Burning Daylight (A Devil's Cartel MC Series Book 2)

by Skyla Madi

  “You helped her,” I said. “Now I need you to help me.”

  “I didn’t help her,” he replied. “If it was up to me, I’d have left her for dead.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Judge turned his back on me one more time. “Believe what you want. I don’t give a shit.”

  He stormed off and I marched behind him, following him back toward the road. By the time we made it out of the shrubs, I was sweaty and irritated beyond belief and Judge continued to ignore me, like I wasn’t on his heels begging for help. I insulted him, his club, his mother, and he didn’t react. Not even once. I stopped in my tracks as Judge approached his monstrous motorcycle and threw his leg over its black and silver body.

  “Please,” I sighed, exasperated, my voice turbulent with the emotion wreaking havoc in my chest. I was done being strong. Judge was the only person left who could help me and if he left…I didn’t know what I was going to do. “It’s my son. He’s only five and…and…” My voice cracked, painfully, and I swallowed hard, choking down the pain the way I’d been doing for a long time. “He needs help, and I can’t save him, Damon. Not on my own.”

  Judge paused atop his bike, his large hands resting on his thighs. I waited, letting the apprehension his silence created eat me up.

  “I told you,” he replied, not bothering to look at me over his shoulder, and I let out a small rush of frightened air. “I don’t help people.”

  He sat forward and grabbed his handlebars, sending my soul into a panic, then he started the engine, bringing it roaring to life.

  “You couldn’t save your daughter,” I shouted over the rumbling, using the last of my ammo. “But you can save my son, please.”

  Judge’s shoulders tightened, and he clenched his handlebars in his hands. I held my breath for the umpteenth time tonight and waited as he hung his head. Hope ignited in my chest…until he shook his head, lifted his foot off the ground, and zoomed off, sending dirt and stones in my direction. I shielded my face until the dust settled and, when I lowered my hands, Judge was but a single, distant taillight that disappeared a heartbeat later. No. I slumped into myself and sniffled as warm tears dripped onto my cheeks. I couldn’t stop my body from hunching forward as familiar and painful tendrils of failure burrowed deep in my heart, making my whole chest ache.

  “God damn it,” I whispered.

  And then the uncontrollable sobbing started.

  TWO

  J U D G E

  We arrived at the clubhouse just as the sun set below the horizon. We parked our bikes out the front and lined them up along the entrance, the way we always did on the nights we partied.

  “They couldn’t wait?” Creed huffed as we sauntered toward the doors of the establishment.

  “Impatient assholes,” Hawk added, kicking a stone across the drive. “Better not’ve drank all the good beer.”

  “Quit your bitching,” I said. “More beer in the cellar to last us a lifetime.”

  “Or until ten p.m., if Modo’s drinking,” Armi added, fixing his stupid hair into its usual stupid bun.

  “Modo’s always drinking,” Creed said, and I laughed.

  “If you want to take his drink away from him, be my guest,” I chimed in. “Don’t come crying to me when he chops you into little pieces and feeds you to his alligator.”

  “Wait. Modo’s scared of snakes but he owns a goddamn alligator?” Hawk shouted. “What the fuck, Judge?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t pretend to understand that crazy bastard. As long as you stayed on his good side, you were A-Okay. If not…well, I pitied anyone on the receiving end of his wrath.

  We drew close to the clubhouse entrance and I smirked as Metallica seeped from the walls and blasted from the windows. The smell of cigarettes and beer hung in the cool evening air, comforting every anxious cell in my body. Home.

  Finally.

  I couldn’t get inside fast enough. I bounded up the steps and shoved the doors open. Members cheered and I inhaled. Leather danced with oil, metal, and sweat in my nostrils and I couldn’t breathe it deep enough. Nothing was better than noisy, reckless nights spent at the clubhouse I helped build with people who’d die to protect it. I loved it. I lived for it.

  We’d been gone two days—Creed, Armi, Stoic, Hawk, and I. Rah caught wind of some nomad Twisted Sons camping between Exeter and Venton Vale. After the fuckery they pulled with Blondie eight months ago, we voted the Twisted Sons were to be killed on sight, no exceptions.

