The Devil's Scars (The Road Devils MC Book 1)

by Marysol James

  “When Wolf patched in with the Devils, what’d you think?” Saint asked Zoe. “I mean, he was, what? Twenty-one when it was made official?”

  “Yeah,” Zoe said. “And I didn’t have a clue what it meant back then. I was only eighteen myself, and barely holding on at home with Mom being drunk 24/7, working at a crap tattoo place six days a week to learn the job, and fighting to keep Hailey fed and clothed and in school. Wolf told me he was prospecting, but never talked much about the hardcore shit that he was into already. The violence, the drugs, the gun-running… I honestly thought that an MC was a bunch of guys riding around Denver on noisy bikes, drinking too much, sleeping around with easy women, generally being immature, macho idiots.”

  “Well, yeah,” Saint said. “That’s about right, actually.”

  Zoe laughed. “It is now, I know, but not back then.”

  “No,” Wolf said grimly. “It was bad back then, but the thing is, I didn’t really care. I liked havin’ people watchin’ my back. Never had that before the MC, except for Zee here.”

  “We had each other’s backs, Wolf,” Zoe told him softly. “For as long as I can remember, we have.”

  They stared at each other, shared a tiny smile. Years and years of friendship were behind that smile. Endless summer nights spent in Zoe’s backyard, lying on their backs and looking up at the stars, just talking and not talking. Countless hours spent under Wolf’s family’s front porch, hiding from one or the other of their violent, drunk, raging fathers, soothing a crying, terrified Hailey, trying to keep her quiet and calm. Uncountable Cokes and beers in long-forgotten dive diners and bars, hanging out and catching up with each other’s lives. Years and years of love, and trust, and die-hard faith, despite anything and everything they’d ever done and chosen. It was really quite something, what they had, and they both knew it. That shared smile said that they knew it, damn good and well.

  “So when Wolf patched in, you were cool with it, then?” Saint asked. “Clueless, but cool?”

  Zoe paused. “Well… I kind of… got sucked into the life myself. A bit.”

  “Wait.” Saint looked riveted and delighted. “You – you hung around The Road Devils? Way back then?”

  “No fuckin’ way.” Wolf’s words were clipped. “You kiddin’ me? You think I’d let Zee around a bunch of one-percenters at the age of eighteen?”

  “Oh, no.” Saint looked horrified. “It’s just, she said that she got sucked into the life so…”

  “Oh, later,” Zoe explained. “Wolf patched in, and then for about six years, I barely saw him. We kind of lost regular touch, I guess, but we talked on the phone and caught up when we ran into each other around town. Then one night, just over six years ago, we met up at a bar for a few drinks, and he brought some of his brothers. I kind of – hit it off with one of them.” Zoe forced herself to keep her tone disinterested, distant. “We dated for a while. Didn’t last long, just a few weeks. But I was around this bar and the clubhouse a bit, but only for about a month.”

  Saint nodded, drank some more beer. “You were a short-term biker babe, huh?”

  “Yep. Not really my thing, though. Not then, and certainly not now.”

  “Damn, sweet cheeks,” Saint said with his sunny grin. “There goes my chance with you, huh?”

  “Not a prayer, handsome,” Zoe told him. “Bikers are not my thing.”

  “Huh. So… you were hanging around here, what, about six years ago?” Saint said. “Just before my time, then.”

  “I guess so.” Zoe shrugged. “I left Denver then, remember, so it’s not like I’ve been around for all the big club changes and all the new members. Missed everything, really. I don’t recognize any of you guys, to be honest. Even the MC guys now who were around back then, I don’t remember.”

  “Not even Scars?” Saint asked. “He’s pretty damn hard to forget, if you’ve seen him even once from across a dark, crowded room. He’s a distinctive-looking bastard, and all.”

  “Nope,” Zoe said, all casual and definitely not thinking about Scars and Vixen probably fucking wildly in the back room right at the goddamn second. “I don’t know why I didn’t see him all those years ago, but I didn’t. I mean, I wasn’t here that much, but still… I’m sure he’d have stuck in my mind.”

  “Scars wasn’t around much back then,” Wolf explained. “He was the club’s main delivery man, remember, Saint? So he was always ridin’ out of state for Jensen. I think he was back here maybe a week a month, total. Easy to have missed him, for sure. Bad timing.”

