Wheels of Fire

“I have a test to study for.” She waves at me before bounding up the stairs.

I wander through the house and out the back door leading to the patio and pool.

Even after all these years and everything we’ve been through, my breath catches the second my gaze lands on Mallory. Still as beautiful as the day we met.

Red toenails, long legs, red and white polka dot bikini. My brain catalogs every detail as I creep up next to her. I lean over and tug her headphones off. “You still take my breath away, woman.”

“Jesus!” She jumps about a mile and presses her hand to her chest.

“Chaser, you scared the shit out of me.”

Laughter rumbles out of me and I drop down on the edge of her chair, running my hand up one smooth, bare leg. “I hope you’re wearing sunscreen.”

She curls her fingers in my cut, pulling me down for a kiss.

“Missed you, little dove,” I murmur against her lips.

“I’m so happy you’re home.”

“How happy?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her and tip my head toward the pool house.

She takes my hand and lets me pull her up out of the chair. Together, we race over the patio.

“Do you miss when we didn’t have to hide from the kids?” she asks.

“Nah, it’s more fun this way.” I close the door and slip the lock into place—learned the hard way on that one. “Besides, they’ll both be leaving for college soon enough and we won’t know where to fuck first.”

When we bought the place, we thought we’d offer the little cottage out back to her father when he wanted to visit. He usually chooses to stay somewhere else, which hasn’t hurt my feelings one bit.

She fiddles with the collar of my cut. “How’d it go?”

“Good. They seem to have control of things up in Toronto now.”

“For how long?”

“Don’t know.” I boost her up onto the small counter and keep my hands on her hips. “I’d like having you on more runs with me.”

“I’d like that too.” She cups my cheeks and rubs her thumb over my lips. “Make sure girls in every clubhouse know you’re taken.”

I flex my left hand in the narrow space between us. “If the ring doesn’t let them know. Your name does.” The tattoo around my finger kept fading so I’d had her name inked on the inside of my wrist in thick, bold script. I brush my fingers under her chin, tipping her head back. “You’re still the only woman who sets me on fire with one look.”

She curls her arms around my neck and leans forward, pressing her forehead to mine. “Prove it.”

Much later, when family dinner night with my dad is over, the kids are in bed and we’re tucked away upstairs, catching up on the last few days, Mallory reaches over and picks up the envelope from Alvin.

“What’s this?” She smiles when she sees Alvin’s name on the return address label. “Aw, I miss him.”

“He’ll be here for the summer run.” I lift my chin. “Open it.”

“Do you already know what’s inside?”

“Nope.”

“Hmmm.” She peels the envelope open and slides out a magazine. “Rolling Stone. Top One Hundred Rock Albums,” she reads the headline splashed over the front.

The photo’s a collage of cover art. She peers at it closely. “Oh! I see Kickstart!” She flips through the magazine, landing on the story.

“Oh, wow. Holy shit.” She taps her finger against the page. “In Your Hands is number ten.”

I run my hands through her hair and kiss her temple. “Well, shit. That’s pretty fuckin’ cool.”

“Listen, listen.” She taps my arm. “Some critics consider Kickstart’s In Your Hands one of the last great rock albums.”

“Last great rock album, huh? I’ll take that.”

She flips the page and giggles. “Vicious Vandals’ second album came in at number twelve.”

“How about that.”

On the next page, Alvin left a post-it-note.

Still relevant!

I huff out a laugh and pluck it off the page, crumpling it and tossing it on the nightstand.

“Do you miss it?” she asks.

“Nope.” I peer down at her. “You?”

“Hell, no.” She snuggles closer to me. “Can you imagine with the Internet now and all the online gossip sites how many more shitty things would’ve been posted about us?”

“True.” Every now and then some journalist tracks us down at our little estate outside of Kodack. Writes up a story, tossing in the same tired info about Jacob’s death or the scandal of our MC and mafia ties. All it does is reinforce what a good decision we made when we finally left Hollywood behind.