  And we did just that.

  I peered sideways at Creed who stood beside me, combing the crowd with his gaze, looking for Blondie. I made a mistake bringing him on the kill run. His thirst for revenge on the Twisted Sons made him sloppy and unhinged. I counted on him to be my word of reason. As my right-hand man, he always had to have his head screwed on straight and never let his emotions get the best of him. He lost it in Venton Vale. What he did was so fucking demonic that Stoic had to stop eight times on the way home so he could puke. If I hadn’t encouraged him to burn everything, he’d have brought their spines home as a trophy for his woman.

  Rolling my shoulders, I pushed off the last two days and left it at the door where it belonged. The clubhouse was my sanctuary and I did my best to keep it that way.

  Hawk, Stoic, and Armi pushed past Creed and me and sank into the crowd. I began to do the same when Creed caught me by my bicep. I turned my head and looked at him.

  “I lost my head,” he finally admitted after fighting me on it the past twenty-four hours. “Don’t tell Izzy.”

  I frowned. Did I look like a goddamn snitch? Did I look like the type that would go running to someone’s woman, looking for a pat on the back? I shrugged out of his grip.

  “Why would I tell her?” I asked, and he pinned me with a look.

  He’d been increasingly suspicious of me and I couldn’t deny it wasn’t warranted. I bumped into Blondie often…sometimes not by mistake and I didn’t know fucking why. I flirted with her, played with her, and it drove him mad. Maybe that was what was piquing my interest…the fact it made Creed mad. If I wanted to end their relationship, I could. I was president and my higher rank meant I could take Creed’s woman and there wouldn’t be a thing he could do about it. Lucky for him, I needed him more than I needed Blondie.

  “Relax,” I told him. “I won’t tell her shit.”

  I moved away from Creed and headed toward the private quarters, toward my room, where I showered and put on fresh clothes. When I came out, the party was raging harder than before and I didn’t know where to start my fun. Topless women strolled by me, touching and stroking me, encouraging me to follow, but a flash of pink out of the corner of my eye stole my attention. There was only one person who wore pink around here.

  Blondie leaned over the bar in a pink bralette—I hated I knew exactly what it was called—and tight denim jeans that reached just under her newly pierced belly button. Her blonde hair, tied back in a high ponytail, cascaded over her shoulder and pooled on the bar surface. She beamed at Kace with a white, perfect smile, and he happily poured her a drink. Based on the contents of the cup, the drink was for Creed. I knew better than to approach her but fuck it. I needed a drink anyway.

  I leaned on the bar beside her and she turned to smile at me. She was sickeningly sweet, a breath of fresh air through the dusty tunnel of club life. I knew the clubwhores hated her guts and convinced some of the lesser members to hate her too, but they should be thankful she was Creed’s and only his. If she weren’t, all the men would be eating her up.

  “Welcome home,” she said, tilting her head. “I’d ask you about the trip, but something tells me you’re only going to say it was—”

  “Fine,” we said at the same time and she laughed.

  “That’s what Creed said too.”

  She shook her head, grabbed her drinks, and sauntered off, heading in the direction of the sitting room, and I turned my attention to Kace, who finished pouring a beer for me. He slid it over the lacquered b
ar, and I caught it in my hand.

  I was still resting against the bar, talking to whoever showed up for a drink, when Blondie returned for another round. Unfortunately for me, I was four beers deep and my filter had long since left the building. She rested her taut stomach against the bar’s edge and drummed her fingernails against the surface, their pearl hue glistening under the harsh light.

  “You started craving me yet?” I teased.

  Izzy whipped her head in my direction, surprised, and a gentle blush flared in her cheeks. “What?”

  I moved closer to her. “You heard me.”

  She flicked her stare down to my shoes, then back up. When our gazes met, she was no longer coy and innocent. She was serious, the flash in her eyes resolute. I hated it. I also loved it.

