Devil's Love

by Kim Jones

  Smiling, she smacks my arm playfully. Then grows serious—dropping her eyes to the cigarette in her fingers. “Seeing Dallas so upset was the only reason I didn’t put up a fight. It seemed to give her peace that I was getting help. After everything she’s done for me, it was the least I could do. Truth is, at that time, I did need it. Maybe not for those reasons, but for so many others.”

  I’m pretty sure some of those reasons were because of me. It makes me feel like shit. “I didn’t know,” I say, hoping to lessen my guilt. “Luke never said a word about it.”

  “I asked him not to. I didn’t want you to worry.” Her expression becomes thoughtful. “Not to change the subject, but can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.” Leaning back in my seat, I give her my undivided attention.

  “And you’ll answer honestly?”

  “Always.” Maybe … I guess it really depends on what she asks.

  She drops her gaze, swirling the spoon around her empty cereal bowl. “Have you been with anyone since me … You know … Before you went to jail?” Aw shit. Here we go.

  “Maddie,” I start, not wanting to head down that road.

  “Marty.” She gives me a challenging look that makes me feel uneasy. I don’t like it.

  I stare at her a long time before answering. She keeps her face impassive—a tactic she learned from Luke. I hate not being able to read her. If I could, I’d know whether to lie or tell the truth. But lying is pointless. We’re both adults here.

  “Yes.” My short answer doesn’t surprise her. Actually, she’s not effected at all.

  “Who.” It’s not a question, but a demand.

  I laugh, stubbing out my cigarette and already wanting another one. “Does it matter?”

  “It matters,” she says, not bothering to explain why.

  “No one you know. I promise.”

  “I know Delilah.” Her quick response makes me smile.

  “I didn’t fuck Delilah.”

  She huffs out a short laugh. “You expect me to believe that? Before Bryce came along, she fucked everybody.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you believe, babe. I’m telling you she didn’t fuck me. And it’s the truth.”

  Her eyes narrow, studying me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m lying. “So … have you been with anyone since you got out.” She drops her head. “I mean, other than me?” She gazes up at me from beneath her lashes.

  This conversation is so amusing I want to lie just to see her reaction. But I stick to the truth. “No, Maddie. I haven’t.”

  Is this her way of asking me to be monogamous? “Me neither,” she says, and I can’t deny the relief I wasn’t expecting. In five years, I’m sure she’s been with other men. But knowing I’m the only man that’s touched her since I’ve been out, has the possessiveness inside me coming alive.

  Grabbing the bowl, she slides off the counter—her body dangerously close to mine. When our elbows touch, the small, innocent gesture awakens my dick—and she notices.

  The corner of her mouth tips up as she leans in—her head inches from my cock. Then she speaks to him—my dick. And tells him words no dick should ever have to hear.

  “Down boy.”

  After a cold shower, I throw on some sweats and a T-shirt before joining Maddie in the living room. She’s lying on the couch, under a pile of blankets, surrounded by pillows. She always was a cuddler, and I see some things never change.

  “What you watching?” I ask, lifting her legs so I can sit on the end of the couch. I place her feet in my lap, and mindlessly begin rubbing them. Suddenly aware of what I’m doing, I pause to look at her. She’s smiling.

  “Just like old times.”

  I look down at my hands on her. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

  I lean my head against the back of the couch, as we sit in silence—me rubbing her feet, her eyes becoming heavy … some show on T.V. that neither of us are really watching.

  There’s something about her simple touch that I find more pleasurable than I did when I was inside of her. It’s more intimate—something I didn’t realize I was craving until now. I miss holding a woman. I miss the flood of protective instincts that come with saving a woman. I miss the set of my jaw, the clench of my fists and the glare in my eyes when I warn off predators from harming a woman. But it’s not just any woman I miss—it’s this one.

