Flamed with Courage: Notorious Devils (Cash Bar Book 3)

by Hayley Faiman

  He growls, releasing me then takes a step back. “Washer and dryer are at the end of this hall. Do whatever the fuck you want,” he announces before he turns and walks out of the room, leaving me alone again.

  I don’t know what just happened, this man confuses me, completely baffles me. I don’t dwell on his words, or his sudden shift in personality—again. Instead, I strip the bed and hurry down the empty hall to the washer and dryer.

  If I’m going to sleep tonight, I’m going to need clean sheets, especially since I don’t have anything to wear aside from this one dress. I can’t think about that, though. I need to focus on one thing at a time.

  FREE

  Leaving Whitley alone in that room probably isn’t the nicest thing. Especially, since I told her that I was going to fuck her without making her my Old Lady. Christ, when she mentioned being a clubwhore, I almost lost my shit. Just because I don’t want to claim her as anything but the woman who shares my bed, doesn’t mean any of my brothers can stick their dicks in her.

  I scrub my hand over my face and continue walking down the hall. Making my way into the bar, my feet don’t stop until I’m marching out the back door. I don’t want to run into DD. I don’t want to explain to her why I dropped her on her ass as soon as Whitley turned away and ran back to my room.

  “Fuck,” I hiss.

  A voice chuckles from next to me and I grunt. It’s Snake. I’m surprised to see him back, but as my eyes scan the parking lot, I notice that it’s a lot fuller than it was when we arrived.

  “You got your hands full with that little thing, I’m guessing,” he grins. The fuck.

  I shove my shoulder against his arm, trying to keep my own laugh inside. It bubbles out and I fail. “What did I do?” I ask on a groan.

  “You acted on instinct. Nothin’ wrong with that. I knew Ginger was mine the second I saw her in the Cash Bar the first time.”

  Shaking my head, I wrap my hand around the back of my neck, rubbing it to release tension. “Only girl I ever knew was mine the second my eyes met hers was Gemma,” I murmur.

  Snake grabs ahold of my shoulder and shakes me. “Don’t lie to me, brother. You lie to Whitley, or you lie to yourself all you want to, but you can’t fucking lie to me. You were a kid when you were with Gemma. Not convinced you’d even still be together today. You were both kids, you have to forgive yourself for that shit,” he states.

  “Can’t forgive myself for murdering her, Snake.”

  Snake pushes off of the wall he’s leaning against and stands in front of me. He glowers at me, his arms crossed over his chest. “You didn’t do a goddamn thing. The Bastards hurt her, then she didn’t get help and she took her own life. None of that shit was your fault. Life fucking happens, Free. Gemma wasn’t strong, in mind or body.”

  “If I would have made her my Old Lady, that shit wouldn’t have happened. They wouldn’t have fucked with her.”

  Snake shakes his head. “Goddamn, brother, that shit was seventeen years ago. You have to fucking forgive yourself for it. You were a punk assed motherfucking kid. Give this shit with Whitley a chance. You brought her here, and she can’t be tossed out, you’re in fucking charge of her.”

  “Is that an official statement?” I spit.

  Snake lifts his chin. “Yeah, brother. That’s fucking official. She’s your fucking responsibility.” He turns to walk away from me but freezes before flipping back around. “And you don’t make something somewhat official, she’ll be a clubgirl,” he announces.

  I watch him walk away and my hands clench into fists. I want to punch the fuck out of him. I want to pummel my own fucking president, my best friend—over a woman. I spit on the dirt in front of my boot, hating myself for doing this.

  Why did I pick her up and carry her away? Why did I all but claim her? Why is she up in my room right this fucking minute?

  Why? Why? Fucking Why?

  Marching over to my bike, I straddle it. Starting my engine, I turn and look up to where I know my room is. I should go back up there, introduce her and show all of these fucks from out of state that she’s mine, but I don’t. I turn my bike toward the entrance gate and I speed off.

  I need a goddamn break.

