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

by Skyla Madi

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” I ask, thinking about the events that unfolded between her and her father.

  I’ve heard awful things. She nods, her face falling like she knows what I’m going to ask before I ask it.

  “Did your father really—”

  “Have me beaten half to death, then trapped me in a wooden box and tried to burn me alive?” She turns away from me, offering the small, smooth expanse of her back. “Yes.”

  I purse my lips and press the loofah to her shoulder blade. I circle her skin, wishing I could wash away my invasive question. I see her feet and the heavy scarring that remains. I should’ve known better than to pry.

  “I’ve never seen Judge act like that before.” she says a few minutes later, changing the subject. “He would’ve killed Casino for you.”

  I play dumb as I push her hair over her shoulder and wash her neck. “I don’t think it would’ve gone that far.”

  But it could have. I felt the tension in his arm, the furious energy that wafted from his body. I have no doubt Damon would’ve ripped Casino’s head from his body, but it wasn’t all for me. Casino was challenging Damon’s role in front of everyone. I don’t know much about club life, but I know Casino was lucky to leave unscathed.

  Humming, Izzy presses her white teeth into her lower lip and closes her eyes, apparently enjoying the way I scrub her. I let my gaze wander as I clean her, admiring her soft, curvaceous physique. Her body is perfect, unmarred by age and the gift of carrying a child. Her breasts are perky, her tummy flat and tight. My mind drifts to Judge and his confession. Until recently, he wanted the blonde I currently share his shower with. How often did he think about her? How often has he touched himself to thoughts of her? Something sinister pulls tight in my belly and I don’t think it’s all bad. It’s a chaotic mix of intrigue, jealousy, and arousal.

  “You’re lucky,” she murmurs, her tone husky and heavy. “He’s a good lover.”

  I lift my eyebrows and part my lips as jealousy licks me all over. I wish she didn’t know that. I wish those memories she shared with Judge were lost to a random bout of amnesia.

  “And Creed?” I goad, forcing her train of thought to where it should be—on James, not Damon.

  “He’s perfect.” She turns around and flashes me a gentle, loving smile. “I love him so much I could die.”

  Good. I move the loofah under the hot stream, washing away the bubbly suds, contemplating how I’m going to wash my own body underneath Judge’s black Iron Maiden t-shirt that clings to me like a second skin.

  “You don’t have to wear the shirt,” Isabelle says, as if reading my thoughts. She steps under the stream and smooths her hands down the flat of her stomach, rinsing the soap down her body. “We have the same parts, after all.”

  I snort at her mocking use of Modo’s words, but he isn’t wrong. I’ve been naked in front of other women before. I drum my fingers against the hem that hangs low against my thigh. It’d be nice to clean my whole body…I drop the loofah to the floor and peel the shirt from my frame. Freeing my hair from the fabric’s folding confines, I drop it and it hits the tiles with a gross squelch. I look at Isabelle and she flickers her curious gaze down the length of my body, lingering on the silver stretch marks pregnancy carved along my soft belly. I wish I can say the change in her eyes makes me uneasy, but it doesn’t. Heat, hotter than the shower, spreads down the back of my neck, following my spine to scatter in my pelvis and pool between my legs.

  “Would you have another baby?” she asks, reaching behind her back and unclasping her bra.

  I absorb my flinch and the empty space where my uterus once was—before it was stolen from me—throbs painfully. “No.”

  “I would like to have a few.”

  I shift my weight as she lets the thin, pink fabric fall down her arms, exposing her bare breasts. I can’t help my attention as it falls to her pebbled nipples, and her areolas—which were much bigger in circumference than mine.

  “Five boys,” she continues, curling her fingers around the thin hem of her matching underwear. “Three girls.”

  Eight? I often felt greedy for wanting two. Nicolás loves babies. I would’ve liked to give him a sibling, even if I did hate his father more than anything else on the planet.

  “What’s stopping you?” I ask as she bares her lower half.

  She’s beautifully smooth. Water runs over her body, making her look like a goddess, her body perfectly carved from wet marble. It’s no wonder Judge wanted her, lusted after her. The longer I remain in the shower, the deeper I seem to slip under the same spell, entranced by her physical beauty.

