Big Timber (Royal Bastards MC: Flagstaff Chapter #7)

Chapter 2

Talia

Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I was going to be a firefighter. Just like the three generations of Workman before me.

My older brother, Rick, took that to a whole other level by becoming a smokejumper. Crazy, lovable asshole that he is. In another year or two, my younger brother, Tanner, will hopefully be riding alongside me.

After a couple of years as a paramedic, I was ecstatic when positions came open on the Flagstaff Fire Department last year and I was offered one of the spots. Things don’t tend to be as interesting as they can be as an EMT, at least until today.

I’ve been to warehouse fires before, where we had to force our way through the gate to even get close to the blaze, but it was the dark smoke that tipped us off this was going to be a doozy. Then, as we approached the gate, it took me a moment to understand what I was seeing. Someone had attached chains to the gate and yanked it outward.

It was the burning body, posed on top of a motorcycle that was propped up by the large tires surrounding it, that painted the grim reality of the life the men who wore the Royal Bastards’ cuts leads.

You simply don’t grow up in Flagstaff without seeing, or hearing, the columns of their bikes riding through town. Not to mention girls from my high school class who were obsessed with sneaking into their parties. Most of them failed but come their eighteenth birthday, they’d be right out there again.

I know what people say about these guys. I also know that charges never seem to stick on the rare occasions any of them are arrested. But I’ve also seen grief, and how strong families support each other when any one of them faces a loss.

And that’s what I see here. Now. As I watch the Royal Bastards president breaking the news to one of the largest men I’ve ever seen in person and that guy puts his hand on Declan’s shoulder, as though needing his brother’s strength to hold him up.

“Workman!” Rook, my captain, calls my name drawing my attention away from the exchange.

Turning, I see Timber sitting in the same spot, but with his leg extended along the back of the vehicle, an ice pack resting on his ankle. His dark eyes are trained on me, even as he responds to the detective by his side.

The pull I feel to him is inexplicable, except duty calls, so I hurry past him to get, and then fulfill my orders.

*

This is ridiculous , I think to myself a couple of days later. Sitting in my truck outside the house of the MC’s president, I have to either drive off or get off my ass.

My shift ended this morning and after spending the last thirty-some hours thinking about the man from the fire, I convinced myself it wouldn’t be weird to show up at this house to see how Timber’s ankle is doing.

My cousin lives down the street, so I already knew where Declan lived, but I’m not sure how big of a fool I’m about to make of myself.

A rap at the window startles a scream out of me and lifting my head off the steering wheel, I see Timber standing next to the passenger door. I click the lock and he opens it.

“What are you doing?” he asks, leaning inside, those warm chocolate eyes of his making my heart skip a beat.

“Trying to figure out how weird it would be to check on you.”

He grants me a chuckle before sliding onto the passenger seat and placing a backpack between his legs. “As long as you give me a ride, I won’t say a word about it.”

“Where do you want to go?” I ask, having thought that he lived at the clubhouse for some reason.

“My parlor. I’ve got a couch in back, so I’ll sleep there until the inspectors say we can move back to the clubhouse,” he tells me, and I draw my lips into a hard line. “What?”

“It’s just that your tattoo parlor probably doesn’t have the correct occupancy classification for you to live there. Even temporarily,” I inform him, not feeling comfortable leaving him there.

“You are the most contrary woman I’ve ever met in my life,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“What? It’s true! It could be really dangerous, especially since there’s someone running around setting people on fire,” I respond, frustrated enough to throw one of my hands up in the air, even though I’m completely confident in the validity of my argument.

“The sky is blue,” he says when I stop at a red light. I peer up through my windshield, nodding in agreement. There’s not a cloud in sight. Timber is laughing when he continues, “While it’s nice you aren’t trying to tell me it’s purple, why did you have to look up to confirm that?”

“Honestly, your comment came out of nowhere, so I was buying myself some time while I considered where the nearest mental ward is,” I reply, unable to keep some of the snark out of my tone.

“Funny.”

“Look, do you have someone you can stay with?” I ask him, pulling over to get this worked out.

“Yes. Myself. At the shop. Trust me, I’ve slept in a lot worse places than that,” he answers, and I continue to study him, weighing his answer as one given out of frustration rather than throwing himself a pity party.

Nodding my head, as if I’m agreeing with him, I take the next left. We make it a couple of more blocks before he starts looking around in confusion.

“I think you missed the turn,” he says, turning toward me just as I’m pulling into my driveway. “Where are we?”

“My place.” I have the door open and am halfway out before I answer him, quickly turning back once I think of my bag of dirty clothes from the past couple of days.

My mom always teased me that the saying look before you leap fits me to a tee, I will fully admit to having made at least a hundred pro and con lists in my life, but even if this turns out to be one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made, the look on Timber’s face will make me giggle for years to come.

