Burn For Me (The Burn Series Book 3) Page 2

  Being married was the loneliest I had ever been.

  I pull up in front of my cute little home. Nestled back on a cute lawn that I used to think I cared about. I hate this fucking house. I don’t know why I even stayed.

  Inside, no remnants of my life remain. I burned that fucking couch first chance I got. Along with most of Holly’s clothes and all the nice, ridiculous decorations she hung. The thousands of pillows that filled the couch, meant to make the place look happy and homey. That she instead used to help her fuck the carpenter in dozens of positions.

  Boxes litter the dining room. Mostly packed up now, the house is nearly empty. I can’t take the perfectly painted walls with their Earl Grey tones. Or the perfect aged cabinets in the kitchen. I don’t know how I lasted this long.

  Every perfect piece just a reminder of my imperfect life.

  I’m getting the hell out of dodge. Finn bought his girl a house for Christmas. I might have warned him otherwise, but Gigi is not just some girl. Not the type he’ll walk in on fucking a laborer. Who he’s paying, no less. No, Gigi is one of the good ones. I was proud of Finn if I was being honest. Wouldn’t tell him that, though.

  I’d led my boy—the guys I was supposed to set examples for—on a tear through the dirtiest, nastiest bars. All to fuck away whatever ailed us. My broken heart. Levi’s inexperience. Finn’s feelings of inadequacy for the woman he loved. Even Cage’s search for the one.

  It had gotten miserable, truthfully. Then they dropped like flies. First Levi, then in quick succession, Cage and Finn. Levi, I doubted would last the year in his marriage to one of the well-used badge bunnies. Can’t turn a whore into a housewife. I knew this first hand.

  Cage and Finn, though? They’ d be married by the end of the year and likely building families soon after. They’d found good women who, corny as shit as it may sound, made me realize they still existed. Women who loved and stuck by their men. Even if they were colossal fuck ups. Even if they didn’t know the right way to show they loved them.

  With them all moving on to greener pastures, so to speak, I thought perhaps it was time I do the same. I doubt I’d be settling down anytime soon. It was time to stop acting like a fucking kid, though.

  The house was up for sale, and by next week, I’d be taking over Finn’s condo. I couldn’t wait to bid this place adieu. Too many memories. Good and bad. Mostly bad. The worst; the night Holly asked me to give her one more try.

  I couldn’t do it. Holly was no longer the girl I’d known and loved for most my life. I don’t know if she ever really was. If we were ever more than a fucking fairytale.

  What I did know was I wouldn’t make the mistake of believing there could be a happily ever after. Not again. That shit was in those books Gigi and Charli were always giggling about. Not real life.

  If it was, there wouldn’t be boxes of my life in a house that had been empty for years. I wouldn’t feel empty. I would have gotten the girl who I’d given everything to. I would have been the man she truly gave everything to in return.

  Instead, I had a notch post full as I tried to forget the damage she had done to me. Nothing romantic or sexy about that. Fucking for the sake of fucking meant nothing. It got the job done but I hadn’t held a woman, or truly kissed one, in years. Fucking. Years.

  Moving was just the first step. Maybe one last hurrah at O’Malley’s; tag as many bunnies as I could before I put my dick to rest for a while. I was tired of being the old man at the bar. It’s not a good look. Beyond that, I didn’t know what I wanted.

  Maybe a morning where I woke up without shame. Without lipstick stains on my cock and that ache that wasn’t about fucking but all about loneliness.

  Then, just maybe, I could find myself one of the good ones. Not a fairytale, but someone flawed and imperfect. Imperfect sounded pretty perfect to me.

  2

  Chicago is only quiet when I need it to be loud. When I want to drown out the sound of the pain thudding in my head. Sitting at the diner till the sun began to rise, my earbuds providing me a little escape, I was wrecked. The noise was deafening in my head but it was quiet in the diner.

  Just two old regulars at the counter, a couple making out in the booth by the door, and Mable, the sweet and sassy waitress. I liked Mable. She was my people. As in, we were cut from the same cloth. Loud and brash, and not just with our inappropriate mouths. Absolutely everything about us.