  “I want to get married first.” Isabelle bends over and picks up the loofah. Squeezing the remaining soap out of it, she lathers it up again. “He hasn’t asked me yet, but I suspect the question isn’t far off.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he asked me if I prefer yellow gold or white gold.”

  Stepping out of the stream, Isabelle takes me by my wrist and soaps up my forearm, her scrubbing technique a gentle massage for my pores.

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “Rose gold.” She smiles, exposing her straight, white teeth. “He left a Google search open for rose gold engagement rings last week.”

  My lips quirk. Cute. Elias never proposed to me. He simply tossed a diamond ring in my lap and told me to wear it. It was nothing more than a ploy to force my superiors to abandon me, a shackle holding me captive to a man who hated me.

  When I’m covered in soap, she drops the loofah, opting to use her hands instead. I stand still, watching her slender hands as she rubs up my arms and onto my chest, her fingers on my clavicles, her palms just north of my breasts. We stand almost identical in height, but we had around a decade gap in our age, and it’d be a lie if I said her youth didn’t leave me feeling a little insecure.

  “You know, if you’re going to be Judge’s old lady, you’ll have to fuck Creed.”

  I blanch, my eyebrows lifting to my hairline of their own accord. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s a promise,” she says. “An agreement that someone else will take care of you in the event of Judge’s death.”

  I swallow hard as she shoots me headfirst into a commitment I’ve barely thought about.

  “I’m here for my son,” I tell her, and the way she avoids my stare tells me she doesn’t believe me. “I’m not going to be anyone’s old lady. I’m leaving as soon as I get Nicolás.”

  Isabelle shrugs her shoulders, moving onto my breasts. She’s gentle at first, her palm kissing my hard nipple as she skitters it over the top. “Does Judge know that?”

  I purse my lips. I think so. I think he knows. A part of me doesn’t want to go. I want to stay with Judge under his protection but how can I shun one criminal for another? Judge isn’t cruel in the ways Elias is, but their work is the same. How can I raise my son in such a volatile place? Judge has enemies—too many of them. He said so himself.

  She presses her palms firmer against my breasts, feeling the slippery weight of them in her hands. I let out a shaky exhale as she eases closer, mesmerized by her own touch and the way my nipples strain, reaching into her grasp. I love that her hands are like silk, so different to Judge’s rough and firm hold.

  “Tell me, if I did stay, what makes you think I’d choose Creed?”

  Her blue eyes meet mine, her lids heavy with whatever is happening inside her body. “Judge would make sure of it. He’d guide you in Creed’s direction because the pair are inseparable.”

  A quick flash of a powerful and naked James Creed crackled through my mind and the thought of having him excited me more than it should, more than I’d ever admit.

  “And you’d be okay with that?”

  Izzy steps forward, easing her body against mine. She releases my breasts to touch my waist and glides her soapy hands to my back, holding us together. I spare a fleeting thought to her mental state and the Valium Creed said he gave her, but she doesn�
��t seem heavily affected by it. Her eyes are clear, her body steady. If anything, she’s calm, not off her head.

  “I don’t know,” she admits, her breath blowing onto my lips. “I haven’t lingered on the thought because it consumes me with an insane amount of jealousy.” Tilting her head, she draws her lips closer to mine until they graze. “I’m aware being jealous isn’t fair since I’ve already had Judge, but you’re just so pretty.” She smooths her hand over my backside, then up my thigh to dip low between my legs. I gasp and tighten my thighs around the fingers she presses against my center. “Your body drips with life experience and it makes me feel inadequate.”

  What is she doing? How is she making my insides coil with such a gentle touch on my most sensitive part? Stepping forward, Isabelle eases me against the cold glass and pulls her hand from between my legs. She continues to wash me, pretending she didn’t arouse me, that she didn’t make me weak in the knees.

