The Devil's Scars (The Road Devils MC Book 1)

by Marysol James

  “Thank you,” Zoe said in a low voice. “For everything – for having my back for all this time with Keira, for taking care of her for free all those days I took a double shift, for bringing her to me today. For taking time off work and taking care of her until I find a babysitter here. You’re a true friend, as much as Wolf is, and I’m damn lucky to have two people like you in my life.”

  “Bah,” Willa said, a bit embarrassed at all the naked emotion. “I’ve never done anything for you that you wouldn’t for me in a heartbeat, if the roles were reversed. And besides…” She smiled at Keira. “I love her. I love you. You know that, Zee.”

  “I know. I love you, too. And I promise, I’ll find a babysitter as fast as I can, so you can get back home. I’m meeting three potentials tomorrow after work, so maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  “You think I’m in a neck-breaking rush to get back to flipping Fargo?” Willa snorted. “Nah, babe. Take your time sorting out the child care. Do it right. I’m happy to stay here, hang out, look at the mountains.” She grinned. “Maybe check out your step instructor… and Wolf. Maybe even bed a hot bad-boy biker before dragging my ass back to the drudgery of ringing up sales for grumpy customers at the local Costco.”

  “B-i-t-c-h.” Zoe grinned back, knowing full well that Willa would never make a move on Scars or Wolf: she was a woman who understood the meaning of both friendship and sisterhood. “Have some more coffee while I put Keira down for her nap.” She scooped up her amazing, perfect daughter, gave her a kiss on the nose. “C’mon, sweet baby. Come see the pretty present that the bikers bought you.”

  **

  Scars shut the front door and knelt down, his ams open wide. His three-year-old niece Cindy squealed and tore at the speed of light down the hall to him. A big part of him still couldn’t quite believe that she wasn’t fazed or freaked out by his scars, especially the ones on his face, but to nothing but his eternal relief, Cindy was fine with how he looked.

  Oh, of course she’d asked, pretty early on. She’d touched the shiny white marks on his cheeks, his forearms, his hands, and she’d asked him if it had hurt him when he’d gotten them. For just a second, maybe two, he’d flashed back to the feeling of being burned alive, of his flesh melting off his bones, of how it had smelled to be on fire. God, the smell of his skin burning – that was what haunted his dreams still, even more than twenty years later.

  But he’d just smiled at Cindy, and said, “Yeah, honey. It hurt when it happened.”

  She’d nodded solemnly, and in a gesture so sweet that it had fucking knocked the breath from his chest, she’d raised his right hand to her mouth and kissed the biggest scar on it. And that was it… Cindy never asked again, and God knows, she never shrank back or looked at him like he was a freak. Instead, every time she saw him, she launched herself at him like she couldn’t wait to give him a hug.

  “Uncle Vic! Uncle Vic!”

  “Hey baby face,” Scars said as she ran full-tilt into his chest. His arms closed around Cindy and he stood up, cuddling her close. “How’s it shaking?”

  She giggled. “Shaking good.”

  “Atta girl.” He looked over Cindy’s dark head and nodded at his younger brother, taking the time to get a good look at him. “Hey, Sam.”

  “Hi.” Sam’s brown eyes were tired behind his glasses, and Scars saw dark purple half-moons under them. His dark hair was tousled and messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed despite it being pretty late on Sunday afternoon, and his clothes looked a bit thrown-on-in-a-rush. Then again, Sam was raising Cindy on his own, and balancing insane shifts at the hospital, and somewhere in all of that chaos, he had to eat and sleep and shower.

  Oh, Scars was doing his part, as best he could. He babysat often, took Cindy to her therapy sessions once a week, sometimes twice, and brought Sam take-out when he had to rush from work back home in the evening, and Scars figured that cooking dinner after a sixteen-hour shift in the E.R. was too exhausting.

  Not that Scars was alone in supporting Sam, of course: he smiled as Annie Matthews appeared carrying a tray of cups, saucers, a coffee pot, and plates of cookies.

  “Hey, Annie,” he said, walking down the hall, still holding Cindy close. “How’s you, darlin’?”

  “Good, thanks,” Annie replied, heading into the living room at a rapid pace, giving him a tiny smile that had more than a hint of nerves. “You?”