“At least it would’ve been easier to call you when I was out on the road.” I brush my thumb over her cheek. “Touring would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if I could’ve called you whenever I wanted instead of always searching for a fuckin’ payphone.”

“That would’ve been nice.” She wrinkles her nose. “You know some jackass would’ve stolen your phone and published all the risqué photos I sent you.”

“Wait.” I roll over and grab her little silver phone and flip it open. “I can’t get you to send me a nude now.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Those barely qualify.”

She clamps her hand over her mouth and laughs. “I’m afraid I’ll end up accidentally sending one to the kids or my dad or worse, your dad. You just know I’d do something like that.”

“Yeah, don’t send me nudes.” I pull the sheet back. “I prefer the live version.”

She rips the sheet out of my hand. “I’m cold.”

I glance at the magazine again. “Are you sorry you left?”

“Not for a second. We have everything that matters right here.” Mallory strokes her fingers over my chest. “I’m happy exactly where we are.”

“So am I, little dove.”

Our home. The life we’ve built. I wouldn’t trade any of it.

My heart’s where it belongs. Right in Mallory’s hands.

I click off the bedside lamp and spoon her soft little body, pulling her as close as possible.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.” I press a sleepy kiss to her temple.

“You’ve already made all my dreams come true,” she whispers.

“Then I guess we’ll have to come up with some new ones together.”

EPILOGUE

2 years later…

Devil Demons MC clubhouse, Western NY

CHASER

“What’d you find out?” I ask Tally as he steps into my father’s office.

He closes the door before answering. “Lost Kings seemed to have cleaned house. Ruger supposedly went nomad.”

“Bullshit.” My father grins.

I don’t find that as amusing as Dad seems to.

“They opened a charter downstate,” Tally adds. “Sway’s running it.”

That wipes the smile off Dad’s face. “They’re going to make a play for more territory.”

“You think they’ll encroach on us?”

My father runs his hand over his chin, staring at the wall for a few seconds before answering. “That kid’s in charge now, right?”

“He’s hardly a kid,” Tally says.

“We’re just getting old.” I sit up and punch Tally’s shoulder.

Tally laughs and punches me back. “Speak for yourself.”

“He came up under Grinder,” I say. “Follows the more gentleman outlaw approach. Rock won’t push into our territory.”

“You want to bet your patch on that?” My father nods to the Vice President stitched into my leather cut, right over my heart.

I’ve run into Rock plenty of times over the years. I know he served time for his club, and never snitched. Loyalty—an important quality in our life. Not always easy when you’re faced with a long prison stretch. He got out and from what we’ve heard, worked hard to clean up his club. Still takes care of Grinder and his old lady too

. Do I want to bet my patch that he won’t attempt to expand into our territory? Not particularly.

“They’ve got their own issues with Vipers MC right on their border.”

“Fuck the Vipers. They’re as bad as the Silver Saints. Both need to be put to ground. Permanently,” my dad grumbles.

“So bloodthirsty, Pop,” Tally jokes.

“Wolf Knights MC is right up in their neck of the woods too, right?” Dad asks.

“Jesus Christ, old man,” I grumble, “Do I look like the Rand McNally of outlaw clubs to you?”

“Knowing all that shit’s your damn job.”

“Yeah, Ulfric’s of the same mindset. Old school. Their club’s small, anyway.”

“We should invite ’em both to visit. Feel ’em out. See who’s up for helping us get rid of Tyler’s crew once and for all.”

“You really wanna declare war on the Silver Saints, Prez?” Tally asks, all traces of humor wiped off his face.

“They’re getting bold. Basically declared war on our Toronto brothers. Again.” My father’s pissed-off glare turns my way. “Your daddy-in-law ain’t been real helpful there.”

Ah, yes. I study the ceiling for a few minutes. Acting as the middleman between my club and my father-in-law never loses its appeal.

“Call Rock,” my father says. “Use the excuse that you want to congratulate him on his new position. Remind him you’ve known him since he was a little punk. Hand out some fatherly ‘proud-of-you’ bullshit.”