Tall and thin, with a wicked scar running down his face, a hooked nose, thin lips, black jeans, black shirt and a black leather vest, he looked like death. He looked me over as I stood frozen in the doorway, and then I met his gaze. Identical brown eyes to mine looked back at me, and I took a step backward.
“What brings you to me, Davina?” his nasally voice asked.
“How do you know my name?” I whispered. I could still run. I was always fast, and this man scared the shit out of me.
“Because I named you. Don’t you recognise your old man?”
I hadn’t known my dad. My mother never mentioned him, only to say he was a devil on the highway. As I looked at the patches on the vest, I realised that what she had been saying was that he was a Devil’s Highwayman. My father was in a biker gang. I looked at his patches and saw the symbol of the scythe and met his eyes with fright. I’d picked up enough to know that the scythe meant he was a killer.
“I don’t know you, I think you are mistaken.” I edged back out of the room.
“You don’t know me, but I know you,” he said. “Tell me, how quickly do you think the police will pick you up?”
“The police?”
“You’re on the run, girl. Is that why you came to me?”
“I don’t even know who you are,” I protested.
“We’ll change that.”
“I don’t want to change it,” I blurted. A cool hand on my neck made me jump, and I looked up at Tats, relief swelling inside me.
“She yours?” Tats asked sourly to the man who called himself my father.
“She is.”
“Fuck, knew she was too good to be true.” Tats dropped his hand and walked away, shaking his head.
“You don’t fuck any of the guys, Davina,” he said to me. “Especially other clubs and especially him.”
“You have no right to tell me anything,” my angry voice echoed around the room.
He took a step forward, and I thought he was going to hit me. “I do. You’re my daughter, and you will learn.”
My father taught me a lot of things in the short time I knew him. He taught me to appreciate the fact that he hadn’t been in my life growing up. He taught me to keep my head down and never ask questions. He taught me that I wasn’t allowed to be close to anyone he didn’t approve of. Most importantly, he taught me that to defy him meant death. For over eighteen months, I was under his watchful gaze. He had eyes everywhere.
The night he killed Tats for trying to get me out, I’ll never forget. As Tats lay dying at my father’s feet, I picked up the gun that had fallen to the floor, and I shot the man who called himself my father. I knew I hadn’t killed him, but I slowed him down.
I had always been a fast runner, and I ran like the devil was after me, because he was.
I sat in the café, waiting for Malcolm and keeping a watchful eye for Les. Either he knew or I was going to start questioning his connections. Her father was a Highwayman. Not only was this inconvenient, it was fucking ridiculous that she had ended up in my way. Her father was one of the biggest assholes I had ever met, and I knew assholes. Tapping my fingers against the side of the cup, I waited impatiently for my “boss.”
I would have to tell him. That pissed me off even more, that I had to admit to Malcolm I maybe should have dealt with the problem better. However, had I gotten rid of Devon like Malcolm wanted the first night, we would have had a bigger problem. Potentially.
Either Louis knew her from Phoenix or he recognised her parentage. I thought of her father. That scar would mar anyone’s features, but I couldn’t see the resemblance. A good thing really since I had kissed her.
I should have spanked her harder.
Disobedient little liar.
I was close to wrapping my hand around her throat again and accusing her of playing me. My coffee finished, I looked towards the server, and she started making me another. Where the fuck was Malcolm? I didn’t have time for him to keep me waiting.
Les walked in, and with a glance over his shoulder, he made his way to me quickly. “I heard about—”
“Her daddy’s a Highwayman?” I cut him off curtly.
Les blanched and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, you know which one?”
“I do.”
“Not easy,” Les said as he glanced over his shoulder again. “Heard he killed her boyfriend the night she ran.”
Running. She was always fucking running. I was going to nail her fucking feet to the floor. “What boyfriend?”
“She was seeing one of the Hounds,” Les told me with another glance over his shoulder.
“Hounds?”