  “Yeah. Good. Glad to see you guys.”

  She nodded, started pouring out the coffee without further comment and with far more concentration than was strictly required – especially considering that the woman had worked full-time as a diner waitress for going on twenty-plus years. Scars let the conversation stop there, though, and with no real hard feelings.

  Scars let it lie because he knew damn good and well that Annie wasn’t totally relaxed around him yet, and he didn’t blame her much. He knew what he looked like, what he sounded like, what kind of rep he had as VP of The Road Devils. To be fair, though, her daughter Sarah had just married Jax Hamill – owner of Dangerous Curves bar, Scars’ second-favorite drinking spot on the planet – and according to Sam, Annie had welcomed Jax into the family with open arms.

  Sam had assured Scars that Annie was actually semi-fine being around him, but she just needed time to show that. She was cautious by nature, protective of Sam and Cindy, and she knew a thing or two about what trouble looked like in male form.

  So Scars was cool with waiting for Annie to come around if and when she wanted. She was an incredible girlfriend to Sam, which was a big plus; her kindness and love to Cindy was an even bigger one. After all, Cindy was Sam’s daughter, but not Annie’s, and Cindy’s sudden appearance in Sam’s life just a couple of months earlier had almost ended their relationship.

  Sam hadn’t known about Cindy, hadn’t even had a clue that he was a father, until his ex-live-in-girlfriend Kathleen had shown up with Cindy in tow, and dropped the bomb. DNA tests confirmed that Kathleen was a snake and a bitch and a cheater, but not a liar (about paternity, anyway), and Sam had moved Kathleen and Cindy in with him, worked to figure out how to make it work. And Annie had stepped aside and back from the relationship with Sam – and effectively ended things between them. She’d wanted to give Sam a chance to work things out with Kathleen, if it was at all possible, and she’d wanted him to get to know his daughter. She hadn’t wanted to be a distraction, so she’d removed herself from the situation completely.

  When Kathleen had taken off one day – just walked out and abandoned Cindy while Sam slept after a shift – she’d left behind documents relinquishing any and all rights to her daughter. Scars wasn’t a Dad, though he did want to be, but he couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around that selfish, horrible, devastating decision. How the hell did the woman do that? How did anyone do that? How the fuck did they live with themselves after?

  Scars and Sam knew a thing or two about losing parents suddenly, so it hadn’t been a surprise to Scars when his brother had stepped up to take care of his daughter. Gotten her in therapy twice a week, found an incredible babysitter that Cindy trusted, cut back on his hours a bit at the hospital, worked damn hard to get his daughter to see him as a calm, steady, reliable presence in her blown-apart little world.

  And Annie had come back to Sam, eventually, after a bit of time. Scars understood that they were taking it slow for Cindy’s sake, letting her get to know Annie, trust her, maybe even love her one day. Sam and Annie’s relationship was going to go at whatever pace Cindy could handle – and Scars had nothing but admiration for them and that decision. If it took Cindy five years to be ready for them to all live together, or for Sam and Annie to get married, then they were going to wait.

  Scars took a deep breath, reminded himself that sometimes the best things had to be waited for and won over. Coaxed and convinced; shown that what was being offered was genuine and could be trusted.

  I’m gonn
a see Zoe again tomorrow, and we are gonna talk. Hell, yeah, we are.

  He looked over at Annie now, took in the tiny streaks of gray in her long auburn hair, smiled. She was older than his brother by fifteen years, and had two grown kids, and worked in a crappy diner, and lived in a bad neighborhood, and Scars really and truly didn’t give a shit about any of that. All he saw when he looked at Annie Matthews was a woman who understood sacrifice for a child – even if that child wasn’t hers – and that was worthy of respect. It was something that both Annie and Sam understood.

  And Zoe too.

  He sat down on the living room sofa, and Cindy cuddled up next to him. He accepted a cup of coffee from Annie, then leaned back and took a sip, started to let the tension drain from his large body. He was exhausted from the night before, for more than one reason.

