Luck of the Devil Read online

  “Who will love you if I’m gone?”

  Tears sting my eyes. He’s making this seem so impossible. He’s not even willing to consider the options. Surely, there’s more that can be done than choosing between nothing and death.

  “You love me?” It takes me a long moment for my brain to register what he’s said.

  “You know what I mean,” he murmurs as his feet begin to move, carrying him across my room near the foot of my king-sized bed. “We’re like family.”

  Ouch.

  “If you tell me you think of me like a little sister, I’ll never freaking speak to you again.”

  “You’re eleven years younger than me, Molly. Even if dating was an option, I’m too damn old for you.”

  “What are you trying to say? Spell it out, Briar. Wouldn’t want me to get confused seeing as how I’m so young and immature and all.”

  He continues traveling across my room and back again, over and over so many times he’s making me dizzy. His hands work through his hair and then slide into the front pockets of his jeans. He repeats the pattern over and over so many times, I almost lie back down and take a nap.

  “Are you saying we can never be together?” I prompt. “If that’s how you feel, you need to be able to say the actual words.”

  “You know better than to even ask that question, Molly. The two of us together will never be an option.”

  “So, you’re going to be alone forever?” I lick at my dry lips. I’ve never seen him with another woman. I’ve always assumed he was waiting for me to grow up.

  “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

  “You’ve been celibate waiting for me—”

  “What?” He spins around to face me.

  “You’ve been waiting for me.” I know it as sure I know the sun will set tonight and give way to the moon.

  “I haven’t,” he argues.

  He must see the confusion on my face because he places his hands on the end of my bed and leans closer. He’s still too far away to touch, but his undivided attention is what I’ve needed since he walked in here, and I didn’t have it until right now.

  “I’ve been celibate for ten years, Molly. That would’ve made you eight. I’m not a fucking pedophile.” He shakes his head as if he’s disgusted by the mere thought. “I was celibate before I joined the club.”

  It makes sense now, but I didn’t know he’d gone without sex for that long. I just know I was fourteen when I realized he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my life, and I’d never seen him with a woman before or after. His eyes didn’t follow me then the way they do now. As much as I wanted him to notice me, he’d always been polite, but it’s like I didn’t even activate his radar back then.

  “Why are you celibate then?” I mean if we’re talking about it, I might as well know all the details.

  “That’s not your business.”

  “You were hard against me last night,” I remind him.

  A haunting laugh erupts from his throat. “I don’t know why everyone thinks that celibacy and asexuality go hand in hand. Any girl grinding on my cock would make it hard.”

  Any?

  And I thought my heart was broken before. Maybe I am too young to fully understand what’s going on. Maybe that kiss meant nothing to him. His body only responded to external stimuli last night. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was me.

  “Why are you here?” If he’s not in my room to pick up where we left off after getting interrupted last night, he needs to get to the point. My nose burns with the effort to not begin sobbing right now, and I’d like to do that in private.

  “Fuck.” His hands work back over the top of his dark hair again, and his legs move him back and forth across my room, picking up the pattern right where he left off. “Can you not do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Acting distant, treating me like I’m just some biker.”

  “But aren’t you?” I challenge. “You’re my brother’s best friend, his VP. I’m just his little sister. We’re nothing more than that.”

  That stings like a bitch to admit out loud, but it’s also cathartic, healing in a way.

  “Right.” His pacing doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t seem inclined to leave anytime soon either. “That’s why I came up.”

  I wait silently for him to get the words out. His mouth opens and closes several times like he’s unsure of how to word his thoughts, or like he’s pained with the task.

  “You need to find another guy, Mols. I’m not the one for you.”

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  “Someone else?” He nods but won’t look in my direction.

  He’s a fucking coward, and one hundred percent correct. I deserve better than someone who won’t stand up for what he wants. I tip my nose in the air and stiffen my back. I refuse to let the thread of doubt, the one that is always telling me he really doesn’t have feelings for me other than familial, tie up my heart.

