by Megan Crane
“Like clockwork,” Chaser muttered, which was no more than the truth. Greeley had watched it happen a thousand times. If Digger was pissed about something, the whole club felt it.
“I wouldn’t want to be the brother who got in his face in front of witnesses and questioned his loyalty, like me and everyone else heard you did last night,” Uptown continued. He took a swig of his beer. “That’s just not a smart place to be with a do-gooder sheriff on the loose and the mayor about to take a fall, which you know Digger is going to feel like it’s personal. Maybe he’ll start thinking that what happened last night wasn’t about your woman after all.”
“I hear you,” Greeley said darkly, frowning down at his beer.
He knew what he had to do.
And he’d just gotten back on his bike, prepared to suck it up and go do it, when Roscoe called. He straddled his bike out in front of the little house where Chaser lived with his sullen teenage daughter, and wondered, not for the first time, how Chaser lived with so many nosey ass neighbors nearby. Meaning any. There was an old woman across the street who’d had eyes on him since he’d rolled up. Greeley was used to his business staying private.
“That piece of shit is no longer stinking up St. Germain Parish,” Roscoe said without preamble when Greeley took the call. “You good?”
“I’m heading over to Digger’s. Figured an apology was in order. Maybe a little ass-kissing. Not my favorite activity, but necessary.”
Roscoe was quiet for a moment. “You feeling particularly apologetic?”
“I’m feeling the club, brother,” Greeley gritted out. “Always.”
“I hear you.” Roscoe paused. “And that’s the right move.”
Greeley understood that meant that Digger had already started preparing to unleash his feelings in Greeley’s direction. He tucked his phone back in his pocket and started up his bike, hoping it was loud enough to irritate the old lady still watching him.
He didn’t really want to build bridges with the man he was now pretty much sure was screwing the club one way or another. But he also didn’t want to cause problems in the club, much less lose it somehow.
And he really didn’t want to think about what else he’d lost last night.
That meant he had no choice. He had to sack up and do what was necessary. He always did.
Digger was in his backyard with what seemed like the entirety of his extended family, which, this being Cajun country, could mean there was an actual celebration underway or it could mean some folks were simply hungry and had congregated the way people did down in the bayou. Greeley nodded at Whale, even made himself smile like the little bitch wasn’t a headache, and then he took note of which other Devil’s Keepers were here, making their allegiances known. Then he made his way over to Digger’s side like the good little suck-up sergeant at arms he needed to play today.
The fact it was the right move didn’t make it an easy one.
“Not sure I’m excited about you all up in my face again,” Digger muttered when they found their way into his deserted study, inside the house and away from the rest of the party. “I think I got my fill of that drama last night.”
“I lost it,” Greeley told him, straight and to the point, and held his president’s gaze when he did it. “I was out of my head. You know I’m loyal to you, Digger. I always have been. Tell me what I have to do to make this right.”
And it took a little work. It took Merritt’s suspicions about Ward Thayer’s shitty lawyering to get Digger’s head out of that office last night and back into club business, where it belonged. But when Greeley went to leave, his president clapped him on the shoulder like shit was good again.
“Glad you came by,” Digger told him gruffly. “I don’t like to see you going off the rails like that, brother. It’s no good for the club.”
What was no good for the club, Greeley thought as he rode his bike back toward home, was a president with murky motives and the willingness to lie to his brothers’ faces. Then again, he’d just done the exact same thing.
The difference was, Greeley wanted to save his club. He had no idea what Digger wanted to do. But he did know that an all-out war with his own president solved nothing and would do nothing but cause trouble.
And he had other wars he needed to fight. And win.
He was already tired when he pulled up to his house, and more than a little pissed, but all of that went away when he saw the figure sitting there on his doorstep. Waiting for him. She stood up as he rolled the bike onto its kickstand, brushing at her jeans like she was nervous.
Good, he thought. She should be nervous.