  Mable’s bright blue eyeshadow crept up her eyes into her penciled in brows. Mable was a knockout once, I had no doubt. A quick, toothy grin and a laugh that most likely found obnoxious. I found it soothing. I was pretty obnoxious myself.

  Tonight, I found the diner out of habit. I wanted quiet. and besides Mable, that’s what they served here. The diner was busy when I first started hanging out here, but lately, not so much. I made small talk with Mable even though tonight, I was in no mood.

  It was bitterly cold out, the streets covered in a fresh blanketing of snow. Lights from the recent holidays still twinkled on storefronts and down the main streets. Cheery and bright, it might be a source of joy for most. Not for this lady.

  I hated the holidays. More specifically, I hated the time between Thanksgiving and January 1st. Sometimes the holiday hangover that lasted a few weeks into January. Fucking waste of time and lots of money to pretend life is about love or some such shit. Bunch of bullshit.

  Tucked away into my favorite booth in the corner, I had my earphones blaring Soul Asylum. Melancholy mood called for melancholy tunes. It was late, and I wanted to be wasted, but the heavy gold chip in my pocket argued otherwise. I was lonely and sad and fucking miserable but I was doing better. A little better every day.

  Just when I thought I was settled in, steaming bowl of the best chicken noodle soup this side of the Mississippi waiting to be devoured, I saw him. More, I felt him watching me, could feel his curiosity from feet away. Then I saw that thick arm propped up on the counter. The heavy, intricate black tattoos weaving over the chorded muscles.

  Hunter fucking Byrne.

  I tried my best not to look at him. But like always, I met his gaze. Felt heat flicker through me as if his pretty eyes were the match and my body the strike. Damn, he was handsome. I tried to pretend otherwise, for both our sakes. Our friends were in the same circle, and thus, I had to do a lot of damn pretending.

  Months before, I’d been mortified after I literally threw myself at him. Because, Thanksgiving dinner with your only friends’ family is the most obvious place to corner the hot guy you just met and try to fuck him in the bathroom. It was seconds from happening too. I felt his huge cock pressing to my waiting pussy, but then he looked at me.

  Like, really looked at me.

  I was miserable, and so was he, so it should have been easy. Fuck to forget. Get our fix while we held a warm body for a few minutes. But Hunter looked right at me and it felt like, for the first time since I’d come to Chicago, someone saw me. Saw Lola Von for just who she really was.

  A terrified, lonely girl with secrets she wore like badges.

  I’d followed Hunter into that bathroom for a reason. I knew about ladder 71’s reputation for one and done’s. As in, that’s what they did. Nothing more. Nothing less. Then, as he tucked his dick away and ran, I realized something.

  I wanted him because I think I saw him too.

  Of course, I don’t play anything the way it should go. Hunter’s rejection stung. Of which I made clear the first time we hung out afterwards. But damn it if he didn’t look at me like he knew he had done us both right by refusing us. Since then, I’d had no choice but to admit Hunter was one of the good guys.

  Even if he looked like he was the bad guy.

  Just like right now, he was pretending not to recognize the moment we shared just now. Our eyes met, and like always, fire zipped through me and lit my limbs hot and my core smoldering. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment. Because now I wanted Hunter for way more than the one and done his reputation promised.

  I was glad he
didn’t come join me. I had seen it flicker on his face as he dropped cash at the counter. I wanted him to. If he let me have what I wanted from him, I wouldn’t know how to respond. Because I had never once, ever, gotten it right with anyone.

  Tonight, I just wanted to forget why I was in Chicago. Why I was hiding at this diner at two am. Why I so desperately wanted Hunter to join me and smile that cheeky smile. Talk to me with that sweet southern drawl he tried so hard to hide. The massive hoodie, the greasy food I loved so much, and some music were all tools to help me forget.

  I’d been doing just fine, thank you very much; until I’d seen Hunter hesitate. Felt the air thicken once he realized it was me tucked away in the corner. It kind of made me wonder if just once, I might get it right. I mean, I had gotten it wrong enough, hadn’t I?

  Twenty-five years old and I was single. Living in a tiny studio apartment above a Chinese takeout joint. Working at the library by day and hiding in the shadows by night. I was good at hiding. Or, at least, I had been. Until I walked into that library and met two tornadoes I now call my family.

