Phoenix’s Plight by Tiffany Casper

Prologue

June

 

They had been doing this dance for nigh on to two years now. He came and went every couple of months. He never called her to let her know that he was on his way—he just showed up. When she remembered they didn’t even have each other’s phone number, it hit her like a battering ram.

She could say that she blamed that lack of information on his cock—it was massive, and it was perfect. She could blame it all on being young and inexperienced, but that wouldn’t be the truth either. Hell, she could blame her forgetfulness on the fact she was too tired to ask him.

No, she blamed it all on his skin.

Yes, that sounds like a weird thing to say.

He didn’t have a tan per se. No, he just had freckles, a smattering of freckles that turned her on the minute she saw the little specks on his face. Women were attracted to the eyes. The arms. The butt. The abs. The pectorals. Hell, even the dimple in a man’s back.

But her? She was just weird. The man’s skin was the first thing that did it for her.

But it wasn’t just the freckles. Oh, no.

The man had ink.

Ink that she had explored with her tongue as many times as she could.

She had asked him what made him get those particular pieces one night while they were eating her signature barbeque chicken.

He had paused with that forkful of chicken midway to his mouth and stared at her.

“A man’s past. Sometimes, you want to remember what happened. To remember where you are now. To not let that black fucking hole you were in close around you.”

The moment he had started to eat again, she knew that was all she was getting from him. The man had a way of saying all he needed to.

One day, she wanted him to trust her enough to unload everything on her. He wouldn’t have to carry anything alone. Sometimes, dreams come true, don’t they?

And like the weirdo she was, she was home almost every single night. Very rarely did she ever go out. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the nightlife, but she was afraid of what lurked beyond the shadows. It was those same shadows that had taken her mother ten years ago.

Call her naïve and call her crazy, but she rather liked her life, and she wasn’t ready for anything to destroy what she had come to have.

She had met Heathen when she had been at a famous coffee shop a couple of towns over. The barista, Erin, could look at you and know exactly what drink you wanted. In five years, she had only been wrong twice, the woman was a genius.

There had been no tables open, except one, and she noticed that a lot of people were standing, but no one asked the lone figure wearing a leather vest and sitting in the corner if they could sit in the chair opposite his. Or maybe they had, and he refused.

If her shoes hadn’t been killing her, she would’ve been one of the patrons standing against the walls or looking out the windows to the passersby who littered the street.

So, with her feet aching, and with her caramel frappe with the drizzle of chocolate in her hand, she made her way over to the table.

“Excuse me, but is this seat taken?” she asked shyly.

He didn’t look at her, nor did he reply. So, she stood there for a few moments, hoping he wouldn’t be rude, and that he would be nice.

But he still didn’t say a word. So, with a sigh, she turned and when she did, the back of the shoe rubbed the back of her heel, which was going to cause a blister the size of Mount Rushmore. She took in a painful breath.

She didn’t think it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but a chair was kicked like it was an invitation to take it.

As she turned, she saw in fact the chair was moved.

She sat down and murmured, “Thank you.”

“If you’re going to be on your feet, why wear shoes like that?” She was surprised that he had even seen her shoes.

“Well, to be honest, these aren’t my shoes. I was at a friend’s house last night and whether you believe me or not, her dog chewed on my shoes that were on the floor underneath the couch. And these were the only shoes she had that I could even remotely fit my feet in.” June had small feet, and these were a pair that Willow had when she was younger.

“So, take them off,” he said rather nonchalantly.

“And walk around the city barefoot? I don’t think so.” She even shivered at that. But if it was grass, then she was out there dodging all the red ant hills and having a good time.

“Suit yourself,” he murmured.

It was then that she felt her cell vibrating in her back pocket, and when she looked at the screen, she snarled. She so did not want to talk to him today.

“Everything okay?” the lone man asked while he had been staring at his coffee cup.

“I just hate it when he calls.” Why she admitted it, she didn’t know, but something about this man had her confessing to him.

“When who calls?” he asked again.

“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head and took another sip of her coffee.

The next time she had seen him had been when she was a couple of towns over, spending time with a friend of hers from work.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like the scene. What she didn’t like were the lewd stares she had been receiving since she walked in the door.

“So why did y’all break up again?” Cortney asked her.

Could you even call them a couple? She had done a favor for a friend at work and had gone on her first and probably last double-blind date. Scratch that—two dates in total. The first one hadn’t been godawful, but it hadn’t been great, so she had agreed to the second one.

His mother had driven them to the theater. End. Done. No.

“Because I didn’t sleep with him. If you still live with your mom at the age of twenty-six, and you don’t have your license at that, I am not spreading my legs for you. Yuck. And to expect payment after two dinners?” She heard a dark chuckle but hadn’t known if it had been directed at her.

Then, when she turned her head toward the dark chuckle, she had seen a figure hunched over the bar at the corner.

“I don’t blame you. Oh shit,” Cortney said as she then flew off her bar stool and ran over to a commotion going on with her man, Tweaker. What kind of name was that?

One hour later, she knew that Cortney had forgotten about her.

She remembered then; it was the man from the coffee shop. It was him who was sitting in that corner.