  “Aww, yeah. Of course.”

  Zoe looked up sharply. “What kind of deliveries?”

  “Doesn’t matter, baby girl.” Wolf waved his hand. “It’s all over. Long over.”

  Zoe scowled, sucked back her drink, wished it was stronger. Yeah, she knew what Scars would have been driving out of state for Kirk Jensen. Guns and drugs, for sure. Probably hookers, too.

  Running deliveries was some of the most dangerous and best-paid one-percenter MC work, she knew, simply because the things being delivered had a significant street- and dollar-value attached, and any loss or damage to the products hit a club’s bottom line, so the delivery guys got a percentage of the value of whatever they were moving. Also, a delivery was under constant threat of being attacked or stolen by rivals, so the delivery guys had to be armed to the damn teeth, and ready to take out in cold blood anyone who even looked at them funny.

  If Scars had been trusted to head up the transport side of things, then it had been because he’d shown himself to be ruthless and murderous enough to handle whatever problems came up. It also meant that he’d chosen protecting illegal drugs and guns over human life… which made him a fucking animal, at the end of the day.

  Scum-sucking scumbag. I knew it.

  “Sure, it’s long over, you’re right,” she said, still totally casual, then she stood up. “Listen… be right back, OK? Just going to the bathroom for a minute.”

  “Another drink, Zee?” Saint asked her, seeing that her glass was empty. “I’ll stand over Cole personally and make sure it’s weak.”

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I have to get home.”

  “You know you ain’t drivin’, right?” Wolf growled. “Even one weak one is a big deal for you, baby girl, so you ain’t gettin’ behind the wheel.”

  “I know, I know,” she said. “I’d planned to take a taxi home, and then bus it back out here tomorrow to get my car.”

  “Forget that,” Wolf snapped. “Taxi home, but leave the car keys, and one of the boys will bring it back tomorrow. Just tell me what time.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to –”

  “Shut it, Zee,” Wolf said. “What fuckin’ time?”

  “Wolf, you’re so damn rude,” she huffed. “Jesus.”

  Wolf just cocked his head, stared at her.

  “Fine, fine,” Zoe said, knowing full well that the man would just dig in and sit there and glare at her all night until she answered the way that he wanted her to. “How about noon?”

  “Perfect,” Wolf said. “So now you can get Zee another drink, man, ‘cause she ain’t anythin’ close to even buzzin’ yet. One more is cool. She can handle it, trust me.”

  Zoe shook her head, laughed despite herself. God, she adored the man, even if he drove her around the bend half the time. Like a real brother, she supposed. Like the brother that she never had.

  She walked down the hallway to the bathroom, making a point of not even glancing at the closed doors leading into the various back rooms. She rolled her eyes – at who, she had no idea, but it made her feel better – and stomped into the bathroom. While she washed her hands, she scowled at herself in the mirror, pissed off that she was pissed off.

  Why did she care if Scars was off fucking the club whore?

  Well, OK… maybe care was too strong a word. Maybe she was just annoyed about it. A
fter all, she’d been all gung-ho about finally apologizing for being such a bitch – and now she couldn’t do it, because he wasn’t sitting with her and Wolf and Saint, because he was avoiding her for being a bitch, and because…

  Because he’s off fucking the club whore. Argh.

  She stormed out of the bathroom, determined to go throw her drink back and get home to Keira, when she walked smack into a tall, broad, solid wall of muscle.

  “Oooof!” she said, her breath knocked out of her on impact. She lowered her head, shut her eyes, as her chest smarted a bit. “Owww…”

  The large, strong arms that came up and around her were familiar, and they felt good. Damn good. Zoe froze, then without any real thought, certainly without her permission, her body softened, relaxed. Went almost limp in the embrace of the only man who’d ever made her melt at a small, single touch.

  “Scars…” she whispered, her eyes still closed. She hadn’t seen his face, he hadn’t said a word, but she knew it was him, knew it in all the ways and places that mattered. “Hey…”

  “Hey,” he replied, sounded worried. “You OK?”

  She nodded, not quite ready to move away.