  Gigi Cooper and Charli Dixon. I had been at the library just a few months when Gigi came in. Made an inappropriate joke about the leading man in the book she was dropping off. We hit it off right away. It wasn’t until Charli came around, though, that I thought, hey, I might be able to let these people into my life.

  It was hard not to adore Charli; mostly because I watched her romantic fairytale relationship unfold right before my eyes. I was even a key factor; at least I would always tell the story that way. I made sure her man-steak Cage got his sweet letters to her as he did his damndest to court her. I mean, who did shit like that these days?

  Apparently—once the whoring was out of their systems—the men of Ladder 71, that’s who. Maybe that’s why I find Hunter so intriguing. He’s sexy as fuck, built like a tree I’d have a damn good time climbing, and, most importantly, he has to be close to the end of his whoring ways.

  I watched Gigi and Charli both fall in love with disgustingly perfect men. Both of who had worked their way through a few badge bunnies. And both who were so devoted to Gigi and Charli now, books could be written about them. But like, the hot, smutty ones with lots of dirty sex and almost too many problems.

  Maybe I just wanted Hunter so bad because I wanted my own smutty book fantasy come to life. What if I did? Hunter could absolutely be the ripped, tattooed, sexy as sin bad boy on the cover of my own filthy novel. I just wasn’t ready to find out if he could be more. Precisely why I laughed it off every time I got close to him.

  “Your eyes are something else, Lola.” Hunter’s sweet drawl had made my chest constrict and my core heat up just weeks ago.

  We were with the others, ringing in the new year, and I had managed not to be a panting bitch in heat all night. Go, me. The clock was ticking down, and I found myself drawn to him. I wanted him to kiss me. I knew how soft those sexy fucking lips were, and I wanted them on mine. Or all over me. Or all the above.

  Yes, all the above.

  At Finn and Gigi’s new place, we had all been drinking and laughing, playing stupid games Charli made us play. It was fun. It was, in fact, the most fun I’d had in ages. Maybe ever. I felt like I fit with them. With all of them; even Hunter. We had been eye-fucking each other all night, but I was cautious of another bathroom run-in so I kept my distance.

  Until he cornered me, his huge hands at my hips, the faintest scent of champagne at his lips. When he touched me, I went stone-cold sober. Softly, he drawled those sweet words against my cheek. Then it was midnight, and he was kissing me, and fuck, it was amazing. Tongue and teeth and the press of his hard body against mine.

  I wanted more, but he refused to give it. We were breathless when he broke away, and I could see the need in his eyes. Then, the regret; that felt like a punch to the stomach. I laughed and wiped his taste off my mouth. As he watched, I twisted to kiss Levi, the fourth musketeer of their gang. His whore wife, Isabel, hadn’t bothered to, despite slobbering all over everything with a pulse before he married her.

  When my eyes swung back to Hunter, he was livid. Instead of letting myself wonder why, or consider if it mattered why, I laughed again. Made a joke about Isabel being next. I had to deal with her taking me up on it, though I certainly hadn’t meant it. Hunter was stony towards me the rest of the night, and I should have felt relieved.

  Perhaps I dodged a happily ever after bullet.

  Instead, I felt like shit. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to look at me the way no one else did. Because every once in a while, he did. When Hunter looked at me like my fuck ups, like my past, like who I said I was and who I really was didn’t matter, I felt like I could be anything. Do anything.

  Sitting in that ripped up silver booth, my legs tucked under me, I smiled inside my hoodie. Do anything. Like draw and paint again. Which I was doing when Hunter spotted me moments ago. It was just a doodle, really. The outline of the diner, some of the regulars that came in. Then I saw Hunter, and he became the focus.

  I traced a fingertip over the detail of his profile in the hasty work. Huh. Maybe I’ve still got it. The profile of him, with just a hint of the side of his handsome face was good. The diner around him, with its too-bright lighting and silver and red booths, looked lifelike.

  Well, as lifelike as my work ever got. I did chalk work, some painting, but I had the most fun doing abstract comic-like storyboards. Smiling, I let my finger linger at the curves of the muscles I had given Hunter.

  Off to the side, I sketched a few of his dark tattoos; then I wrote a storyline around them. One that involved Hunter not walking out the door. Instead, he came and sat with me and ate my pie. Both the sweet lemon meringue sitting in front of me and the one between my legs.