  “I may just do that.”

  He nods again before walking out of my room without so much as a goodbye.

  Chapter 4

  Briar

  “Don’t take long,” Lynch advises as we split at the front of the airport.

  TJ and Ronan accompany me to the waiting SUV at the curb while Lynch and the other guys pile into two others. Divide and conquer. That’s the plan. Watching the SUVs pull away, taking a left just before our vehicle turns right, I wonder, not for the first time, if we’re making the right choice or if we’re sending our president into a trap.

  The heated conversation from the drive to Boston Logan International still rings in my head. He’s cautious, taking Chains, Professor, and Hornet with him, but four guys against an entire cartel is still bad odds. I told him as much, giving a voice to the twisting feeling of dread in my stomach. I shut up after he reminded me that all seven of us together wouldn’t survive a cartel ambush.

  “You going to tell me about last night in the hallway?” TJ prods as we settle in for the drive to the Dead-End Demons’ clubhouse.

  They don’t know we’re coming. We didn’t want to give them time to prepare in case they aren’t willing to be absorbed into the Ravens Ruin MC. Not that they really have a choice in the first place.

  “What about the swelling around your nose?”

  Ronan chuckles from his place in the passenger seat, but he’s smart enough not to give his opinion.

  “I honestly don’t think Lynch would kill you,” TJ continues, undeterred by the fact that I haven’t so much as grunted a response in his direction. “Maim maybe, but not kill.”

  “Unless he’s in a bad mood,” Ronan cuts in.

  “He’d have to be in a seriously bad mood to kill Briar,” TJ clarifies.

  “Or just out of coffee creamer,” Ronan adds.

  “Or that,” TJ concedes.

  I can feel TJ’s stare on the side of my face, but I refuse to give any credit to the conversation. It was bad enough climbing into the SUV to head to the airport after realizing that I walked away from Molly without even telling her goodbye. Maybe the sickness turning my gut has more to do with her than this trip.

  “Briar,” TJ singsongs, bordering on sounding like a whiny kid who isn’t getting his way. “Tell us what happened.”

  It’s in this moment TJ seems his actual age. It’s easy some days to forget he’s only twenty years old when he’s ripping people apart like he’s been doing it for decades.

  My eyes dart to the hired driver. It’s not like I have any plans of divulging any scintillating details about what happened in the hallway, but I wouldn’t speak openly in front of a stranger no matter how well recommended they come.

  Besides, TJ isn’t interested in me or what I do with Molly. He’s urged me more than once to pursue her. I think it has more to do with my celibacy than his desire for my happiness. All of the guys at the clubhouse are bewildered with my lack of a sex life, but not one single person, not even Lynch, knows why I took that vow. How could they when
I’ve never mentioned or alluded to my reasoning. It wasn’t their business ten years ago, and it remains the same today.

  Finally, I turn my gaze to meet his. “Wanna talk about where you’ve been sneaking off to the last couple of weeks?”

  TJ’s jaw snaps shut.

  The sound is so loud Ronan chuckles again from the front.

  “TJ,” I taunt, drawing out each letter. “Tell us what happened.”

  His eyes narrow, focusing on mine, but he doesn’t say a word.

  “Honestly, man.” I cut my eyes back out the window and give him some privacy. I’m not scared of my best friend’s little brother, but he’s volatile on a good day. Going apeshit crazy inside this SUV isn’t on the agenda today.

  “Five miles,” the driver says as we turn down a two-lane blacktop. “The supplies you asked for are in the back.”

  TJ twists in the seat and reaches over the back. Before long, we’re each tucking two handguns into our waistbands. TJ has a knife also, but I don’t feel threatened as he twists it absently, digging the sharp point into the tip of his finger on the opposite hand until a bead of blood pools. He’s calmer once he lifts the digit to his lips.

