Torched Read online

  Lexi came over and sat beside me on the couch, stroking my hair as she looked over at Neil. “Baby, don’t you know a guy in Ohio who can get her some papers?” she asked him.

  Neil rubbed the stubble on his face. “Yeah. Let me go make a call.”

  “Cool, we’ll be in the bathroom,” she told him, then stood up and extended her hand out to me. “Come on, hot mess. Time for a makeover.”

  Lexi guided me to the bathroom, where she had a box of black and red hair dye on the counter. She sat me down on the toilet, pulled a pair of scissors from a drawer, and cut my borrowed shirt down the front so I didn’t have to go through more pain to get it off.

  Mitch and Vince both had a thing for blondes, so they’d been making me bleach my naturally black hair for years. I didn’t have the slightest idea what the real me actually looked like anymore, but I couldn’t wait to find out. Dyeing it back would be about more than just changing my appearance. I saw it as a ritual, one that would cleanse me of the past and leave me free start over.

  “Why do we need the red dye?” I asked.

  “Because when you bleach hair, it strips all the red out. If I just put the black in, it’ll turn green. And not a fun green either, more like a gross shade of baby shit.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, that’s not really the look I’m going for. Carry on.”

  A few minutes later, Neil came in and leaned on the door frame. “Ok, here’s the deal, Chlo… I know you’re tired and feel like shit, but we need to get you out of the city tonight before Mitch gets a message to somebody on the outside. Harrisburg’s about a hundred miles away. I’ll follow you out there and get you a room under my name. You can sleep all day tomorrow. After dark, you’ll head out again. My guy, Snoopy, is less than five hours from there in Ohio, a few miles outside of Cambridge. He owns a roadhouse, like a restaurant and motel in one. I’ll write down his info and—”

  “I don’t have a car,” I interrupted, starting to feel extremely guilty for making them jump through all these hoops for me.

  “You’ll take Lexi’s Civic. I was gonna get her a new ride for her birthday anyway.”

  “Baby, seriously?” she squealed and grinned.

  Neil leaned over and kissed her. “Yeah, seriously. I think you deserve something nice. You’ve been working hard.”

  Whoever said strippers couldn’t find their happily ever after had never met these two. If I wasn’t half asleep, I would have gagged.

  “I can’t let you just give me a car,” I protested.

  “You can and you will. It’s paid off. You wanna send me some payments when you get your shit figured out, that’s up to you, but I’m not expecting it. It’s insured, but don’t get pulled over or you’re fucked without a license.”

  I couldn’t even look up at him, the shame wouldn’t let me. This was my mess, one that they didn’t even know the full truth of. How the hell was I going to repay these people for putting themselves on the line like this?

  “Thank you,” I conceded. “What did you tell your friend?”

  “Not much. Said you’re on the run from a shitbag ex that beat you up. It’s close enough and he won’t ask questions. He’ll get you set up with a professional-grade ID, birth certificate, and social security card. You’ll be able to move and work freely after that. Chloe Belman will be as good as dead. I didn’t tell him your name, by the way, so think of one on the way. That’s who you’ll be from now on.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Chlo,” Lexi chimed in, “you need to make sure she stays dead. You know you can trust us, but no one else can know who you are or where you are. Be careful.”

  “Got it. Thank you both. I’ll pay you back for everything.”

  “Oh shut up, you have more important shit to think about,” she said, squirting the last of the dye into my hair. “Let’s go have a drink and pack you some clothes while this shit sets. I sure as hell need one.”

  : 3 :

  It was still dark, just after five in the morning, when I pulled into Oak Barrel Lodge & Lounge. From the outside, it looked more like a blast-from-the-past motel with an attached watering hole. But wayward cigarette butts and empty beer cans aside, to me it was absolute paradise.

  Cars, motorcycles, and semis filled the parking lot. I circled the property, looking for a front office, but saw that it was dark and a “Closed” sign hung on the glass door. No matter, another nap was calling my name. It seemed like I couldn’t get enough sleep, now that I didn’t feel like I had to do it with one eye open. Being surrounded by people—even though they were all probably unconscious at the moment—gave me a sense of assurance.