He had slid her a beer from the other end of the bar. After a few sips, and after Cortney had ditched her for her man yet again, she had been about to leave.

Only she had ridden there with Cortney.

“Take you home?” he had asked her, almost as if he knew she didn’t have a ride home.

“Okay.” She hadn’t known at the time what had made her trust this man above all the others, but her gut had never let her down once.

“Can I see your hand?” he had asked.

June held it out, curious as to what he had in mind. She watched as he fought something internally inside of him.

Before she could ask why the hesitation, he laid his arm under her open palm, and then he touched his skin to hers.

The battle of wiles she watched broke something inside of her. Just who was this man?

She felt the jolt of electricity that had coursed all through her body, and watched as he strained against his muscles with closed eyes. And she had seen the muscle in his jaw ticking from the exertion.

June was unsure of what was going on until he opened his eyes—eyes that she could have gotten lost in—and then he grabbed her hand, stood, and placed it on his abdomen.

She hadn’t fought him. Not once.

“Okay,” he had whispered.

What she hadn’t known was that she was the first person he had allowed to touch him, except when he was in a fight, in thirty years. Not since he was five years old.

When she had hesitated to get on his bike, he looked at her questioningly.

“I’ve never been on a bike before,” she said shyly.

The understanding look he gave her told her that he understood. He handed her his helmet and helped her tighten it down. And when he told her to climb on and put her feet on the pegs, it was him who grabbed her arms and wrapped them around his waist. She hadn’t missed his inhale.

“Hold on tight. Lean with me on the turns.”

She nodded, though it wasn’t as if he could see her agreement.

At first, she had kept her eyes closed and tried not to squeeze the life out of him.

But he hadn’t seemed to mind.

When he pulled into her drive, she took off the helmet and thanked him for the ride.

That led to the offer of a beer.

Which lead to a few looks.

And that led to the hottest sex she had ever imagined.

Even hotter than romance novels.

Which also led to more than just one cherry being popped.

Their first night together was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She hadn’t told him that she was a virgin, and he hadn’t asked her after. Neither of them paid any attention to the blood that was on the inside of her thighs as Heathen pulled the stained condom from his cock.

So, now, two years later, whenever he came over, they made love and it was earth-shattering and like being consumed by fire.

They cuddled at night, or so she thought, and she always fell asleep with his warmth surrounding her.

When she got up in the mornings, his side was always bare, with just the little bit of crease where he laid his head down on his pillow and the smell of his cologne all over her duvet. The man never crawled beneath the covers with her. No, he chose to lay on top of them. And as always, there’s a note from him that he places atop her cellphone, always written in that messy scrawl that men seemed to be known for.

‘Until next time. Thank you. H’

And just like always, if she made them dinner, he had cleaned up the kitchen before he left.

She should feel like an everyday whore, but she was only with one man, and that man was Heathen. That didn’t make her a whore, right?

She had asked him one night why he came at random.

His answer had shaken her.

“Babe, sometimes my life gets shit. I didn’t like the outlet that I had. The outlet that I have now with you calms something deep inside of me.”

Knowing she would get no more out of him than that answer, she had left it alone. Pressing her back to his front, she had snuggled in and had finished watching the movie.

And like always, when she felt a feather-like kiss on the back of her neck, she drifted off to sleep. Dreaming about her lone man and wanting with everything in herself to become something more.

Something more with three kids and a rottweiler named Deacon.

 

Heathen

Everyone wondered where he disappeared to after he handed retribution to the fucks who thought it was okay to mess with his club. Before, he would get drunk, fuck everything with legs, and go on a binger. After sixteen years of doing this life and dealing with it in the wrong ways, it wasn’t until he was with June that first night that he found a way to cope.

And not only was he able to breathe easier, but he was able to see the day a whole hell of a lot clearer. He still drank with his brothers, but he didn’t go on bingers anymore.

No one touched him. No one had that kind of power over him. The touch of another caused his skin to crawl, become clammy, and goosebumps broke out all across his body. No one, not one single individual in thirty years, until her.

Sure, he had fucked a plethora of women, but it was always from behind. And they knew from the start that he didn’t want them touching him. All except for Clutch, his tattoo artist, he took such great lengths as to not touch Heathen’s bare skin.

He was the club’s Enforcer, but when he meted out justice, with his fists pummeling someone, it didn’t affect him as such.

He remembered the first time he had ever seen June. When she had asked if she could sit in the chair across from him, he had to fight down the urge to stop his dick from hardening all the way.

The second time he had seen her, he recognized it for the opportunity he knew it was. No one could say he was a man who wouldn’t go after what it was that he wanted.

And he wanted her.

The first time his cock went into her heated entrance, he moaned aloud. Never had he ever felt anything so fucking tight and so fucking right.

He wanted to beat his chest at the feeling.

He had sworn that it was a one-time kind of thing. But it ended up being everything.

He had seen the blood on the condom and on her thighs. He knew what had happened. No way in hell was he letting this go.

Call him a fucking asshole because of how pure she was. Especially when he was tainted with evil. Some of the evil he could still feel on his skin, even after years of taking out the trash.