Devil's Sins

by Naomi West

  Then he grabs my breasts with one hand, pressing down on one nipple with his thumb and the other with his fingers. He pushes them together. The orgasm intensifies. I can’t feel a thing except for the mad rush between my legs. I tilt my hips, pushing down with enough pressure to shatter us both. But he pushes back, holding us together.

  He comes just as fiercely as me.

  “Bounce for me!” he gasps, hardly able to get the words out. “Fuckin’ … ah, fuckin’ …”

  I bounce up and down, moving my hands across his back.

  He rolls aside and I roll with him. We end up lying diagonally on the bed, my leg draped over him. Neither of us cares about the come or the sweat or the smell of sex. It’s enough to just lie here, letting the aftershocks of the pleasure move through us.

  “We should go, right?” I ask about ten minutes later.

  “Yeah,” he replies. “We should.”

  But neither of us makes a move. We just lie here, content.

  17

  Cage

  “Maybe we ought to warn the sheriff,” Jax says. He rests his chin on his knuckles just like his older brother sometimes does. He looks around the table of officers.

  There’s me, Boulder, Jax, Gunner, Archie, and Shotgun. Archie and Shotgun are both older fellas. Archie has a white goatee and skin so pale some of the fellas call him the albino. Shotgun’s bald except for big bushy black eyebrows. He’s always wearing a fancy new gold watch and a big gold chain. And his sawn-off shotgun, customized over the years, is never far from his hands. Right now it’s at the door, where we all leave our tools during officer meets.

  “Seems like we might be wasting an opportunity there, brother,” Boulder mutters.

  Jax shrugs. “I reckon you might be right there. But the sheriff’s already pissed about this mess.”

  “What mess?” Shotgun asks. He just got back from a three-month-long job on the East Coast.

  “Don’t you read the damn news?” Jax grunts.

  “Is it really as bad as all that?” Shotgun asks. “And talk to me like that again’n there’ll be trouble.”

  All of the fellas laugh, including Jax.

  “Yeah, it’s as bad as all that,” I tell him. “But I reckon the boss makes a good point. We don’t wanna waste this chance.”

  “It would win us some brownie points though,” Gunner says. He clinks the ice around in his whisky glass.

  “Fuck brownie points,” Archie growls. “I haven’t been outlawing all these damn years to go to the sheriff, hat in hand.”

  “Maybe we ought to let them rob the damn place.” Boulder lights up a cigarette. “It’d force them to get the feds down here, I reckon.” He laughs grimly.

  “We’ve gotta take care of this ourselves,” Jax puts in.

  “Of course we have,” Boulder answers. “If the feds decide to start poking around Steep Rock, I don’t know if …” He cuts off. “But that ain’t gonna happen, so there’s no point growing lady parts about it. Listen, fellas, I want serious ideas now. We won’t get a chance like this again.”

  We discuss it some more. Eventually, Boulder turns to me. “If you were the boss, what’d you do?”

  “You mean apart from buildin’ myself a throne made of hundred-dollar bills?”

  Boulder grins like a jackal. “Come on, Cage.”

  I think on it. “I’d set up an ambush. I’d use our influence over Steep Rock to clear that area of town. I’d try’n keep it subtle, though. Maybe some roadworks or some shit. The bank’s still open. And then we’re waiting for them right there. We either slaughter them there, in the street, or place a sniper to take out Hatter. If Hatter’s there himself. I think he will be.”

  “What makes you say that?” Jax asks.

  “He needs control. I don’t reckon he’s the sort of fella to trust in his men. He needs to handle his own business.”

  “There’s some pride in that,” Boulder says. “But it’s damn stupid, too. A club without trust ain’t no club at all.”

  “Post a rifle and have us hiding in the buildings near the bank,” I go on. “What’s down that way? We’ll have to close a few stores. Compensate the owners.”

  “The post office, that gift shop old Blueberry runs. One of our bars. We could sort it.”

