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

by Marysol James

  Scars seemed to find the gurgles adorable, too. He gazed at Keira, taking in her blonde curls and large brown eyes. He looked at Zoe, then back at the baby.

  “She’s got your hair, huh?”

  “She’s got Hailey’s hair,” Zoe corrected him as she reached down to retrieve the teething ring at her feet. “It’s just that me and my sister had the same hair. Got it from our Mom.”

  “The brown eyes are from your sister, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  Scars nodded. “So can I set this pizza down?”

  “Oh… yeah, of course.” Zoe waved in the direction of the kitchen. “Over there’s good.”

  He wandered off and started to open and shut cabinets, taking down plates and wine glasses, clearly at home. Zoe wondered how many times he’d been over here, maybe drinking beers with Silver and the boys in the backyard. She trailed behind him, glanced down at Keira. The baby was watching Scars avidly, now hugging the bunny tightly.

  “You’re making goo-goo eyes at him,” Zoe whispered, kissing Keira on the top of her head, wondered if she was talking to her daughter or to herself. “You’ve fallen for the charm, have you? Careful, little flower – careful of any man who comes bearing gifts, and especially this one.”

  “I know you’re vegetarian,” Scars said as she reached the kitchen. “Rebel told me.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I got you a pizza with double cheese, mushrooms, and mild red pepper. Cool?”

  “Yeah. Damn near perfect, actually. Almost what I’d order myself.”

  “What’d I miss?”

  “Black olives.”

  “So I did OK.” He flashed her that gorgeous, rare, knee-weakening grin, the one that was fast becoming her personal kryptonite, then turned his attention to the drawer, on the hunt for the corkscrew. “Right?”

  “You did OK,” she agreed, starting to soften a bit despite her reservations about the man. She told herself that hunger was making her weak and foolish. “Thanks.”

  “Sure. I figured you’d need a bit of a treat, now that your friend’s gone back to Fargo.”

  “I won’t say no,” she said. “Extra-cheesy pizza beats leftover, limp pasta in marinara sauce, hands-down.”

  “No kidding, right? There isn’t much that pizza doesn’t beat, really.”

  He pulled out the cork, poured her a glass of red wine. She started, remembering her thoughts earlier, about wishing for a man who’d come on through the door with a bottle of red, and between the wine and the pizza, she got the most uneasy feeling that Scars Innis was a goddamn mind reader. He extended the half-full glass, and she approached with a bit of hesitation, but then remembered that Keira was there. No way Scars was going to start any crap with a tiny drool-monster attached to Zoe’s chest, so she relaxed. Just a bit.

  She took the glass, making a huge effort to not so much as touch his fingertips. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He poured a second glass, then cut two slices of pizza. “How many do you want?”

  “Just those two, please.”

  “As you wish.” He plated her dinner, set the plate on the table, and nodded at the chair. “Sit. You look beat.”

  “I’m OK,” Zoe said, even as she felt her body start to sink into the cushion. “Just had a lot to get done in a pretty short period of time. Things’ll settle a bit from now on.”

  She lowered Keira down to the floor, away from the wine glass and the food, and the baby took off, scooting on her hands and knees, over to Scars. Zoe was about to jump up again, but Scars was too quick.

  He spun from the counter, got down into a crouch, met Keira at her level. Zoe watched as her daughter stopped, then twisted her diapered butt into a seated position. Keira surveyed Scars solemnly for a few seconds, and he just looked right on back at her, his blue eyes warm and bright and so gentle. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to touch her; he just let her sit near him, taking him in fully.

  Zoe held her breath, suddenly wondering what the baby was seeing: did she notice the long, white scars? The shaggy dark hair falling over his forehead? His eyes as blue as an ocean? His firm, full lips, now raised in a half-grin? His huge upper body, his broad shoulders ripping with muscle, his massive hands resting on bulging thighs?

