Burn(26)

“Abrir la puerta!”

“Que están aquí!”

The calls come from outside, loud and close. It’s the guards, Teo and his friends who are watching the gate. And I understand enough Spanish to know that they’re shouting for that gate to be opened. That they are here, whoever they are. I climb out of bed, pushing the blinds down so I can see what the ungodly noise is, and the glass in the window begins to shake in it’s frame.

Motorbikes.

It’s not thunder after all, but motorbikes, pouring in through the open gate into the compound, so many of them that I lose count. The sleek black machines snarl like wounded animals, and the sounds of men laughing fill the courtyard. My heart is beating so hard in my chest that I can feel its pulse in every single part of my body.

“Rebel,” Zeth says. The timbre of his voice is as deep and menacing as the throttle of the bikes. “That’s Rebel’s crew.” He’s watching me by the window, utterly still, his bare chest bathed in the bright white light from the bikes’ headlights that cuts through the window.

“Who’s Rebel?”

Zeth closes his eyes. “Someone very bad. Someone you don’t want to know.”





I’m awake before dawn, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t really need to worry about my waking nightmare, mistaking Sloane for someone else—not when I didn’t really sleep at all. I’ve been thinking about things. How to handle this whole fucked up situation. First things first, I get up as quietly as I can and head outside. It’s fucking hot here during the day, but at night the desert is frigid. Clouds of smoke fog my breath as I take a quick walk. The line of bikes propped up alongside the villa is worrying. I count them, one through eleven. Eleven fucking Widower Makers. I hadn’t banked on this. I’d banked on a lot of things, but Rebel showing up with his boys hadn’t even made a guest appearance on my list of shit that will probably go down. His MC is based out of New Mexico. He must have pretty much set off as soon as he’d gotten off the phone with Julio yesterday and ridden all day and night until he got here. Not a good sign. Thirteen hours with your balls crushed up against a gas tank is gonna make anyone cranky. And from what I’ve heard about Rebel, he gets cranky easy.

But then again, so do I.

Back in the room, Sloane’s still asleep. Her hair looks like a bird’s been nesting in it, and there are weird crease marks on her cheek from the pillow; she’s fucking beautiful. I feel like a spare part standing there staring at her, so I stomp around the room, making enough noise to wake the dead.

“Zeth?”

I pause in gathering up the bedding I slept in and turn to find her half sitting up, blinking at me through huge, sleepy owl eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Yeah, I totally meant to fucking wake you. “We should probably have a conversation about tonight.” Tonight. Julio and Rebel, two big dogs, trapped in a small building with god knows how many people, all of whom are up to no good. And then me and her in the middle of it all. Yeah, I’m a sick motherfucker. Why? Because there’s a good chance Julio’s gonna murder my ass. And an equally good chance that Rebel with recognize Sloane. And yet my dick is still getting hard when I think about taking Sloane to his event.

“Yeah? What’s the plan?”

“The plan is that you get your ass dressed and come for some breakfast. No one’s gonna be up yet. We can talk and eat.” My stomach’s complaining like it thinks my throat’s been cut and I’ve been starving it for days. I need sustenance. And I need to leave this room before I forget all sense of reason and climb up in that bed with Sloane.

She pats her hand to her head and must get a sense of what’s going on with her hair; her eyes grow round, but she just shrugs. I love that about her. She doesn’t give a fuck about how she looks.

“Okay,” she says, climbing out of bed. She’s just been wearing a long T-shirt and panties, and the sight of bare skin makes my dick stir in my jeans. Girl’s got legs for days. “Will there be coffee?”

“Hell yes. I’ll make sure of it.”





******





I was right. The occupants of the villa are still slumbering as I make my way to the dining area just off the kitchen. Julio’s maids are the only ones up and about, setting up food for the houseguests and undoubtedly preparing finger food for tonight’s little show. I grab two cups of coffee, a plate of sliced fruit and some toasted bagels and set up at a small table in the corner of the room, waiting for Sloane. She doesn’t take long to get ready—another thing I like about her. The last chick I waited on took over an hour to fuck around with her hair and makeup. I can tell Sloane’s wearing some makeup but it’s not much, just mascara and some lip-gloss, and her hair is ringing wet. She looks like she’s towel dried it a little, but the jagged wet ends are creating little dark, see-through patches over her tits where the water is seeping through her shirt. She looks fucking hot.