And if he stopped feeling tired and started feeling something a whole lot happier, he chose to ignore it. Right along with his overly optimistic cock.
Greeley turned his engine off, and there was nothing then, way out here in the country with no spies or sounds of cars in the distance. Just the sharp gold of another spring evening dancing over the bayou, and the woman who’d turned his whole life upside down.
More than once.
Merritt looked the way she always did. So fucking beautiful it was hard to believe she was real. She’d stopped trying to tame her dark hair and it hung around her, wavy and thick, brushing her bare shoulders and the top of her little tank top. Her eyes seemed even more blue than usual, and that hit at him, but his gaze went to the marks on her face, red and raw.
She wasn’t the one who was powerless here. Or lost. The only saving grace was he didn’t think she knew it.
“That dickhead is gone,” he told her in a gruff voice. “You’ll never see him again and if you do, it won’t be for long because I’ll kill him myself.”
Merritt nodded once. Jerkily.
“Good. Thank you. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Let me guess,” he said as he climbed off his bike. “You decided you wanted to stick the knife in deeper while it was still light out, so you could watch and really enjoy it this time.”
She stiffened. Her mouth went tight as if she was sucking in a gasp of pain. And he only felt like an asshole, so what was the point? He’d let her go last night thinking a good night’s sleep might sort her head out. He’d had every intention of going after her. But why bother if all they ever did was rip each other up?
He opened his mouth to tell her exactly that.
“I don’t know how to be in love with you,” she said quietly, beating him to the punch. And landing one to the solar plexus. “That’s why I took off. It terrifies me. I don’t know how to do it. I think I shouldn’t want you, but I do.”
And everything stopped. His heart. The world.
“What?” But he was moving toward her, his gaze locked to hers. “What did you say?”
“All I know how to do is run from you. From home. Because if I don’t, I might have to admit I’m happy here. That I like it here.”
“A fate worse than death obviously. Ask anyone.”
He stopped when he was within arm’s reach, but he kept his hands to himself. Barely.
“I like Louisiana,” she said, like that was some deep confession. “I miss Lanie. Maybe I want to see what happens if I live here for a while without my father telling me about all the places I need to go first.”
“Maybe you should live here more than a while,” he suggested. “And maybe you should admit I’m one of the things you miss.”
“There are a lot of things I have to do,” she told him very seriously, as if this was an argument. She made his chest hurt. Maybe she always would and maybe that was just the deal. If she was here, if she’d come back to him, Greeley thought he could get used to it. “I’m actually a very good lawyer, not that I ever had the chance to prove it in New York.”
“You can prove it here. The club will keep you busy.”
“I can’t be all about the club.”
“Then don’t be.” His hands itched to touch her, but he still kept them by his sides. “Be all about me. My property, not the club’s.” He laughed wh
en she frowned at that. “You didn’t come back here to throw some more obstacles in the way, Merritt. You know I don’t care what you do or how. I’ll support it. Baby, come on. I just want you.”
She smiled at him, and when her eyes filled with tears this time, Greeley reached out and wiped them away.
“I always thought I had to leave,” she whispered, her hands coming up to hook around his wrists, holding him there.
This was happening. This was real. It wasn’t another one of those fucking dreams he’d had all the time while she was in New York. He wasn’t going to wake up after thinking she was here only to lose her all over again when he realized she wasn’t. Because there was no way he would dream her with scrapes on her face from some asshole psycho that he really, truly hoped would show up again so he could handle the situation appropriately.
This is real, he told himself. That was the important thing.
“You don’t have to go anywhere.” He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers and feeling her breathe against him. The way she was supposed to. “But it doesn’t matter if you do. If you run. If you’re out on some roof again. Whatever. When you’re ready to come home, baby, all you have to do is look around and I’ll be right there to catch you and bring you back. Always.” He pressed his lips to hers, sweet and gentle, because he had fucking layers. If only for her. “I promise.”
