Burning Road (A Devil's Cartel MC Series Book 1)

by Skyla Madi

  “Oh, I see.” He chuckled to himself as he hunched over for a new beer. “You want old lady status.”

  “Old lady status?” she wondered aloud.

  “Watch out for this one, Creed. She’ll take half of everything you own.”

  “I don’t understand. How old do I have to be?”

  We laughed at her.

  “You got on Google and read the first article you found about bikers, and the president’s role, but you skimmed the rest of it?” He blew air between his lips as he cracked his can. “Old lady is just a term, but it’s sacred status. Comes at a price.”

  “What price?”

  “Judge,” I warned. “Leave it.”

  I knew exactly where he was going with the conversation. Why? Because he was horny, probably, and he was used to me sharing my women with him. Threesomes weren’t my preferred thing, but things happened. Tonight was not the night I’d share Blondie. I needed her all to myself for a while longer. I needed to be sure she could handle it before I threw her into our world.

  Judge sat forward, ignoring my warning, like an asshole. “First, Creed has to deem you worthy.”

  “Okay.” Her ocean blue eyes flickered to mine, and she peered over her slender. “Am I?”

  I’d been a biker for way too long. I never thought I’d ever have to worry about having an old lady, but if I was gonna go for it, it’d be with the girl who captivated me from the beginning. If it fell to shit, at least I could say I gave it a go. But…I swallowed, confused. This afternoon, she was closed off to me, absorbed in her own thoughts. I gave her space since I just told her her father planned to ruin her life for his own gain. I felt she didn’t believe me, didn’t trust me, but now she wanted to join the MC? To leave her world behind? Color me fucking skeptical.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “We have an exclusive bylaw—”

  “Judge,” I snapped, making Izzy jump.

  He pinned me with his arrogant, amused stare, his oily irises flashing dangerously. “What?”

  “Not now.”

  He slid his jaw together and clenched, a quirk he had whenever he thought too hard. “Jonathan’s gonna want her back.”

  “He can’t have her.”

  “So she’s your bitch?”

  Isabelle made a noise in her throat. She hated the term, even if it was one of endearment.

  “Yes.”

  “I think she should know what she’s getting into so she can make an informed decision. What do you think, Blondie?”

  It was my turn to clench my jaw. He was purposely going over my head in pursuit of his own pleasure. He didn’t give two shits about her comfort or whether I made her mine or not. He was bored, and he wanted his fun. Usually, I let him have it, but he couldn’t have this one. Besides, it was way too soon. She’d been mine barely twenty-four hours. There was no need to bring up a situation that didn’t have to take place for a long time.

  “I want to know,” she told him, caressing my leg. “How bad could it be?”

  To a girl who’d only had two sexual partners and was tiny compared to us? Pretty damn bad. But Judge didn’t care. He explained it all to her, every reason, every rule, making it clear that if she wanted to be with me, if she really wanted to be with me, I had to share her at least once.

  “Oh.” Isabelle cleared her throat and glanced down at her lap. “I’m not ready for that…”

  Judge grinned, smug. “I guess she doesn’t want you bad enough.”

  “Fuck off, Damon,” I growled, and he laughed, sinking back into his chair.

  I handed Izzy my beer and wrapped my arms around her more, holding her close to me. I kissed her hair and nuzzled into her neck. I didn’t know why…maybe to comfort her. I wanted her to know I wasn’t ready to share her with anyone, either. I needed to be sure before I made that kind of commitment. If I chose her, if I took her under my patch and brought her into the club as more than a girlfriend, it meant I could never have another. If she decided club life was too much and left me, I’d be destined for meaningless sex with clubwhores for the rest of my life.

  As the fire died down, and we’d all had too much to drink, Judge kept baiting Iz, a pathetic attempt to lure her into a threesome. The more she drank, the more she teased back, and the more she pondered the idea of being with two men. It turned me on and made my blood boil all at once.

  “What makes you think I’d choose you, anyway?” Iz asked, tipping her head on an angle.

  “Baby.” Judge grinned. “You’d be stupid not to. Isn’t that right, Creed?”

