Burning Daylight (A Devil's Cartel MC Series Book 2)

by Skyla Madi

  Liv lifted her head and stared me down. She put on a brave face. It was the face of a woman who wanted to go toe to toe with me, but I knew her. She was scared. I bet her spine was shaking.

  “I stopped you from making a mistake.”

  I paused in front of her and laughed. It was a bitter sound in the silent room. The fact she thought she had any control over me pissed me off.

  “Stopped me? No, darlin’. You didn’t stop anything. I got what I wanted. Over and over again.” I smirked and crouched, coming face to face with the woman I used to fuck. She pouted her full lips and batted her eyelashes. “Where did you think I was all day? I was with her, in a bed I never let you sleep in.”

  Growling, she bared her teeth and seethed. “Yeah? Well, you downgraded.”

  Creed snorted and my lips twitched at the corners. He disagreed. I did too. I mean, any idiot with eyes could see Liv was sexy. She was tall, slim, and physically fit. She had big, fake breasts, wide hips, and a tiny waist. She was a Barbie doll on crack, and I knew there were men out there who’d sever the limbs from their own bodies for a taste of her.

  But she wasn’t for me.

  She wasn’t what I wanted, or what I needed. Liv was here, and she was easy, but I didn’t crave her with every cell in my body. I gave no fucks about her emotions, or her thoughts. She was expendable and easily replaced. While Minnie was many things, she wasn’t a downgrade—in any capacity.

  “Why’re you so hung up on her?” Liv asked, her tone quiet, meant only for me. She eases forward as much as she could in her chair. “Why’re you doing so much for a kid that isn’t yours and is so fucking weird to look at?”

  An angry snarl ripped through my chest and I clamped my hand over her mouth. If she went any further, said anything more venomous, I’d kill her. How uncomfortable in your own skin did you have to be to pick on a child who had no control over their creation? A kid who didn’t ask to be different? Who was already hated by his own father?

  “You want to die?” I asked, my index finger twitching against her cheek.

  Liv’s breath left her nostrils, quick and scared, and blew across my hand. Minnie’s brother-in-law offended her by speaking ill of Nicolás earlier today and she shot him to pieces. I saw her face and the satisfaction that spread over it when he collapsed to the ground. Made sense to let her deal with this one too. It was her kid, not mine. I lowered my hand from Liv’s mouth, but never broke eye contact.

  “Get Yasmine,” I told Creed. “Bring her to me.”

  He obliged without hesitation. When he returned, Yasmine’s sharp intake was as loud as a gunshot in my ears. I stood and turned toward her. She looked as edible as ever in Blondie’s white tank top that hugged her torso and accentuated the curves of her womanly figure. Flicking her gaze over my face, then to Liv, she smoothed her palms down the front of her tight, black jeans.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, pushing hair from her high ponytail off her shoulder.

  “Found out who used the photograph of your son to torment you.” Her whiskey eyes darkened, noticeable even in the dimly lit room. “I won’t repeat what she said about his appearance.”

  Yasmine’s eyelids flutter, her jaw set tight. She sauntered forward, toward the stupid girl on the chair. She didn’t say a word, didn’t lift a finger. She looked at her, even leaned forward, bringing her face close to Liv’s, who simply lifted her chin. I wanted Yasmine to hurt her for what she said…because that would put me on a clear path. It’d make us cut from the same cloth and re-cement the fact Yasmine was made for me—sent by divine intervention, or some shit.

  “I wish you never came here,” Liv whispered, her eyes watered in the changing lights. “I wish you—”

  She swallowed her words as Minnie straightened and stared down at her. “Let her go.”

  I tensed. Creed sensed it and stepped forward on my behalf. “Not how it works around here, Minnie.”

  “I don’t care how it works.” She turned her head and looked at me. There was resolve in her eyes. “Let her go.”

  “No,” I said.

  “She’s in love with you, Damon,” Minnie pointed out, as if I didn’t know. I knew. I’ve always known Livia cared for me more than I ever cared for her. “It’s cruel to keep her here.”

