6
Storm
My fight at The Underground tonight hadn’t exactly gone to plan.
The plan was to win, but instead, I’d had my ass handed to me by Blade. It was like another dose of karma was thumping me in the face, and this time, it was retribution for being a knob to Faye last night. I experienced a lot of karma these days.
Making my way through the crowd, I rubbed my side. That kick had to have busted a rib. Maybe I should get it checked out.
“The shop burned to the ground,” a woman was saying. “And some guy just leapt into the flames and saved her.”
“Her cakes are amazing,” another woman added. “Did you see this one? It’s shaped like a fairy garden with little toadstools and grass and everything. It’s chocolate inside.”
“It’s a shame about her shop.”
“Yeah, I hope she finds the guy.”
“To think he just left without leaving his name like that. It would drive me mad.”
I froze, my heart leaping. They were talking about the ashen-haired woman. They had to be. How many other stupid fuckers leapt into burning buildings in this city?
I should’ve kept walking, but I turned to the group of women, temptation flowing through my veins thick and fast. She was looking for me. Green eyes was looking for me.
I had a chance to know her if I wanted. I’d walked away because I knew it was the right thing to do, but selfishly, I found myself wanting to run after her. Maybe she would be different. Maybe she would see the real me, not the lies.
Elbowing my way forward, I approached the women.
“Hey,” I said, ignoring their startled glances when I pushed my way into their group. “Who’s that you’re talking about? That fire on Brunswick Street the other night?”
The woman next to me eyed me curiously. “Yeah. Did you see it?”
“I live near there,” I replied. “I saw the trucks.”
“Some woman was trapped in there,” the girl across from me said. “Some mystery guy saved her.”
“Now she’s looking for him,” the girl to my right said. “He never left a name and disappeared right after.”
“It isn’t you, is it Storm?” the girl opposite asked, narrowing her eyes.
“C’mon girls,” I drawled. “You know me. I’m a complete fuckhead. Of course, it isn’t. Can I see that?” I nodded at the cocky girl’s phone.
“You’re right. You are a fuckhead. You jumped out of my friend Rhiannon’s car at the Alexandria Parade traffic lights the other night rather than let her suck your cock.” Rolling her eyes, she handed me her phone so I could see the post.
I shrugged and took the phone. “It happens.”
“It was a total dick move,” the girl to my right said.
“Girls like your friend Rhiannon always think they’re the exception to the rule,” I said, glancing at the screen. Callie Winslow. Her name was Callie Winslow. “They always think they can turn the asshole good, and all it takes to mend a broken past is a few decent orgasms. Ain’t going to happen.” I handed the scowling girl back her phone. “Nice doing business with you.”
Retreating, I left the women to their death stares and swung by the bar. I’d need a beer for this.
“Quite the beating you took tonight,” Faye said, handing me a Corona. “You on your period or something?”
Narrowing my eyes, I saw she was still pissed I’d turned her down. She would just have to deal. Besides, there were plenty of other cocks lining up for her to ride, and she didn’t even have to buy a ticket.
“Nice to see you too, Faye.” I snatched the beer and flung a ten-dollar note at her. “Keep the change.”
“You know, there’s a reason why everyone hates your guts, Storm,” she called out after me. “You’re not helping yourself!”
Ignoring her, I weaved through the throng of people and found a quiet corner. Sitting on a couch in a darkened alcove—a couch that had probably seen its fair share of disinfectant—I sipped at my beer and contemplated looking up the beautiful Callie Winslow and seeing what she had to say about me. Her story seemed to have gone viral if those bitches were talking about it, so it was a good thing she didn’t know my true identity. If she did, it would be another kind of headline.
Taking out my phone, I nursed my beer between my knees and downloaded the Facebook app. I couldn’t believe I was doing this shit. Ever since my stupid ass was smeared all over the news and the Internet, I’d steered clear. I’d deleted every profile I’d had online and had never dared go back. People could be vicious as fuck when they weren’t held accountable.
I had to create a profile to continue, so I made one and set my name as Storm R, leaving the picture and other details blank.
Tapping the search bar, I typed in her name. Callie Winslow.
