Firefight: The Soul Scorchers MC (The Scorched Souls Serial-series Book 2) Read Free Page A

deserved to know what the hell was happening. My life was at stake. We had our two young sons to think about. His loyalty to his father and his club was borderline fanatical. I was his fucking wife, a wife he wouldn’t fuck until I remembered him. What if my memory never returned?
    The more I thought about that ridiculous new rule the more suspicious I became. Wives and husbands screwed around. Wouldn’t our sex games help me remember our relationship? Why would I be upset about enjoying sex with my husband?
    My momentary calm had morphed into a swirling storm inside me. I was ready for a fight.
    I flung the door open and marched into what had to be the cabin’s main room. The voices I’d heard were coming from a massive, flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Boone was stretched out on a leather couch, shirt off, his large frame filling the limited space. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing steadily.
    My gaze locked onto his body, and I momentarily forgot my anger. I stood quietly, admiring his sleeping form. My husband was male perfection, every muscle defined, tempting me to touch.
    I moved closer, walking as lightly as I could, finally reaching his side. The silver bars through his nipples begged to tugged, and I knew his tongue was home to a piercing that had tortured my pussy last night. I leaned over, prepared to kiss his strong jaw.
    His hand shot up, and he squeezed my wrist so hard, I feared he’d crush the bone. A gun appeared in his other hand; he pointed it at my face.
    “Boone!” I managed to cry.
    He released my arm and bolted to his feet. “Fuck, Olympia! Don’t sneak up on me like that. I could have killed you.”
    “What did you just call me?” I sputtered. Who the hell was Olympia? Probably one of the women he’d fucked.
    Before he could answer, a video played across my mind. I stood near the pool tables in a dark bar. Boone was across the room, next to a jukebox. Bent over the table was a blond woman. She clutched the table’s edge as Boone rammed into her from behind, fucking her like a pile driver. He slapped her ass hard, and she groaned so loud I could hear her over the blaring music. He held my gaze while continuing his onslaught.
    Fury boiled up inside me. “You fucked that woman at the bar right in front of me. Her name was Olympia, wasn’t it? Don’t lie to me.” I jabbed my finger into his chest. “You were staring at me the whole time.”
    He slid the gun into the back of his jeans. “What are you talking about? What bar? What woman?”
    I had to admit, he looked genuinely baffled.
    “How am I supposed to know? I can’t remember. I’m guessing you were fucking her for my entertainment, right?”
    Instead of answering, he noticed what I was wearing, or wasn’t wearing. His gaze traveled over me, stopping at the juncture between my thighs. What sounded like an appreciative growl rumbled from his chest, sending a flood of heat to my core.
    As hot as he made me, I wasn’t done. I needed answers. “Uh, hello…my face is up here. I have some questions. Let’s sit down and pretend that whole gun-in-my-face thing didn’t just happen.”
    He shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts and then nodded. “Fine, ask away. I can’t guarantee I’ll answer, but I’ll do my best.”
    I followed him to the kitchen. He poured a glass of Jack Daniels and added a few ice cubes from the freezer. I couldn’t help but notice we were well-stocked with food and other supplies. More questions invaded my mind, demanding answers.
    I slipped into a chair at the nearby table, hoping to keep our conversation more formal, which was ridiculous, considering I was in my underwear and he was stalking around without a shirt. Thankfully, he followed my example, pulling out a chair across from me.
    “Want a drink, babe?”
    “Oh, I’m ‘babe’ now. A minute ago, I was Olympia Somebody. Before that, you were ready to put a bullet in my brain. Care to fill me in?”
    “First, tell me about