Chapter Thirteen
The party was a resounding success. All around her, men and women celebrated Striker’s election to vice president. They ate, drank, danced, flirted, and did a few other eye-popping yet arousing things that were typically reserved for private locations. Instead of joining in the merriment, Marcie hung to the side and watched the crowd while her thoughts swirled like a violent cyclone.
Was Hook right? Did she hide a fear of abandonment behind the guise of wanting to be independent? A large part of her worried he was dead on. It made sense. She picked guys like Tanner, who wouldn’t so much as slap a band-aid on her if she were gushing blood, forcing herself to manage everything on her own. Then, when the relationship inevitably failed, it didn’t matter, because she didn’t need them. These men didn’t play any significant role in her day-to-day, so she was no worse off when they vanished.
What the hell was she supposed to do if she gave in to Hook? If she allowed him to help her, to be her partner? How would she endure if he one day changed his mind and no longer wanted her? Today, she was strong, independent, and capable of taking care of herself. Yes, walking away from Hook was going to gut her, but she would survive as she had in the past.
If she stayed? If she allowed him to solve her Tanner problem and do things for her, she’d inevitably lose that part of herself that was strong and self-reliant. Then what would happen when he was gone? She’d no longer be the woman she was today. No longer be able to dust herself off and move on. She’d have to start from scratch, learning to be independent and take care of herself all over again. There was a chance she wouldn’t have the strength to build herself back up again.
Wasn’t it just better to avoid the possibility of heartbreak altogether? A couple came into her field of view as she leaned against the side of the house and tried to blend into the scenery. She had no idea who they were, the man wasn’t wearing a No Prisoners cut, but that was beside the point. They sat near the fire, whispering back and forth, stealing the occasional passionate kiss and making googly eyes at each other. They looked smitten, hopelessly in love.
And where was she? Guarding her heart like a junkyard dog, alone, and on the outskirts. She told Hook she’d be leaving after the party, yet she’d made no move toward any sort of plan to return to Seattle. Hadn’t booked a flight. Hadn’t rented a car. Hadn’t packed so much as a sock in her suitcase. Her head was such a mess.
The couple locked lips again and Marcie had to look away. Her heart ached too much to witness other’s blissful adoration.
“Okay, darlin’, I have no idea what happened between you and Hook, but I’m done letting you throw your own pity party over here.” Striker leaned against the wall next to her and held out an uncapped beer.
“Thanks. And congratulations.”
“Thanks, hon.” He pointed across the yard. “Hook looks even more wrecked than you do. You want to talk about it?”
Hook did look bad. Or sad, really. Standing in a group of laughing bikers, he wasn’t engaged in the conversation, but scanning the crowd. Probably looking for her. In true cowardly fashion, she’d avoided him like the plague since last night. “No. No, I don’t.”
With a heavy sigh, Striker faced her. “I’m just going to say one thing, then I’ll leave you alone. You’re it for that man.” He pointed toward Hook with his beer bottle. “Always have been. He stayed away years ago because you were way too fuckin’ young and it would have been wrong. But it’s not wrong now, and he wants you even more. He won’t hurt you, Marce. Not like you’re afraid of. That man will not abandon you. Ever.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek then pushed off the wall. “Think about it,” he called over his shoulder.
An ache formed between her eyes and she rubbed it. Was everyone onto her issues? She took a long drink from the frosty beer and when she lowered the bottle, her eyes locked with Hook’s. He looked like every woman’s fantasy with a T-shirt stretched across his powerful chest and jeans that hugged him in all the right places. But it was his gaze that held her captive. Sad and hopeful all at the same time.
Someone came and whispered in his ear. He nodded then shot her a wink mouthing don’t move. It was time to face the music. Time to put on her big girl panties and talk to him. Time to admit that maybe she did have some hang-ups.
~ ~ ~ ~
Damn, Marcie looked good in those tiny denim shorts with the form fitting yellow V-neck T-shirt. Yellow was such a great color on her. Sunny like her personality. She was so close to him, yet might as well be a million miles away for the emotional distance between them.
“You hear me, Hook?” one of the prospects asked.
“Yeah, man, sorry. You said the coolers need more beer?”
“Uh huh. Want me to fill them?”
“Nah, Prospect. I’ll get it.” The fewer people inside his house the higher the chance it wouldn’t be destroyed by the end of the party.
He held up two fingers and mouthed two minutes to Marcie. Hopefully she’d wait for him. It’d been almost twenty-four hours since their fight and she hadn’t spoken a word to him. In fact, she’d avoided him the entire day. Since she seemed to need a bit of distance, he gave her space to set up for the party and made himself scarce.
