Walk Through Fire (Page 17)

That was a good way to start, buttering me up, because I did know that.

He was my dream man.

I was his dream woman.

We didn’t just wear each other’s rings.

That was the truth of it.

And we’d shared that with each other in a myriad of ways over the years.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Her name is Millie Cross,” he went on. “And ’bout twenty years ago, she used to be High’s woman.”

“I think I got that part,” I informed him.

“No, Red,” he said, getting closer, lifting a hand to curl it around the side of my neck. “She was his and she was his. As in, his dream woman.”

Uh-oh.

“Crap,” I muttered.

“Yep,” he agreed. “And you know how High got himself addicted to the rush of doin’ stupid shit that was also felonious in order to make a shitload of money for the Club?”

Uh-oh!

Now ancient history, the Club doing felonious shit, my man had seen to that, dragging his brothers along for the ride.

Though, truth be told, most of them were willing and invested every step of the way to the point they bled for the Club to be clean.

And one died for it.

High had been harder to convince that the Club needed a new direction.

“Yes,” I replied slowly.

“When she gutted him, gettin’ shot of his ass, tellin’ him he had no ambition and she had graduated from college and had a golden life ahead of her so, since he was tainted with Chaos so deep, she knew he’d never get a real life. This meant he had to fuck off. Which he did. And that was when he went so deep into that shit, it took what happened to you years later to pull him out.”

What happened to me was that I’d been kidnapped, and stabbed repeatedly, by an enemy that used to be an ally of Chaos. An enemy that High had wanted to reaffiliate with.

Until that enemy nearly killed me.

“Shit,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Tack agreed. “That bitch is not a bitch. That bitch is a biker-hating cunt and I have no clue why the fuck she’s here except to fuck with High’s head ’cause she spent three years doin’ that and got way the fuck off on it.” He looked beyond me and muttered, “Probably got herself dumped. Maybe has kids to take care of. Lookin’ for some fuckwad who’s stupid enough to take on her shit and thinkin’ wrongly with the way he fell for her that’d be High.”

I stared up at my husband, the sharpest man I knew, wondering how, at least with one thing, he could be so dumb.

“Uh, I don’t think so.”

His gaze cut back to me. “Come again?”

“The woman we just saw was the female adult equivalent of a six-year-old who just learned there’s no Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny, and she was adopted.”

He looked to the heavens and muttered, “Fuck.”

“Seriously,” I snapped.

He looked back to me. “Red, I’m tellin’ you,” his fingers on my neck squeezed, “do not get involved.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “As his brother, seeing him, seeing her, how could you not get involved?”

He dipped his face close to mine. “ ’Cause she was runnin’ away, which means I hope like fuck she stays away. And if she doesn’t, I’ll do everything in my power to set her away in a way she gets my goddamned message and stays… the fuck… away.”

“Tack—”

“Tyra, do not get involved,” he ground out.

“Whatever happened between them, she was devastated,” I hissed.

“Good,” he clipped. “She rained that shit on High, she deserves it and a fuckuva lot more.”

Loved my man.

But I was right.

Like any man blinded by loyalty to a brother, about this shit he was so dumb.

“Has it occurred to you that a biker-hating woman would be nowhere near Wild Bill’s field no matter what she might need unless what she needs is what she needs?” I asked.

“Nothin’ occurs to me except takin’ my brother’s back, Tyra,” he returned. “And you need to listen to this, baby, and let it sink way the fuck in. Every brother is gonna do the same and you do not wanna go against Chaos on shit like this. The ones who didn’t live that with him will hear about it and we’ll be all in in a way you’ve experienced once. When we all put our asses on the line to save your life.”

I drew in a sharp breath.

He heard me do that and muttered, “You get me.”

“Tack—”

“Let it go.”

“Tack!”

“Red.” He got super close. “Let… it… go.”

He stared into my eyes.

I stared into his.

Neither of us said a word.

Tack broke the silence.

“You gonna let it go?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I snapped.

He drew back a bit and grinned.

“Take your mind off it.”

I rolled my eyes.

He came back in and brushed my mouth with his. “Still riding the high of the Trench, baby. Now wantin’ to ride something else.”

It sucked but even after a decade with this man, I knew he was a very good rider, so even ticked at him, that did it for me.

I reached out and grabbed his hand, declaring, “We’ll talk more about it later.”

“No, we won’t.”

“We so will.”

He shook his head, turned, and tugging my hand, grinning again, he led me to our tent.

We got in it and my husband took my mind off High and a woman called Millie Cross.