“Hounds of Hell, they’re almost a rival but more of a friendly MC.”
“Devon was fucking a biker?” I asked incredulously. That meek little mouse? No, she wasn’t meek, she was fiery. Her time on the streets made her wary, but she was strong.
Just then, Malcolm walked in, quickly taking in Les’s close proximity to me. He walked over, and with a blank look to Les, he took off his coat. “What’s going on?”
“Louis recognised the street rat,” I said. There was no point hiding it. “That’s why I didn’t get rid of her, I was waiting to see how.” I hurried on when he was going to interrupt me. “He didn’t see her the night in the alley. I guarantee you.”
“So where does he know her from?” Malcolm asked quietly.
“It’s possible she holds a resemblance to her father.” I would rather cut out my tongue than admit the next bit. “He’s a Devil’s Highwayman.”
“Your houseguest is the daughter of a Highwayman, who was sleeping on the streets?” Malcolm leaned closer intently. I recognised the gleam in his eye as fury.
“It would seem so.”
Malcolm leaned back in his chair and said nothing as he waited for his coffee to be placed in front of him. He took a sip as he watched me, and I could almost see the wheels turning. “This makes things difficult. If Louis knows you are keeping a witness to his nephew’s crime alive, it makes it harder for me to continue to have the same working relationship with him. You do, for all intents and purposes, work mostly for me.”
“Hmm.” What the fuck was I supposed to say? Stating the obvious didn’t progress matters.
“And you knew?” Malcolm turned to Les.
“I just told him,” I cut in again. “I wanted to know if he recognised her name.”
Malcolm’s eyes flicked between me and Les and then settled on Les. “And did you?”
“I do.” He told Malcolm who her father was, and Malcolm looked at me in surprise.
“I didn’t say it was good,” I said quietly.
“Good? This is a disaster.”
“Well, it would have been worse had I killed her.” I shrugged slightly.
“If you had killed her, we wouldn’t have this problem, because we wouldn’t know who she was.” Malcolm clenched his fists on the table. “You could still do it.”
“No.”
“No?” He blinked in surprise.
“She’s not safe.”
“It doesn’t matter if she’s safe if she’s dead, Raphael.”
I inhaled deeply before I looked at him. All polished and presentable, an obviously educated man, wealthy, esteemed, a façade for a bloodthirsty and hungry-for-power megalomaniac. “It matters to me,” I said carefully.
“You care for her?” Malcolm barked out a laugh. “Surely not! You?”
“I told her if she told me the truth I would protect her.”
“Why?” Malcolm looked at me in confusion.
“Because sometimes, you need someone to trust you before you break them.” I stood swiftly causing Les to step back in haste. “I told you the same thing once.”
“You’ve never broken me, Raphe.” Malcolm narrowed his eyes at me, and I smiled tightly.
“I told you the truth out of respect for our relationship. You are expected to do nothing. I need nothing from you.” I buttoned my suit jacket. “Things are in motion to
solve your current other problem we discussed recently. You leave me with my problem, and I’ll solve yours.”
“Both are problems of your making.”
My patience was running out. “Malcolm, I told you recently, be very careful. You push me, I won’t push back.” I looked down at him and was pleased to see him pale slightly. “I end you. Do we understand?”
“Over a girl?” Malcolm asked incredulously.
“No. She means nothing to me. What I don’t like is being questioned on the way I handle your business. On the way I make you money. On the way I deal with your problems. Now stay the fuck out of my business, and I’ll tell you when you can start pretending to be the boss of me again. Are we clear?” I met Les’s stunned stare as I walked out of the coffee shop. That hadn’t gone as planned. Malcolm insisting that Devon was my weakness annoyed me. She wasn’t.
The more I uncovered about her, the more I needed to know. She was still a puzzle to me, and I hadn’t found a solution yet. But she didn’t make me weak.
I stood in the Denver street for a moment as I considered my next move. My phone ringing was a welcome distraction.