  The fact she didn’t understand why Liv was tied up, and refused to get her revenge, didn’t sit well in my bones. Maybe she wasn’t mine. Maybe she wasn’t sent by the universe as a reprieve from my never-ending pain. Anger boiled in my blood and burned my bones because she wasn’t even trying. I felt stupid, like a jealous child. I tried to swallow it down, the words I knew better than to say, but they came out anyway.

  “You’re leaving,” I said, as calm as bay water, and I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe I’ll keep her after all.”

  Creed cursed under his breath. Yasmine’s eyelids briefly trembled, but the hurt I expected never flickered across her face. She was so good at shutting out the hurt. “Suit yourself.”

  She turned and stormed toward the door.

  I looked to Creed, who pushed his fingers through his cropped hair as he scowled at me.

  “What?” I snapped as the door slams behind Yasmine.

  “You’re no good at this, are you? You’ve got no fucking clue.”

  “And you’re an expert?”

  “I’m better than you.”

  Fuck. I blew air from my lips and turned on Liv, who cowered under my glare, regret plain on her face. “Pack your shit. I want you out of my clubhouse before I get back.”

  She lowered her head without argument. She wronged me. If she kept her mouth shut and minded her own business, she could’ve stayed, but she broke my trust. I had none left for her. I stormed toward the door and exited into the hall. Up ahead, Yasmine continued her stomping, stewing in her own tempest.

  “Yasmine,” I called out, and she ignored me. “Yasmine!”

  I stomped forward, closing the distance between us with my big strides. Before she could round the corner, I snatched her by the elbow and tugged hard, forcing her to face me. “Woman, will you just fucking wait—”

  “What?” she demanded, her ponytail whipping across her face, then falling flat over her shoulder.

  Her face was pinched tight with anger. Her pretty eyes were fiery slices of frustration, her lips pouted pillows of disappointment. I hated I chased her up the hall. I hated the words that were about to leave my lips. All of it was an admission. An admission that she had me in her tiny palm and wrapped around all her slender fingers.

  “What I said…I didn’t mean it.” I glanced at the wall. “Stay, Minnie. I want you to stay.”

  Her anger melted from her face, softening it into a look of pity. “I can’t.”

  Goddamn it. Anger sliced through my chest and I clenched my jaw as panic tightened the muscles around my heart. The last time I was in such a vulnerable position, my life was ruined. The best thing for me, as president of this chapter, was to let her go and forget all about her. I knew I had to…but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

  “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you,” I seethed, tightening my hold on her elbow.

  Minnie stepped forward and lifted herself on the tips of her toes, bringing her face closer to mine. “I am not your prisoner, Damon. I never was and I never will be.”

  I released her arm and towered over her, until she stood flat on her feet. “You’re whatever I tell you to be. You owe me.”

  “I won’t stay.”

  “You don’t have a choice. I’ll fucking chain you up.”

  She smiled at me and it was sympathetic because I was being pathetic. Because, deep down, I knew there was nothing I could do to make her stay. It was me or her son and she wouldn’t choose a man over him again. Nicolás had Minnie’s whole heart. I only held a fragment of it.

  I exhaled and hung my head to look at my boots. I would let her go. What’s another loss on the tally board that was my life?

  Yasmine touched my hand, then gently cradle
d it. Her touch soothed the lava in my veins. It lowered my blood pressure and took the tension out of my shoulders.

  “You can visit me any time, but I can’t raise my son here. You know that.”

  My jaw ticked. I wanted to concede, but I wasn’t fucking wired that way. “I said I wouldn’t visit you.”

  “Shame. I’d make it worth your while.” Lifting herself on her toes once again, she cupped my face, my stubble spikey against her palm. My set jaw softened under her gentle touch and she placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Please, can we go get my boy?”

  I swallowed. There was nothing I could do to make her stay. Some things weren’t meant to be. Yasmine deserved her fresh start with her son. And I…I didn’t deserve anything.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  With a pat on my cheek, Yasmine turned away. I watched her disappear around the corner and, damn it. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I was gonna make time to visit her. I’d visit her every weekend and I didn’t care how far I had to travel.