  I need to be free.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WHITLEY

  Once countless loads of laundry are washed, dried, folded, and put away neatly, I stand in the middle of the room and let out a sigh. It’s clean, and I’m still completely alone. My stomach rumbles and I place my hand over the middle of it. Turning toward the closed door, I slowly make my way over, wrapping my fingers around the knob.

  My breath hitches when the pounding of the music below becomes louder. I hear men’s voices, calls and shouts and I let my hand fall away from the door as I take a step back. I clasp my hands together, wringing them in front of my belly.

  I don’t know what to do, or where to go, but I know that I cannot go outside of this room with the sounds that are beyond that door. Walking over to the window, I decide to look outside.

  The land surrounding me is so much different than the compound, and yet, I still feel like a prisoner. That’s what I am, though, isn’t it? I can’t just walk out of here, and even if I could, where would I go and what would I do?

  A motorcycle comes tearing around the corner of the building and I watch as it comes to a halt. The man riding it kicks a stand down before lifting one leg and stepping off of the bike. He turns toward me, looking up and it’s as if his dark eyes meet mine.

  I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms as I watch him stare up at me. My stomach twists at the sight of him. He lifts his hand and rubs his jaw while he stands with his feet spread. His chest rises and falls, and he shakes his head.

  A woman walks up to him, and I cringe, but she isn’t dressed like the one earlier. She’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt. She wraps her arms around him in a brief hug, and then a man I recognize from the house earlier, tugs her back into his arms.

  They talk, and I watch, wishing that I could read lips. Free nods a few times, lifting his hand to the back of his neck and rubs the tension—tension that is probably because of me.

  The couple leaves him alone, the man clapping him on the shoulder as they walk away. Free doesn’t move, his gaze slowly lifts back up to me. It’s so intense that I wonder if he can see me standing here, or not.

  Then his back straightens, and his feet begin to move. I watch him before he disappears into this building. I don’t expect him to make his way up here anytime soon, not if the sound of below is any indication of the party that’s happening. I’m sure he’ll be partaking in whatever it is parties of the Notorious Devils consist of.

  Walking away from the window, I sit down on the freshly laundered bed and place my hands in my lap. Looking down at my fingers, I twist them, my anxiety at an all-time high. At the compound, I pretty much knew what was expected of me, always. Then, when I became the nanny to Zachary’s children, my anxiety eased, because it was the perfect job for me.

  I was completely invisible.

  The door flies open and hits the wall behind it with a thud. My head snaps up and my eyes widen at the sight in front of me. It’s Free, but the look on his face is primal. His hair is messy from his helmet and I bet if I was brave enough to stand and walk over to him, he’d smell like the outdoors from his ride.

  I watch as he slams the door closed and stomps closer toward me, stopping right in front of me. Craning my neck back, my mouth parts slightly at the same time my thighs shake. Free lifts his hand, wrapping it around the back of my neck, his fingers tangled in my hair and he just stares at me.

  My breathing comes out in pants as I can only stare at him, nothing more, nothing less. “You did all this while I was gone?” he grumbles.

  My head jerks in a nod, my eyes arrested by his dark gaze, my voice still stolen. He grabs ahold of my bicep gently, pulling me up to my feet, his hand never leaving my hair. Free leans forward, his nose sliding alongside mine before his lips ski
m my own.

  I let out an exhale, my body trembling as my eyes slide closed. Free’s soft lips brush against mine again, then he presses them against my own. His tongue peeks out, tasting my lips. I part them, allowing him the entrance he so needs, I’m practically begging for it. His tongue slips past and dives into my mouth.

  He takes from me, tasting every inch of me and my thighs tremble as I attempt to press them together for strength. His hand slides down my arm, abandoning it to wrap around my waist and press his palm flat to my lower back. Free nips my bottom lip, breaking the kiss and I attempt to catch my breath.

  “Wow,” I rasp.

  He chuckles, his hand fisting in the material at my back as he slowly lifts it, bringing my dress to just below my ass. “You wear this shit for any particular reason?” he asks, his voice low and growly.

  “I wear it because it was what was provided for me,” I breathe.

  “No religious reasons?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Before the compound, I dressed like a normal sixteen-year-old,” I shrug.

