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

by Skyla Madi

  Their feel—how they make me feel.

  I turn my head and watch Isabelle and Creed make out against the car, his hand gripping her jaw, her head pulled to the side. They kiss passionately, hungrily, as if they’d just met and all they had was lust. It’s amazing, considering they’ve been together for years. Creed’s hand leaves Isabelle’s jaw, and she turns her head back to the window, mesmerized by their reflection.

  “After tonight, you won’t wear this here again,” he demands, his finger curling around the low neckline of her black lace bodysuit. “It’s only for me. In our home. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  He yanks the lace down to sit underneath her generous bust. I look away, look to Judge, who no longer has his mouth on my nipple, and meet his heated stare. My lips tug at the corners.

  “This is so awkward.”

  “More awkward than getting caught without pants on? I don’t think so.” He moistens his lips. “We’ll wait it out. He doesn’t last long.”

  I snort, and we stare at each other for ages, a silent game neither one of us wants to lose by looking away first. The only interaction between us is the facial expressions we make in reaction to the ridiculousness going on outside. Eventually, I turn my head. Isabelle’s breasts pressed against the glass whenever Creed wasn’t grabbing them. The car rocks side to side, shaking me on Judge’s lap, then Creed slams his hand against the glass beside Isabelle’s. Her hands are much smaller than his, much more delicate. Everything about her is much more delicate than him, but I get the allure. She’s come from a controlling and strait-laced upbringing. Here, she can do anything. Here, she’s not a princess. She’s a queen.

  Lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize the rocking has stopped until Isabelle’s soft laugh filters through the glass. I focus on them once more, watching as he helps her with her jeans, then her shirt. He smiles at her, a bright beam, then they share a chaste kiss. Finally, he rakes his fingers through her hair, smoothing her blonde locks all while staring at her adoringly. When they leave, Judge plants small kisses along my collarbone and I exhale, relaxing my muscles. I close my eyes and rest my head against his as he smooths his hands up my back, then down again. He caresses my hips, my shoulder, my backside, and lifts my shirt to massage my breasts. My skin still hurts and there’s a deep ache in all my muscles I don’t think will ever go away, but his touch works magic, drawing so much pain out of my body, like a painkiller. I don’t know if it’ll last, or if I’ll feel as good tomorrow, but for now, I don’t want it to stop.

  I don’t want him to stop.

  I move in Judge’s touch, wanting him to massage me harder, to grip me harder. I rock my hips, seeking the friction of his jeans that bunch around the open zipper, and he flexes against me. I open my mouth to tell him to take whatever he wants when another slam on the glass has me nearly puking up my skeleton. We whip our heads toward the window for the second time and Judge tenses against me, cursing under his breath. I feel the blood drain from my face and the tremble in my hands at the sight of Nicolás’s picture taped to the window. Thick tendrils of dread burrow through my chest and stab me in the heart. What the hell am I doing?

  “What the fuck?” Judge swears, and I push away from him as he twists his hips, slipping onto the seat bedside him.

  He opens the door enough to stick his head out and I tug my shirt down, then reach for my underwear and pants off the floor. He talks to me, but I can’t hear him over the sound of my broken heart beating in my ears. Weeks. I’ve waited weeks and for what? Because Judge told me to? And now I do this?

  Where the fuck is my son? Gone. And what’s his mother doing? Messing around with the president of a biker gang. Bitter disappointment in myself socks me in the stomach. I’m despicable. Nicolás deserves better than me. He always has.

  I slide into my underwear, then my pants, unable to get them on quick enough. As Judge shuts his door, I throw my side open and jump out, not bothering to close it behind me.

  “Minnie?” Judge calls out, but I don’t stop.

  I hightail it out of the garage and into the cool night air, barefoot. The gravel drive digs into the soles of my feet, but I don’t care. I barrel through the big black doors of the clubhouse and keep my stare downcast to my feet, afraid my eyes will betray what happened between Judge and me. I make it halfway across the room and see two scuffed black boots before I slam into another man wearing leather.

