.

  The brotherhood of the Outlaws had been a tremendous help, but I’d needed more. Learned skills that could get me through the dark times when nightmares haunted my mind.

  Breathing in a cleansing breath and slowly letting it escape my parted lips, I focused on the feel of Shelby snuggled against me, the truth that we lay safe in her home where no one could touch us. I’d promised to keep her safe, and nothing would stop me from keeping my word.<
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  * * *

  A woman’s cry jolted me awake, and it took me a few seconds to remember where I was. I’d fallen asleep -- dreamless for the first time since returning from Afghanistan. Shelby whimpered again, and I tugged her back into my arms, kissing the top of her head and making soothing noises in my throat.

  “Got you… It’s okay.”

  She stilled and tensed as though awareness shifted her fully awake, but relaxed within a heartbeat. “Gunner.”

  “Yeah.”

  A shudder rippled over her, and I squeezed her tight. “Bad dream,” she whispered.

  I rubbed her back, knowing all too well from experience what she dealt with. “Every night?”

  “Uh huh.” She rubbed her face against my chest.

  “Same here.”

  We lay in silence, the tick-tock of an old clock on her bookcase eating at the stillness.

  “Want to talk about it?” I asked, my fingertips trailing up and down her spine, pressing lightly here and there against tightened muscles as my dick swelled.

  She blew out a heavy breath. “I only experienced one exchange of fire, but it was enough, you know?”

  “I do.”

  “I never should have joined the army.”

  “Your dad would have been proud.”

  “He would have.” She shifted from beneath the comforter, and I wished like hell more light than the half-moon outside the parted shades allowed me a better look at her curved form as she settled against me again with only a few scraps of clothing between us.

  Warm and soft -- in all the right goddamn places.

  Fuck. I clenched my eyes shut, determined to be a gentleman for the first time in my goddamn life.

  She lifted her leg over mine as though to settle in for a long fucking time. A groan rumbled my chest as her knee brushed over my groin.

  “Sorry,” she whispered -- but didn’t move her leg away from my dick.

  “Don’t be.” The words rasped, but I didn’t give a fuck if she knew how her touch affected me. My heart beat heavy beneath her cheek -- and thumped in my ears. When was the last time I’d thought more about a woman’s emotional stability and comfort than my own need to get my rocks off?