  “Honestly?” she said in a low tone so only I could hear, then she leaned in until her lip grazed my ear. Her light, floral perfume wafted over me, making me feel—I don’t know—stupid. I licked my lower lip and spared a glance at Kace, who watched on, his boyish face twisted uncomfortably.

  “I haven’t thought about you at all,” she whispered in a sexy, husky tone.

  Oh, fuck off. I pulled a face as she retreated from me with a smug smirk. “Bullshit.”

  “I haven’t.”

  I didn’t believe her for a second. She was the one who begged Creed to let me fuck her when we had our three-way. I tapped my finger against the bar surface once, unable to bite my tongue.

  “You’re mine too, you know.”

  Blondie cut her eyes at me, but it wasn’t out of anger, more so disappointment. I regretted the words the second they flew out of my mouth. I had no claim on her and I knew better than to suggest otherwise. The thing was, I didn’t want Blondie. Besides sexual attraction, I had no connection to her. I didn’t want her heart, not even a slice of it. I wanted what she represented: a future. I had a future and I let it slip through my fingers…maybe I was jealous Creed would eventually get what was taken from me. Maybe I wanted to sabotage it.

  Isabelle levelled me with her stare and leaned closer. “Don’t do that to him, Damon.”

  I couldn’t bear the look she gave me. It sent shockwaves of guilt through my chest. “Do what?”

  “Be so disrespectful. He trusted you and so did I.” She protected my wrongdoing by talking quietly and I admired that. She lowered her voice even further when Kace placed her drinks in front of her. “You’re the president of the Devil’s Cartel, Judge. You don’t need to take someone else’s woman. Go get your own.”

  I brushed her off and reached for my glass. “Just testing your loyalty,” I said, before I swallowed a large mouthful of my cold beer.

  “Don’t concern yourself with my loyalty. I love Creed and he knows it,” she said, grabbing the drinks. “There are plenty of women here tonight. Why don’t you go bother one of them?”

  I didn’t glance over my shoulder, not at any of the whores in the club, definitely not at my usual lay, Liv, whose glare I was certain burned holes in the back of my cut. “Nah.”

  I didn’t know why I wasn’t in the mood. Perhaps the last two nights sleeping outside on the hard ground had taken it out of me. Or maybe, with my thirty-sixth birthday looming, I realized I wasn’t twenty anymore and the thought of fucking for hours left me exhausted. It was odd. I used to love the way women threw themselves at my feet. Now, they bored me. They bent over backwards for me, did everything I said, because I was president. They’d fight each other to the death to be my old lady if I asked. It drove me up the wall that Izzy wasn’t attracted to me. I’d surrounded myself with women who wet their panties at my every movement, like I was a God, but Izzy didn’t give two shits about me or what I did. I turned on the spot and watched her go.

  “You look good, Blondie,” I called after her and she grinned over her shoulder at me, a fucking beautiful beam.

  “I know. Creed told me already.”

  I simpered and laughed under my breath. He was gone two days…she was going to fuck him later and good too. Lucky bastard.

  “Creed will kill you.” Kace’s voice ripped me from my train of thought.

  I twisted in his direction and looked at him, just looked at him. Regret etched its way over his features every second I held him in my silent gaze.

  “Mind your own fucking business, prospect,” I said finally, then finished my beer. “Where’s Iris?”

  “At the range.”

  I frowned. “At this time of night?”

  That girl was obsessed with guns—more than Armi—which was messed up. I thought back to the night Kace brought her tiny ass in here and we laughed her right back out the door. My finger twitched. I could still feel the heat and vibration in my hand as her bullet tore through my beer can, demanding my attention. I happily gave it and now, well, now she was like a daughter to all of us.

  “She likes it there.”

  “Hey!” Armi’s boom drew my attention and my concern for Iris fell to the wayside.

  I straightened and turned toward the front door. I couldn’t fucking believe what I was seeing. I expected a brawl. What I didn’t expect was a short, petite woman shoving her way through the crowd, her dark eyes trained on me, her white teeth bared.

  “You can’t just walk in here!” Armi snapped at her, his dark glare zeroed in on the back of her head. He reached out to grab her, but she was always a few steps ahead, evading his grasp. “Damn it!”