  Boulder claps his hands together. “All right then! We’ve got a plan. I want you working on it, Cage. And you other fellas, you’ll take your lead from Cage. I’ve gotta have fuckin’ dinner with the mayor tonight. Can you believe that, fellas? A bastard like me?”

  We all laugh.

  “But I’ll be with you on the day,” he promises. “If this Hatter bastard thinks he’s the only one who can ride into war, he’s dead wrong. I’m also gonna keep on with the scouting. Maybe they rob the bank like that thing says… the fuck is it, a floppy disc?”

  Jax growls out a laugh. “I reckon Mom did us some real damage by having us so far apart, brother.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  After some more laughter, we all leave the conference room. I grab a drink at the bar and then head through into the dormitories. I pause just outside the door, listening to the sound of Scarlett’s typing. I’ve been thinking lately about how a man could get used to a sound like that. Maybe I’d wake up one Saturday morning to the smell of bacon and those tapping keys. Maybe I don’t have to be the cold bastard I’ve always been.

  When I walk in, she doesn’t turn around. I walk over to the desk, looking over her shoulder. My body goes tight for a moment, the whole damn thing. Like I’m a bike chain, ready to snap. She’s writing about my brother.

  “Scarlett,” I whisper. I sound like I’m talking to a man I’m about to kill. Not to the woman I might … I push the thought away. “Scarlett,” I repeat, when she goes on typing.

  “One second,” she mutters. “Just let me finish—”

  I slam the laptop closed.

  “Hey!”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I snarl. “Are you mad? Is that it? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

  “Excuse me?” She stands up, hands raised. She’s seems genuinely confused.

  “You were writing about Isaac!” I snap.

  “I didn’t use his name!” she protests. “And this isn’t for publication. They’re just my personal notes.”

  “We had a damn deal!” I roar. I have to put my whisky glass down before I throw it. “You can write about those bastards, but not us. And not my brother, Scarlett. Goddamn, what’s the matter with you?”

  “Cage, I really don’t like the way you’re talking to me right now.”

  I almost tell her sorry. But then … My life, my brother, filling her damn pages. “I don’t care!” I snap. “I told you not to do it, so you won’t fuckin’ do it!”

  “Cage!” she cries. “Stop shouting at me, please!”

  “Delete the damn story,” I growl.

  “It’s not a story!” she protests. “It’s for my own personal journal. Nobody will ever see it.”

  “Yeah, and what if someone steals your laptop?”

  “It’s password-protected.”

  “What if somebody hacks it, then?”

  “I keep my journal on an encrypted thumb drive!”

  “Goddamn, woman! Then what if somebody steals the damn thumb drive and hacks into that, eh? This shouldn’t be an argument—”

  “We can agree there.”

  “This is my brother we’re talking about. I told you that in goddamn confidence. Not so you could use it as some sick fuckin’ material for your stupid dream of being a journalist!”

  I march over to the window and grab hold of the sill. Flakes of paint chip away and fall to the floor. My whole body is shaking. Everything is silent for a long time. In this room, at least. Outside, the sounds of nature go on. Inside, the sounds of the club go on. But in here it’s as quiet as death.

  “My stupid dream?” she whispers after a long time. “Is that how you see it, Cage? Is that really what you think?”

  “Dele
te the bit about my brother,” I tell her. “That’s what I think. That’s it. Delete the damn file’n then we can talk.”

  “I’ll delete the file, Cage. But I won’t stand for this. I won’t be shouted at. I won’t let you throw a temper tantrum every time you think I’ve done something wrong. I’m not some slave you can just boss—”

  “Slave?” I wheel on her. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? I gave myself to the goddamn enemy for you. I let them tie me to a chair and beat me like a dog for you. What the fuck’s the matter with you, eh? How can you be so goddamn selfish?”

  “I said I would delete the file!”

  “You never should’ve written about him in the first place!”

  “Stop yelling!” she snaps. She sits down roughly and opens the laptop. Then she highlights a big portion of the document, way more than the little bit I saw. She presses delete. It vanishes.