  The sex with Zoe had been earth-shatteringly incredible, of course, but even though he’d been drained from it, he knew that if she hadn’t left, he’d have gone for at least three more rounds with her. Preferably at his place in his large bed, then in his spacious shower, then on the kitchen counters, then maybe back to the bed, but really, he’d have made it work anywhere. He was sure that he’d be able to figure out how to get back inside that hot little body even if they’d been trapped in a tuna can.

  For that woman, Scars would do anything to hold her close, to drive his cock into her welcoming warmth, to watch her fall apart under him, all around him. To swallow her cries of release into his mouth, before driving into that hot, wet pussy deeper and harder – almost too deep and too hard – then shattering into a million pieces himself, just being blown to bits and floating away, like stardust in the air.

  Reminding himself that getting hard here and now was a terrible idea, Scars wrenched his thoughts away from the look on Zoe’s face when she’d come for him while riding his cock. God, he’d never seen anything so pure or beautiful, not in the whole his hard, rough life.

  But really, he wasn’t just wiped out because of his mind-blowing orgasm and the killer sex session. No, what was really making him drag his ass today was the fact that he hadn’t slept a wink the night before. Too much on his mind. Way too much.

  He’d watched Zoe tear out of the back room like a bat out of hell, then just kind of stood there for a while in his underwear, wondering just where the actual fuck things had gone so wrong between the two of them. All that soft, murmuring warmth replaced by a cold, hard woman throwing insults and spewing venom. What had he done to bring on that change? He was pretty sure nothing – but from what he knew of Zoe from Wolf, the woman wasn’t a head case, so the theory that she’d flipped out because she was a nutbar didn’t really hold water. So what, then?

  Eventually, he’d gotten dressed, headed back to the bar and checked in with Cole. Glanced around to ensure that things were cool and under control, and he’d spent the next three hours sitting at the bar alone, drinking plain Coke with ice and chatting with Cora and Jasmine, two of the bar waitresses. He’d also given every drunk female eyeing him up the cold shoulder. Well, more than cold, really. Glacial.

  He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that Zoe had ruined him for all other women. No matter how tempting the breasts spilling out of those little tops, or how firm and curvy the thighs exposed in those skirts, or how taut and rounded the ass as they flirted with him, he wanted none of it. None of them. True enough, he never really had, and his time with Zoe had just put the last nail in that coffin.

  Give him the silken blade; the honeyed edge; the icy flame. Give him Zoe, in all her glory and fire. Give him days talking to her and making her laugh, then give him nights buried between her thighs, his hands cupping her breasts and his thumbs teasing her nipples.

  Give him her every mood, her every fear, her every worry, her every demon, and let him hold her hand as she faced those fuckers down. She wasn’t the kind of woman who needed saving, because she damn well could save herself and Scars knew that, but he didn’t want to save her. He just wanted to have the astonishing gift and privilege of being the man that she turned to when her strength flagged, or she needed a hug. He just wanted to be in her life, and he’d do a lot to have that. Even just a little place, just for a little while.

  Yeah. Fucking ruined. Totally toast. Just like that, and so damn quick.

  At about five in the morning, he’d nodded at Cole and the waitresses, then headed out back to the private parking lot reserved for the club motorcycles. Ignoring the grunts, moans, and cries coming from the club delivery van – though he did idly think that it was Vixen in there with one of his brothers, and no big fucking shock, since the woman was working her way through the MC like clockwork, and probably for the third time – he’d strapped on his helmet and peeled on out of there. He’d arrived at his cabin up in the Rockies just as dawn was breaking. He’d made a coffee, then sat on his porch, still in his leather jacket and cut, and watched the sun rise. Pink and gold, and so bright and gorgeous, it hurt his eyes.

  Like Zoe.

  Fuck, the woman was in his head.

  He’d sat there for hours in the crisp late-spring morning, telling himself that he should go get some sleep, but just not getting up to do more than pour more coffee and make a bunch of sandwiches. He brought everything back to his porch, propped his booted feet up on the railing, and ate and drank while staring out at the calm beauty of the mountains. Just breathed and thought, made some promises to himself and made some decisions… and one included talking to his younger, smarter, way more successful and civilized brother, who was now a single Dad to a sweet little girl.