  My skin flushed beneath my hoodie, and I crossed my legs tight. Between my legs ached at the very idea of it. I closed my eyes and could see his shaved head between my thighs, his dark green eyes watching me as he tasted me, that southern drawl commanding me to come for him. God. Damn.

  I shoved my things into my bag and tossed a crumpled twenty onto the table. I was done hiding for the night. I wasn’t even sure the reason I had been hiding was real. Shadows and footsteps. Nothing more. At least, I had no proof it was anything more.

  Tossing a wave at Mable, I pushed out into the cold, clutching my heavy backpack against my side. There were light swirls of flurries in the air, but it wouldn’t stick. It seemed quieter now. I needed the quiet tonight. The shadows that had driven me into the bright diner in the middle of night were anything but quiet.

  They were filled with the deafening sound of memories. Ones filled with pain, both physical and soul deep. Memories that kept me away from the shadows where they waited to pull me into darkness.

  I wouldn’t let there be darkness in my life again.

  Proof positive in the lit up apartment I pulled up in front of fifteen minutes later. Perched atop a Chinese takeout restaurant that was open odd hours, it blazed bright in the cool night. Christmas lights twinkled around the windows—the work of the sweet, and very Americanized, owners of China Wok.

  I parked my bike in the alley, locking it up beneath the stairs before rushing up them. My heart pounded and cold sweat broke out on my back as I dug my keys out. I counted to fifteen before I had the key in the lock, and tears were stinging my eyes. Shaky hands shoved the door open, and then slammed it shut. I locked the seven locks I’d had a locksmith install the day I moved in.

  “Evening, Lola Bird.” Chirped a voice from my right. I smirked and tilted my head.

  “Evening, Gerdie Girl.” There was a clicking sound and then the laugh that had me giggling too.

  Gerdie was my ten-year-old Blue-Fronted Amazon—the only thing that had made the transition here to Chicago with me. With a foul mouth and a great sense of humor, Gerdie kept me sane and made me feel safe. Not that a bird could truly protect me if it came down to it.

  Perched on the elaborate bird cage I rarely locke
d her inside of, she walked back and forth on the top perch, clucking and ruffling her feathers. I laughed and went to stroke a finger over the downy softness of her head. Her tiny eyes fluttered and she hummed, moving closer.

  “Just you and me, Gerdie. Just you and me.” There was what sounded like a soft sigh from her, which was impossible, and then she spoke.

  “Just you and me, Lola Bird. All us. All us.”

  I fed her before taking a shower. It was my day off and I intended to waste it in bed. After pretending I was serious about setting Gerdie inside her cage, to which she simply laughed and flew around, we both retreated to the dark of my bedroom.

  From her perch in the corner, because I spared no expense for that damn bird, she hummed. For being just a bird, she was fairly smart and pretty perceptive. The noise of her ruffling her feathers and humming commercials to me had me relaxing at last.

  I tried not to notice every sound and the shifting of shadows. I was in my place, with half a dozen locks, safe. Gerdie would watch over me like she always had. Peck an intruder’s eyes out if she had to, I had no doubt. But, I wasn’t afraid of a stranger breaking in.

  No, I was terrified of my past finding me again. Of the one person who had once known me better than anyone. Who knew me so well, they knew how to hurt me deeper than anyone else. In the darkness, I lifted my left hand, barely making out the shapes of my fingers.

  Where a large diamond ring once rested, my finger was bare now. But, much like the rest of me, there were plenty of scars that lingered. Some darker, deeper than others. Others absolutely invisible, but just as painful.

  Closing my hand into a fist, I refused to let my memories win tonight. They had already chased me into the wintery night after my art class. I had been doing so well, too. It had been so long since I’d had an episode like that.

  “Night, Lola Bear.” Gigi had laughed just hours earlier as we parted ways at the L.

  “Till next time, Sugar Plum.”

  I’d laughed too when she wrinkled her nose; I had long been making fun of the sickly sweetness in the air between both my girls and their fiancé’s. My pet names were getting more and more ridiculous, but they knew it was my way of teasing them. Of saying, without bitterness, that they were adorable and I loved them.