by Jordan Marie
It sounds like I’m full of myself, but I’m pretty sure he’s here to see me each day. It’s taken effort not to go over to him and ask. Being quiet and naïve is not who I am. Not asking someone outright what I want to know goes against my personality. At first I worried he was one of Dad’s enemies, but the more I see him, I’m thinking it’s not true. The fact he’s a biker is just a coincidence…
Which is more than a little scary.
“I’m going to report him to Mother Lisa,” Elise announces and those words I hear—those I don’t blot out.
“You will not,” I respond and my voice is as cold as steel. I’ve played under the radar and I’ve never drawn attention to myself, so the change in my voice and demeanor is something that can’t be missed. Perhaps that’s the reason everyone around us goes silent.
“Tori—”
“You will mind your own damn business,” I order and I ignore the gasps from the other girls. “And if you so much as breathe about him to any of the others I will make you regret the day you drew your first breath.”
“You can’t do—”
“You don’t know anything about my life before I came here, Elise. Trust me when I tell you that I can and I will.”
Elise goes visibly pale. I am my father’s child, and I think she can see that in my face—or at least sense it. Maybe she’s not as stupid as I gave her credit for. I’m mad. I’m so seriously pissed off right now that I don’t have words to describe it. Only I’m not mad at Elise. I’m mad at myself. I have no idea why I reacted that way. Sure, I hate Elise, but I’m here for a reason and showing my ass over a man I don’t even know does nothing to help my situation. I push my food away in irritation.
I look up to see everyone staring at me. I cross my arms at my chest and put on my favorite fuck-you face and wait. They all nervously look away and begin eating. Eventually they begin talking again about the charity bake sale the convent is hosting later in the week. In the background I can hear the roaring of a bike, the pipes raking. I look up, even after telling myself not to. Devil is straddling his bike, revving up the motor and he’s looking over his shoulder…
Directly at me.
Our eyes lock and then I watch as he puts on his shades, turns and takes off.
Damn… I think I’m in trouble.
Devil
“About time you got here. The party started without you,” Fury laughs, slapping me on the back.
I look around, taking a deep breath. The scene tonight is exactly what I like. Half-naked to completely naked women everywhere, booze and assorted joys to explore if you want, and people having a good time. It’s the life I embraced when I set out to become a member of the Savage Brothers. It’s a life I’ve enjoyed for fucking years.
Who in the hell knew talking to a woman—one look at a woman—could change everything. Instead of being here and enjoying the party I’ve been stalking a woman I can’t touch. I feel like a fucking creeper. I’m keyed up and pissed—even when I don’t have a right to be.
“I don’t give a fuck about the party,” I grumble, grabbing a bottle of Jack and ignoring the glass. I look around the room one last time and this is not where I want to be.
“Hey! Where ya’ going?” Fury asks, but I ignore him and keep walking toward the back.
I push through the doors and take in a deep breath when I hit outside. These doors lead to our courtyard out back. It’s not much more than gravel. None of the men here enjoy mowing grass and since Diesel keeps a tight rein on our prospect numbers, gravel is easier. There’s a few fifty gallon drums on concrete blocks that we throw a fire in when we have a party, a few picnic tables scattered here and there and a couple homemade brick and steel grills. Nothing fancy, but it works. That seems to be our motto. It’s actually suited me better than most clubs we visit.
Tonight it annoys the fuck out of me.
I feel like I’m caged inside my own skin. When I get like this—and that’s not often—I want to ride or fuck. Tonight, for whatever reason, fucking is the furthest thing from my mind. I’m ignoring the fact it has anything to do with the brunette who is torturing me lately. She’s not available and whatever this voodoo is that has my dick twisted up over her will pass. All I need to do is wait it out.
“What’s wrong with you, man?” Fury asks after following me outside. I sit on one of the tables, my feet on the bench, open the bottle and take a big swig from it while looking up at the stars in the Tennessee sky.
“Got my mind on shit,” I growl, which isn’t a lie. It definitely is—even if it shouldn’t be.
“You’re starting to get as broody as Diesel, dude, or that fucker you talk with every once in a while—Beast.”
The irony in that makes my mouth twist in self-derision, because I’m forever nagging Beast, trying to get him back into the land of the living.
“You ever miss Ellie?” I ask Fury. Ellie was his old lady. The two of them were inseparable for over a year. Something happened between them—I don’t know what and I don’t think anyone does. Fury closed up over it. All I know is that one day Ellie was here and the next she was packing her shit and heading out of Tennessee. We could all see it was tearing Fury up inside, but he stood and watched her leave. He didn’t try to stop her… Not once. The men and I have never brought her up, because we see the pain in Fury every damn time something happens to remind him of Ellie. Last Christmas, a few weeks after Ellie left, a Christmas card came for her and Fury stayed drunk for a fucking week. He broke windows out of the club and threw chairs—breaking them and fuck, anything else he could get his hands on. The man was torn the fuck up… Which means it’s fucked up I’m asking about her now, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“She made her choice,” he answers, his face changing to the point it’s almost painful to look at. He looks like he’s been carved in damn stone.