  The kid is weird as fuck, but I’m glad he’s on our side. His impulsivity and ability to get into trouble when he’s doing things as simple as pumping gas aside, he’s brilliant with his hands. Knives are almost an extension of his body, and I know he’s felt uneasy without having one on him the last couple of hours.

  “This is it?” I lower my head so I can take in the run-down building that looks like it could be knocked over with a strong wind. How it has survived the number of hurricanes and tropical storms that have hit the area in recent years is beyond me.

  “This is the address I was provided,” the driver says.

  I find his eyes in the rearview mirror, itching for a reason to reach over the seat and make him bleed. He isn’t popping off at the mouth though. He looks uneasy, scared even, afraid he’s fucked up somehow. He must be new to this position.

  “This is the right place,” TJ interrupts. “The bikes lined up on the side are a dead giveaway.”

  “We know the plan?” I ask as we shrug on the cuts that were stowed in our duffel bags and climb out of the SUV.

  They both nod. As directed when we hired this service, the driver waits in the vehicle.

  “I sure as fuck hope they cooperate,” TJ mutters as we near the front door. “The jeans are new. I’d prefer not to get blood on them.”

  “I thought your victim’s blood was your favorite accessory,” Ronan says as he reaches for the doorknob.

  TJ snorts, but it falls short when we step inside. Not unlike our own clubhouse, smoke fills the air, music blares around the room, and couples in various stages of sexual deviance pepper the room.

  “Church!” I yell as I walk fully inside.

  Keeping my hands at my back, fingers brushing the two pieces of steel there, I look around, challenging anyone to refuse.

  “Ravens Ruin,” one of the whores says as she pulls herself off of the cock of one of the guys. She licks her lips, pushing her exposed tits out further as she walks toward me.

  “Nice,” TJ mutters, but I’m not fooled. He’s fully focused on what’s going on around us. He’d never let his guard down, no matter the size of this woman’s tits.

  “Dolly,” a guy on the far side of the room spits. He’s in a cut, Dragon and President proudly displayed on his chest. “Take the other girls and go to the house.”

  Dolly stops short, frowning at the command, but she obeys, motioning for the other girls to stand and follow her out of the room.

  “What’s the special occasion?” Dragon asks as he tucks his cock back in his jeans before lighting up a cigarette.

  “We got wind that the Dead-End Demons were rallying an attempt against our club,” I tell him without emotion, even though my blood is boiling at the thought.

  TJ, not as in control of his emotions, growls and takes another step in Dragon’s direction.

  “Bullshit,” Dragon snaps.

  A real man would admit to what he’s done. He would ask for forgiveness, even though he knows there is none to be given. A real man wouldn’t do exactly what this fucking idiot is doing. I pull my gun from my waistband and shoot him between the eyes before he can raise the glock that was tucked beside his leg.

  “Motherfucker!” TJ yells, looking down at the dots of blood staining his new jeans.

  Ronan snickers, and the rest of the men in the room stare at us in disbelief.

  “Thank fuck,” one of the guys mutters as he watches his president’s skin ashen to a sickening gray.

  “Which one of you fuckers is Virus?”

  “I am.” A tall man to my left stands, his VP patch on his chest proof that he’s exactly who I’m looking for. “I know you guys aren’t really known for forgiveness, but I can vouch that no man here, other than myself, knew what was going down with Dragon’s plan.”

  “And what exactly was your part?” TJ sneers, his knife twisting in his palm as if full of life itself.

  Virus’s back straightens as he shifts his eyes from me to TJ. He has balls, and that’s one of the prerequisites for consideration of a Ravens Ruin patch.

  “Not much,” Virus answers. “I tried to talk him out of it, but Miller had him seeing dollar signs.”

  “Miller is no longer a problem,” I inform him.

  Dietrich Miller was Zoe’s father. He was also a rejected DEA agent gone rogue, using the Dead-End Demons as the firepower to try to take down our club.

