Flame (Ruin Outlaws MC #4)

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This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

Flame (Ruin Outlaws MC #4)

First edition. July 8, 2014.

Copyright © 2014 Amy Isan.

Written by Amy Isan.

Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill / EDHGraphics

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Title Page

Copyright Page

CHAPTER 1 — LOGAN

CHAPTER 2 — CASSIE

CHAPTER 3 — LOGAN

CHAPTER 4 — CASSIE

CHAPTER 5 — LOGAN

CHAPTER 6 — CASSIE

Also By Amy Isan

About the Author

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C
assie is restless. It's been hours since we came out here to practice shooting, but she won't give up. I don't have very many revolver rounds left, and that'll have to be our stopping point, which we're coming at quickly at this rate.

But I'm surprised. She's already improved more than I could have expected from an amateur. I don't know what it is, but I get a chill up my spine whenever she bristles to ready the shot. Like a heat wave hits me every time she spreads her legs to keep her balance.

The sun is low in the sky and it lights Cassie's face on fire. She lowers the gun after she fires another round, emptying the revolver for what feels like the hundredth time today. She opens the cylinder and ejects the spent casings onto the ground, joining the others. She damn near used up all my revolver ammo. She turns to look at me. Her arms are shaking visibly from the strain of shooting for so long. I lean forward and uncross my arms. "Ready?"

She nods and stumbles toward me. She hands me the empty revolver and moves to climb onto my motorcycle. She looks beat and exhausted. I stow the revolver away and climb into the leather seat, and her warm legs straddle me. I kick the engine over and peel out from the shooting range, leaving behind empty casings and shattered beer bottles.

. . .

Back in town, we crawl along the street and eventually lean into the turn into the alleyway. Cassie's head is heavy on my shoulder and she slides as I turn the bike into the alleyway. I catch her before she loses her balance and I regain control of the bike. I walk my motorcycle behind the dumpster and help Cassie off her seat, before carrying her to the graffitied door and knocking it open with my boot.

I hike up the stairs with Cassie in my arms. I enter our room and swiftly lay her down on the bed and cover her up with a blanket, which rouses her enough that she grabs hold of the edge of the sheet and turns over. A glimpse of a smile flickers across her lips and vanishes as she falls asleep.

I close the bedroom door and lock it. Kicking my boots off I walk up to the small window that looks out onto a street. I need to get my head on straight... seeing Cassie so determined to ease my mind is a definite sign of that. I can't have her wearing herself out everyday because she thinks she's weighting me down. She isn't.

She's nestled up in the bed, hogging all the sheets, and a spark lights a fire in my chest that I've never felt before in my life. An encompassing warm feeling, like hands are cupping my heart, but twisting my stomach. I undress and drop my clothes to the floor, before climbing into the sheets and wrapping my arms around her. I'll keep her safe.

But the men back in Arizona are my brothers. I clench my fist and feel the deep scar with the tips of my fingers, and it throbs. I have to do something about the Skeletons. I have to atone.

Surge said he'd handle it. I have to trust him. I unclench my fist and sigh heavily. After a few moments of deep breathing, she throws her arm around me like I'm some kind of doll to her. I chuckle a little under my breath.

. . .

The next morning I wake up first. She's still sleeping, her chest rising softly under the thin sheets. The heat has already started to bake the room, and it feels like we'll be sleeping naked soon enough. Looking at her hips and curves, I can't complain too much. I stand up and pull on my jeans, being careful enough to not stumble around too much and wake her up.

I step outside the room and descend the steps to the first floor. I've killed a man and abandoned my crew, all to be with this woman?

I'm not even using my head anymore, I'm controlled by something lower, more primal and hungry than that. That urge to hold her tight, to feel her lips on my skin. To hear her moan in my arms. Better yet, that flare she gets in her eyes when she looks at me. It's unreal.

She's tried to stay positive, too. I've been leading us around everywhere, but now that we've gone this far out of her home, she didn't cower in the room. She demanded I teach her to shoot, and when I took her, she wore herself down practicing until her body gave up. How couldn't I admire that?

Regardless, I need to find Damian and talk with him about replenishing my supplies, mainly my ammunition. We might need it if my predictions about the Skeletons' reach are wrong. I doubt I am, but I have to take every precaution with Cassie in tow. While Cassie did great yesterday knocking down beer bottles and cans, the problem is range-shooting might not mean a lot in the case of a real gun fight.

Unless she can manage to keep that coat of ice on her heart. If she can do that, she'll be just fine. I should know. The cold distance makes it a little harder and more painful to be close to someone, because the ice just digs in deeper. It's hard to melt. If I get too close to Cassie, it will only ruin my ability to protect her.

Fucking hell.

Damian pops his head out of one of the side rooms, probably because of the loud-ass creaky stairs alerting him. He grins and waves me over. He's leaned back in a computer chair.

"Hey Logan, what's going on?" he asks. I step into the room and find him on a small laptop, which looks like it's in surprisingly good condition considering the state of the rest of the house. I don't answer as I'm transfixed by trying to see what he's doing on it, and he coughs when he catches me staring.

"Oh, Damian," I say. "Do you still have any contacts down here that can hook me up with some ammunition?"

Damian's eyebrow goes up. "What kind of ammunition?" He closes the laptop and twists in his chair to face me. He's sitting while I stand over him, but he keeps his cards close to his chest. He's always been an interesting guy. "I can't get you any of that hard shit, like rifle rounds..."

"No, just some pistol and revolver rounds."