  She’d never know what Keira saw in those few seconds, of course, but she did know this much: whatever it was, Scars met with the baby’s approval. Keira cooed, then gave the bunny to Scars. Just pressed it into his hand, sharing it with him.

  To his eternal credit, Scars treated her offer of kindness seriously. He took the pink rabbit, gave it a little cuddle and a kiss on its nose. Keira watched, clearly delighted, then reached for the toy again. With great ceremony, Scars returned it to its owner, and she crawled away to the living room area, where Zoe had placed all her toys on a play mat.

  The adults watched her go, then looked at each other again. Just for a second, it was like a kindness had passed in the room. Zoe dropped her fucking attitude and suspicion and believed that maybe an MC member could actually be a good man, and Scars saw his whole life with these two beautiful ladies and a stuffed rabbit, just hanging out and eating pizza.

  Then Zoe remembered just who – just what – was standing there at her kitchen counter and she looked away, breaking the sweetness of connection, already pissed off at herself for her fanciful bullshit. Yeah, bringing Keira a toy was nice, but then again, the terrifying and murderous Ice had brought the baby something too… God knows, that meant nothing much, in the long run.

  And the long run was all that Zoe cared about.

  “So what do you what, Scars?” she said abruptly. “What’s with the wine and pizza out of the blue after more than a week of nothing? You at a loose end tonight? None of your regular screws available down at Satan’s?”

  Scars almost sighed as he watched her slam down those damn emotional shutters deep inside, yet again, and go on the attack, yet again. Jesus fuck, this woman. Every time he thought that she’d shown him a little piece of her heart, that she’d started to soften and bend, even a little bit, she doubled down on the bitch act. He’d known that Zoe Parish was going to be a handful the first night they’d met, but he had to admit, the woman was a tougher nut to crack than he’d expected.

  For the past few days, a part of him had gotten up every morning and demanded why the actual hell he was still holding out any hope. Maybe he should just accept that they were a one-time (well, technically, two-time) fuck in a bar back room, and cut his losses, and call it a day. God knows, there were easier women skulking around Satan’s and Denver in general, women who wouldn’t object to him being nice to them. Women who might even appreciate a man who had given them space to sort out their work and home and childcare arrangements, a man who had just backed off and waited until things looked more resolved before making another move.

  Scars wasn’t known for waiting when he wanted something, but he’d waited this past couple of weeks, and he’d felt every minute. He’d stomped down hard on his most basic instinct of moving and acting, not just hanging out and twiddling his thumbs… and he’d found that fucking difficult. He’d found himself seriously wondering if he was crazy to overlook other women, women who wouldn’t automatically tell him to get lost the second he entered their orbit.

  But… he didn’t want those women. He didn’t want easy. He didn’t want to have some willing woman in his bed, just because the one that he really wanted was a challenge that bordered on being a goddamn military-grade pain in the ass.

  And besides, he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Zoe’s face that night when he’d reached up and unclipped her hair, let it fall all around and on his naked chest in those soft, golden waves, and called her beautiful for the first time. That look… such utter, gorgeous stillness. Like she’d heard a voice in her head, or music of unearthly beauty, or her own soul whispering to her. When Scars
closed his eyes and thought about Zoe, it was her in those few perfect, shining seconds that he thought of before anything else.

  He was sure that that Zoe was the real one. The one that she fought so hard to hide away from the world, maybe the one that she fought even harder to protect using her severe, rigid persona. That hidden Zoe was sweet, glowed from within, was strangely vulnerable… and that was the Zoe that made Scars’ heart squeeze hard every time he remembered her.

  That was the Zoe that he wanted her to show him and just him, over and over again, every single day. That was the Zoe that Keira saw and adored, he was sure of it. Scars wanted her to just rip off her brittle mask and have her trust him with that gentle version of herself, because he wanted her to understand that he’d never hurt it, or damage it, or reject it.

  No… he’d cherish that Zoe. He’d take care of her. He’d love her.

  If she’d just give him a chance.