  “How long’ve you been writing about me, my brother, everything?”

  “I’ve been writing about us since it started. I thought it would be nice to look back on …”

  “We had a deal.” I’m just barely stopping myself from shouting. I speak through gritted teeth. “We had a damn deal!” I snarl.

  “I said I wouldn’t write a story about any of it! This isn’t a story! Haven’t I already said that? You need to calm down, Cage.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down,” I mutter darkly. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do.” I can’t look at her. I’m afraid I’ll get too angry. Or maybe I’ll go the other way’n she’ll think she can just do any damn thing she pleases. And then who cares about deals, and giving your word, and a code of honor?

  “I’m not telling you what to do! I just don’t like being shouted at. I deleted the thing, didn’t I? What more do you want?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe some goddamn gratitude.”

  “I am thankful!” she cries. “Do you want me to fall to my knees and praise you like you’re my fucking king or something? What shall I do, Cage? Shall I sew my mouth shut and spend the rest of my life just trying to look pretty for you? Oh no, you wouldn’t like that because then I wouldn’t be able to suck your cock!”

  “Fuck’s sake, Scarlett. Now you’re the one who needs to calm down.”

  I walk right up to her. She turns to me. We stare at each other. She’s furious with me. I can tell. But I’m furious with her too. And getting angrier by the second, by the way she’s looking at me. What damn right does she have to look at me like that? I saved her life.

  “They would’ve killed’n raped you in that forest,” I snarl.

  “I know that!” she hisses. “And I’ve said thank you. And I mean it. But tell me something, Cage. Why are you getting so angry about someone you don’t even care about? What am I to you, some whore? Some ‘piece’? Isn’t that how you guys say it? You won’t even make me your old lady. Why do you care what I do? You’re keeping me safe? Really? Or are you just keeping me here so you have a hole to plug whenever you feel like it?”

  “You weren’t complaining then.”

  “Well, I am now!”

  She throws her hands up, almost hitting me. She turns away, disgusted. I can’t tell if it’s with herself or with me. Or both.

  “Here I am, right? Just some hole for you?”

  “Stop saying that!” I demand.

  “Or what?” She spins on me again. “Are you going to hit me? Would that make you feel like a big man? Go on, Cage. What does it matter? I’m not your old lady so who cares? Beat me up, hurt me. Abuse me. Like you’ve been doing ever since we met.”

  “Abuse?” I roar. “Are you fuckin’ joking? What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “Confronted by a dangerous biker in an alleyway, kidnapped by psychopaths, stuffed in a refrigerator, running through a gunfight … shall I go on?”

  “Yeah’n all of that was your own damn fault.”

  “Because of my ‘stupid dream,’ right?”

  “Just fuckin’ leave me alone!” I roar.

  I end up destroying the desk. I kick it with my boot and then drag the whole thing down. I stamp on it until it’s nothing but a mess of splinters and chips of wood. I punch it a few times, too, gashing the hell outta my knuckles.

  I stop. A cut has reopened on my face, blood dripping down my cheek. I draw in heavy breaths, panting.

  When I turn around, Scarlett is gone.

  18

  Scarlett

  “I can’t believe you still won’t tell me what happened.” Krissy folds her arms and stares at me sternly. There are few sights more terrifying than Krissy’s stern stare. “What the hell? You skip into the sunset a week and a half ago to chase a lead. You disappear for a couple of days. Then, a week ago, you return and …” She snaps her fingers. “Poof! You don’t remember a thing!”

  “I remember everything,” I say tiredly. We’ve had this discussion many times. Krissy’s nothing if not tenacious.

  “Then why won’t you tell me?”

  “Because I don’t want to.” I sigh, feeling miserable. Every day since I stormed out of the clubhouse, I’ve felt miserable. It doesn’t help that I have Blazing Angels following me wherever I go, reminding me of Cage. It’s never him, though. Just his men. I know they’re tailing me for protection, but sometimes I feel like screaming at them. At least they normally hide well enough so I don’t see them.