  He grins, running his nose alongside my own again. His lips brushing my cheek before his mouth travels to my ear. “I think it’s sweet, Kitten,” he murmurs. “But I want it off.”

  My entire body shivers at his words. He slowly pulls the dress up my body and I tremble even harder. I’ve never been naked with a man before, never been seen or touched. I’d never been kissed until his lips touched mine moments ago.

  “Free.”

  He grunts, pulling my dress over my body and leaving me in just my bra and panties. I’m trembling, a complete ball of nerves as he takes a step back from me. His eyes drag up and down my body, as if appraising his new acquisition.

  My hands clench, my nails digging into my palms as nothing but the sound of the base from the party fills the room. “Never, Kitten. Never seen anything so goddamn beautiful,” he exhales.

  I suck in a breath, my eyes meeting his. I don’t know how to respond. All I can do is say his name, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

  “Not a good man, not even fucking close. But, Whitley, I’ll try to do my best by you, Kitten.”

  Biting the corner of my lip, I hesitantly take a step toward him, then another. Placing my hands on his chest, I tip my head back and look into his dark eyes.

  “I don’t want someone who is perfect, Free. You saved me from a fate that was assuredly going to lead me into hell. All I need to know about you is that you saved me.”

  He shakes his head. “Whit, babe. I’m not any kind of fuckin’ prince charming, or white knight. I’m just as fucking evil as the bastards who had you. Difference is, I’m not racist.”

  Sliding my hand up his chest, I wrap my fingers around the side of his neck. “You’re nothing like them.”

  “You don’t know me, Kitten,” he snorts.

  I shake my head, deciding to be daring. Leaning forward, I press my lips to his soft ones, tasting him for just a second before I speak. “I can tell by your eyes, Free. You’re not them.”

  One of his hands wraps around my ass and he squeezes hard. “Glad you believe that, Kitten, because you’re fuckin’ stuck with me.”

  His lips crash against my own and he backs me up to the bed. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I moan as his tongue lazily rolls around my mouth. I don’t dare ask him how long I’m stuck with him for.

  I know men like him, all men, it’s only temporary. He’ll get what he wants, what he desires and craves, and then he’ll be onto the next woman. I just hope that somehow, he takes pity on me, and doesn’t leave me alone and homeless.

  I’ll make him like me. I refuse to be abandoned. Even if that means I become one of the clubgirls later on, I’ll do whatever it takes, to live.

  FREE

  The feel of Whitley’s ass beneath my fingertips combined with the taste of her mouth is goddamn heaven. My cock presses against the zipper of my jeans, begging to be let loose, to slide inside of what I know will be goddamn bliss.

  Gripping her hair tighter, I turn her head to the side, angling her so that I can drive my tongue deeper into her sweet mouth. She tastes so goddamn good, I can only imagine what her untouched pussy tastes like. I feel like a fucking pervert, and yet, I can’t stop.

  Whitley whimpers, I pull her ass closer, pulling her hips to press against mine. Her tits brush against my chest, her hard nipples poking through her bra, I moan at the sensation.

  Sliding my hand from above her panty clad ass, I dip my finger beneath the waistband of her panties, teasing her before I dive beneath the cotton fabric and grab ahold of her bare skin.

  “You taste so good, Kitten,” I murmur against her lips. “Let me taste the rest of you.”

  She lets out the sweetest gasp and I can’t hold in my chuckle. I tug her sweet little cotton panties down as far as I can with one hand, begrudgingly releasing her soft hair so that I can finish the job. Once they’re around her ankles, she steps out of them and I unhook her bra, dragging it down her arms, then tossing it to the side.

  Her body stiffens, but I ignore it. This woman, there’s something about her. I need to have her. I need to claim her, to make her mine. My eyes take in her body and swear to Christ my cock is about to bust my zipper, it’s so fucking hard.

  Whitley isn’t skinny like most girls who hang around here, she’s thick and curvy in all the right spots. She’s a fucking dream. My dream. Someone that I never imagined I could have anywhere near me—she’s goddamn clean. I’m too fucking filthy for her, and yet, here we are. Not because I’m a good man, but because I’m the opposite.