  “We heard,” Virus says. “Dragon’s dreams were crushed.”

  “You’re not concerned your president’s body is getting cold over there?” TJ asks.

  Virus shrugs. “Cartel was going to get to him eventually. He owes more than he could ever pay back. Same for Miller.”

  I don’t know if we’ve hurt or helped our standing with the Colombians, but there’s no going back now.

  “What’s going to happen to us?” another guy across the room asks as I tuck my gun into my jeans at the small of my back.

  “You’ll disband,” I explain.

  I expect arguments, but all I see is relief on the faces of the four guys still sitting around the room.

  In church last week, we discussed absorbing them into our MC, but there isn’t one member here, other than Virus, that benefits us.

  “You need help with that?” TJ points to Dragon’s body as he questions the sitting men.

  “We have a wood chipper out back,” one of the guys mentions.

  TJ nearly squeals in delight. “I’d love to help then.”

  “Virus, a word?” I direct Ronan to help with the body before leading Virus out of the room.

  We have a ton of shit to discuss.

  Chapter 5

  Molly

  “I feel like I’m breaking the fucking law,” I mutter as I check my rearview mirror for the hundredth time since sneaking out of the clubhouse.

  My escape must have gone unnoticed because I’m able to park in front of the small café and climb out of my car in silence. The absence of rumbling motorcycle engines is soothing. Boston is the only member who didn’t go to Florida, and he’s been engrossed in paperwork almost every waking second since I returned home from school. Sneaking out was easier than I’d anticipated.

  Within minutes, I’m inside the café and seated in the corner, regretting having left my cell phone at home because now I have nothing to entertain me other than people watching and organizing the sweetener packets.

  “I should’ve stayed at home,” I mutter to myself as I group the pink, blue, and yellow packets together in a row.

  “Do they actually talk back?”

  My eyes snap up, my mouth readying to tell the jerk off. Like a fish, my lips open and close several times. Stunned is not a reaction I often experience. I’m around good-looking men all the time. The Ravens Ruin clubhouse is constantly filled with handsome devils, but the man st
anding a few feet away with his hands shoved in the pockets of his well-worn jeans is more than handsome.

  He doesn’t have a knowing smirk painting his full pink lips, and there isn’t a hint of deviousness in his eyes as he waits patiently for me to answer.

  He continues to wait because when my eyes landed on him, I instantly forgot what he asked. I opt to stare at him like a weirdo rather than open my mouth and sound like an idiot.

  “I was over there, alone.” He hitches his thumb over his shoulder, indicating where he must have been sitting.

  I don’t bother to peer past him. Looking away seems impossible right now.

  “And you were over here, alone,” he continues. “I just—”

  Pausing, he stares down at me as if begging for a reprieve, hoping I’ll cut in and alleviate him of the awkwardness.

  Perfect teeth dig into his lower lip as his eyes dart from my face to the packets I’m still toying with in my hands.

  “I prefer raw sugar,” he adds when I remain silent. “I bet you’re a pink girl.”

  A small smile forms on his lips, but it’s not creepy. It’s a deviation from what I’m used to back at the clubhouse.

  His eye twitches with what I presume is an attempt to wink.

  Oh shit. He’s flirting with me.

  Without him staring at my tits or licking his lips, I almost don’t recognize it.

  “Blue actually,” I say holding up one of the packets.

  “How old are you?” he blurts.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Pink tints his cheeks as his throat works on a heavy swallow.

  Three slow blinks and one head turn to look around the nearly empty café later, he leans in a little closer before he speaks. “I’m trying to figure out if I’m a pervert or not.”

  He whispers pervert so low, I see him speak the word rather than actually hear it leave his lips.

  “That escalated quickly,” I tease, leaning back in the chair and letting my eyes rake over his full frame.

  “I’m old enough to vote,” I finally answer when he begins to rock back and forth on his heels.

  His smile deepens further. “Old enough to drink?”