  “Why her, Judge? Why the fucking complicated one?” Creed asked from behind me, throwing the question I asked him all those years ago back in my face.

  And I finally understood.

  SIXTEEN

  Y A S M I N E

  The ride to Nevada was long and they didn’t stop for anyone. My thighs ache from clenching Damon’s thick body between them and the vibration from the ride remains a dance in my veins. Out front, a biker named Hawk leads the pack in a path he deems the quickest, and safest, way into the Vegas sands where we’ll meet with a man called Marco Ventilli. If I recall my days at the Exeter precinct correctly, Marco Ventilli is head of the largest mafia family in Nevada. I heard The Devil’s Cartel and the Ventillis had a score to settle, but I guess Marco has been too busy fighting his own enemies—enemies that live within his borders. As my trail of thought ends, I spot a line of black SUVs along the desert horizon, their shapes a silhouette in the bright moonlight. At a steady pace, we follow Hawk along the aged asphalt and pull over around eighty-five yards out from the intimidating shadows that block our way.

  Creed rolls to a stop beside Judge and I and lowers his hands from his bars. “How do you wanna do this?”

  “Grab the briefcase.” Judge lifts himself off his motorcycle and I plant my hands on the warm seat in front of me to keep myself steady. “You’re coming with me. Tell the others to wait.”

  Creed leaves his bike and saunters toward the rest of the crew while Judge extends his hand to me. I take it and he eases me off the motorcycle. I sigh in relief. It feels good to stand, to stretch my muscles and feel them firm under my weight.

  “How was the ride?” he asks.

  I blow air from my cheeks. I would’ve appreciated the ride more if anxiety wasn’t eating me up inside. “Long.”

  Even though it’s dark out, the moon casts a beautiful light and I see him smile. He grabs me by the teeth of my zippers on my black jacket and I gasp as he tugs me closer. He rubs his full lips together while he zips me up, protecting my chest from the rapidly cooling Nevada air. Then, he pushes my ponytail off my shoulder.

  “We’ll take the truck on the way home. You can sit with your boy on the backseat.”

  Excitement inflates my chest at the thought of holding Nicolás in my arms. I long for it, to have him in my personal space, to hold the most precious thing in the world to me. It’s painful, how much I miss him.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  His face turns uncomfortable and he angles his body away, glancing over the sand dunes to the right. “Thank me later, when it’s over and we’re back on home soil.”

  The unease in his tone tilts my stomach, filling it with worry. I hope we make it back to Exeter.

  “They’re not happy about hanging back,” Creed says as he approaches with the suitcase.

  “Too bad.” Judge shrugs his large shoulders and pulls his cut tighter around him. Flicking his head at me, he turns toward the SUVs. “C’mon, Minnie.”

  I blanch as a metal rod jams my spine and my heart sinks into Isabelle’s boots—boots that are a little too small for my feet. “Me? Why?”

  “You don’t leave my side,” he orders, and Creed takes my bicep in his giant hand.

  He pulls me along, forcing me to walk between them. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jacket and walk fast, trying to keep up with their big strides. I glance at both of them. Their handsome faces are set tight, their dark eyes focused only on the SUVs ahead. I feel safe between them, safer than I’ve ever felt, but a teeny tiny part of me won’t settle. A nag in the back of my mind demands I stop being stupid. It demands I protect myself because they’re going to betray me. I stop, so does Judge and Creed. They both glare at me and there’s such a beautiful resemblance in their features. If they told me they were brothers, I’d believe them.

  “What?” Judge demands and I lift my chin.

  “Can I have a gun?”

  He frowns. “What for?”

  “To protect myself, if needed.”

  They glance at each other, then Judge flicks his head at Creed who reaches behind his cut and frees his handgun from the waistband of his jeans with an offended laugh.

  “If we were gonna throw you under the bus, sweetheart, you’d be there already.”

  He extends his gun to me and I take it, slipping it into my own waistband at my lower back. “It’s nothing personal.”