  “You’re off in the clouds again,” Krissy comments.

  I put my laptop on the coffee table and take a sip of wine. I’m supposed to be writing up the kidnapping and the gunfight (leaving out all details about the Angels) but it’s hard to focus. Especially with Krissy chattering in my ear.

  “I thought you said you would quietly watch the TV.” I gesture at the TV, which is turned off.

  “People say lots of things.” She waves her hand through the air. Her sleeve follows, so baggy it’s like a cloak. “What about the man? Your man?”

  “I don’t have a man,” I whisper. The wine is good. It burns down my throat and settles nicely in my belly. “I never had a man, okay? It was just … it was just a stupid fling. That’s all. You have flings all the time. I don’t demand to know every little detail, do I?”

  “It seemed like more than a fling to me. When you spoke about … I don’t know, Scarlett. You seemed excited.”

  I resist the urge to snap at her. I fail. “What do you want from me? He doesn’t want me, Krissy! All he cares about is his club. He doesn’t want me as his old lady, and he clearly doesn’t want me in his life. He hasn’t even tried contacting me. It’s been a week. A whole week. And he doesn’t even care. So what’s the use in talking about it all the time? What good can it do?”

  Krissy puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, babe,” she says. “It’s okay.”

  I don’t mean to cry. I’m supposed to be stronger than that. But the tears come out anyway. They pour painfully from my eyes and slide like hot candle wax down my face. I cry into the deep folds of Krissy’s dress. When I’m done, I go into the bathroom. There’s a calendar pinned to the wall, next to the mirror. I look at for a moment. Something … then Krissy calls through that she’s opening another bottle of wine.

  I wash my face and go out there.

  “You could always find another man. There are plenty in Steep Rock who’d be happy to take you to bed.”

  “Yeah, great. Maybe I should just hang around after last call and see what happens?”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  “I don’t want to try it. I’m not judging you, but I want … something more. I wanted, anyway. I don’t know. I can’t make sense of any of it. I just wish he’d …” I almost say that I just wish he’d call. But I need to stop thinking like that. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering if Cage Morrow is going to apologize.

  “Maybe I will come out with you one night,” I mutter. But I’m not sure I mean it. I saw that life in college. I even experienced some of it. I never enjoyed it. Maybe it is easie
r to let go if you feel carefree and young. I haven’t felt carefree and young since Mom killed Dad. “Maybe I’ll find a man,” I go on, talking just for the sake of it. There’s a knot in my belly that refuses to loosen. It just squeezes tighter and tighter. “Maybe I’ll find several. Have a gangbang. Isn’t that what it’s called?”

  “Maybe we should go easy on the wine.” Krissy laughs nervously. “You don’t mean that.”

  “No,” I mutter. “You’re right. I don’t. But …” I sigh heavily. “I don’t know,” I finish.

  “You can talk to me,” Krissy says.

  “I know.”

  But I don’t. The only person I want to talk to is Cage. I keep lying awake at night, thinking of him walking through the bedroom door, scooping me up into his arms. I try to be strong; try to tell myself that it’s humiliating to think like that. But it turns out my feelings have very little to do with what I want. They have a mind of their own.

  “Let’s put on The Real Housewives!” Krissy exclaims. “It looks like you’re done working for a while, right?”

  “Okay, yeah. Sure, Krissy.”

  We watch The Real Housewives of Orange County. As I watch, I wonder if women like this really exist. Or if it’s all just a show for the camera. I can’t help but feel potent jealousy as I watch their seemingly-perfect lives. Right now, I’d kill for my biggest problem to be what color drapes to choose for my new office.

  Krissy’s cellphones goes off halfway through the episode. “It’s work.” She sighs.

  “Work.” I laugh bitterly. I haven’t been in to work since the kidnapping. Pretty soon I’ll start having rent problems.

  “Yes, yes,” Krissy answers. “That’s fine. Give me an hour, okay?”