I knew I was tempting fate and fueling a strange attraction I didn’t know anything about, but I did it anyway. She was going to be disappointed, and I was still going to be a miserable bastard.
The results loaded up, and there she was. Pale blonde hair, green eyes, and a smile to kill for. Tapping on the photo, it enlarged, and I salivated…and it had nothing to do with the giant wedding cake behind her.
She had curves but was still delicate, and she had a happy almost carefree way about her. I could see the pride in her eyes and the uninhibited joy her chosen profession had afforded her. She looked like an angel. A completely fuckable angel.
Exiting out of the photo, I read the post that had caused such a ruckus, and my hands started to shake. They actually fucking shook. Pussy.
She was a baker. A pastry chef. Was that what they called it? It was her shop that burned down, the dream she’d worked all her life to achieve, and now it was a pile of ash. The Fitzroy Cake Company. She’d almost gone down with it until I’d shown up.
You saved my life…and haunted me instead. Please. Who are you?
Turning over my phone, I grabbed my beer and downed a mouthful. Casting my gaze out over The Underground, I didn’t know what to think. About any of it.
I could still smell the stench of smoke lodged in my sinuses, and the feel of her in my arms was as vivid as the kick on the ribs I’d copped in the cage the hour before. She’d only spoken about a dozen words to me, but I remembered every single one.
Picking up my phone, I opened her profile and began scrolling, and a more complete picture of Callie Winslow began to take shape. There were a lot of photos of her cakes and pastries and a lot of selfies, but there was no guy. Was she alone?
You haunted me instead…
My finger hovered over the message icon. She would be disappointed when she found out the truth about me. She would believe the lie—that I was a perpetrator of domestic violence—and she wouldn’t feel the same way about that night. She would look at me like everyone else did. Those pretty green eyes would be filled with hate.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was giving women closure. First, the con artist ring girl, then Lori, and now Callie. She could say what she needed to say, and then move on with her life.
So I opened a message, typed in some words, and pressed send.
Storm R: I hear you’re looking for me.
Like she was already there waiting for me to message her, three little bouncing dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, signaling she was typing a reply.
Callie: What color was I painting the storeroom?
Storm R: What?
Callie: I’ve had a lot of morons trying to dupe me. So… What color was the paint?
Storm R: Light blue. The can had tipped over, and it was all over the floor.
There was a long pause, and I began to doubt my memory, but finally, the three dots appeared again.
Callie: Is it really you?
Storm R: Yeah.
Callie: Really?
Storm R: Last time I looked. I don’t leap into raging infernos for just anyone.
Callie: Is that actually your name?
Storm R: Yes and no.
Storm R: Are you okay?
Callie: I’m fine. I bumped my head and inhaled a lot of smoke, but I’m okay now.
Storm R: Good. I’m glad.
Callie: It was an accident. The fire. The police said it was faulty wiring.
Storm R: The police?
Callie: My insurance company says I should sue my landlord.
Storm R: You should. It sounds like it was their fault.
Callie: Thank you. For saving me.
Callie: It was the ultimate, you know? Risking yourself for a stranger.
Glancing up at The Underground, I frowned. I’d wanted a scrap of kindness, and now that Callie was throwing me a bone, it made me feel uncomfortable. Like I didn’t deserve it. I’d saved her life, but I was still in the black where karma was concerned. When would I stop feeling like a total asshole?
Callie: Can I see you in person? Please?
I hesitated. No. It was completely out of the question. She couldn’t know me. Then why the fuck did you message her?
Callie: I know you’re still there. Please meet me.
Callie: Please.
Callie: I can’t explain it. I feel connected to you somehow. Maybe it was just the fire and the way we met, but I have to know…
Storm R: Know what?
Callie: If it’s real.
My fingers tightened around my phone. Maybe this was my chance at real. Maybe Callie could help me redeem myself. Maybe she was the one who would finally be able to see the real me.
Fuck, I was desperate for someone to be glad to see me. Someone who wouldn’t scowl and change direction when they saw me coming. I didn’t want someone to try to fix me. I wanted someone to listen. I could do with a little kindness. A drop. I would take any little scrap.
Storm R: Okay. Let’s meet.