That had given him exactly zero opportunities to apologize properly and beg her to stay. Because he would beg if he had to. He just couldn’t lose her. Not to mention the friends he contacted in Seattle to give Tanner a little talking to couldn’t track him down. Neither could the police. He appeared to have vanished. Something was up there. Something that had his gut churning. Marcie needed to know, to be vigilant.
He stepped into the sizable room he used as an office on the first level of his house. Often times, after far too many hours at the garage, he brought paperwork home to complete in peace and quiet. The office served as a dedicated work space. Tonight, it served as extra beer and liquor storage. The temperature outside had soared during the afternoon, making it too hot to store the plethora of booze in the garage.
As he bent to retrieve a case of beer, something—or rather someone, based on the shape and feel of a male body—slammed into him from behind. Hook was an excellent fighter, but a sneak attack, an ambush from behind was nearly impossible to anticipate or defend against.
“What the—” The force of the assault caused a forward momentum Hook was helpless to avoid, and he crashed headfirst into the tall stacks of liquor-filled boxes.
Sounds of smashing glass filled the room as a tower of boxes came tumbling to the ground. Hook landed in the heap and grunted in pain as a final box plummeted into his shoulder. Shit. That was going to leave a significant mark. Not to mention the one that would be left by the sharp points of multiple boxes digging into his back.
One benefit to being a skilled MMA fighter was the ability to react instantaneously and be light on his feet, despite pain. Hell, pain was a given when a man’s fists connected with his body, no matter how fit he was. Hook shook off the discomfort and flew to his feet, assumed a fighting stance, and prepared to demolish his enemy.
A quick scan of the room revealed he was alone. No attacker. No threat.
“What the fuck is going on?” he muttered.
The room reeked of alcohol thanks to the destroyed bottles and soaked boxes, but Hook ignored the mess. It would keep. Priority number one was assessing the threat level to his guests, and Marcie. Especially Marcie.
With a roll of his sore shoulder, Hook stepped over the downed boxes and stomped toward closed the door. The knob twisted easily, but when he pulled to open the door, it didn’t budge. “Shit.” With more force, he jiggled the knob yanked like his life depended on it. Which it looked like it did.
Nothing.
“All right. Very funny, fuckstick. Who the fuck is holding the fuckin’ door closed? Stop hiding and confront me.”
Crickets.
What the fuck was going on?
The shatter of glass spun him toward the window behind his desk. Dark gray smoke filled the room, singing his lungs and burning his eyes. “Fuck!” Orange flames licked up the long curtains and the wooden blinds ignited in a flash of heat.
He hurtled himself against the door again, to no avail. As he breathed in, his lungs spasmed, protesting the smoky poison that took the place of clean oxygen. Harsh coughs racked him and he dropped to his knees as the need for fresh air became imperative.
Christ, he had to get the fuck out of here. Something was seriously wrong; his house was under attack from an unknown enemy. Thoughts of Marcie flashed through his mind. Was she safe? Was she protected? Striker would move heaven and earth to keep her out of harm’s way, but was he in any position to do so?
Hook squinted. Tears poured down his face as his eyes rejected the toxic burn of the smoke. He couldn’t see two inches in front of his face, and his lungs screamed with the need for oxygen. If he could get behind the desk, he could throw himself through window and outside to where air, and possibly an ambush awaited. It wasn’t an ideal solution as the entire window was engulfed in scorching flames.
Drop down. Wasn’t that what he’d heard to do in a house fire? It couldn’t make the situation worse. On shaking hands and knees, he crawled along the floor feeling for the desk.
With each fraction of an inch forward, the temperature grew more unbearable, until he could barely force his arms and legs to advance. Hook’s arm flew across his face in a feeble attempt to block the searing heat. Dizziness swamped him and he jolted with fierce hacking coughs as he tried to suck in air. Darkness clouded his vision and memories of Marcie played through his mind.
He was going to die. The possibility of death was something all MC members faced at some point, and most didn’t fear it, especially if it was in defense of the club. But dying with tension between him and Marcie? Dying without telling her he fucking loved her and wanted her in his life forever? That shit didn’t sit well.
With a burst of energy, he drew his shirt over his mouth and nose and tried to crawl forward, but the need for oxygen won out and he collapsed in a prone position.
He kept Marcie at the forefront of his mind while darkness rimmed his vision. Marcie’s face, Marcie’s laugh, the way her pussy gripped him tighter and hotter than he’d ever experienced. The way she burrowed into his heart and made him love her with every fiber of his being.
Seconds before the blackness overtook him, Hook remembered the broken cases of spilled beer and booze.
Fuck.
The entire room was going to blow in a matter of minutes.