"Ah," Damian says. He flips open the laptop again and opens a couple of windows, his finger tapping at the trackpad like he's trying to crush a bug that just keeps getting away from him. He pulls up a listing for a realtor in the area and hands the laptop off to me. I take it awkwardly and stare at it. "Here," he says.

"This guy?" The picture doesn't look very convincing. The website has a picture of some white-collar real estate agent. His name is Jimmy. His picture is complete with the fake grin and an extra layer of tan that really makes his teeth stand out. "What happened to Ralph?"

"He's gone, man. This is the guy now. Just go to that place and tell them I sent you. That should get you hooked up."

"What's this gonna cost me?" I hand the laptop back to him and cross my arms.

"I don't set the prices, Logan, you know that. Besides, I saw your bags. You'll have more than enough."

I snort and wave him away. "Sure, sure. Thanks for the info."

He nods and gives me a thumbs up which almost makes me laugh. I step back out into the entryway and debate talking to Cassie again before heading out. If she's asleep, I don't want to risk waking her up from the stupid stairs just to find out. Fuck it.

"Damian," I say, grabbing his attention again. He leans back as I expected. "Tell her that I stepped out for a minute, but that I'll be right back."

He nods. Reassured, I grab the front door and go outside. The warm air blasts my face and I'm surprised that it could have been that much cooler inside the building. It certainly didn't feel like it with sweat dripping down my arms and face just talking with Damian in the den. I sit on my motorcycle and guide it away from its parking space, walking it as far out of the alleyway as possible. When I can't take it any further without spilling into the street, I start it up with a roaring chug of the engine. I twist my wrist and quickly kick it into gear and turn off from the alley.

I know exactly where that office is. Funny enough, it's right in the same building that Ralph used to work out of. I guess the machine shop is closed down now. A realtor, what a joke.

. . .

I blast down the road, cutting off cars and pedestrians alike. I don't care anymore. No one in this town gives a shit and I need the release. I need the drone of the engine to drown out my swirling mind. I crank through my gears and sprint off toward the outskirts of the small city. That's where the machine shop was, and that's where I'll find my "real estate" agent.

. . .

I slow my roll as I approach the worn and beaten building. Quieting the hog, I pull up along the curb and shut it down with a push of a button and turn of the key. I slowly lower it onto its kickstand and climb off. The place doesn't look like it's changed at all, save for a fresh coat of white paint on the outside of the building. Even that looks a bit worn and cheap, and I can still see the outline of the machine shop's business name behind the thin layer of off-white primer.

The location is pretty remote, due to how loud the fabrication work area was, not to mention welding and all that shit really can get on people's nerves. It kept deals pretty quiet with the police around Nogales, not that they were ever a keen bunch to begin with.

I walk up to the door of Jimmy's Real Estate and twist the knob. The inside is darkly lit, but the light streaming in from the open door illuminates the dusty reception area and a lone woman behind a desk. There isn't anyone else waiting here and the chairs look a bit dirty, as if they haven't been used in a while. A wood paneled wall lines the opposite doorway, which is shut tight. The receptionist continues pecking at her phone while I approach. I'm used to being more intimidating, I can't be losing my touch can I?

I grunt and she looks up, her eyes shooting to mine then quickly scanning my arms and body. I feel a chuckle in my throat, but I hold it back. She flushes and pushes her hair behind her ear, before setting down her phone. "Sir? Can I help you?"

"I need to see Jimmy," I say, "Damian highly recommended him to me."

She nods as she leans over a phone and clicks the speaker on. A rash voice shouts through the speaker and asks, "What?" which I hear echo through the door from the next room. She smacks her lips and chews her gum loudly until he lowers his voice.

"Some guy is here to see you..." she peers up at me as she trails off.

"Logan."

"...Logan," she repeats.

"Yeah I heard him the first time, let him in already —." He hangs up. She shrugs her shoulders and points toward the door, and I nod.

Inside Jimmy's office there's even less furniture. Just the seedy-looking man himself in his large leather chair, behind his large executive desk. There's one chair for a guest. His fake tan makes his mustache look drained. Jimmy has a weird spark in his eyes. An edge. He raises himself from his seat and reaches over the desk to shake my hand, but I ignore him and fold my arms. I stand behind the chair in front of his desk.

"Damian says you could hook me up with some ammo."

He withdraws his hand and wipes it on his suit jacket. "Damian, huh?" he asks. He sits back down and rummages through one of his drawers, making a racket as he does. He pauses and looks up at me. "How about you sit down?" He gestures to the one chair. "Stressing me out with your standing and shit."

I reluctantly take my seat and wait for him to finishing digging out whatever he's looking for. He pulls out a folder and flips it open and he mutters to himself as his finger traces the words on each page. "Ah, Damian, of course." He shuts the folder and pushes the it off to the side. "You're not a guy who fucks around, most people at least pretend they're looking for real estate," he says.

"I'm not a man who has that kinda time," I reply.

He points at me and laughs. "You got gusto, that's for sure... What kind of ammo did you need?" He leans over and digs through one of his drawers again. "What crew do you ride with?"

I hesitate because the first words that come mind to say are 'Los Devils,' but that was a long time ago. I haven't made that mistake in a while. "Ruin Outlaws, does it really matter? I'm not really here to chit-chat. I need pistol ammo."

"Clearly." Jimmy shakes his head and mutters something under his breath, but I can't make it out. He retrieves a packet from the drawer and drops it on the desk. "Haven't heard of them," he adds.

I scowl and shake my head. "It doesn't matter anyway," I paw at the packet. "What's this... a couple tins of mints? You're kidding me with this right?"