  It’s only to silence the automatic thoughts before they run rampant in my brain. We walk, closing the distance between us and the men who begin to exit the SUVs. They’re tall and statuesque, and dressed like they’re attending a business meeting at the very top of a high-rise building. There’s something unsettling about their formality compared to The Devil’s Cartel men who spend their days doing business in washed out band t-shirts, leather cuts, and faded jeans. Maybe it’s because I link their sleek attire to Elias, who’s always dressed like he’s on the cover of an elegant men’s magazine.

  Out of the front passenger seat of the third SUV in the line of five, steps a pudgy man in a pastel blue polo and white pants. Without a glance in our direction, he reaches inside and pulls a white jacket off the seat. He shrugs into it, and signals to three men on his right. They lift their big, black rifles and flank him. Judge stops, snagging my elbow, and I wait with bated breath as they stroll closer, as if they have all the time in the world.

  “Damon Judge,” Ventilli calls, stopping eight feet out. “It’s been a while since you’ve shown your face at my border.”

  Judge hums and I ease closer to him, our arms brushing. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need to be.”

  An awkward silence falls between us. They simply stare, all of them, and I can’t take my attention off the rifles. A creeping suspicion that Elias has already paid off the Ventillis snakes through my mind. Will they shoot us? I didn’t come all this way to be shot dead on a back road.

  “How’s Seraphina?” Creed voice cuts through the silence, and everyone looks in his direction.

  Everyone except me. I keep my stare on Marco, whose expression gives away his irritation.

  “Married. Just gave birth to twin girls.”

  “Married? To who?”

  Marco points to the tall, broad shouldered man standing on his left. “Ben Campbell.”

  The man, Ben, stands taller by squaring his shoulders and glares down his nose at Creed. He’s big, as big as Judge and Creed—if not bigger. His index finger twitches as he rests it alongside the body of his rifle, not far from the trigger.

  “I’m disappointed,” Creed says, and I hear the taunting tones in his voice.

  What is he doing?

  “Why? I heard you robbed a different cradle.” Marco’s thin lips quirk at the corner.

  Judge snorts as Creed scowls. I don’t think he appreciates the implication. I don’t know the exact age gap between Isabelle and Creed, but I know it’s at least a decade.

  Marco s
tuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks and leans to the side, peering between us. “Casino back there?”

  Judge stiffens. “Don’t worry about it.”

  The mafia boss straightens and watches Judge down the bridge of his crooked nose for an uncomfortably long time. “I hope you haven’t forgotten we still have our war to fight.”

  The air surrounding us is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife, but Judge is uncharacteristically placid.

  “There’s a long line of people who want to kill us, so you’re gonna have to wait your turn.” He flicks his wrist. “Give him the money, Creed.”

  Money? The briefcase is filled with money? Creed lifts the briefcase and walks forward. Ben Campbell lowers his rifle and steps forward to receive it. The briefcase clicks as Creed opens the metal clasps. I lift myself onto my toes and lean forward, trying to see inside.

  Ben eyes it suspiciously. “I heard you were operating at minimum capacity since the FBI investigation.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear,” Judge tells him. “It’s all there. Two hundred and fifty thousand for a temporary ceasefire, as requested.”

  Two hundred and fifty thousand? Blood drains from my face and my legs wobble. Ben glances over his shoulder at Marco and nods. Satisfied, Marco nods back and Creed closes the briefcase.

  “How’re you liking the family business?” Creed asks, but Ben ignores him, turning his back.

  “I’ll give you six hours,” Marco says. “Overstay your welcome and my men will hunt you down and bury you beneath the sand.” He steps forward, toward Judge. “You can spend eternity with your friend, Mayor Laurent.”

  I suck in a sharp breath and peer at Damon. I’ve heard the rumors about Jonathan Laurent’s disappearance. All of them circled The Devil’s Cartel, but the authorities have never found any hard evidence to hold them accountable. Isabelle was badly hurt by her father and I have no doubt Judge and Creed took care of him. Marco all but outed Judge as a murderer, but Judge stands strong and firm, unphased by the accusation. Dare I say, he’s even a little proud.