  I pulled into the only parking spot I saw, right in front of room 106.

  There was a beautiful, black Harley parked in the spot next to me. I’d never really paid attention to motorcycles before, but being this close, I couldn’t help but admire it. The paint was glossy, not a scratch on it, and shiny chrome pipes provided a perfect contrast. I had no idea what did what or what went where, but it just looked loud. Loud enough to drown out the world.

  My loser father had ridden a bike at one point when I was a child, but his was rusty and old. I figured it was more of a hobby than a way of life for him, because I never really saw the man working on it or associating with other bikers. Then again, I didn’t see him much at all.

  This particular machine had an owner who cared. I wanted to feel it rumbling between my legs.

  The bike, not the owner, just to be clear.

  I was tempted to get out of the car and take a closer look, but knew better than to get close. I remembered Mitch once warning me that touching a man’s bike was a sign of disrespect and could get me hurt. I’d also been told that if I ever saw a biker wearing a cut—a leather vest with patches signifying that he was with some kind of club—I was to walk the other way. According to him, bikers were all garbage, but the ones in gangs were the worst.

  I didn’t know who the fuck he was to talk, but if anyone knew criminals, it was Mitch. So, no thanks. As much as I wanted run my fingers across the beautiful machine, I would keep my hands to myself.

  I sent Lexi a text that I’d made it, locked the car doors, and reclined the driver’s seat so I could get a little more sleep. After popping some aspirin and shifting around to get as comfortable as possible, I closed my eyes and drifted off again.

  : : : :

  Banging. This time, I woke up to loud, incessant banging.

  “Babe!”

  Babe? What the fuck?

  The voice was gruff, definitely not one of the regulars in my head. With all the energy I could muster, I forced a squint and fumbled around for the latch on the side of my seat. My chest felt like it was caving in and everything else was stiff as a board.

  Finally upright, I managed to pry both eyes all the way open and looked around, stopping at a hulk of a man staring at me from the other side of my window. It took me so off-guard that I jerked back, the sudden movement sending what felt like giant thorns ripping through my ribcage.

  “Fuck!” I yelled out, half out of pain and half from the unexpected surprise of waking up to a fucking stranger staring me down.

  I glared at him, not appreciative of the intrusion. He looked almost apologetic, lifting his hands and backing away. All the way back to that gorgeous bike I’d been ogling, which he sat down on. It suited him a little too well.

  He lit a cigarette and watched me, eyes not moving. I assumed he was waiting for the window to roll down, but I was going to need a minute. Not just to catch my breath from almost biting off my own tongue, but from the mere sight of him.

  He was wearing nothing but jeans—unbuttoned at the top—and scuffed leather boots. Tattoos covered his intimidating arms and pecs, but he was too far away to get a good look. His broad chest led down to sexiest stomach that I’d ever laid eyes on. He wasn’t one of those sinewy model types, the man was thick, muscular, and solid. Built like a damn tree trunk. Below his belly button, a smattering of hair traveled
south to parts unknown.

  Good fucking god, I wanted to go on an archaeological dig of those parts.

  A jolt of electricity went down my legs and I suddenly felt more weak than tense. Jesus, the guy could’ve been a serial killer for all I knew, and I was getting turned on. After years of being used like a rag doll, I didn’t even realize that I could get turned on. But, there it was.

  As he lifted a hand to take a drag, I suddenly became mortified for staring at him like a hungry inmate salivating at the sight of filet mignon. I decided right then to become a vegetarian.

  I forced myself to look up at his face, finally understanding the difficulty men had in keeping eye contact when a great pair of tits entered the room. I meant tits like Lexi’s, mine hadn’t gotten much bigger since an initial growth spurt. They were round and perky, but nothing like my girl’s double D’s. I didn’t often have a problem with men going stupid over them.

  It seemed that, unlike me, mystery biker wasn’t embarrassed at all. In fact, he was grinning. The asshole was getting a kick out of me checking him out. I had to roll the window down before his ego inflated even more. Unfortunately for me, the lack of glare gave me a clear view of his gorgeous face.