  I still don’t think there’s another woman who could make me feel like she did. And I know there’s not another man on this planet who can handle Maddie the way I do. That time in our lives ruined us for any hope of finding something as special as what we had. Maybe it was just the excitement of new love. Or maybe it was real. Either way, it doesn’t matter now. Prison has a way of taking more than just time from you. It takes your whole fucking life. Your desires. Your dreams. Your hopes … everything. And it doesn’t just affect you, it affects the people you care about.

  It might not be my fault, but my absence had a huge impact on Maddie—something I wasn’t even aware of until a few hours ago. But it’s not the meltdown Maddie had that concerns me most, it’s the way Dallas panicked today. Her anger toward Maddie. The “give her an inch, she takes a mile” remark. Why was she so set on controlling her? More importantly, how did Maddie deal with that shit on a daily basis?

  “You’re thinking too hard,” she says, twisting slightly so she can get a better view of me. Her toes wiggle in my hands. “I know that because when you’re deep in thought, you suck at everything else you’re doing.” She looks pointedly at her feet.

  I smile—lifting her foot to my mouth before placing a kiss on her toe. “My bad. I’ll do better, boss.”

  “So what is it you’re thinking so hard about? Missing the community showers?” Her joke is funny to her, but I give her a serious look. Her laughter fades—replaced with a sympathetic look. “Was it hard? You know, in there?” I can sense an underlying meaning to her question. It forces me to drop the façade and grin at her.

  “What are you really asking, Maddie?”

  It takes her a minute, and when her cheeks redden, I already know what’s on her mind. So instead of embarrassing her, I answer the unspoken question. “No, babe. I didn’t get ass raped in prison.”

  Relief flashes in her eyes and she makes no attempt at hiding it. Breathing out a laugh, I shake my head. “You really think I’d let that happen?” She really needed to stop watching prison shows.

  “I worried about you,” she whispers, not meeting my eyes. “Did you miss me?”

  “Yes.” My immediate response has me wondering why in the hell I haven’t told her yet. “And now?” I give her a confused look and she elaborates. “Do you miss me now?”

  Do I? Maybe not in this moment, but that’s not what she’s asking. So I opt for the truth. “I don’t know.”

  She looks up at me, her brows drawing together. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

  I swallow hard—readying myself for an admission that could potentially change my life. I have no idea what it is, but judging by the way she’s struggling to say it, I have a feeling it’s gonna be painful for her to admit. And when Maddie feels pain, I feel it too.

  “I left you because it was time for me to step up and take care of myself.” My heart hammers in my chest. Here it is—after all these years. I’m finally getting the truth. And it’s not what I was expecting. “As long as I had you in my life, I felt like I didn’t have to be strong. I knew you’d handle everything. It didn’t take me long to realize that my dependence on you was my greatest weakness. I wanted out from under your watchful eye … away from the club and their overprotective ways. I wanted freedom.”

  When those sad blue eyes meet mine, there’s a pain that’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen in them. “But I’ve never known freedom. My life is a fucking prison. Decisions are made for me. Every detail of my existence is documented in a book. I can’t even go see my son without a convoy of bikes trailin
g behind me.” Tears well in her eyes at the mention of Logan. “Even he has a protective instinct when it comes to me.”

  Trying to make light of the situation, I smile. “He had some good teachers.” She lets out a laugh, dabbing her eyes with her fingers. “You should be proud your son is gonna grow into a man who will protect what’s his. Having the MC in your life is an honor. But I’ve been to prison, babe. And it fucking hurts to think you feel like you’re living in one. I never want that for you. Not then. Not now.”

  The moments that follow are long and painful. We’re both silent—processing each other’s words. She left me because she needed independence—something her family refused to give her. Something I refused to give her. There’s no room for regret now. If prison taught me anything, it’s that you can’t control what happened in the past. All we can do is learn from mistakes and move forward.

  I light a cigarette—watching Maddie as she fights some internal battle. I can’t decipher what it is. One moment she’s pained. The next, thoughtful. Sad. Angry. Confused. I lean closer so I can take her chin in my fingers.

