Wheels of Fire

The doorbell rings and without thinking, I open the door. “Chaser! Can I ask you a few questions?” a reporter shouts. “Did Mallory have—”

“Get the fuck off my property.” I slam the door shut.

“What’s going on?”

“Apparently our tragedy is newsworthy.”

“What’s wrong with people? Why?”

“I don’t know.” I stare at the door and the walls around us. The doorbell rings again.

Mallory bites her lip. Her scared, tired eyes dart around the room. Jesus, after everything she just went through, she doesn’t need this extra stress.

“We can’t stay here.”

“Where should we go?” she asks.

“Home. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chaser

Not a trace of guilt follows me to the airport. There’s a flight that would take me within hours of where we’re playing tonight. If there are no delays, I could probably get there in time to go on stage.

I book two flights home instead.

Am I destroying everything I’ve worked so hard for? A couple years ago, if you’d told me I’d leave in the middle of a headlining tour, I would’ve laughed. Now, other things just seem more important. I can’t explain it and I won’t defend it.

Mallory sleeps on the long flight to New York. I have to gently shake her awake when we land.

My father meets us at the gate and envelopes her in a gentle hug.

I hadn’t given him a lot of details when I called him and asked him to pick us up at the airport. Maybe he saw the news and understood my need to come home. No one should know how to find us here.

“Welcome home.” He pulls back and stares down at her. “Everything’s gonna be okay, princess.”

She gives him a weak smile and nods.

“You okay?” he asks, clasping my shoulder.

Am I?

The whirlwind of emotions I’ve been through the last few days hasn’t begun to settle. My biggest concern is Mallory’s health. The doctors assured us that physically, she was fine to travel.

Emotionally, I’m not so sure. Not after all the reporters clogging up our driveway, shouting obnoxious questions at us.

The ride to the house is quiet. Mallory rests her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes.

“House is all ready for you,” my father says. “Her car’s there. If you need to get anything.”

I snort. “You know I can barely drive that thing. My knees are too far up in the dash to work the clutch.”

“I’ll get someone to come pick me up and leave the truck.”

“You don’t have to. We’ll be fine.”

“Doe brought groceries but you might need other things.” He glances over at Mallory. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll worry about it later.”

At the house, Mallory sways on her feet. I get her to drink a glass of water before taking her upstairs and tucking her into bed. “I’ll be right downstairs.”

My father’s pacing in the kitchen when I return.

“She okay?”

“She seemed to be doing better until the circus of reporters wouldn’t leave us alone.”

“Then you better keep her away from the television,” he warns. “And grocery store magazine racks.”

“Seriously? All the way out here?”

He tosses a thin, glossy entertainment rag at me. One of those an-alien-ate-my-baby sort of papers. It’s wrinkled from being rolled up and shoved in someone’s pocket but not enough to obscure the picture on the front.

Mallory standing in between Andrew and me. Backstage at one of our shows. Her bright, beautiful smile obscene against the ugly headline.

Whose baby was she carrying?

“Motherfuckers.” I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing we hadn’t been so quick to leave L.A. Seems there are a few reporters I’d like to have a word with.

My father’s staring at me when I open my eyes. As if he’s waiting for some sort of answer. Maybe it’s exhaustion or misdirected fury but I grab a handful of his shirt and shove him. Hard.

His back hits the wall with a thud and his eyes widen.

“Don’t you fucking dare question her,” I snarl. “The baby was mine.”

He drops his gaze to where his shirt’s in my clenched fist and after a moment I release him.

“I can’t imagine the grief you’re going through right now, son, so I’ll let that slide.” He adjusts his cut. “Someone planted that article. You got any idea who would do something like that?”

I flick the magazine across the table. “Could be anyone. A reporter. Andrew’s ex. Take your pick.”

“Andrew?”

He’s a first-class motherfucker for sure but we came to an understanding. Besides, as big of an asshole as he is, deep down in his twisted soul, he cares about Mallory. I can’t picture him showing up to the hospital with flowers and offers to help us out, then turning around and hurting her on purpose.

“He’d be at the bottom of my list of suspects.”

“Well, last thing I need is her father getting wind of it.”

Laughter bursts from my lungs at the absurdity of his concern. “I don’t think they allow tabloids in prison, Dad.”

He doesn’t join in on my merriment. “Don’t fool yourself.”

“Fuck.” I run my fingers through my hair. “He’s the least of my worries right now. I left in the middle of a tour. The band’s going to kill me. Jacob’s a fucking mess. And I’m out of fucks for anything besides Mallory right now.”

“You need me to call anyone for you?”

I’m too old to have my daddy making phone calls for me, but I still give him Thom’s number.

“Tell him I’ll try to make Atlanta on Friday. If Nick can fill in for me, I’m fine with it.”

“All right.” He pats my shoulder. “Go take care of your girl.”

After he leaves, I prowl through the house, checking the doors and windows. Locking everything up tight. I leave one lamp on in the living room, then make my way upstairs.

Mallory’s curled on her side but stirs as I crawl into bed. “Is your dad okay?” she whispers.

“Shh, he’s fine. Don’t worry about him.” I kiss her shoulder. “Are you okay? Need anything?”

“Will you hold me until I fall back asleep?”

We’re going to be okay. We’ll make it through this no matter what.

I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close. “I’ll hold onto you forever.”

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chaser

Maybe my father’s worried I’m brooding too much or need to get out of the house. The next afternoon, he invites me to sit down at the table with the club for church. And by “invites” I mean “orders.”

“All right.” He holds his hands up, halting the conversation going around the table. “Our last two visits with the Lost Kings went well. Now it’s time we extend the same courtesy—”

“Brother, I gotta object here,” Mouse interrupts. “No matter how much titty-fuckin’ we all did down at Crystal Ball, I don’t fuckin’ trust their curr

ent president.”

Well, I guess I didn’t miss anything on the club’s last run to Empire. Every time my club visits Crystal Ball, the brothers come home and start bugging my dad to open up our own strip club.

“Good, ’cause Ruger ain’t coming. His SAA is the one making the trip.”

“That’s even worse,” Tally says. “Their prez wants to do business here but can’t drag his lazy ass out and show us some respect.”

“Let’s see what Grinder has to say before we blow off the Lost Kings. Bishop’s stopping by too.” My father shrugs a little too casually. “Maybe our three clubs can work out something that benefits everyone.”

“Great, Bishop and Grinder will probably kill each other. Problem solved.” Mouse slaps his hands together. “Saints and Kings don’t mix well.”

My father snorts. “They’re two obstinate fuckers, aren’t they?” He points down the table at Trick. “Stay the fuck away from Bishop’s ol’ lady this weekend. I don’t need more bullshit in this clubhouse over that fuckin’ whore.”

“Nora isn’t a whore,” Trick grumbles.

My father’s expression doesn’t change.

“Fine.” Trick throws his hands in the air. “I won’t tell her about the party. Nothing I can do if Bishop tells her.”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Hell help that fucking woman if she comes near Mallory again.

My father asks me to stick around after the meeting. “I know you’re headed to Atlanta for your show. Think you’ll be back for the weekend?”

“Sounds like you need me to.” I tap the table again. “Since so many different clubs are stopping by.”

“We’ll try to keep things friendly and casual.”

“Mallory’s staying here. You think you or Doe can check up on her?”

“You really need to ask?”

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chaser

I was only gone for a couple of days, yet the atmosphere’s turned sour when I catch up with the tour.