  Messy, chin-length, espresso brown hair framed his rugged features, a luscious beard only adding to his masculine mystique. Visible lines across his forehead held evidence of a long-term relationship with the sun and wind. His dark eyes were so piercing, so dark, that I couldn’t look away. He was intimidating. And yet, indescribably handsome. The kind of scary and handsome combination that could only spell bad news.

  “Mornin’ babe,” he grunted, in a voice low enough to make the earth tremble. It certainly made other things tremble.

  Who the hell was this guy? I had no idea, but I abruptly became irritated, despite the sexiness oozing from his every pore.

  I didn’t know if it was his way-too-familiar use of the term “babe”, the boorish wake-up call, or sheer embarrassment at being caught looking like I wanted to eat him for breakfast. Or maybe I was just pissed off at myself because I’d opened the window and still didn’t know whether the guy intended to chop me up and leave my parts scattered along the freeway.

  Okay, so that last one was a stretch, but only because there was no way he’d be able to fit my body—intact or not—in those leather saddle bags.

  Get a grip, you crazy bitch, I scolded myself.

  “What’s up?” I asked nonchalantly.

  “Mind if I ask why you’re sleeping in a car?” he pried. “You know you’re parked outside a motel, right?”

  Condescending much? “Yeah, I know,” I replied curtly.

  “You gonna answer the question?”

  I leered at him. “Are you gonna tell me if you’re some kind of serial killer?”

  Mystery man choked on cigarette smoke and scowled. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Nope, it wasn’t the embarrassment, the pain, or the possibility of being murdered. I was just a raging nut case. “Never mind,” I muttered, “I need to see Snoopy, but got in too late. Or too early I guess.”

  “Snoop? Gonna be waiting a while, darlin’. That old fucker’s not gonna get his wrinkly ass out of bed for a couple more hours.”

  “Okay… well… no biggie. I’m not in a hurry.” That was a lie. I was in a hurry to get this conversation over with. “I’ll wait here.”

  Undeterred, he stood up from the bike, walked back over to me, and leaned inside the window. His expression turned from curiosity to something intense that I didn’t recognize as he got a closer look at my face.

  He straightened up and recoiled.

  Seriously? There was no doubt my appearance could have scared little children, but this man? I thought I’d done a decent job with my makeup, but apparently I still looked hideous.

  “Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened to you?” he asked.

  “Got into a fight with a raccoon,” I joked. “He was a mean little shit.” I had no intention of spilling my guts, so I figured making fun of the situation was the best way to send a message: I wasn’t going to talk and he should move along.

  Torch didn’t find it the least bit funny. His jaw tightened and eyes narrowed. “Get outta the car,” he demanded.

  What? No way. Was he insane? “Umm… no. I’ll just wait for Snoo—”

  He leaned back in, so close that I could feel the heat from his face on mine. “Babe. Get out of the fucking car.”

  Was he deaf? “Look, Mister—”

  “Torch.”

  “What?”

  “Name’s Torch,” he repeated.

  Torch? What the hell kind of name was that? “Torch… I’m not getting out of the car. I don’t know you,” I protested.

  He shrugged. “Fuck it, I’ll get in.”

  “Are you out of your goddamn mind? Finish up your smoke and go back inside. I’m fine, babe,” I shot back, enunciating the last word to throw back in his face.

  “Don’t look all that fine to me,” he sniped. “Now, you gonna get out or am I getting in?”

  What a stubborn asshole. I instantly downgraded him from an ‘A’ to a ‘D’ on the sexy scale. Not quite failing, but teetering on the brink.

  “The doors are locked.”

  His lips curled up. “Do I look like I give a shit about locks?”

  No. No, he did not.

  Fuck.

  “That’s the point,” I argued. “I don’t know what kind of man you are. All I know is you’re acting like a creep and I don’t know why that is either. So you’ll have to excuse me for being rude, but I’d really appreciate it if you would leave me the fuck alone.”

  “Look,” he huffed, getting serious, “I’m not gonna hurt you. If I wanted to, I could’ve already reached in and pulled you out.”