  “Hey,” I say, rubbing my thumb over her cheek. “Don’t worry, babe. Shit like this always seems to work itself out.”

  She shakes her head as if she’s trying to clear it. When she looks at me again, she’s smiling—not a single trace of uncertainty or sadness registers. “I’m not worried, babe.” I smile at the endearment. And because she seems better, I feel better too. “I can handle Dallas’s outrageous demands if it keeps her off my back and out of my business. Besides…”

  Her fingers curl around the cigarette between my lips. She takes a long drag, the corner of her lip turning up in a mischievous grin. “I’ve developed my own way of dealing with the shit in my life.”

  “And what’s that?” I ask, intrigued and a little apprehensive.

  She smirks, her eye closing on a wink. “Therapy.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Maddie

  I’d always imagined the inside of a psychiatrist’s office as what you see on T.V.—long leather couch, a clock on the wall and a set of silver balls that tick back and forth in an attempt to drive you fucking crazy. My predictions were spot on. And after three years, not one damn thing has changed.

  I’m inside Dr. Yarborough’s office, stretched out on the leather sofa that is more comfortable than my own bed. I’ve hidden the silver balls beneath the couch—like I’ve done since my first session. The good doctor sits across from me in a matching leather chair. The notebook in his lap holds all my deepest secrets. Or four years of doodling.

  We have a pretty good arrangement. I tell him the truth. He doesn’t repeat it. It’s nice having someone to confide in. Especially when that someone has to keep your secrets. Or lose his license.

  “I haven’t seen you in three months. Is there a reason?” Dr. Yarborough starts, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy to come see your favorite therapist?” he quips.

  “You’re my only therapist. But yes. I’ve been too busy to come see you. I told you the last time I was here I might not be back for a while.”

  “You view our meetings as some sort of confession instead of therapy. Something to help lessen the guilt of what you’re doing. I say that because no matter what advice I give you, you never listen. So…” He crosses his legs and settles in, looking at me over his glasses. “Confess.”

  “Actually, I think I need a little therapy today, doc.” He looks surprised. He scribbles in his notebook while I light a cigarette. “My ex just got out of prison. He’s been staying at my house. I think I might be falling in love with him.” Saying it out loud makes it feel even more real. I take a deep pull from my cigarette to calm my racing heart.

  “Is that something you were hoping to avoid?”

  I shake my head. “I guess I never really thought about it. My biggest concern is what he’ll think of me when he discovers what I’ve been doing since he’s been gone.”

  Dr. Yarborough’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “You think he’ll find out?”

  I almost laugh. “I know he’ll find out eventually. He’s pretty perceptive. But seeing him has reminded me why I’m doing this. Now that I’m so near finishing what I started, I’m afraid he’s going to step in and try to stop me. More than that, I’m afraid if he does, I’ll resent him for it.”

  “I think you need to tell him. After all, it was that night six years ago that started all of this. And from what you’ve told me, he’s not even aware.”

  Sitting up, I stub out the cigarette and light another. “If I tell him, he’s going to feel responsible.”

  “Isn’t he?”

  My eyes narrow on the doctor. I don’t like him thinking of Marty as some villain—even though I’ve painted him that way. “Marty isn’t the bad guy here. He’s one of the good ones. Any resentment I had toward him has faded. I’m not his property. I’m not his problem. I’m solely accountable for my actions. What I do is for me and nobody else.”

  “I thought this was about your savior. The one who showed up when Marty didn’t.” Well, he has me there.

  “That’s Whitney’s problem.”

  He smiles. “Ah. Whitney. I haven’t heard you speak of her in a while.”

  “She’s been too busy dealing with her pain in the ass sister,” I mutter. “But that’s all about to change.”

  “Really?” That got his attention. “Why now? Did something happen?”

  “Let’s just say the end of all this is near. In a week, all of this will be over. And we’ll have to find something else to talk about.”