  I cut my eyes at him. “I’m starting to think Casino is a smarter choice.”

  “Casino is never a smarter choice.” He angled himself in his chair, a stupid smug look on his face. “Maybe she likes Armi.”

  I bristled, and Judge laughed under his breath. It’d be a cold day in hell before I let her choose Armi. They got along well, and I hated it. Judge knew I had issues with Armi. I brought it up with him, demanded he stop asking Armi do everything for Isabelle, so it was fitting he’d use it against me.

  “Maybe I like Amani,” she shot back, downing the last mouthful of her fourth beer. “Maybe she does it for me.”

  I smirked as Judge scoffed.

  “You’re not fooling anyone,” he said. “I listened to you come all afternoon. A pussy isn’t going to do it for you.”

  She laughed as more heat wafted from her, and he gave me an arrogant look.

  “You’re right,” she replied and tossed her can across the pit to the box we’d turned into a makeshift bin. She missed. “Creed is enough.”

  “Is he?”

  As president, Judge played a verbal role. He knew what to say and when to say it, but I was always the one who put those words into action. He ran his mouth, but I got shit done. And I’d fucking prove it so he had no doubt Isabelle was mine, that I owned every inch of her perfect body. I believed it. She had me believing the whole club could line up, ready for their turn with her, and it’d still be my name she called.

  I slid my hand under her over-sized sweater and cupped one of her breasts. I felt the weight of it in my hand as it spilled over the edges, and her nipple hardened.

  “Yes,” she said as I kissed the slope of her neck.

  I knew she’d choose Judge as her provider if anything happened to me, and I wanted her to choose him, but for the moment, she was mine, and he had no right to make her skin pebble with goosebumps. Blondie relaxed into me and tilted her head, giving me more flesh to kiss. I did, gratefully, until she reached behind us and held the back of my neck, wanting more. I’d give her more. I’d give her more while Judge watched, so there was no doubt who she wanted or who she belonged to. I plunged my hand under the blanket then under the hem of her sweatpants. She sucked sharp air between her teeth as I slid my fingers along her bare pubic mound, marveling that it was still as soft and as smooth as it was last night.

  I kissed Izzy more and nipped at her earlobe before I spoke in her ear.

  “Show him,” I whispered. “Show him I’m all you need, baby.”

  Izzy opened her eyes and turned her head to look at me. I expected her to shy away, but liquid courage swam in the depths of her pretty ocean pools, and she kept her eyes on me as she shifted her hips and reached under the blanket where her body heat scorched every inch of me.

  “I don’t have anything to prove to him,” she murmured, only for me. “But I’ll play your game.”

  She was a good girl, but I made her bad. I made her want to be bad for me. Isabelle curled her fingers around the hem of her pants and lifted her ass to push the fabric down her thighs and over her knees. I felt the burn of Judge’s gaze on her from across the fire pit. I wanted to look at him and be smug, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my woman. She mesmerized me with her hooded eyes and glossy lips as she glided her palm over the back of my hand and pushed it lower, guiding our fingers to the soft creases that guarded her opening. She hummed my name and slid her finger against mine, easing th
e both of us inside her. I groaned as she bent her knees and pushed us deeper. The blanket slipped from our legs, but neither of us made a move to grab it, and she was exposed to Judge, our hands the only thing that stopped him from seeing her most intimate part.

  “That feels good,” she moaned, closing her eyes and resting her head against my chest.

  I squeezed her breast hard and toyed with her nipple. I pinched it hard and rolled it between my fingers, making her suck air between her teeth as she flexed her hips. Finally, I flicked my stare to Damon, who watched intently, his eyes on her breast, then her stomach, and where my finger disappeared inside her perfect pussy. He sipped at his beer and continued to watch, his excitement making his sweatpants rise. Anger and jealousy cut through my bones at the thought of him seeing her so vulnerable, but competition and pride outweighed the negative. I wanted him to covet what I had for once.

  “He’s looking at you,” I whispered in Blondie’s ear, curling my finger inside her, making her back arch. “Does that turn you on?”

  She shook her head but leaked into my hand as her pussy tightened.

  “Liar.”

