Oliver (Inked Menace MC 2) (7 page)

10
Chapter Ten

The thick air was pregnant with dark thoughts as their small party made it to the garage and found the van on the second level parked close to the stairwell under bright lights. Oliver had to laugh at the prospect. It wasn’t like they were humans who were scared to walk alone at night. He supposed it was pretense though, and part of their cover.

Hammer unlocked the doors with the click of a button, and as Maura sidled into the front seat, Amara and Oliver piled in the back.

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Amara murmured.

The rear of the van was empty except for some metal shelving attached to one of the walls. Oliver shut the door and sat down with his back against the other wall. He shrugged when Amara sat down next to him and stretched her long, thick legs out straight.

“Hard to toss bodies inside when there are seats, so we got rid of them.”

“The bodies or the seats?”

He sent her a sexy smirk. “Both.”

She shook her head and smiled for a second before her face hardened by whatever thoughts had just twisted her up.

“Ready to go home?” Hammer said and started the van. A steady rumble soothed Oliver’s frayed nerves.

“Do you hear that?” Amara said and jerked herself to sit upright, eyes wide as she looked left and right, then at her sister.

“Hear what?” Oliver said.

“The bloody ticking.”

Maura stopped talking and tuned into their conversation as Hammer put the van in gear and started to back up.

“Patrick, stop the van.”

Hammer didn’t question her demand, which made Oliver hyper-focused, and then he heard it. The sound was so faint he marveled at Amara’s sensitive hearing. The van jerked to a stop as his president slammed it into park and glanced back at her with a brow raised. Maura tilted her head.

A faint tick, tick, tick came from beneath where he and Amara sat.

He glanced at her, and her face was scrunched, eyes closed,then they snapped open as her lips parted and she yelled, “Bomb!”

Hammer and Maura didn’t hesitate. They jumped out of the front doors just as Oliver jumped up and slid open the back. A potent fear struck him at the loss of those few precious seconds.

Tick, tick, tick.

Amara was the last out, and as they rounded the back of the van, a blast of fire rained over them, sending them both flying through the air. Oliver reached out and tackled Amara to the ground about ten feet from the vehicle, rolling a few times to get further away, shielding her with his body as smoke, flames, and metal flew in every direction. A sonic boom shook the concrete under their cheeks, and the van exploded, sending a raging inferno over their bodies.

They lay on the ground, stunned, as their ears rang. Oliver’s body burned as pieces of metal fell onto his pants and scorched holes through his jeans, singing his skin. He told his limbs to move.

Amara lay still underneath him.

He licked his lips and slid to the side. “Amara?” he croaked.

She didn’t move.

Oliver lifted his eyes and scanned the garage, spying Hammer and Maura about ten feet further ahead, both on the ground but alive, shaking their heads to clear the ringing. Hammer met his gaze, his eyes a burning gold matching the fire surrounding them. He nodded once and pressed a kiss to Maura’s cheek.

“Amara?” He nudged her with his elbow. She didn’t flinch or call him names. Her face was tilted in the other direction. Oliver crawled onto all fours and moved around her body, and when he saw her face, he knew why she wasn’t answering.

A huge lump was forming above her forehead, and her face was covered in dirt and grime from the ground.

A second later, Maura was at his side and Hammer was by Amara’s feet, and on the count of three, they lifted her body and carefully maneuvered her to a much safer distance from the heat and wreckage.

“Who did this?” Maura seethed through gritted teeth. She smoothed her sister’s hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ears a they all waited for her to wake up.

Oliver pressed a hand to Amara’s heart to assure himself she was alive. Her head rested in his lap as he cradled her body and he fervently sent a prayer up to the collective universe to heal her.

Her breaths were shallow, but steady, as her animal worked inside to repair the damage caused by the explosion.

“The authorities will be here soon. There’s no way this went unnoticed,” Hammer said. “We’ve got to move.”

“I know,” Oliver said and carefully lifted Amara into his arms. For a normal human, carrying dead weight would have been hard, but thanks to his shifter strength, he carried her with no issues. “Where should we go?”

