Devil's Love

by Kim Jones

  Having him here has been great—better than I could’ve imagined. I like it being just him. Just me. But leave it to the club to, once again, fuck up everything good that’s happening between us. Not that this is anything serious … but still.

  “Will you come with us?” Red’s plea snaps me out of my thoughts and for the life of me I can’t remember what we were talking about. Thankfully, she refreshes my memory. “To celebrate my sobriety? We’re just going out to eat and maybe have a few drinks.”

  Her sobriety didn’t entail cutting out alcohol, only heroine. The tenth anniversary of her being clean was something to celebrate. But dinner and a few drinks never meant just dinner and a few drinks. By the end of the night, we’d be completely obliterated and have to get the guys to pick us up.

  As Red pleads her case, I can feel Marty as he watches me—waiting for my response. For some reason, I agree just to see what his reaction will be. “I’ll go.” The conversation around the counter in my kitchen dies as every eye falls on me.

  This is the part where I change my mind and decline—it’s expected of me. For years I haven’t been out with the girls because, unbeknownst to them, I’m not the same Maddie they know. Sure I act the same and look the same—sort of—but that weak, defenseless girl they’ve always known no longer exists. But they can’t know that. It’s better for everyone if they continue to think I need them to protect me.

  I don’t.

  As they continue to gape at me in silent disbelief, I reassure them. “It’ll be fun. I need to get out.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Marty’s curious look. Chances are, Luke already filled him in on how I never did anything with the girls anymore. How I’ve alienated myself from the club. How much Dallas misses me and how I’ve hurt her feelings by not coming around … blah, blah, blah. Truth is, I have better shit to do. But I can suffer through one night. Who knows? It might actually be … therapeutic.

  Girdles are a girl’s best friend. Turning to view myself at a different angle, I feel a sense of satisfaction spread through me when I notice that my belly looks toned and flat—like it once did. It’s too cold for a dress, so I settle on my best jeans and a tight fitting white top that hangs off my shoulders. Slipping a killer pair of red Jimmy Choos on my feet, I feel like the skinny, sexy Maddie I once was.

  I drive to Apollo’s, a small Italian restaurant in downtown Hattiesburg, where I promised to meet Red and Dallas. They’re waiting inside at the bar, not surprising, and whistle at me when I walk in.

  “You look … hot, Maddie,” Red says, dragging her eyes up my body in genuine appreciation. I don’t tell them it’s the girdle, I just wave off her compliment as if this is how I look when I wake up every morning.

  I order the same drink my sisters are having, Redbull and Vodka, and offer up a toast to Red. She beams as she accepts and the celebration has officially started. Four drinks in, I find myself telling them about my recent sexual encounters with Marty—not sparing a single detail.

  “Shit…” Dallas slurs. “That’s hot.”

  I give her a wink, motioning to the bartender for another round. “I know. And get this.” I make sure I have their full attention before I shock the piss out of them with my Marty knowledge. “I’m the only person he’s been with since he got out.”

  “No fucking way,” Red says, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest, not caring one damn bit about her foul language. “He’s a man. I can assure you he’s had sex more than twice.”

  “I swear, he hasn’t. He’s only had the good stuff.” I announce a little too loudly in Marty’s defense and a little too smug on my part. “He wouldn’t lie to me. He has no reason to.”

  “So, why hasn’t he demanded more of the ‘good stuff?’” Dallas asks, confused. Red is giving me that told-you-so look and I’m beginning to doubt Marty’s claim.

  “Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want me to think he just wants me for my body.” My comeback is weak, but they nod thoughtfully—turning that option over in their head.

  “I can see that.” Red’s words have hope soaring inside me once again. “He’d want to be careful with you. And after five years I’m sure caution is the last thing he’d be able to practice. So, he’s being patient.”

  “I’m still calling bullshit.” Debbie-Downer-Dallas isn’t convinced. And Red just pulled rank over her on my favorites list. “But if you want to believe it, then I’ll believe it with you.”