  Maybe Sam would understand Zoe better than Scars ever could? Maybe he could give his rough, idiotic, big brother a goddamn hint? Because right this minute, Scars would pay whatever was sitting in his bank account and buy a fucking clue, if it pointed him in the right direction.

  At about noon, he’d dragged himself into the shower, then out to Sam’s house. He’d hoped that Annie would be there, though it was no guarantee, because he didn’t want to talk about this in front of Cindy. All’s he had to do now was figure out how to get Sam away from the ladies.

  Turns out, he didn’t have to scheme at all: after about half an hour, Annie took Cindy off to the kitchen to make cookies together. They did this pretty often, according to Sam, just headed off to bake and cook all alone, and it seemed that this was the gentle, unobtrusive way that Annie was letting Cindy get to know her. The food was a bonus, Scars supposed, but the true good thing was the kindness and patience that Annie was extending to this confused, hurting little girl. Besides, Cindy loved ‘helping’ – though Scars couldn’t imagine that she did much more than make a huge mess – and Annie treated her as an equal in the kitchen.

  So yeah, it was fair to say that Scars liked Annie just fine. He watched Annie hold out her hand to Cindy, watched Cindy take it without hesitation, watched them trot off to the kitchen a couple of rooms over. They chattered happily the whole time, and he liked the way that Cindy leaned into Annie. Like she wanted to be closer, as close as possible.

  “So.” Sam stretched a bit, his shoulder muscles straining against his t-shirt. He wasn’t as broad or built as Scars was, but the man hit the hospital gym regularly and it showed. “What’s up with you?”

  “Oh, you know. Mostly looking for ways to run the bar better.”

  Sam nodded. “You ready to maybe take some of those skills and run something besides a biker bar?”

  Scars had to fight not to roll his eyes, but it wasn’t easy to stop himself from doing it, even at his kid brother. This was a conversation that they’d had many times in the past, and he was sure that they’d be having it many times in the future.

  “C’mon, Sam,” Scars said, keeping his tone measured. “You know I’m not leaving the bar, not ever. It’d be like leaving my family, and I’m not doing that unless I’m kicked out – and I’m never going to do anything to have that happen. I’m at Satan’
s and in the clubhouse, and that’s where I’m staying.”

  “Vic, look… plenty of the guys are in the MC but hold down jobs elsewhere. Not everyone works at the bar or the tattoo parlor or the garage. Moving on to a new workplace doesn’t mean walking away from Wolf and the others. You can do both.”

  “Not as Veep, I can’t. That position means being on the ground as much as possible, in case something happens, or a decision needs to be made, or my Prez needs some back-up or even just an ear. If I’m worrying about earning a living from a full-time job in some other place, then I’m not gonna be able to give the boys and the club my attention.”

  “Well…” Sam shifted a bit, looking uncomfortable. “Maybe – maybe you can step down?”

  “Maybe I can –” Scars stared at his brother, dumbfounded. “Maybe I can fucking what?”

  “Step down,” Sam said, starting to speak in a rush, like he wanted to say what was on his mind before his courage failed him, or Scars walked out. “Stay in the club, of course, but just as a general member, not the Vice-President. That way you’d be able to take all the hospitality management skills that you have, and find work somewhere else – maybe in a bar or restaurant, maybe even a hotel. You could still be part of things, but not so much… part of things.”

  Scars blinked. “I don’t – where the fuck’s all this coming from?”

  “Seriously?” Sam said, and now his voice rose a bit. “You think I haven’t always felt this way, Vic, right from the beginning, for you to not be totally involved and immersed?”

  “Well… yeah. But –”

  “No ‘buts’, OK? Look…” Sam took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself. “Look. I know why you joined the MC, and I understood and God knows, I benefitted – but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t hated it from the time I got old enough to properly understand what it all meant. When I was at college and med school, all paid for by your risky and illegal Road Devils work and I knew that, I spent years worrying that you’d come home dead after some out-of-state drug run for Kirk Jensen, or some raid on your clubhouse by a rival MC. When I started working at the hospital, I looked for you in every ambulance, on every gurney, on every operating table. I kept waiting for you to die right in front of me, Vic, just like Mom and Dad – and that I’d be just as helpless to save you as I was to save them.”