“Who do we trust?” Maura countered. “Was this done by our own, or is LexCorp around and watching?”

None of them had an answer for that.

Oliver’s mind worked double time and he said, “Call Flip. Fill him in and ask him to find us a safe location on the down low. Ask him not to alert the others that there was a problem. Not yet. Not until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Hammer nodded, pulled out a burner from his front pocket, and dialed.

“Flip. It’s Hammer. We have a problem.”

11
Chapter Eleven

Amara jerked awake. As she opened bleary eyes, she inhaled, testing the scents out of instinct, even though her animal whispered that they were safe. Amara didn’t trust in anything she couldn’t see for herself, not anymore.

She was in a room, lying on a bed. Oliver smiled and stretched in the chair by the bed. “Want some water?”

She nodded, mindful of the pounding in her head, and licked her lips with a dry tongue. Oliver stood and brought her a glass.

“Drink it slowly. Don’t want you to throw up.”

The water tasted like heaven. She sipped and let the liquid coat her mouth and throat. When she’d drank half the glass, she sat up gingerly and leaned back against the padded floral headboard.

“It looks like Martha Stewart threw up in here,” she croaked, her throat singed from smoke inhalation, most likely. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours. Pat and your sister are in the other room making calls.”

“Do we know anything yet?”

Oliver shook his head and parked his ass at the edge of the bed, stroking her foot absently. “Nothing concrete.”

“Wasn’t expecting to get blown up today,” she said. “Fucking wankers.”

A rumbling chuckle shook the bed. Once the laughter died down, Oliver said, “How’s your head?”

Amara reached up and touched the pads of her fingers to her temples. “Wonky. I’m a bit knackered.”

Concern marked his face in lines across his forehead.

The door swung open and Maura filled the doorway with her hands on her hips, a dishtowel thrown over her shoulder. “Thought I heard your cheery voice. How do you feel?”

“I’ve lost the plot.”

Oliver sputtered on his water and said, “I’m sure you’ll find it?”

Maura laughed. “No, you half-wit, she means she’s gone crazy.”

“Oh.” His adorable face scrunched up. “Why didn’t she just say that?”

“Hello? I’m right here, buggers.”

“It’s like listening to my favorite music, only the lyrics are insulting me.” He shook his head. “I’m going to get some air, talk with Hammer and see if we know anything.”

He left and shut the door behind him. Maura strolled to the bed and glanced down at her. She looked tired.

“Rough night?”

A ghost of a smile crested across her face. “You could say that.” Her eyes flickered from gold to green and back to gold as she fought to get her emotions under control.

“Was the bomb from LexCorp or is there some other crazy fucker trying to kill us?”

Amara winced at a particular heavy throb settling behind her eyes. “Can you cut the lights? They’re murder on my head.”

Maura turned and hit the switch by the door, bathing the room in a soft evening glow. “Where are we?”

“Flip had a friend in the city with an empty duplex.” She shrugged. “So, here we are.”

“Convenient.”

“He’s practical, though he doesn’t talk much, and he knows a lot of people with useful connections.”

“I can see that. Anyway. So, what’s your theory? I know you and Patrick are working on one.”

She sighed and perched an ass cheek on the dresser by the bed. “We haven’t ruled anything out.”

“What’s going on with the Gaver?”

“The explosion’s all over the news, but so far, they have no leads. The van isn’t registered to any of us, the VIN’s been wiped, and I doubt there are any prints left. The police won’t have a reason to come knocking on our doors.”

Amara blew out a breath. “Only your club knew our destination, and the prospect drove the van. There aren’t many other options.”

“Yeah,” Maura said and clenched her teeth together. “But I don’t think Marcus could be bought. He’s been with us for six months.” She stared at a picture strung up on the wall, and Amara noted the lovely beach scene, so at odds with the big city lights and sounds outside. “Have you decided on Oliver, yet?”

Amara’s hands clenched into fists. “Don’t start.”