  His face pales a little. “Maddie…” he starts, losing that professional demeanor as he runs his fingers through his hair and grabs one of my smokes. “Don’t take this too far.” He doesn’t say it outright, but I know what he’s insinuating. He doesn’t want me to kill anyone. So far, I haven’t. But in the end, it’s inevitable.

  “Like I said. That will be Whitney’s problem.”

  He rolls his eyes. The motion makes me want to smile. “I don’t care if you call yourself Maddie, Whitney or Snuffaluffagus.” I quirk a brow. “In the end it will be you who pays the price.”

  He’s right. I know this. But I’ve been taught loyalty my entire life. Six years ago, someone saved me. Three years after that, I finally got my opportunity to return the favor. It’s taken time. Strategy. Long days and never-ending nights. I’m too fucking close to back out now.

  Standing, I offer Dr. Yarborough my best, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, doc. I got this.”

  To hell with the consequences. I’d made a promise. I plan to keep it. For the next week, I’ll be the woman who lives the next seven days to their full potential. The woman who will reunite with the only man who’s ever loved her. The woman everyone knows me as—Maddie Pittman, Property of Devil’s Renegades.

  Then I’ll transform into the woman I always knew existed somewhere deep inside me. The one who remembers how love can ruin you. The one who nobody will ever stake claim on.

  The Rebel.

  The Vigilante.

  The Righteous Killer.

  My other half—Whitney.

  “How’d it go?” Marty asks, lighting a cigarette then passing it to me.

  I’ve been home ten minutes from my appointment, and already he’s getting the info he needs to pass along to Dallas. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t already called him a hundred times. So since he’s fishing for shit to tell her, I tell him what she’ll want to hear.

  “Good. I feel better. Always do.” I offer a shrug and avoid his eyes. “I don’t know why I refuse to go sometimes. I guess it’s the rebel in me. There’s something liberating about defying Dallas. Even if that means missing out on something that benefits me.”

  He looks at me like he knows I’m full of shit. But he doesn’t comment. Thankfully.

  “Anyway,” I start, stubbing out the cigarette, “since I had to get up at the ass
crack of dawn, I’m going to take a nap. But first, I’m going to shower before flies start swarming me.” He smiles, but once again, remains silent.

  I almost want to tell him the truth. But knowing Marty, he’ll find out soon enough. I just hope like hell it’s all over before he does.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Maddie

  The girl in the mirror looks back at me, trying to convince me that I am her. Wiping the steam from the mirror, I try to find myself, but who I see isn’t Maddie—or at least not the Maddie Marty remembers.

  My boobs are bigger, and gravity is a bitch. They once stood at attention, now they sag slightly and only look good when I wear a bra that pushes them back in their rightful position. My once flat and toned stomach is now pudgy. I pinch the fat between my fingers, then watch it jiggle as I release it.

  Turning, I look over my shoulder at my ass that has not only widened, but sticks out further and wiggles with the slightest movement. I notice dimples on my thighs and a wave of nausea hits me. It’s official—I’m fat.

  Red said the weight looked good on me. Dallas said a size twelve was the new six. But that was easy for them to say—their bodies haven’t changed a fucking bit. I’d put on forty pounds since Marty left. And now, I am feeling every ounce of it.

  Because tanned fat looks better than white fat, I’d stayed committed to the tanning bed. But even the golden glow of my skin isn’t enough to make me feel better—considering Marty returned after five years looking like sin and sex and everything delicious. It isn’t fair.

  He’d fucked me twice since he got out. And neither time did he see me completely naked. With any luck, maybe he never will. But I won’t deprive myself of sex just because I’ve gained weight. I’ll just have to get creative. We haven’t fucked in a vehicle in a while … maybe we’ll do that next.

  With one last glance at my reflection, I switch off the light and walk into my bedroom which adjoins my bathroom. I sift through my dresser in search of some underwear. I choose a pair of panties that, even with my weight gain, have always made me feel sexy. After I slip on a T-shirt, I don’t bother drying my hair or even brushing it.