Since I haven’t gotten around to changing the batteries on my garage door opener over the past few weeks, I pause to hit my code on the keypad and realize I’ll need to find a key for him. I’m just opening the door from the garage to the mudroom when I hear my truck door slam and breathe a sigh of relief.

It would be really embarrassing if Timber flat out said no.

“Do you have family?” he asks, as he studies my kitchen for signs of other people.

“Yes, my younger brother still lives with my parents about ten minutes away from here,” I tell him, motioning for him to follow me. “My older brother is stationed up in Idaho, but stays in this room when he’s back.”

I flip on the lights in what was likely intended to be a den. It has its own bathroom and separate doors leading to both the living room and kitchen. Besides some elbow grease around the house, Rick’s contributions to my home were a recliner and a massive TV, both of which are parked in this room.

Waving Timber out of my way, I reach past him to grab the handle of what looks like a wardrobe but is actually a Murphy bed. “The couple I bought the house from left this behind. I just changed out the mattress.”

“What about a boyfriend?” Is Timber’s next question, and I quickly shake my head. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” I answer slowly, feeling more unsure of myself than when I was sitting outside of Declan’s house. “Look, I’m just going to take it on faith that you’re not a homicidal maniac. I figure you need a place for a week or two and I’d just ask that you be respectful of my home. Please.”

“And you,” he says. His gaze is locked on my face, making me too nervous to look directly at him.

“I’m hungry,” I blurt out, suddenly turning on my heel. “Do you want something?”

“Water would be good. I ate earlier,” he answers, placing his backpack on the chair before giving me a nod to proceed him into the kitchen. “Are you upstairs?”

“Yeah, I have a TV and bathroom up there, so I shouldn’t bother you other than being in the kitchen,” I tell him, happy to have the task of getting him water rather than awkwardly assessing each other. “Oh, I’ll need to get you the Wi-Fi password in addition to a key. I’m sure I’m forgetting something, but I didn’t exactly plan this out.”

“I can pay something for rent, and don’t feel like you have to tiptoe around me,” he says with a lopsided smile, accepting the glass of water that I hand him. “Do you have a washer and dryer? I bailed without doing my laundry.”

“Right in the pantry there,” I say, pointing to the door next to the fridge. “The old owners had a set in the garage, but Rick didn’t want me traipsing out there, so he and Dad cut through the back wall and hooked up a stackable set for me.”

“How often does your brother make it back?”

“When the wind blows,” I answer with a shrug. “He’s a smokejumper and works in construction part-time. Sometimes he’ll spend his downtime with his flavor-of-the-month, or he’ll call me on his ride down here.”

Just then, the doorbell rings, followed by a few sharp knocks and a holler.

Timber

One minute, I’m leaning against a counter, trying to keep the weight off my ankle without reminding Talia that I’m in pain. She’s bouncing around the kitchen, obviously flustered about me being here, when she freezes in shock and her eyes widen at the sound of someone at the door.

“Oh, fuck,” she squeals, her eyes darting between the door and the calendar on her fridge. For a second there, I swear she thinks about shoving me in her pantry. “It’s Sunday, isn’t it?”

I open my mouth, but snap it shut just as quickly. She’s halfway to the front door and my ankle is begging for mercy; bracing my hands on the countertop, I push off with my left foot and get my ass on the counter.

“Wait!” she turns back to me. “I don’t know your name. What’s your real name?”

“Tarak Hayes,” I say hesitantly, the name feeling strange as I speak it out loud. It’s been so long since I’ve uttered it.

“I’m Talia Workman,” she says, wringing her hands together.

“I remember.”

Without another word, she takes a deep breath and opens her front door to a tidal wave of people.

While the main group stays clustered in her living room, all exchanging hugs and teasing her for taking so long to answer the door, a man cuts through them, holding a large crock pot at his eye level so as not to hit anyone with it.

Past the last of them, he lowers it, and his eyes immediately fall on me. I look over my shoulder, noting the outlet that I’m blocking. “You need me to move, don’t you?”

Damn. I’m not looking forward to standing again.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he says, trying to school his face as his eyes study me before traveling lower to read my cut. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Bill Workman, Talia’s dad.”

“Tarak,” I respond, using my given name more in the past two minutes than I have in the past five years.

Taking a breath, I slide off the counter, carefully keeping my weight on my left foot. Not that Bill’s eyes miss the strain on my face.

“Are you injured?” he asks, plugging in the crock pot.

“My ankle—” I start and am immediately cut off.

“Who’s this?”

“Talia! There’s a man in your kitchen!”

“Hubba-hubba, and he’s a fox,” exclaims a woman at least twenty years older than me.