And she surged up on her toes then, wrapping her arms around his neck and getting even closer.
“I love you,” she whispered fiercely, like it was too big for her, this thing between them. He understood. “It used to be the stars that made me dizzy. Now it’s you.”
He felt his mouth curve, even as he slid a hand down her back and beneath the waistband of her jeans to get his palm on her sweet, lush ass.
“I loved you the moment I saw you,” he told her, low and gruff. And hungry as hell—but this was important. “Sixteen freckles on your perfect face, and I knew then and there. It’s not going anywhere, darlin’. It never has. It never will.”
“Greeley,” she said softly, right there against his mouth, a thousand promises in her eyes. “My daddy wanted me to be better than this place. Than you. Than this. But I just want to come home.”
“Stay with me, Merritt,” he said, rough and close, his hand moving lower on her ass so he could curve around and get his fingers on her scalding hot pussy. “And you’ll never be anywhere else.”
He stopped fucking around then, before his cock took over and he threw her down in the dirt. He swept her up in his arms instead, holding her right where she belonged, and he got his mouth on hers at last.
Greeley carried his woman—the only old lady he’d ever wanted and the only one he’d ever allow to wear his patch, which he was going to make happen sooner rather than later—over the threshold of his house, then straight back into his bedroom.
He took his time undressing her, kissing every part of her as if he’d never tasted her before. And when he laid her out on his bed and followed her down, they were both breathing heavily.
He groaned when he thrust inside her, but he stilled when she wrapped her legs around him and reached up to push his hair from his face.
“You know that this might not work,” she told him very solemnly.
“It feels like it’s working fine.” He pulled back and then thrust back in, just to be sure, and got even harder when her eyes glazed over. His favorite expression. “See?”
She rested her scraped hands on his shoulders and focused on him again.
“Familiarity breeds contempt,” she said softly. “Maybe if I don’t leave we’ll get bored of each other.”
Greeley didn’t laugh because he could see she was serious. He dropped down to his elbows and got close to her, taking care not to bump any of her scrapes or bruises when he took her face in his hands.
“Merritt.” His voice was low and sure. He was deep inside of her. It felt hot and slick. And something like holy, here between the two of them. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep. That I’m not willing to take a bullet for. So far in my life that’s been one promise, to the club. The only other thing on this earth I love is you. I’m not going to get bored. I promise.”
She tilted her head back against his pillows, her gaze on his, his favorite shade of blue and gleaming now. “What if I get bored of you?”
“Go ahead,” he rumbled, his mouth against her neck, where he could feel how very bored she wasn’t. “I dare you.”
And then he began to move, to keep her attention.
Forever.
To my favorite biker chicks. You know who you are.
Acknowledgments
Thanks so much to Shauna Summers and everyone at Loveswept for making all the parts of publishing that aren’t writing so much fun!
BY MEGAN CRANE
Make You Burn
Devil’s Honor
PHOTO: COURTNEY LINDBERG PHOTOGRAPHY
USA Today bestselling, RITA-nominated, and critically acclaimed author MEGAN CRANE has written more than sixty books since her debut in 2004. She has been published all over the place, including at each of New York’s Big Five, and was one of the four founding authors of boutique powerhouse Tule Publishing. She’s won fans with her women’s fiction, chick lit, and work-for-hire young-adult novels as well as with the Harlequin Presents she writes as Caitlin Crews. These days her focus is on contemporary romance, from small town to international glamor, cowboys to bikers, dystopian Vikings, and beyond. She sometimes teaches creative writing classes in places like Mediabistro and UCLA Extension’s prestigious Writers’ Program, where she finally utilizes the MA and PhD in English Literature she received from the University of York in York, England. She currently lives in the glorious Pacific Northwest with a husband who draws comics and animation storyboards and their menagerie of ridiculous animals.
megancrane.com
Facebook.com/MeganCraneAndCaitlinCrews
@megancrane
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