  I smirked against the shell of her ear and added a second finger. She gasped and grabbed my wrist with her free hand, pushing my fingers in as deep as they would go.

  “James…”

  I turned my head and buried my face into her neck. I kissed, sucked, and bit her flesh until she was a quivering mess, until she was begging me to give her more, to make her come. I released her breast to rub her clit. I barely circled her little bundle of nerves three times before she went off, her orgasm taking her body my storm. I kept going until she couldn’t bear my touch without giggling. Then I grabbed her and laid her flat on the daybed.

  “Glad I didn’t take the plastic off those cushions,” Judge mused. I’d forgotten he was here. “Do I get to partake or—”

  “Get lost, Damon.” I kneeled between Isabelle’s legs and yanked off my hoodie and shirt. “Or stay and learn how to please a woman properly. I don’t give a shit.”

  I descended on her, and she grabbed at the hem of my pants, lifting her head off the cushions to meet my lips. Our breaths clashed as we kissed with passionate fever. My head spun, and I couldn’t tell which way was up.

  “Asshole,” Judge muttered. Then his chair scraped the bricks below. “I’ll be inside if you decide you want a real orgasm, Blondie.”

  This motherfucker. I broke the kiss with a tight, angry noise in my chest, and Isabelle caught my face in her hands, bringing me back, our noses grazing. “Ignore him.”

  She kissed me hard and wrapped her legs around my hips, pulling me flush against her body. It was easy to ignore him when she dominated my mind, body, and soul. Seconds later, I heard the cabin’s back door close and we were alone outside.

  I took her on the daybed all night. I fucked her, made love to her, and kissed her until my ass, thigh, bicep, and jaw muscles ached. When it was over, when the fire turned the wood to ash, and the plastic covering the cushions was torn, we wrapped the fur blanket around us and snuggled in tight.

  I just managed to doze off when the creak of a chair chased away my sleep. I opened my eyes and glanced at the dark figure sitting in Judge’s seat. He struck a match, and the flame illumined Judge’s tired features for a split second as he lit his cigarette. Guilt ate at me. He only smoked when he was stressed.

  “Can’t sleep?” I asked, my voice husky.

  “Nah.” He dragged on the cigarette, and the cherry glowed. “You know I can’t sleep here.”

  I did know that. It was why we stopped coming here when Nila died. It was why I was shocked when I found out he sent Izzy here.

  I cleared my throat. “Did you visit her? Did you give her the bear?”

  On the way here, we stopped at a department store. I bought Izzy clothes and toiletries, and Judge bought Nila a small, pink teddy. There was a hand-carved chest attached to her headstone filled with gifts he’d bought her over the years.

  “Yeah.”

  I still remembered her funeral. No one showed except the club. We were all she had.

  I glanced down at Blondie’s sleeping face, at the perfect furrow in her brows. If she chose me, the club would be all she had, too. We could be the best thing that ever happened to her…

  …or the absolute worst.

  ELEVEN

  I Z Z Y

  “Fuck!”

  What the hell? My eyelids flutter open then close again. My skull thumps, my brain feeling as though it’s swollen ten times its normal size. How much beer did I drink last night? I feel warm, naked skin against me and an erection hard against my belly. Creed. Memories of last night flood my mind, and a warm flush rushes through me. I snuggle closer to him, wanting to be closer, wanting to get away from the fresh morning air that nips at my skin through little openings at the edge of the blanket. Under my cheek, his skin is warm, and the thump of his heart beats at a steady pace. If I ignore the disgusting fact my father has thrown me to the wolves for his own benefit, life is perfect…

  The blanket covering my body is lifted, and I squint up at the shadowy figure standing above me. “Nice ass.”

  Or life was perfect for a moment. Judge swats me on the ass, and I shout, shielding my butt with my hand as I grab the blanket and twist on the cream daybed.

  “Oh my God!” I snap, shoving myself against Creed, who grips my hip and holds me firm. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I blink away the fog over my eyes and glance up at the tall, broad-shouldered Damon Judge. He quirks a tidy eyebrow and lifts one side of his full lips, the beginnings of a smirk.

  “Now you’re shy? I practically saw your uterus last night.”