“Still, man—”
“I don’t know what the fuck has got you like this, Devil, but I’m not talking about this shit.”
“A woman,” I mutter, taking another drink. “A motherfucking woman,” I answer, feeling like the sad fuck I am.
Fury watches me for a minute and then the bastard takes my bottle, using his shirt to wipe off the rim of it.
“I’m not going to give you fucking cooties,” I growl, barely feeling the buzz of the Jack, even if I’ve managed to drink a fourth of the bottle in two gulps.
“I’ve seen the bitches you play with. I’m not taking any chances,” he laughs, though his voice still sounds angry. He takes a drink, letting out an “Ahhh…” as the burn moves down his throat. Then he takes another drink.
I jerk the bottle back before he can drink it all and ruin my chance to get shit-faced.
“Haven’t played with any bitch in so long I think my dick is dead,” I admit sadly.
“You’re really that sprung over that nun chick?” he asks, as if he can’t believe it. And I can’t say as I blame him. I can hardly believe it myself.
I’ve been stalking her. There’s not another fucking word for it; that’s what it is—and I’ve been doing it for over a month. I can’t explain why. There’s something about her that captured my attention from the very beginning and it’s not letting me go…
She’s not letting me go.
“There’s something about her,” I mumble.
“Yeah, her pussy belongs to God,” Fury smirks and I want to hit him. I want to smash my fist into his face and keep hitting until the frustration inside of me is gone.
“Didn’t know you were religious,” I respond instead.
“Didn’t say I was. I only know you’re shit out of luck,” he says with a shrug. “You’d do better to get back to the party and find you a bitch in there and fuck her out of your system.”
“And that works for you?” I ask, knowing that it doesn’t. It’s the reason we aren’t allowed to talk about Ellie.
“Trust me, Dev. Women aren’t worth the pain, man. They never are.”
I listen to him
, and I do it taking another drink.
What I don’t do is go back to the party and find another woman, knowing I’ll be outside that damn convent tomorrow looking for a certain brunette.
Torrent
He’s not there.
As I look out across the street, disappointment sinks in. I really thought he would be there. I’ve started looking forward to seeing him and this is the first time he’s failed to show.
He’s given up.
That’s good. He needed to give up. I need him to stay far away from me. Logically I know all of this, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. I feel letdown by Devil, even if I shouldn’t, and the weight of that emotion is almost crushing. A smart girl would go back to her room and pretend to be a good little girl. I’m not smart. If I was, I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in right now.
I catch the other girls working in the garden and I sneak away. I look over my shoulder repeatedly, afraid someone will see me. I can cover if they do, but I need a break—even if it’s a small one.
I turn the corner of the building and lean against it, breathing deeply. This place is historic and so old I swear it was probably standing before Tennessee even became a state. The block is covered in green ivy halfway up and it sticks into my back, but I ignore it. I’m wearing a white uniform, including the damn veil and coif on top of my head. I thought nuns wore black. I could handle black a little more. At least I’d feel more at home in it. I rip the top off my head; it’s fucking hot and I’m not sure how much longer I can handle being here. I know I promised my dad, but damn, nothing seems to be changing and I miss my old life.
“That looks better.”
My head jerks up when I hear his voice.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my head tilted to the side so I can watch him closely. I was kind of hoping I had embellished how good he looks. I didn’t. He’s tall and wide, his skin a golden tan and his hair is copper brown and when the sun hits it I see those highlights even more. He’s wearing jeans that look lived-in and hug him in all the right places—so much so that my mouth waters. I force myself to look at his face—and not the bulge pushing against the zipper in his jeans. His eyes are blue. They’re not a normal blue. Jesus, they’re a dark, sparkling blue and they send goosebumps over my body and it’s so intense my nipples freaking tingle. To disguise my reaction to him, I take out a few of the pins that didn’t come out of my hair and then sift my fingers through it.
“Wanted to see you, Angel,” he says, but he’s different. He’s not smiling or cocky like he was the first time we met. He’s staring at me and he’s completely serious… so serious that it’s unnerving.
“What for?”
“Been asking myself that for a while now.”
“You got a smoke?” I ask him, figuring it’s best not to comment on his reply.
“Do nuns smoke?”
“This one does.” I shrug.
He takes out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket on his cut and reaches it over to me. I take one out, silently congratulating myself that my hand doesn’t shake. When I bring it to my lips, he digs in his pocket again and brings out a lighter. He lights it, his gaze holding mine. It’s the simple act of lighting a cigarette, but it feels more intense.
Probably because I’m playing with fire, literally and figuratively.
“Thanks,” I tell him, ignoring the fact that my voice is hoarse.
“Is smoking a sin?”
“Depends on what you’re smoking, I guess. Is that why you’re here? Church is usually on Sundays.”
“I don’t think they let the Devil in church. Pretty sure that’s against the rules.”
“The purpose for church is to save lost souls, Devil.”
“Mine’s a little more than lost.”