  Taking a step closer to her, I dip my chin, leaning down and place a kiss on the center of her throat. She lifts one of her hands to my shoulder and holds on, her grip tight as her nails score my skin. Wrapping my hands around her hips, I apply slight pressure and she slowly sits on the edge of the bed.

  Bending my knees, I sink down in front of her. Placing my hands on the inside of her legs, I spread her thighs.

  “Free, no,” she protests.

  Glancing back up at her, I narrow my eyes. Her lips clamp shut, but I can tell she’s terrified. Her entire body continues to tremble, and while I should be trying to calm her uneasiness, I find it a goddamn turn on. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced innocence quite like this before, and I fucking love it.

  Pressing my lips to the inside of her knee, I taste her with my tongue before slowly moving closer to her pussy. Whitley slowly relaxes her legs, allowing me more room, which I need for my shoulders. When my tongue tastes the juncture of her thigh, gently sucking on her skin, she moans. Looking up at her, I watch as her head falls back.

  Her pussy isn’t shaved, it’s trimmed neatly and although it would typically not be something I would give a fuck about, I find that I like her more natural state, for now. Lifting my hand, I run my finger through her short curls.

  “Don’t, oh my God,” she groans, trying to push me away.

  Wrapping my fingers around her thighs, I hold her legs open, lifting my head to look up at her. “Never tell me no, Whitley. Not when it comes to this. I think you’re so fucking sexy, Kitten. Don’t push me away when all I want to do is show you how goddamn irresistible you are.”

  Her mouth drops open slightly, and I grin, because she’s just that cute. “Okay, Free. I’ve just… I never…”

  I shake my head once. “Yeah, Whit. I know you never. I’m going to be your first everything, Kitten. I’m going to own you, aren’t I?”

  She nods, biting on the corner of her lips. Lifting one of my hands, I wrap my fingers in the back of her hair, around her neck. “I’m scared,” she rasps.

  “Of me?” I demand, a little harsher than I should.

  Whitley shakes her head, her amber eyes wide and goddamn wild. “Of everything. Of this life, of my future, of everything,” she admits on a whisper.

  I curse, standing up and taking a step back from her. I shouldn’t be doing this, not now, not to her. “Why would you let me i
n there, Whitley?” I demand, planting my hands on my hips.

  Her wide eyes meet mine and I already know the answer, she doesn’t even have to say it. “Because you saved me, and you own me, Free.”

  Turning my back to her, I run my hand through my hair. “Go to bed, Whitley. Use one of my shirts or something. I’ll get someone to take you shopping tomorrow. Just, fuck, go to bed.”

  “Free?” she asks as I take a couple of steps toward the door.

  I turn my head to look at her. She has tears swimming in her eyes and I hate myself for causing them, but the alternative would be so much worse.

  I would break her, fucking demolish her and she wouldn’t even know what was happening.

  “Go to sleep, Whitley.”

  Wrenching the door open, I slam it closed behind me. Leaning against the closed door, I take in a deep breath.

  Fuck.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I scrub my hand over my face, shaking myself out, then make my way toward the party. I need a fucking drink. My head is more fucked up now than it’s ever been, and that includes all the shit that happened with Gemma. That alone makes me feel guilty as fuck.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHITLEY

  I sit, naked and frozen on the edge of the bed, my body practically vibrating. My eyes are glued to the door. I don’t know what to do, or what to think. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.

  If Free doesn’t want me, what does that mean for my future? I have to make him want me. I have to make him desire me—I just don’t know how to do that.

  Standing, I walk over to his dresser and open the middle drawer. There, folded neatly, and stacked are his black t-shirts. Grabbing the top one, I pull it on over my head and let it drop down my body before shoving my arms inside. Closing the drawer, I turn and walk toward the bed.

  Slipping between the sheets, I curl into a ball on one side and close my eyes. I’m exhausted and hungry. I need sleep and maybe, just maybe, things will look brighter in the morning.