  She holds her glass up to mine, and I give her a polite nod. “Why thank you, sister. That’s exactly what I wanted you to say.”

  “Last call,” the waiter announces, seeming annoyed at the three of us. I look around and see we’re the only ones left. I guess if we’d hurry up and leave, then he could too.

  “Our Place?” I suggest, knowing the tiny bar will hold the door open for us as long as we’re spending money.

  Slapping her card down on the bar, Dallas nods in agreement. But Red shakes her head, hurrying to down her drink so she can answer. “There’s a new place about an hour from here. Let’s go check it out.” Shrugging, I agree as does Dallas. We pay the tab and Red, our best drunk driver, is nominated for the potential DUI award.

  As we near our destination, reality starts to sink in about where we’re actually going. This “new place” might be new to Red and Dallas, but to me it’s old news. I keep reminding myself that it’s been months since I’ve been here. What’s the chance the same people will be there? And even if they are, nobody will remember me. I’m sure of it.

  “Hey you,” the bartender shouts over the music, giving me a wink—a wink that says “I remember you.”

  I frown, ready to tell him he’s got the wrong girl but he walks away. “Did you hear that guy?” I shout to Red over the music.

  I sigh in relief when she shakes her head. “No, I’m too busy looking at that one.” She points and I follow her finger to a man across the room that is doing a Magic Mike impersonation on the dance floor.

  He’s tall, built and shirtless. His light hair has a curl to it and some of the strands stick to his neck and the sides of his face. Like he can sense my eye-fucking, he glances up from the floor—pointing his finger directly at me. Then in the smoothest Patrick Swayze move ever, he crooks it and motions me over.

  Shaking my head, I begin to protest. “Uh-uh,” I say, even though no one can hear me.

  “What the hell are you doing, Maddie?” Red yells, looking at me like I’ve grown horns. “You’re single. We want to live vicariously through you.” She looks at Dallas who says something, and nods her approval.

  Grabbing a shot from the tray of a nearby waitress, I ignore her protests and down the liquid encouragement. Needing more, I grab another one while Red fishes money from her back pocket and hands it to the waitress who is still pissed.

  I join Mr. Sexy on the dance floor and a ripple of catcalls ring out through the room. Pulling me into his arms with a little more force than I feel is necessary, he buries his face in my hair.

  “Hello, sexy.” His voice is low and dirty, raping the words as he breathes them into my ear. The bartender’s greeting has me paranoid and I search his face for recognition. When I don’t see any, I finally allow myself to relax.

  Our bodies mold together. He holds me tight to him, keeping his hand pressed firmly against the top of my ass and behind my neck. This is out of my normal comfort zone. But the alcohol, sexy talk and hip thrusts have me abandoning all sense of normalcy and jumping on the stranger danger band wagon.

  I’m lost in the music. It’s the only thing I feel, hear and see. The bass beats to the same steady rhythm as my heart. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed just letting go. The feeling is euphoric—like I’m floating. But it all changes in an instant when I’m snatched from cloud nine, my wings are clipped and I’m crashing and falling back to the present.

  “You bitch!” Had the words not have been screamed in my ear, I probably would have ignored them. But I look up to see a man s
truggling against two other men to get to me. I move to pull away from the man I’m dancing with—ready to ask this asshole what his problem is.

  “This is Whitney?” My dance partner calls loudly over the music.

  My blood runs cold. I’m shaking my head as the man foaming at the mouth nods his. His eyes lock on mine. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s just wearing a wig.” Shit. Fuck. Dammit.

  Before I have a chance to even move, the man whose arms are still around my waist fists a hand in my hair and jerks roughly. I cry out, fighting against his hold.

  Out of nowhere, Red launches herself like a wild, crazy banshee, jumping on the man’s back and wrapping her arms around his neck. He immediately releases me, fighting to pull her hands from around his throat as Dallas attacks him from the front.