  “Shit,” I swear, as alcohol the color of whiskey spills over a rocks glass clenched in a giant fist and it hits my shirt.

  Gasping, I lift my shoulders as it soaks in and kisses my skin. Then I lift my head. I survey his old belt buckle, then skim my gaze over his leather cut and the ‘Vice President’ patch sewn into the chest of it. Finally, I meet the same dark eyes I saw on the man towering behind Isabelle Laurent not too long ago. Heat climbs my neck and swirls in my cheeks. Creed stares down at me, his black and gold eyes flashing dangerously.

  “Who’re you running from?” he asks, uncaring that his drink has wet his fingers.

  “No one.”

  A clang of the opening front doors catches my attention and I glance over my shoulder. Judge enters the clubhouse, pulling his black shirt over his inked abdominal muscles. He scans the crowd looking for me, and my pulse skyrockets. I look at Creed and realization lights his features.

  “No point running from him. He always gets what he wants.” He sips his drink, apparently delighted. “I saw you two, you know. Watching.”

  I feel my face turn beet red. Everything north of my neck heating to boiling point. My stomach churns like a violent sea, threatening to upturn the nothing I ate for dinner. Under his teasing gaze, all I can do is swallow hard and lift my chin.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He tilts his head and, in his eyes, the intimate scene replays, causing volcanic heat to gather around my collar. “Of course you don’t.”

  Scoffing, I push past him before I vocally condemn myself before Judge catches me and turns this—whatever this is—into a public spectacle. I hurry toward my room, pushing through the throng of leather and body odor.

  “Hey, Minnie!” Creed calls, and the chatter in the room falls silent, the only sound coming from the bass of the speakers, Rage Against the Machine’s Bulls on Parade playing loud.

  I don’t turn around in fear of what he’s going to say.

  “Your shorts are inside out.”

  And I fucking die.

  ELEVEN

  J U D G E

  I avoided her like the plague for nearly twenty-four hours. I didn’t know who put the fucking photo of her kid against the window, but somebody did. The sight of it turned Yasmine’s body from lava to ice. She went from melting in my hands to rigid like steel in less than a second. I had my suspicions, but no definitive proof. This morning, I all but hung Casino from the rafters by his ankles, but he insisted it wasn’t him. I believed him…maybe. I punched him hard enough in the face the other week, so he knew better than to cross me again.

  I interrogated Blondie and Creed—who knew we were in Armi’s truck the whole time but didn’t say anything, the perverts—and they swore it wasn’t them either. In retrospect, I had nothing…but I kept my eyes peeled. Whoever did it knew we were in the truck, and they knew what we were doing.

  And they fucking sabotaged it.

  I slammed the clean rifle down on the table and exhaled, earning a side glance from Armi.

  “You okay, Prez?”

  “Fucking peachy,” I snapped, tossing down my dirty red cloth. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He shrugged, focusing on cleaning a smudge underneath the trigger of his own rifle. “Seem a bit agitated, is all.”

  I had no response for him. Of course I was fucking agitated. I hadn’t had sex in weeks, and I didn’t want to—not with anyone other than Minnie, who I almost had. The photo of her son sobered her, and she ran away from me, as if being with me was the most awful thing on the planet. As if me eatin
g her pussy was the most shameful thing she ever had to endure.

  Fuck her.

  I never had to chase a woman. Ever. If she wanted to run away from me, then away she’d stay until I finished what I needed to do. When I did what I promised, when I hand her son over to her, I’d send her on her way. Then, I’d go back to my usual shit without wasting another precious thought on her. I wouldn’t waste another second on something that had nothing to do with me, or my club.

  “I don’t know what her fucking problem is,” I blurted, surprising myself.

  I bit my tongue, not wanting another word to come out of my mouth, at risk of sounding like a goddamn bitch. Armi lifted his eyebrows but kept on cleaning his gun.

  “It must be hard for her…” he uttered, not looking me in the eye. “Not having her kid and all that.”

  “Have you seen him?” I asked, probing whether he was behind sticking the photograph on his truck window. It was his truck. Made sense he’d want us out of it before I stained the leather.