“Dammit, Amaraynth. Don’t twist that boy into knots. You bloody know you’re going to shag him rotten, just trust your instincts.”

“Careful, Maureen,” Amara said to needle her older sister. “You’re heritage is showing.”

“I’ve been in the states damn near twenty years, and still, whenever I’m around you, I revert right back into youth.”

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry. Like a damn hibernating bear, you are.”

A huge rumble ripped from her stomach just as the door to her bedroom was kicked open and Oliver walked in carrying a steaming bowl of something that smelled delicious.

Maura raised her brow at her and made head bobbing motions toward her savior. Amara rolled her eyes. “We’ll talk later, sister.”

“Yes, we will. Hello, Oliver, you’re taking such good care of my sister. I appreciate it so much, even if she hasn’t the manners to say so.”

Oliver stopped and glanced between the two women. “Am I missing something?”

Too many things, sexy man.
She sighed. “Sisterly love and affection. She thinks I was raised in a barn. But truthfully,” Amara swung her legs out from under the covers and stood slowly, glancing down at her tattered clothing. “Fuck me.”

“I’d love to, love,” Oliver said at once, making her blush and laugh at the same time. She sat back down and pressed a hand against her abdomen, a wave of nausea rolling in her stomach from the vertigo.

A whine spewed out of her mouth, one that reminded her of her younger years. “Since I’ve gotten here, I’ve ruined all my favorite clothes.” The aroma from the stew wafted up her nose and she moaned. “That smells divine, did you cook?”

“Hell no, we’re in New York, where every place delivers. I asked Siri what the best place for venison stew was, and this is it.” He waved the bowl around, causing steam to rise up and invade her brain. As if she needed another reason to like him.

He glanced at Maura as she walked to the door, and she stopped in the doorway with a hand on the wall. He said, “There’s enough for everyone out in the living room,” and handed the bowl to Amara, his gaze never wavering from hers. Their fingers met around the bowl, and little electric pulses ran from his flesh to hers.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Maura high-tail it out of there and shut the door

“So, we’re alone,” Amara said as she lifted the spoon to her lips, testing the hot broth filled with spices and flavors. Her animal appreciated this gesture very much. It proved he could take care of a mate.

Mate.

The object of her delusional fantasies stepped to the other side of the bed and huffed as he removed his shoes, then eased next to her, settling close, not quite touching skin to skin.

The word stopped her cold for a moment as she nearly choked on a piece of meat. The pounding in her chest unnerved her for a long second and it took a few more breaths to get herself under control.

“We need to talk,” he said, deadpan.

Amara didn’t dare lift her face to meet his eyes. Instead, she shoveled the rest of the food into her mouth and chewed quickly, then swallowed and repeated, pretending she hadn’t heard him.

“This is insane. You know it, I know it, why not just lay everything out there?”

The broth was delicious and Amara brought the bowl up and drank the rest of her dinner down. With no other reason not speak, she cleared her throat and tried.

Honestly she did. The amusement on Oliver’s face at her fish impression almost made her punch him. As it was, she wanted to scratch her nails down his chest.

“I’m not good at talking. I’m good at fighting, fucking, and sleeping.”

“You sound like a man.”

Even though Amara’s inner woman balked, she acknowledged the truth. “Pretty much. I’ve always been more leather and fists than dresses and kisses.”

Oliver leaned in, his face inches from hers, and invaded her personal space. “What if I told you I didn’t want a girly girl who was high-maintenance? That I appreciate you for who and what you are. What you’ve gone through. All I’m asking for is a chance. A chance to see where this leads, and you’re being so bloody obstinate!”

A laugh floated through the thin walls separating the bedroom from the living room -- or kitchen. Amara had yet to explore their humble abode. She planned to remedy that soon. Anything to keep from having this conversation with the man who fired her blood so hot that she almost wanted to beg him to claim her because she was too much of a chicken to tell him how much she really needed him in her life.