  I admire her features as she washes me, our bodies still pressed firmly together. A lock of her blonde hair sticks to her plump lower lip, but she makes no move to brush it away and there’s something about the wild look that stirs a strange longing deep inside me—something I’ve never felt toward a woman before. How can a girl like her feel inadequate? She eases forward, her sights set on my mouth, and she kisses me. It’s innocent at first, a curious press of her mouth to mine, then she slips her tongue between my lips. Unlike the men I’ve kissed before today, Isabelle’s isn’t consuming and demanding. It’s tender and sensual, a calming caress that makes my muscles lax and my mind foggy. I let her pull me under her spell, lost in the way her lips don’t overpower mine and her hands remain on the small of my back.

  “You’re so soft,” she whispers as she breaks our kiss, leaving my lips tingling, not swollen.

  Isabelle glides her hands up my sides to cup my heavy breasts and a zip of morality penetrates the sensual mist I’ve been trapped in.

  “What would Creed say,” I ask, swallowing hard. “If he saw us like this?”

  Tilting her head, Isabelle stares off in thought, then brings her gaze back to mine. “Creed isn’t the one I’m worried about.”

  Her words sober me. Does she mean Judge? I place my hands over hers, stopping her from massaging more soap into my skin. And she gets the hint. Smiling, she pulls her hands back to her own person and angles her glistening body, offering me time in the hot stream to wash myself off. As I push off the glass, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

  “Izzy?”

  I stiffen as Creed’s voice jams a steel rod in my spine. Isabelle shivers and turns toward the door. “Come in.”

  “What?” I blurt.

  I bend and snatch Judge’s wet t-shirt off the floor. I slap it against myself, hiding as much of my intimate parts as I can before the door opens. Thanks to the fog on the glass, Creed is nothing but a mass of dark blurry shapes.

  “I brought you clothes. I figured you and Yasmine are similar in size, so I brought her clothes too,” he says. “Are you finished?”

  “No.” Isabelle bends over and grabs Judge’s bottle of men’s shampoo. “Still need to wash my hair.”

  Creed mutters something, then leaves the bathroom. I keep the shirt against my body until five long seconds pass, then I drop it to the tiles again. As if the last ten minutes never transpired between us, Isabelle extends the blue shampoo bottle toward me.

  “I’ll wash yours if you wash mine?”

  J U D G E

  I turned my back to the group of policemen who stood by a far oak tree, talking in hushed tones and planning God knows fucking what. It was only a matter of time before the forensic team got here and combed through the property. Thankfully, we were running on minimal activity since the FBI investigation associated with Blondie wrapped up. Our clubhouse was clean—almost. Whatever they found, I was sure I could throw money or threats to make it go away.

  “I want shotguns in my sidesaddle,” I told Armi. While the cops sniffed around, I’d continue to plan our next run. “If you can spare a few grenades and a flashbang, that’d help too.”

  Nodding, he headed toward the garage. I brushed my hand through my hair and kicked gravel as I turned to face the clubhouse. The fires were out, and the damage was clear. We had some long days ahead if we were gonna repair this shit. It was due for an upgrade anyway. It still held the stench of our old president.

  The sound of the screen door on the side of the clubhouse screeched, pulling my attention. Creed and Blondie strolled out, leaving the door to slap closed behind them. Ayr, Modo, and Hawk eyed them with irritation as they stood off to the left, engaged in quiet conversation.

  The wind blew Blondie’s hair around her face and carried her pale pink summer dress around her thighs. Creed kissed her on the top of the head and headed for the steps as Izzy leaned against the bannister of the porch, brushing her fingers against the burned wood. I frowned. What the hell were they looking at? And why was Creed so damn smug? We were surrounded by carnage and he didn’t care. Not to mention, Blondie would have to face the consequences of her actions. She stormed the barn and interrupted official business. I should take one of her pinky fingers off her hand for the disrespect.

  “What’s with the smirk?” I asked as he closed the distance between us.

  He opened his mouth and I wasn’t prepared for the words he spoke. He told me about Yasmine and Isabelle and what they got up to in the shower. I listened intently, then I checked the date on my phone, and it wasn’t April Fools Day.

  “Minnie and Blondie?” I said, hating how much Creed was enjoying my reaction. “In my fucking shower?”