“Yeah?”
“He said yes, but I come too.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” I said to Cammy as I started to walk.
“If you kill me, Raphe, I swear to fuck I’m going to be pissed.”
“Noted,” I said with a smirk. “You’ll be safe.”
“Yeah, well, make sure we’re both safe from all the motherfuckers.” Cam was serious, and I knew how much trust he was putting in me to come here. “We’ll be there tomorrow.” He hung up.
Glancing at my watch, I considered the play. Louis needed more time. I’d give him a day before I convinced him he needed to take out Nico Sabino. Malcolm was probably apoplectic in the café still. Alberto Sabino was on his way to me, and I was content to leave his brother Antonio alone. For now.
As I headed to my Jag, I thought about the Viallis. Did I need to move onto them yet, or did I do what I really wanted to, which was go see a Devil about a Highwayman?
I headed to the north of Denver where I knew the Highwaymen had a chapter house. It wasn’t normal for me to turn up without announcing myself, but I was feeling...edgy. Malcolm had fucked me off, and I didn’t usually let my emotions rule me, but he was pushing too hard. He probably didn’t like the idea that my family were in town, although hopefully they had left. Ray trusted me to get the job done. He knew what the play was, and I knew he would know that I would do it. It was efficiently simple.
My mind drifted back to the street rat. She had run from Nevada because of a boyfriend, then she ended up in Phoenix and accidentally stumbled on the fucking Charter that her old man was in? On purpose? And then ran from him over a boyfriend? The odds that it was coincidence were off the charts, but she was ridiculously unlucky. I’d thought it before, I had never come across anyone as unfortunate as Devon.
Or was I a fool like Malcolm thought? Was she playing me?
A fucking biker.
Jesus Christ, I had a good mind to spank her ass again until she really couldn’t sit down. How fucking cliché could she get? If I hadn’t questioned and dug into her past, I truly would be doubting myself that she had been on the streets at all.
The bar was run down, in need of maintenance, and quite honestly, I would have burned the place to the ground and started again, but bikers had sentimental value over stupid shit sometimes. Like daughters.
I walked into the bar and enjoyed the still silence before the few men inside started talking again. Walking up to the bar, I regarded the skeletal female behind it. “Looking for Joe,” I told her.
“Joe who?” she asked with a pop of bubble gum.
I restrained the sigh. Someone had watched too much television. I turned to the nearest group of men. “Joe here? Or is he due back soon?”
“What’s it to you?”
“You know who I am. Let’s not measure dick sizes today,” I said as I looked over the occupants. “Tell him I’m looking for him.”
“He’ll be back in an hour,” one of the older guys said to me.
“I’ll wait.” They looked at me as if I’d just pissed on their rotten floor. With a smirk, I walked over to an empty table and took a seat.
I thought about all the pieces in play. My margins were slim, the room for error, none. I ran over the variables in my head once more. It would work, I had no doubt, but I wouldn’t be as good at my job if I wasn’t careful. Forty minutes later, a heavy shuffle approaching me made me look up from my phone.
“Change of plans, he isn’t coming back tonight,” the older guy from earlier told me.
“Why?”
“Not for me to question, brother,” he said as he straightened.
“I’m not your brother,” I said as I stood. “Tell him I expect a call.”
Heading back into Denver, I was pissed off. I contemplated going to see Vialli Senior, but that would play my hand. Plus, I wasn’t in the right temperament for Kat today.
I headed to the house. I would get the rest of the story from Devon. She must know she was all out of aces. Surely.
Heading into the house, I found her sprawled over the bed, her perfectly round ass covered in a small pair of panties staring at me as she lay face down, her eyes closed. A hoodie covered the top of her, and it took me a moment to understand why she had her ass hanging out for all to see. Then I realised she was feeling sorry for herself. My snort woke her.
She scrambled to her front and shot up in the bed, staring at me wide-eyed.
“Why is your ass on display?”
“You hit me.”