  He’d watched her all week, as per Wolf’s orders, watched her so she had no idea she was being watched, and he’d wished hard for that chance. He’d come over that night, hoping against hope for that chance; or maybe just a chance at a chance. And for a few minutes there, when she’d been holding Keira and watching Scars pour the wine, and she’d had that soft, unguarded look again, he’d thought that maybe he’d be able to beg, borrow, and steal a chance. Even a small one.

  But the mask was firmly back in place now – and his shaky, wavering chance had just evaporated like the dawn mist.

  Goddammit, Zoe. I’m not a monster. Just see me, the way I see you. Look with better eyes, baby, I beg of you.

  “Well?” she snapped, keeping her voice low so that Keira didn’t hear her anger. “Your usual easy lays already all paired off with your brothers for the evening? You do pass them around amongst yourselves, right, the club whores?”

  “OK – what?” Scars stared at her in horror, so shocked that he actually dropped the knife in the sink with a clatter. “What did you just say to me?”

  “You heard me.” Zoe crossed her arms, quailing a bit at the look on that hard face; maybe she’d gone a bit too far? Then she opened her big fat mouth and carried on taunting him: “I asked if you’re here because nothing better was on offer with its legs open.”

  Scars was a man of few words at the best of times, but that didn’t mean that he was often rendered speechless. His silence was mostly because he found small-talk annoying and boring, and he just opted out of conversation. When he did talk, it tended to be about important shit.

  This time, though, he was just struck dumb. How dare she? Who the fuck did she think she was? Hot lay or not, the woman was way the hell out of line here, and Scars wasn’t taking this crap from anyone. Not even Zoe, gorgeous green eyes and perfect breasts be damned.

  “Shut up.” That voice was a low, menacing growl, and she did back up now. “Shut that pretty little mouth Zoe, before I come over there and shut it for you, you hear me? Not one more fucking word about me passing around women like a goddamn pimp, I swear to Christ.”

  “You threatening me, Scars?” she said, ignoring his command, angry enough now to be reckless. “How are you gonna shut me up, huh? You going to smack me around in front of my kid?”

  “What?” he repeated, stunned anew at just where her mind went sometimes. “Oh, my God, Zoe, do you actually think that I’d ever lay a fucking finger on you in violence?”

  “You’re the one who said that you’d come over here and shut me up.” She glared at him. “How exactly were you planning on doing that?”

  “Ideally, I’d throw you over my shoulder and toss you on the bed, fuck you until you couldn’t talk or walk. But we got a baby over there, so that’s out.” He approached now, slow, his eyes pinning her in place. He watched her shrink back, and he stopped, eyeing her from five feet away, keeping his distance but making damn sure that she could feel his power and anger. “So how about I keep your mouth busy in other ways?”

  “No,” she whispered, wondering how fast she could get to Keira and out the door. “Don’t touch me –”

  “You sure, baby?” he said, teasing her, taunting her, making the words a threat that sounded like an invitation. “You don’t want my lips on yours, shutting you up before you can spout any more b.s.? My hands running over your body, holding you in place against that wall for my pleasure? My fingers snapping open those jeans and sliding inside you, making you come right here, make you come until you beg for nothing but more?”

  “Yes,” she said, not sure that she meant it.

  “Yes, you want all that?”

  “No,” she retorted, stung at his smug grin. “Yes, I’m sure. No, I don’t want all that.”

  “Liar,” he said softly. “Such a beautiful little liar, but a liar all the same.”

  “Scars…” She was still afraid, but her fight was coming back. “I want –”

  Just then, his cell phone rang. He cursed, still holding her gaze, grabbed it out of his jeans pocket.

  “What?” he snarled, not even bothering to see who the hell had such lousy damn timing. “What?”

  “Clubhouse.” Wolf’s voice was low, cold, emotionless, and Scars snapped right to attention. He knew that tone, and he knew that whatever it was that had caused Wolf to call it out, Scars wasn’t going to like it. “Now, man.”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “Ten.”