  I was pissed—turned on too—but mostly pissed. I headed toward the clubhouse, stopping next to Isabelle on my way to find Yasmine. “Giving you my VP wasn’t enough, you want my woman too?”

  “Your woman?” Isabelle reared back and smiled as if it was news to her. “I wasn’t aware anyone claimed her. I was just being friendly.”

  Friendly? You can be friendly without sticking your tongue down someone’s throat. I knew exactly what she was doing. She’s deduced that Creed would be the one I shared Minnie with—if she ever became my old lady—and Isabelle was trying to get in on it. She didn’t want to be left on the sidelines while Creed, Yasmine, and I sealed the deal.

  I stepped forward, sneering at her. “What’s the verdict?” I asked and she frowned. “Do you think Creed will enjoy her?”

  I watched my question drop a bomb on her. It hit a sore spot and ricocheted through her system. Absorbing her flinch as best she could, she shrugged. “He won’t enjoy her as much as he enjoys me, but he’ll suffer through it to make you happy.”

  Suffer through it? Please. When the time came, Yasmine would make Creed forget all about Blondie—albeit temporarily. She’d make him come and that’d put me and him on even ground for the first time in years. I turned my back.

  “She’s a good kisser,” Blondie called after me, her pretty voice a song in the wind. “And so soft between her legs.”

  Modo, Ayr, and Hawk looked in our direction, their eyebrows raised. This Bitch.

  “Who is?” Modo asked, shouldering past Hawk as he approached.

  I glared at Blondie over my shoulder.

  “If James didn’t show up, who knows how far she would’ve let me go.” Her lips quirk at the corner and her blue eyes flash with wicked intent. “All the way, I bet.”

  Creed was there? In my bathroom while Yasmine was naked? My nose twitched and I cut my eyes at Creed who climbed the steps.

  He bared his palms to me. “I didn’t see nothing.”

  Motherfucker.

  “Where is she?” I demanded, storming toward the screen door.

  “Still in the shower. Probably finishing what I started.”

  I flipped Blondie off, hating the way her laughter dug under my skin. It was official. The Devil’s Cartel had turned her into a monster. The Blondie I knew two years ago would die of anxiety at the thought of kissing another wo
man. Now, that was her being friendly.

  I ripped open the door and barreled through the clubhouse to my room. Once inside, I closed the door behind me and rested against its cool wood. The pattering sound of the shower filled the room and the air was warm and damp. I reached behind me and turned the lock, shutting us in. Yasmine wouldn’t leave until her shower with Blondie was a pale comparison to what I could do for her.

  I slipped into the bathroom and sauntered toward the defogging glass box that encased her willowy body. Her back was to me, her long, dark hair wet against her spine, a dark ribbon between her delicate shoulder blades. It was hard for me to imagine she was anything other than a doting mother. I couldn’t picture her with a badge, kicking down doors or shooting her gun, but that was her. I read her file. Yasmine Garcia was an ambitious badass, the pride of every precinct and agency she ever worked at. That should piss me off. It should disgust me that she was so damn good at her job, but it didn’t. A strange sense of pride licked at me.

  She was unstoppable.

  Until she met Elias Vergara.

  The shower door clanked as I grabbed the handle. Yasmine startled with a shriek and whirled around as I yanked the door open.

  “What are you doing—”

  I stepped into the shower, swallowed the distance between us, and pressed my clothed body to hers. Cold water seeped through the fabric of my t-shirt and goosebumps prickled as it kissed my skin. The jets beat against her back and I caught the cold off spray.

  “Water’s cold.” I reached behind her and turned the handle toward heat. “Isabelle was right. She turned you on, huh?”

  Minnie balked. Her eyes went wide, and she scoffed. She was surprised I knew, but she hadn’t been around long enough to know Blondie tells Creed everything. Normally, Creed doesn’t share the details of their quiet whispers, but today, he just couldn’t help himself. Minnie shook her head, but the blush in her cheeks deepened the warmer the water got.

  “I didn’t start it,” she said, her arms draped by her sides. I watched water drip over her cupid’s bow and onto her pink lips. “She kissed me. She did more than kiss me.”