“Pathetic,” I countered as I headed to my room and took off my jacket. Opening my cuffs, I rolled my shirt sleeves up and took off my gun holster. I tucked the gun into the back of my pants, aware that she had followed me into the bedroom. When I turned, she was pulling on pyjama shorts.
“Tired?”
“Har de har.” Devon straightened her hoodie and tucked her hands under it. “You’re home early.”
“Home?”
Her eye roll was so exaggerated I was pretty sure she just checked out her own ass. “You know what I mean.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Thanks for the lotion.”
I watched her for a moment and then nodded in acknowledgment. “You ready to talk? All talk. No bullshit. No half-truths.”
“Now?” Devon squeaked.
“No time like the present.”
“I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” I muttered as I passed her and made my way down the stairs. “You want the shit you bought or what I’m having?” I heard her hurrying down the stairs, almost tripping over her feet in her haste.
“You would cook for me?”
“Don’t make it more than it is,” I said as I went to the fridge.
“What you making?” Devon hovered eagerly as she watched me pull the chicken from the fridge.
“Chicken cacciatore,” I told her as I searched and found the olive oil. “You want to help?” I said with a look over my shoulder to her before I turned the oven on.
Devon took a step forward and nodded. “I’m not good in the kitchen.”
“You can chop?”
“Yes, Raphe,” she said with a smile.
“That’s all I need.” I started unwrapping the chicken thighs and pointed her to the potatoes. “Slice.”
Devon started washing the potatoes, and as she did, I sliced the chorizo sausage. “Start talking to me about the Hounds of Hell.”
She faltered once, and I met her uneasy stare. “You always know,” she whispered.
“That’s why I tell you not to lie,” I said as I pulled a frying pan out and started to heat it for the sausage.
“I didn’t lie about how or why I left Gladedale.” Devon resumed her slicing, and I added red onions to her pile.
“Tell me what happened next.”
“I went back to the apartment,” D
evon said quietly as she unpeeled the onions.
“Risky.”
“I needed money. I had a stash.”
“Of course you did,” I said as I tossed the chorizo into the pan to fry.
“Always so judgy,” Devon snarked. She met my gaze and dropped her head. “I hitchhiked with a trucker. He was a nice man, took me to Phoenix.”
“Why?”
“Because he was a nice man,” she said, exasperation in her voice.
“Ah, your bruises from the car accident. He thought you were beaten?” Her face flushed, but she nodded. “And you did nothing to dissuade him of that.”
“I was desperate.”
“Of course.” I took the chorizo off the heat and started rubbing the chicken thighs with oil. “Go on.”
“He took me to his usual drop off point in Phoenix, it was beside a scrap yard and a bar.”
As I sauteed my chicken thighs, I listened as she told me about how she met the biker outside the bar and he took her home. I wasn’t familiar with the Hounds of Hell, and it struck me as odd behaviour until she got to the part of the motel, and I realised they had played on her gratitude and naïveté.
As I divided my chicken and set it aside, I took the potatoes and onion off her and added them to the frying pan. Devon seemed to skim the details of the boyfriend, and I wasn’t one for skimming.
“Tell me about him.”
“Why?” she sniffed and tried to pretend it was from the onions.
I scattered garlic and herbs over my vegetables in the pan. “I need to know it all.” As I poured the contents of the pan over the chicken, I listened as she told me about her boyfriend. Tats. I said nothing, but seriously, Tats? I opened the can of chopped tomatoes and added a pinch of chili.
“He was flirty,” Devon said with a smile. “A really good kisser too.” Her wistful smile made me look up from my pan for longer than necessary. She noticed and flushed. “He spent the night.”
“You fuck him the first night?” I ran my eyes over her as I warmed my tomatoes. “You act so pure,” I mocked.
“At least I knew his name,” Devon snapped defensively. “More than you can probably say for whoever you had the other night.”
Beautifully Broken (The Denver Series Book 2) Page 28