  I stagger back, losing my balance and landing on my ass—just inside of my accuser’s reach. He growls something, breaking his arm free and swinging it toward me. I hold my hands up to block the blow that never comes. Then, my eyes focus on the orange and black reaper that hides his face beneath his black cape. I don’t have to see his face to know who it is. Those wide shoulders, perfect ass and that backward hat is answer enough—Marty. But in this moment, he’s more than just himself. He’s Devil’s Renegades Marty.

  The entire bar has erupted into chaos. Everyone is fighting, screaming and panicking, but my focus is on Marty’s arm as he delivers relentless punches to the man in front of him.

  Someone grabs me beneath my arms, and I start to fight back as I’m lifted to my feet. “It’s Chuck,” I hear him say as he hauls me out the door.

  I hear someone say to get the girls out and I recognize Luke’s voice. Then I realize I’m looking at the entire club enter the bar as I’m carried out. Before my feet are on the ground, Dallas and Red are hauled out too—kicking and screaming. Once they’re outside, I prepare myself for the real fight.

  “What the fuck, Maddie!” Dallas shouts, like this is my fault—which in reality, it is. “Do you know that guy?”

  I don’t respond. I’m trying to fix my hair and my clothes. I’m not going to talk about this to them, to anyone. This shouldn’t have happened.

  I knew better than to come here.

  FUCK.

  “This is un-fuckin’-believable,” Red snaps. “Of all the places we could’ve went and we’d have to choose the one with a Maddie look alike.” Throwing her hands on her hips, she kicks at the gravel. “Who called the guys? Was it you, Dallas? Did you tell Luke where we were?” Her tone is accusatory. And loud. Really loud.

  “Hell no,” Dallas groans. “I’m the one with the husband who spanks me with a belt when I screw up. What makes you think I’d tell him?”

  They both turn their eyes on me and I shrug innocently. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  “Well,” Red starts, mocking me. “Maybe it was Whitney.” I choose to ignore her comment and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling, despite the fucked up predicament I’ve gotten us into.

  The bar quiets down as the music is turned off. Moments later the doors burst open and people start piling out. Like the coward they expect me to be, I hide behind Dallas and Red, letting them take the brunt of the evil stares coming our way. These people are pissed that we messed up their night. I can’t blame them. I’m a little upset myself.

  Luke is the first to walk out, and there’s no avoiding his death glare. He looks straight through Dallas and Red and directly at me. “What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On.” Each word is like a punch to the gut as I swallow and spill the entire story—the lie that claimed I didn’t know that man at all.

  Just when I think he’s going to kill me, he relaxes a fraction. A tiny fraction, but a fraction nonetheless. “Chuck will drive y’all home. I’ll send someone for Red’s car later.”

  Dallas pales as he inches closer to her. Then I notice her thighs rub together. So she’s scared and turned on? What a combination. “You okay, babe?” he asks, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

  I turn away, letting them have their moment. The tension runs thick, but leave it to Regg to break the ice and make a scene. “Did y’all see my baby?” he asks to no one in particular. With a huge smile, he picks Red up by her waist and swings her around. “Like a mothafuckin’ Ninja!” She squeals in delight before planting a kiss on him that isn’t suitable for children to watch. Well, anyone to watch really.

  Once again, I’m the third wheel. Poor ol’ lonely Maddie, begging for a bone. I look around for Marty, the closest thing to a treat I’ll get in this crowd, but he’s nowhere to be found. I’m sure he’s beating the truth out of the man. If he succeeds, I’ll have to lie. That is if he asks me. Which I know he will. This is exactly the reason I avoided doing anything with the girls or the club. I hated feeling like this—like a victim.

  Dragging my feet, I make my way to the van where Chuck is waiting. I take the front seat and lean my head against the window and look out—my eyes still searching for Marty. Dallas and Red sit behind me, re-living the events and throwing in more detail than what really happened.

  As the van pulls away, I catch a glimpse of Marty standing in the doorway of the bar. His body is shaking with anger. His knuckles are mangled and bloody. Even when Luke approaches him, he keeps his gaze on me. Through the narrowed slits, I can see Marty’s bright green eyes shining—telling me everything he’s not saying out loud. I’m expecting fear but relief is the only thing I feel when I realize what those eyes are saying.