  “You did not,” I splutter as fire rips through my cheeks, and Creed chokes on a laugh.

  Judge turns his dark gaze on his VP, all sparkly traces of humor gone. “Get up. We gotta go.”

  My stomach drops. “Go?”

  “Good-fucking-bye.” Creed takes my wrist and eases my arm behind my back, pressing my palm to his hard length. “You promised me two days.”

  “Forget it. Ra called. The FBI is coming to the clubhouse.”

  Creed’s body tightens, and his erection softens. “Shit.”

  “We gotta go to church.”

  Exhaling, Creed sits up, dumps more of the blanket on me, and runs his fingers through his chocolate hair. I flick my stare over his toned physique and admire the way the morning sun kisses every pore.

  “Fuck,” he sears, and Judge bends, grabbing Creed’s clothes off the ground.

  “Yep.” He tosses the clothes onto the bed. “Get dressed.”

  Creed curses as he grabs his hoodie and pulls it on over his head. Then he pushes the rest of the blanket off to put on his pants. While he adjusts himself, I wrap the blanket around me, doing my best to ignore Judge, who I can see out of the corner of my eye, grinning at me.

  “You’re covered in jizz,” he points out, and I balk. “Fun night?”

  “I am not!”

  More heat scorches my cheeks. Has he always been so brash? Like Modo?

  “Leave her alone, Damon,” Creed bites out, leaving the bed. “Get dressed, Iz. We’ll stop somewhere for breakfast—”

  “She’s not coming.”

  Creed cuts his eyes at Judge. “Yes, she is.”

  “No, she isn’t. Have you forgotten why we’re keeping her away in the first place?”

  “I’m not staying here by myself,” I protest, lifting myself off the daybed. “There could be murderers—”

  “Murderers? That’s your concern?” Judge laughs, flashing his perfect, white teeth. “You’ve been cuddling up to worse.”

  His words elicit a shudder from me. Creed, being as handsome, charming, and kind as he is, makes it easy to forget he lives his life on the wrong side of the law. What did he say he had to do to get here? Make someone talk? I don’t want to know.

  “Tell her, Creed,” he adds. “She stays here.”

 
; I turn my attention to Creed and wear my best pout. Over the years, this pout has gotten me a lot of extra pocket money as a kid and out of a lot of tight spots as an adult. Creed squares his impossibly broad shoulders, straightens his spine, and purses his lips. He’s the perfect picture of a VP trying to enforce his president’s rule.

  “That pout might work on Daddy, baby, but you’ve got no hope with me.” He swallows, and I see the disappointment swirl in his eyes. “You’re staying.”

  “Please, James,” I say, stepping closer, craning my neck to look up at him. Beside me, Judge curses. “Something could happen to me. I don’t feel safe without you.”

  Creed holds strong, his honey-gold eyes stern and serious. It lasts all of two seconds before he softens, like butter, and flicks his sympathetic stare to Judge.

  “No, Creed. I said no. She stays.”

  “She doesn’t want to stay by herself—”

  “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, cutting Creed off as he throws his hands and turns his back. “She’s broken my VP.”

  * * *

  I bounce down the front stairs of the cabin, barefoot, with an equal amount of fear and excitement swirling in my stomach. I drag my gaze over Creed’s mechanical beast, the all-black motorcycle he apparently named Kitty. Going by the name, I didn’t expect Kitty to be so…so…scary. I’m supposed to ride on that? Fear tips the scale in my belly. I’ve never been on a motorbike like Creed’s before. It’s blacked out, every inch of it, and it looks powerful. I nervously finger the skirt of my short, floral summer dress. It’s pale pink in hue and covered in a sporadic and colorful flower pattern. I didn’t plan on wearing a dress for the ride, but dresses are all Creed bought.

  I shift my attention from the chunky, beautiful piece of black machinery to Creed, who stands beside it. His hands are inside the pockets of his black jeans as he engages in a serious conversation with Judge, who leans against his own motorcycle. Both men are wearing their infamous leather vests—cuts. I heard Creed call it a cut—and it sends chills down my spine. Good chills. They look good.