  “You!” she growled as he broke through the crowd and entered the clearing to my left, pointing her slender little finger in my direction. “You stole my driver’s license.”

  “Me?” I rested my elbow on the bar and crossed my feet at the ankles. “I don’t know who the hell you are.”

  She seethed and planted her hands on her curvaceous hips. “I think you do.”

  I flicked my stare from her pretty face to her impressive bust that warped whatever was written on the front of her white tank top. Then I dragged my stare down the rest of her gentle, pear-shaped body. Her tight, black jeans fit her like a dream, her legs filling every inch of them, and her slender feet held firm inside a white pair of heels. Inhaling, I lifted my stare to her face and surveyed her angry pout. Something about her rang familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Armi muttered an apology to me, then grabbed the woman’s bicep and pulled her toward him. She yanked free with a growl and took another step forward, entering my personal space like she had every right to. Armi reached for her again, but I lifted my hand and he backed off. Those who stood around us stared, waiting to see what I’d do. I clenched my jaw, squared my shoulders, left my beer, and towered over the small woman. No one entered my personal space unless I allowed it—not Creed, not Isabelle, not fucking anyone.

  “We met at the river four days ago,” she said. “I asked for your help, but you turned me down and stole my driver’s license.”

  Ah. A cold chill swept down my spine. The bitch with the kid. I remembered now. I went through all her pockets when I had her pinned against the tree. The five-foot-four woman in front of me was the brown-eyed, brown-haired Yasmine Lolita Garcia, the woman who followed me out of town in the middle of the night and asked for help, talking like I owed it to her. I’d forgotten I took her license. It must still be in the pocket of a pair of my jeans somewhere.

  The corner of my lip threatened to curl and bare my teeth. I made myself clear that night by the river and I wasn’t in the business of repeating myself. I cut my eyes at Armi. “Get her out of my sight.”

  Armi grabbed her by the bicep and tugged her toward him, sending strands of her long, dark hair into her face. I turned away.

  “If you’re gonna have me thrown out on my ass, at least be a man and do it yourself.”

  I froze on the spot. My ears burned hot. Did she just fucking challenge me? Members surrounding us sucked air between their teeth. They wolf whistled, cheered for her to give me hell, and for me to throw her out on the street where she belonged. I slowly turned to face her
again and she swallowed hard as regret etched its way across her features. Armi stopped tugging and let her go. Yasmine was mine to deal with now.

  All mine.

  She was at my mercy and, unless you were naked and hogtied, that was never a good place to be. I stepped forward until my boots kissed her white heels. Yasmine didn’t shrink into herself. If anything, she squared her shoulders and straightened her spine more, craning her neck to look up at me.

  “If I have to leave this building, I’m gonna make you regret going toe to toe with me, little woman.”

  Yasmine’s glance flickered between each of my eyes, her big, toffee irises holding back so much pain. “I’m not scared.” Her left eye welled but didn’t dare drip over the edge. “I’m already facing my greatest fear, Judge, and it isn’t you.”

  I blew impatient air out of my nose and grabbed her around the waist. She squeaked as I lifted her into my arms and put her over my shoulder. Hooting and hollering filled my ears and drowned out one of my favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd tracks. No one followed me outside. It was just me, her, and the wind. Yasmine shouted and drummed her fists into my back, she kicked her legs and called me every name under the sun—a colorful variation of insults in English and Spanish.

  I walked her as far as I wanted to, then I dropped her ass on the gravel drive in front of our motorcycles.

  “Don’t come back,” I warned, and she lifted herself to her feet.

  This time she didn’t stand so tall and the defeat in her bones aged her pretty face. I didn’t notice it inside the clubhouse, but in this light, she looked gaunt and exhausted. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand her. Why did she want my help? Me, of all people? Even if I wanted to help—which I didn’t—I was already neck deep in shit with enemies all over the goddamn place. Yasmine was a sexy woman, anyone with eyes could see that. The problem with sexy women was that psychotic and possessive men usually followed.