  He knows.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Maddie

  “I’m fine,” I say for the millionth time as I’m dropped off at my car. But just to be sure, Chuck phones Luke and gets the okay, only after he’s convinced by my voice that I’m not drunk. Finally, I’m released from the MC hold and free to drive myself home.

  I stop at a drive-thru and order more than I could possibly eat. To top it off, I get a chocolate milkshake that I’m sure contains more calories than any human should consume in a day.

  By the time I make it home, the milkshake is empty, all my fries are gone and that’s only the beginning of my despair. In my driveway sits a Harley that I know all too well—Elvira. “Here we go,” I mutter to myself, opening my door and clambering out. Fucking girdle was impairing my motor skills.

  “You making house calls now?” I ask when I walk in to find him sitting at my counter. I really shouldn’t be a smart-ass, but my mood has suddenly nosedived. Not giving two shits what he sees, I pull off my shoes, my shirt and my jeans leaving a trail of clothes down the hall.

  Slamming my bedroom door, I start working on removing the stomach sucking contraption from my waist. Great. Now I can eat more. Just what the hell I need. I grab a shirt from my dresser, slip a pair of pajama shorts on and remain panty free in an attempt to let my vagina breathe. Poor girl was not only dick deprived, but now I was suffocating her too. Much like how I feel when I see Marty still in my kitchen.

  He’s done nothing wrong. I can’t blame him for being smart—or beating the truth out of a man. I predicted it would happen. Just not this soon.

  Because I’m guilty and I know I’m on the chopping block, I immediately become defensive. Anger is my best weapon right now, and I use it in full force against him.

  “Go ahead, Marty. Ask me the question.” I start in as soon as we lock gazes. To force down the feeling of regret, I think horrible thoughts. I want to make him mad. I want him to be angry with me. Maybe I’ll piss him off enough that he’ll just abandon me completely—again.

  Shit. Low blow, Maddie. Even as I think it, I know it’s unfair. I’m angry at myself, and I’m taking it out on him.

  “You okay, Maddie? What did you do, Maddie? Are you hurt, Maddie?” I use a different impersonation with every question. Red, Dallas, Luke … They’ve been asking me the same questions for years. No sense in breaking tradition now.

  I keep myself busy around the kitchen—throwing things that don’t deserve to be thrown as I vent and avoid e
ye contact with him. I know he’s watching me from the barstool, probably on the verge of calling in reinforcements to help him deal with my new level of crazy. I don’t give a shit. He can call them all. Maybe they’ll come and I can give them a piece of my mind too.

  “You looked good tonight,” he says in a low and thoughtful voice. “Still do.”

  Putting my tantrum on a temporary pause, I turn to meet his gaze—he looks just as thoughtful as his words. I’m sucked into those cat-like eyes that shine a bright green. He has such a beautiful face—perfectly flawed by the traces of pain he’s endured.

  “I’m not big on asking questions I already know the answer to—by the way.” He fights a smile and I feel one forming on my own lips. But I fight against it. I’m not ready to be in a forgiving mood just yet. I want to be mad a little longer. And I need to find out exactly what it is he knows.

  “So you think you know the answers? Well,” with a wave of my hand, I offer him the floor, “by all means, enlighten me.”

  Clearing his throat, he cocks his head to the side before he speaks. “Physically you’re okay, but mentally you’re fucked up. You’re confused, tired, lost and right now … angry.” So he got one right. Big deal. “All you did was go out tonight and have fun with your sisters. You drank, danced and fell victim to a simple case of false identity.”

  My knees go weak with his admission. He doesn’t know. I fight like hell to keep from letting out a sigh of relief. Marty’s good at reading people. Lucky for me, I’m good at putting up walls without so much as a peep hole.

  “Unless there’s something else you want to tell me.” My reprieve is short lived. The challenge in his eyes makes me nervous. Does he know? Marty is not the type of man to beat around the bush. But could he be testing me?