  “Yeah.”

  Both men disconnected without another word, and Zoe narrowed her eyes at the distracted, distant look his face. In less than five seconds, he’d gone from totally focused on her to mentally checked-out. In his head, Scars was already on his bike, heading to whatever mess or dirty business was waiting for him – she was already a thing of the past, a blip in his day.

  It would have always been like this, she knew, if they’d ever actually gotten together. He’d show up when he was horny; he’d walk out on her when the club called. Straight and narrow activities and out of the criminal life be damned, it was still club first with these boys. It was the only life they really knew, it was all they really believed in. And he actually wanted her to get serious about something together?

  Yeah. As if.

  “You got trouble, big guy?” she said casually. “Gotta go?”

  “Yeah.” Those blue eyes stared at her absently, and she felt a pang when she compared that prairie distance to the heat and passion of just a few minutes before. Then Zoe reminded herself that she was glad that he was leaving… that’s what she’d wanted, right? “Enjoy the pizza and wine without me, and you and that little peach have a good night.”

  She watched him stalk across the room, heading for the front door. He stopped suddenly, turned, stared back at her with no warmth. Like she was a total stranger.

  “By the way, Zoe… what you just said was bullshit and way out of line and super-bitchy. No call for it, at all. I’ve done nothing to deserve that from you, or from anyone. You really think that about me, then I’m happy to leave you the hell alone. You ever have anything that I can help you with, you let me know, but I won’t be coming around here anymore. I sure as hell won’t be asking you out again. You run Blue Dragon, and I’ll run Satan’s, and we’ll nod politely as co-workers for the MC when we see each other. Besides that, we don’t know each other and we never did. Deal?”

  Her heart plummeted into her stomach, and she felt actually, physically sick. She plastered a stony expression on her face, though, because the alternative was to tell this man that she was sorry for being such an utter bitch-on-wheels after he’d been so sweet. To say that maybe, just maybe, she’d been wrong.

  No way she was apologizing to Scars Innis. No way she was copping to regret.

  It came to Zoe – suddenly, in a blinding flash of ‘oh, shit, I get it’ – that she wasn’t angry at Scars at all. She was angry at herself. Angry at herself for kissing Scars outside that bathroom. For going wi
th him, willingly, happily, eagerly, to that back room. For leaping in response at his every touch, his every kiss. For letting him into her trembling, needy body. For begging for more, and more, and more again. For being unable to kick his tender toughness out of her head, once and for all, and to hell with him. For invading her dreams, causing her to wake up a sweaty, turned-on mess in the middle of the night. And most of all, for giving her hope – hope that maybe she could be with him after all.

  That hope was the killer. It was making her weak, sloppy, sappy. It was making her forget. And she couldn’t forget… this time around, she had a baby to think about and protect. She had to get smart. She had to get strong. She had to get Scars Innis the fuck away from her once and for all.

  So she kicked down on her anger, on her regret, on her lust, on her hope, and she said, “Deal.”

  “Yeah, good, then. Take it easy.” And he was gone.

  Zoe looked over at Keira who was still clutching the pink bunny. The baby was staring at her, and Zoe could practically see the ‘what the fuck, Mom?’ bubble over her blonde head.

  “It’s for the best,” Zoe said, deciding that a full glass of red wine was totally called for, and was still safe. With the baby monitor, she’d hear Keira when she woke up crying later. “I know it doesn’t feel that way right this second, but believe me – it is.”

  And once again, Zoe wondered who she was trying to convince all of this to: Keira, or herself?

  Me. I’m trying to convince me.

  Goddammit.

  **

  By the time Scars got to the MC clubhouse next door to Satan’s Bar, Wolf had gathered everyone in the room they used for important meetings. Scars knew that Wolf wasn’t going to start anything without his Veep present, both out of utter respect for Scars’ position, and because Wolf hated to repeat himself. It was one of the man’s biggest pet peeves: Wolf liked to say something once, and then trust that it was done.