“Talia! You didn’t tell us you were dating anyone.”

As the overlapping comments continue, Bill laughs and pats me on the back. “Can’t even run away, can ya?”

“Wouldn’t be right, leaving Talia to face them alone,” I quietly respond, just before a lady pushes through the crowd.

“I’m Kristina,” she says, reaching her arms out for a hug. “But everyone calls me Tiny.”

And just like that, she wraps her arms around my ribs and my eyes meet Talia’s across the throng of people. She’s beet red and mouthing the words, I’m sorry . I shoot her a wink, setting in motion a new wave of comments.

“Alright, alright!” Bill’s voice cuts through all the people talking. “He needs to sit down, and I need a beer.”

With his hand at my back, he guides me out the kitchen door that leads to a small, neat yard, and I take the nearest seat, tossing my leg up on the matching ottoman. A guy who looks to be a couple of years younger than Talia follows us out with a cooler.

“Find him a bag, so he can ice his ankle,” Bill instructs him as he hands us each a beer. “This is my youngest, Tanner.”

“And Rick’s up in Idaho?” I contribute, drawing another look once I show that I know a little bit about Talia. “I’m going to be in his room for the next week or so.”

“How’d that happen?” he asks and since he’s looking down at the label on the beer, I’m not sure what he’s referring to, so I decide to explain everything.

Pointing at the name on my cut, I wait until he looks up and gives me a nod. “I live out at the clubhouse, but the structure needs to be inspected before we’re allowed back there. It was still on fire when I arrived there that day, and the smoke got to me a little. Anyway, my bike banged up my ankle, and I’ve been staying on my friend’s couch since stairs are a hassle. Talia offered me her spare room.”

“Yeah, I heard all about the scene out there. It’s not an easy thing, losing someone to fire. Particularly a friend,” he commiserates with me, shifting in his seat. Tanner rejoins us and scoops ice from the cooler into a bag for me. I take it, waiting for the words that Bill seems hesitant to spit out. “You men have trouble coming?”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” I tell him, looking over my shoulder when the door opens again.

Our conversation gets shelved as Bill’s two sisters chase him off before sitting down to grill me themselves. The next couple of hours is a rotation of Talia’s family members, each sizing me up as they bring out plates of food or come to help themselves to the beer in the cooler next to me.

As the afternoon wears on, I finally stand up, needing to relieve my bladder after my sixth or seventh beer. Taking my time in there, I go to grab my toothbrush but can’t find my bag. It’s more than a little surprising when I exit the den to find the house completely empty and Talia gulping down a glass of wine in the kitchen.

“What the fuck just happened?” I ask, looking around in a state of shock. I swear everything looks cleaner than it did when I arrived.

“We all get together on Sundays, just at different houses,” she says, wiping a little of the red liquid off her lip. “I completely forgot it was my turn. Are you alright?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” I answer. “Um, one of them may have grabbed my backpack. It isn’t where I left it.”

Talia lets out the longest, deepest sigh I’ve ever heard. Pouring herself another glass of wine, she leaves it on the counter before crossing to her panty.

“I was afraid of that,” she whispers, and I come up behind her, chuckling at the sight.

One of her overexuberant family members decided to do our laundry for us. Both of our bags are on the floor, leaning against the washing machine, and there are two neatly folded piles on the shelf next to it.

Reunited with my belongings, I quickly locate my toothbrush but not my mobile. “Hey, could you check to see if I left my phone in your car?”

Without a word, Talia retrieves a set of keys from a hook next to the garage door and leaves me. Instead of waiting for her, I limp back toward my bathroom.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Talia says, with a quick knock on the door. I have a mouthful of toothpaste at the moment, so I grunt loudly in reply; to my surprise, she cracks the door open. “My eyes are closed. I wouldn’t normally do this, but someone’s blowing up your phone.”

I spit, then rinse my mouth out before reaching for a towel. Grinning when my eyes meet hers in the mirror. “You said your eyes were closed.”

“I didn’t think you’d be brushing your teeth naked,” she answers, more defensively than sassy but I let out another chuckle, nonetheless. Talia anxiously waves the phone at me, then nearly drops it as it starts to ring.

“Yeah?” I answer it, and although I see Prez’s name on the screen, he doesn’t say a word.

“Where. The. Fuck. Are. You?”

The rage coming through the line is palatable, and Talia’s green eyes widen as her jaw drops. Considering Declan is not one to raise his voice, it speaks volumes she could hear him.

“At Talia’s. That firefighter from the other day,” I tell him, hitting speaker so I can scroll through my log. “Ah, fuck, man. I’m sorry. I accidentally left my phone in her car and her family walked in—”

“What’s her address?”