  Was that supposed to be comforting? “For the last time, I don’t need your help,” I hissed.

  “Babe, your face looks like shit—”

  “Thanks,” I snapped.

  “Fuck, woman, quit being all huffy. I just wanna make sure you’re okay—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.”

  God, what was this asshole’s deal? “Well, that’s not really your problem, is it?” I asked.

  “You made it my problem by parking your banged-up ass outside my door,” he sniped, pointing at Room 106.

  “The parking lot’s full and I fail to see—”

  At that, Torch must have lost patience. He leaned in again and got in my face. “You wanna know what kind of man I am? I’m the kind who doesn’t walk away from a wounded woman without seeing for myself that she’s alright. So get out of the fucking car and let me get a look at you. After that, you can go back to being a raging bitch and wait for Snoop. Cool?”

  No, not cool. But what was I going to do? Even though he looked somewhat dangerous, he wasn’t really scaring me, just getting on my nerves. So, fuck it. The sooner I gave him what he wanted, the sooner he’d go back in and leave me alone.

  “Fine,” I muttered and popped open the door.

  Seeing me stiff and struggling to get out, Torch tossed his cigarette to the ground. He pulled the door as wide open as it could go and took my hands in his. They were huge and rough, like he actually worked for a living and got them dirty. Unlike Mitch and Vince, who had other people do their dirty work.

  Also unlike either of those two, he was gentle, and took his time in helping me step out. “Come on, darlin’, I got you.”

  Yes. Yes, he did. Torch’s strong arms had me. His manly scent, all musky and smokey and delicious, had me. Instantly, a little bit of my bitchiness melted.

  As did my legs.

  I felt myself start to go weak again, but he noticed it in time to wrap an arm around my waist and hold me up. “Yeah, fine my ass,” he muttered.

  He was taller than I’d thought. Six five, six six maybe. I towered over most women at five foot ten, but this man could probably have snapped me in half with one flick of the wrist. H
e guided me around to the front of the car and nudged me down on the hood. I had no idea what he was expecting me to do, so I just glared.

  “You got a name?” he asked.

  Luckily, I’d anticipated that question. “Livia,” I told him. “Livia Ash.”

  “That your real name or the one Snoop’s gonna put on a fake ID?” he quizzed.

  “Thought you just wanted to make sure I was okay, not get my life story,” I snapped, bracing for the inner bitch to roar back to life.

  “Touché.”

  Touché? What kind of badass biker said touché?

  Torch apparently got the hint to move it along, and stepped directly in front of me. It was chilly out, but he was so close that I could feel his body heat emanating off him. Or maybe that was my heat, because I was pretty sure that my organs were going to spontaneously combust at any second. I couldn’t have known my head from my ass at that moment.

  Seriously, who was this guy? I must have been off in LaLaLand because the next thing I knew, he reached out and touched the zipper on my hoody.

  I winced. He instantly stopped, but didn’t move his hand away. “Babe, not gonna hurt you, remember?”

  I put my hand over his. “Torch, please—”

  “Just let me look. Not trying to be an asshole here.”

  I didn’t know why I didn’t want him seeing the rest, it wasn’t like my face wasn’t fucked up enough to make it obvious what had happened. Maybe I just wanted to hold on to what little dignity I had left, not start my new life being pitied. I definitely didn’t pity myself. But all that pride went out the window the second I felt my eyes start burning. I looked down, trying to plug the dam.

  Do not cry. Do NOT fucking cry.

  For five years I hadn’t cried. Now I’d been struggling to keep the waterworks at bay for the past two days.

  “Liv,” Torch murmured, lightly touching my jaw and tilting my head up to look at him. “Trust me.”

  Two words. That’s all it took to contain it. Maybe that old saying that eyes are the windows to a person’s soul was tired and cliched, but looking into his, I did. For some inexplicable, weird, crazy reason, I trusted him. Just enough to let him see what I wanted nothing more than to hide. I couldn’t seem to get any words out, so I signaled my consent by simply taking my hand off his and dropping it to my side. He immediately went to work and slowly pulled the zipper all the way down, before slipping the sweater off my shoulders and letting it fall down my back.