“What makes you say that?”
“How about the fact I want to rip that get-up off of you and fuck you against the building right now?” he asks and for a minute my heart stops. My body feels flushed and heat invades my system, inching up my spine.
I take a big drag off my cigarette, hoping the nicotine soothes me. It doesn’t. Instead I’m having visions of Devil fucking me, my body pressed into the brick as he slams inside, filling me...
“Did I leave you speechless, Angel?”
“Just enjoying my cigarette,” I tell him, doing my best to keep my voice even and unaffected.
“You should give those up,” he responds.
“Why’s that?” I ask, shaking off the ashes of the cigarette and taking another drag. I’m going to have to get back to the others, and I wish like hell I didn’t have to. I can’t stay with Devil though. It’s not safe…or sane.
“Because I want to kiss you.”
“And my smoking would stop that?”
“No, but I’d rather taste you than a cigarette.”
“You smoke though. Isn’t that kind of a double standard?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to stop smoking so I’ll kiss you?”
“If you want to kiss me, Angel, fuck yeah, I’ll give them up.”
“Just like that?” I ask before I can stop myself. I ground my cigarette under my shoe, but I never look away from him.
I’m not sure I can.
In answer, Devil takes his cigarettes out of his pocket and throws them on the ground. I watch as they hit the green grass and then his foot comes down and smashes them under his boot.
“Exactly like that.”
“I better get going,” I tell him, feeling unnerved and very tempted to kiss him.
“Don’t leave,” he orders—and it’s definitely said like an order.
“I need to get back before they miss me,” I explain, but we both know I’m running and we know why, because I’ve not been entirely successful in hiding my reaction to him.
“Give me something,” he says as I start to turn away.
“I’m not kissing you,” I tell him, because I know if I do there will be no coming back from it.
“I could make you like it,” he says. I see a ghost of a smile on his face. His lips are mostly hidden by his well-groomed beard, but when he smiles his forehead crinkles.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I tell him with complete honesty.
“Then give me your name.”
I start to lie to him. It would be safer to lie, but for some reason I find I don’t want to.
“Torrent,” I tell him, and start backing away, unable to turn away from him.
“Torrent…” he repeats and he says my name like it’s candy on the tip of his tongue and he’s savoring it, enjoying the flavor so much he’s memorizing it.
Damn.
“What’s your name?” I ask him, and when I do I fully expect him not to tell me. I know that a road name is special and most men only go by it.
“Logan,” he answers, surprising me.
“Logan,” I whisper, nodding my head in a yes motion, because the name fits him. It’s strong, rough and yet smooth. I like it and I like that he has it. It would have made it so much easier if his real name had been George or Martin—heck, Herman would have been great. “Goodbye, Logan,” I whisper, the act of saying goodbye somewhat painful.
“I’ll be seeing you again, Torrent.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” I tell him, shaking my head negatively.
“Probably not, but it’s going to happen,” he warns.
“Then maybe we both better start praying, Logan,” I warn him and that makes him smile again.
Too bad I’m not kidding.
Devil
“You’re looking good today, Angel.”
“Give it up, will you?” She laughs, but she keeps walking toward me. “You really like stalking me, don’t you, Logan?”
“I really like it when you use my name,” I answer her instead. It’s useless to deny anything. We both know I’m stalking her. Hell, if I could get away with it, I’d throw her over my shoulder and drag her back to my… I really need a place
of my own. I don’t want to spend all my time with Torrent at the club. If I convince her to give us a shot, I need to work her slowly into my life. I don’t want to make her afraid.
“You’re such a dweeb. What could you possibly get out of talking with me? There’s no future in it and I doubt you’re looking for much more than an easy lay. In case you were wondering, Logan, I’m not easy.”
“I never thought you were,” I laugh, scratching the side of my face as I add another note in the mountain of them my brain has made when it comes to Torrent. “You sure as hell don’t talk like any nun I’ve ever been around,” I mutter.
“Have you been around many nuns?” she asks with a smile.
“Well, no, but you aren’t what I imagined. You don’t even dress like one,” I tell her and my eyes rake up and down her body. She’s wearing pants. They’re wide in the legs and don’t cling to her, but you see her hips and her shirt does hug her large breasts. Fuck, she’s beautiful.
“I’ve not taken all of my vows yet,” she says, avoiding my eyes.
“So you’re saying I still have a shot,” I press, and the freedom I feel inside at her announcement is indescribable.
Shock moves over her face, I see it clearly, and her eyes widen with surprise.
“A shot? Are you for real, Logan? Or are you wanting to see if you can get in the nun’s pants? Do you have a bet with your buddies or something?”
“I’ve been called a bastard before, sweetheart, but never because I’ve bet on a woman. That’s not my style. I like women but I always—always—respect them.”
“Always?” she asks, clearly not believing me.
“Unless they do something to lose it.” I shrug.
She stares at me intently for a few minutes and neither one of us talks. I don’t know what she sees, but she seems to instantly relax.
“Why should I give you a shot, Logan?” she asks when she sits down beside me.