I make eye contact with her, giving her a nod to tell him because I have no idea. She immediately recites it and he hangs up. Looking at the log, I have eight voicemails, a dozen text messages, and even more missed calls.

“Could I trouble you for ibuprofen and an ice pack?” I ask her, moving to step around her. “Is the door unlocked? You’re about to have more company.”

All I want in this entire world is to take the ACE bandage off my ankle and ice it. I’m exhausted from talking to strangers all day and know that I’m about to get my ass handed to me for not letting any of my brothers know where I am, especially since our enemies have stopped playing games.

The roar of bikes coming up the street tells me that Declan isn’t coming alone. Unlocking the door, I decide to sit on the smaller of the two living room couches. It’s really the first chance I’ve had to study her place and quickly realize that her furnishings are all worn and mismatched. Nothing shabby, but it’s easy to imagine her family walking into this house immediately after she bought it, each carrying a piece of furniture they could live without, to help her fill the space.

She walks in with the items I asked for and a glass of water, just as Declan, Throttle, Diesel, Wolfman, and a couple of the other guys push their way inside. Axel is noticeably, and understandably, missing.

“Today was not the day to disappear,” Declan immediately starts, not even acknowledging Talia.

“It was me,” she interjects. “I kidnapped him.”

“That so?” Diesel asks, looking between us.

“Have we met?” Throttle’s question comes at the same time.

Wolfman stands quietly beside the door, his eyes taking inventory of everyone’s movements.

“I couldn’t let him stay at his tattoo parlor,” she informs them, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s against regulation.”

The question on Declan’s face is very clear when his eyes swing back to my face— Is she for real?

“Talia, these are my brothers. You met Declan the other day.” I kick off the introductions when I see her wringing her hands together and don’t want her to feel uncomfortable in her own home. “Talia’s a firefighter, and graciously invited me to stay in her spare room until I can move back to the clubhouse.”

“There’s trouble in Iowa also,” Declan says. He looks between me and Talia, silently conveying there’ll be more to discuss later. “I still don’t have any word on Light and Randy. Me’ansome’s last ride is on Tuesday. It’s understandable if you can’t handle it.”

“I’m going to head upstairs,” Talia interrupts him again as she realizes we have a lot to discuss. “Help yourselves to the beer in the fridge.”

She turns, retrieving her full wine glass before leaving us to talk.

“What are you doing here?” Diesel asks as soon as we hear the click of a door somewhere upstairs.

“I honestly haven’t had a moment to think about it. Her entire family showed up right after we arrived and just left. My ankle’s killing me and I haven’t slept the past two nights—no offense, Prez. I appreciate you putting me up,” I tell them, feeling defensive because of how much I do want to be here—even though the timing is shit. “I saw her pull up outside your place earlier, and Justin was jabbering away in the kitchen, then I just kind of bolted.”

Throttle snorts at the last part of my sentence because we’ve all been subjected to that kid’s endless, though usually amusing, stream of consciousness.

“Did she say something about beer?” Tonic asks, and I point toward the kitchen.

“Axel and Joey know your ankle is fucked up, so don’t worry about missing the last ride,” Declan informs me, finally sitting down opposite me, pausing to accept a beer even though he grimaces at how comfortable Tonic is making himself. “The Northern Grizzlies are coming down for it, as are some of our brothers, but there’s a lot of shit going down with multiple chapters. Joey, Piper, and Ransom are taking it hard. Of course.”

“Thankfully, his babies are too young to understand what’s going on,” Wolfman adds, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I talked to Axel yesterday, and he was going to pass my condolences to Joey. He had nothing I could actually do, though.”

“What you can do is sit on your ass and heal up. I’m going to need you on the front lines of this soon enough.” The meaning behind Declan’s words is clear as day to me and I exchange a look with Wolfman.

Like him, I have a certain reputation. The difference being, I worked long and hard to put my demons to rest. He put his on a leash and takes them for long walks.

“The cops said we can move your bike, and Tin said we should have access to the building in the next couple of days. I think you lying low here is a smart play, although I’m worried about dragging an outsider into our shit,” Declan continues, his eyes quickly shifting upward. “I want you to keep your parlor closed for the time being. There’s extra security on The Office right now, but I don’t want the men too spread out and we definitely don’t want collateral damage.”

“She’s got two days off, then she goes back to the back to the firehouse for the same,” I let him know, keeping my voice low. “I’ll make sure she understands the danger and give her a chance to back away.”

He gives me a nod, reaching for his wallet. “Contribute to her expenses without being showy. I take her as someone who’d get offended. And don’t be a pain in her ass.”

With that, he throws down a bunch of hundreds, motions with the beer for Tonic to dispose of the bottles and stands to leave.