  He shook his head, his stupid manbun barely moving. “No, but Casino told me he was Down Syndrome.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced over the top of the makeshift table and across the acreage that seemed to go on forever.

  We had a little piece of paradise here on Burning Road. I couldn’t imagine this land belonging to anyone but us. One day, I’d build each of my most important men their own place, so they were no longer confined to a single room. One day, I’d turn this entire property into our kingdom, turrets and all.

  A hundred yards out, I watched Yasmine sit on the grass, her face turned up at the morning sun. Her olive complexion glowed as it absorbed the vitamin D, the highlights in her brunette hair turning from black to gold, almost. She wore jean shorts, and an old Guns and Roses t-shirt, too big for her body, and it killed me I didn’t know who it belonged to.

  Which was probably for the best. As president, I couldn’t shoot a member over a woman I laid no claim to. So, I gritted my teeth and tolerated it.

  “Have you seen Creed?” Blondie’s voice, her question, was a pin in my bubble.

  I turned my head and dragged my stare up her toned, tan legs to her tiny, black cut-offs. Then I looked at her cropped gray hoodie and the long, blonde hair that draped over her breasts—breasts I tried hard not to look at when they were pressed up against the window last night.

  I dropped my head back to peer around her at the clubhouse. Creed was busy negotiating a meeting time with the Ventillis for tomorrow night. Elias was hiding out in Vegas and we needed Marco Ventilli’s permission before entering his territory—unless we wanted another war. A war with the Ventillis was on the cards, but not for tomorrow night.

  “Why?” I asked, straightening my head.

  “I need to go into town.”

  I blew impatient air between my lips. “So, go.”

  “I need Creed to come with me.”

  “Well, I need him here.”

  “Damon—”

  “Why’re you so clingy?” I snapped, cutting my eyes at her.

  “Clingy?” She reared back, scrunching her pretty face as if I’d slapped it. “I’m not fucking clingy.”

  Isabelle’s crystal blue eyes filled with water and she averted her gaze across the land. She rubbed her lips together, as if it helped keep her tears at bay. I sighed and flicked my chin at Armi. Without a word, he placed his heavy rifle on the table, pushed his chair out, and left. When he reached the clubhouse steps, I dragged my attention back to Blondie, who was till avoiding my eyes.

  “You really can’t go by yourself?” I asked.

  I didn’t get it. She was a grown woman. Did she really need Creed around every second of every day? She couldn’t go to the grocery store without him? Couldn’t sleep in a bed without him? Did the psychological scars her father still affect her that bad?

  “They stare at me when I’m by myself, Damon,” she said, finally bringing her stare to mine. Her words made me feel like shit. “When he’s with me they don’t dare stare and it’s so fucking nice.” She inhaled through her nose and quickly swiped at a tear that rolled over the rim of her eye. “I know you need him. I know he’s your Vice President, and I know he’s an important part of the club.” She pulled her big, black sunglasses off her head and settled them over her bloodshot eyes. “But he’s an important part of my life too and you have to learn how to share.”

  Learn to share? I shared Creed when she needed him most. What we were currently working on was the biggest thing I’d requested of my vice president in two years. She owed me this.

  “The club comes first,” I told her, and there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

  Her lips fell into a disappointed pout. “Thanks, Damon.”

  Izzy turned away and heavy weights of regret hung from my ribs. But I promised I’d take care of her too. I might not be able to give her Creed, but there were others. I snagged her wrist and pulled her back to face me.

  “Take Liv with you,” I suggested. If she needed company, did it matter who from? “Or one of the other girls. I need my VP today.”

  “Liv? The other girls?” Isabelle pulled her sunglasses off her face and her blue eyes flashed. “Are you kidding? They hate my guts.”

  That was true. Not a single female in the clubhouse had love for Blondie. Because of her, Creed was off the menu and he was a fan favorite. A bad idea sprouted in the back of my skull and I flicked my head to where Minnie was sitting, still basking in the morning sun. She could probably use some girl time.

  “Take Yasmine.”

  Izzy arched a brow. “Your prisoner?”