“You’re right,” she said on a whisper, not trusting herself to speak too loudly for fear she’d spook herself into running full tilt from the room. “I’m being a prat.” She licked her lips and inched closer to Oliver, the heat and scent of him too intoxicating to resist. “The intensity scares me and I don’t know how to deal with the feelings other than bolting. There’s no enemy to fight other than myself. I don’t know how to remedy that.”

Oliver’s eyes changed from sultry to soft in the span of one blink to the next. “One step at a time, doll.”

Amara’s lip quirked.

“What?” he said moving his face slowly until his cheek rubbed against hers, the stubble making her thoughts go to more dark desires, like the way he’d look between her thighs. “Too soon for pet names?”

“They have to form naturally or they won’t stick.”

He shrugged and shifted on the bed, moving to all fours above her. She froze, then forced herself to relax as he stared into her eyes and mesmerized her with the blue beams sparked with gold flecks.

“Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious about what’s going on between us?”

She hesitated. “Yes.” She licked her lips. “But it complicates everything.”

He pulled back a fraction and said, “What sorts of things, queen of cryptic?”

In for a penny,
she thought. “Luther sent me here with a second mission, other than finding the assholes who hurt me.” She looked away then glanced down at her lap, staring at a small black fleck on an otherwise pristine white comforter. In her periphery she watched as Oliver moved away, kneeled, and sat on his heels. 

His thighs were right in her line of sight. She continued to stare, only this time her gaze refocused on the bulge inside his jeans resting against his leg.

“Oh?”

Amara exhaled and said rapidly, “He told me to gather information on Cecelia and report back to him.”

“And just how were you supposed to gather this information?”

This time she raised her face and met his narrowed eyes, his nostrils flaring out. He breathed in and out in slow, steady measures.

“I’m a woman.” She shrugged, as if what she was about to say didn’t hurt. “I’d planned to seduce one of you into telling me what I needed to know.”

Oliver’s hands clenched at his sides, curling into tight fists, as a wave of red blushed across his chest and up his neck, popping the veins in his neck out. “Is that what you’re doing?”

The words seemed torn from his throat against his will and he glanced away, breaking the connection between them as he gathered his self-control lest he shift and dismantle her. At least that’s what she imagined his reaction meant.

Her hands started to tremble. “You bloody well know it isn’t.”

“I can’t think straight,” Oliver admitted and removed the hair elastic binding his hair to run his hands through the massive locks, massaging his scalp with his eyes closed and his brows drawn together.

Amara’s teeth chattered. She clenched her jaw together to prevent the noise. Embarrassment flooded her heart and shame rocked through her. Shame that Luther had asked her to spy on her fellow mates, shame she hadn’t been honest with Oliver from the start, and fear. Fear of the unknown, and being taken again. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I didn’t mean to lie.”

Oliver exhaled and slowly turned his face toward her. Tears burned her eye sockets, but she refused to give in to them. She swallowed hard and took a few shallow inhales to steady her wildly pumping heart.

His tone was softer than she expected. “What do you need to know?”

Amara shook her head, winced at the pain, yet forged on. “Nothing. I’ve decided Luther can go fuck himself with a broken bat. I’m done being used.”

The bed squeaked when Oliver moved to sit beside her again with his back resting against the headboard. “My parents had me later in life, and when I was fifteen, they each went their separate ways. I carved out my own territory in the jungle and built a small cabin with my own two hands. I have two sisters that I never see except for rare instances, but we do exchange cards every year at Christmas, and we Skype twice a year.”

When he paused, Amara rested her hand on top of his, tentatively at first. He turned his palm up and laced their fingers together, and instantly, Amara’s heart slowed its rapid pace, settling into a more even rhythm. She wanted to ask why he was telling her this. Why he was choosing to open up to her about his personal life.

Yet she was afraid if she did, he’d stop talking and that would be the end of them. End before they even began. Amara wanted more than that. She turned her face to get a good look at the man fate deemed her soul-mate and a wistful longing stuck in her chest. It wound around her heart and lifted the barricade protecting her from connecting with another.