  “She’s not my prisoner. We’re working together.” I felt the need to point that out. Yasmine hadn’t been my prisoner in weeks. I glanced at Isabelle. “And the townspeople don’t like her either, so they’ll gawk at both of you.”

  She laughed and tipped her head, her smile reaching her eyes. “I can’t stand you, Judge. You know that, right?”

  Smirking, I shrugged and released her wrist. Isabelle loved me. It might not be in the same way she loved Creed, but she loved me. I meant a lot to her. We all did.

  “Fine, I’ll take her out,” she agreed, smoothing her hands down her cropped gray hoodie. “I hope she likes sushi.”

  I pulled a face as Blondie stepped around the table and walked toward Yasmine. I hate sushi.

  Ten feet out from where she sat, Yasmine noticed Isabelle’s approach, and I watched as discomfort visibly rolled through her. Blondie crouched beside her and Minnie shook her head, declining whatever she was being asked. A small eternity passed before Yasmine smiled gently. It socked me in the ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. She was beautiful and, if I were being honest with myself, I hadn’t stopped thinking about the intimate moments we’d spent together in the garage and in the back of Armi’s truck. It played on my mind, like a record, all day. I wanted to rewind time, to go back to that quiet space, and listen to her tell me I was a good dad. Her tone was sincere, her expression full of admiration. I could see myself believing her words if she said them enough.

  Armi appeared at my side as Isabelle and Yasmine stood and turned toward the clubhouse. Blondie spared me a glance, but Yasmine kept her attention on the clubhouse, not letting it slip to me, not for a second.

  “Send Ayr and Stoic to tail them,” I told him. “They’ll keep ’em safe.”

  Nodding, he did as he was told, and I went back to cleaning the guns.

  ***

  Creed and I shifted uncomfortably in our seats, clenching our drinks in our hand, our attention on the front door. Neither one of us said anything about the time, about how late it was. The sun went down hours ago and it was nearing nine p.m. I wasn’t worried since Ayr and Stoic kept in touch with me all day, but I was annoyed. Blondie said she needed to go into town. I assumed a trip to the nail salon and a quick stop for sushi was all that was on her agenda. I didn’t realize she’d take Minnie and blow through town, then spend the afternoon at a day spa an hour’s driv
e from Exeter.

  “Ayr told me they were on their way back,” I said to Creed, lifting my drink to take a sip. “They’ll be through the door any minute.”

  He cut his eyes at me and hummed, unimpressed. He was pissed I sent Blondie off without him, but what was I supposed to do? He had work that needed to be done and it wasn’t like I sent her without protection.

  “You said that an hour ago,” he shot back. “If anything has happened to her, I swear to—”

  He abruptly ended his threat as the front doors were pushed open and Blondie stepped through, looking over her shoulder. Korn, Coming Undone, fades to nothing as the song ends, and the clubhouse fills with girlish laughter and hushed conversation. Stepping to the side, Blondie held the door open for Yasmine. When she walked into the room my whole world slowed down. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I knew she was beautiful—too beautiful for her own good—but tonight, all dolled up? My throat ran dry as I dragged my stare up her long, golden legs to the hem of her dress, a dress so pale blue it almost resembled gray. I flicked my attention over the fabric, dotted with white polka dots, to where the neckline dipped at its lowest point, between her generous bust. She looked healthy and happy. Her long, shiny hair tumbled in waves down her back and framed her pretty, fresh face.

  Ayr and Stoic entered the building behind them, their stares landing on Creed and I. Nudging Blondie, Ayr pointed to us and they headed in this direction. My stupid stomach flipped with every step Yasmine made as she closed the distance between us. She flicked her nervous stare over me before focusing her gaze on the table.

  Creed finished his drink as Blondie pulled out a chair next to him and dropped into it, leaving the chair beside me the only place for Minnie to sit. I kept my eyes on her as she gently lowered herself into the seat. Blondie reached across the table and took my drink out of my hand, smiling sweetly as she batted her lashes. She took a big mouthful, then slid my glass to Yasmine, who finished it off and pushed it back to me. Creed and I glanced at each other.