  “You sure?” His hand rose now, stroked the back of her head, and she curled closer to his chest, loving the grooved ridges and defined edges, even through his shirt. “You walked into me pretty hard. Knocked out your breath?”

  She nodded again.

  “OK. Take a minute then, baby.”

  They stood there, just for about ten seconds, but for Zoe, it was the sweetest, most calming ten seconds of her week. She just stood there and went blissfully blank: didn’t think, didn’t have to make a decision, didn’t care what time it was. She just breathed. She hated to pull away, hated to leave this warm, safe place – but she had to. She couldn’t encourage him in any way. It wasn’t fair.

  She leaned back and away, and his arms released her. She felt a small pang of disappointment that he hadn’t held on, then caught herself. She didn’t want him to want her.

  Right?

  Right.

  “OK now?” he asked, those eyes narrowed to blue flame as he waited for her answer. “Breathing again?”

  “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.”

  He nodded. “Seems you’re always short of breath around me. And you’re always pressed up against me outside this bathroom door.”

  She flushed, but she couldn’t really argue with the man. Still, his comments weren’t terrifically helpful, all things considered.

  “Actually…” She cleared her throat. “Ummm… I wanted to – to talk to you. Alone, if possible. If you’re not busy, I mean…”

  “I’m not busy.”

  “But…” She looked around, wondering if he’d just finished up and left Vixen in the back room. Maybe they were done already? But that didn’t jive with what she knew about Scars and sex – the man was pure filth, and he took his time. “What about Vixen?”

  “Yeah, I gave her a boost.”

  Zoe paused, surprised how much it pained her to think of Scars with another woman after all. She opted for humor, though:

  “A boost? Is that what the cool kids are calling it these days?”

  Scars gazed down at her. He wasn’t touching her anymore, but he was close enough that she felt his body heat. She swallowed, hard, remembering how hot and wet he’d made her. Her pussy gave a tiny twinge, a little pulse, and she fought does the urge to cross her legs to contain the slowly-building, -rising feelings.

  “Calling what?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “What are the cool kids calling ‘a boost’ these days?”

  “Uh.” Mortified at just how badly the joke had gone, she flushed what was surely purple by this point. “Uh, you know.”

  “Nope.”

  “You know, Scars. What you and Vixen were just doing.”

  He stared at her some more, then a look of understanding flashed over that hard, damaged face.

  “Ohhh, wait up.” He cocked his head at her. “You think me and Vix were off having sex.”

  “Well… yeah. You ‘gave her a boost’.” Zoe put air-quotes around the phrase, still pathetically trying to pass it off as a joke. “I figure that’s Road Devils in-house slang for banging.”

  “It’s not,” he said crisply. “I actually gave the woman a boost. Her car battery was dead.”

  “Oh.” Zoe wondered if she could feel any stupider, decided on the whole, probably not. “Right.”

  “What do you care if I’d been banging Vix, anyway?” he demanded suddenly, and most inconveniently. “It’s not like I’m a taken man.”

  “Oh, I know.” She scrambled to retrieve a mere smidgen of her dignity. “I mean… I know you’re not. So… so could we talk? Please? It won’t take long. It can’t take long, because I have to get home to Keira by nine, so you know – I won’t take up too much of your evening… but if you can’t now, maybe we can –”

  “Zoe,” he said, mercifully cutting off her rushing tidal wave of rambling inanity, and saving her from having to seek a hole to swallow her up. “It’s fine. Now is fine.”

  “Oh. OK, then.”

  “C’mon.” Gently, he turned her whole body, kept his hand on her lower back as he guided her to the manager’s office. “In here. It’s sound-proofed so I can actually focus on paperwork and take calls, even when the music is blaring, so it’s quiet enough to talk.”

  “Alright.”

  Scars unlocked the door, and waved Zoe inside. She looked around, curious despite herself about where Scars spent so many of his working hours. She suspected that even though lots of the bar staff used this space, the majority of its usage fell on the man standing in front of her right now, turning on lights and bustling around a bit, moving stacks of paper and what looked like boxes of alcohol.

  It was a good-sized office, much bigger than hers over at Blue Dragon. It was better laid-out too, although it didn’t have a window. Zoe needed natural light to think straight, loved the skylight above her desk, so she wouldn’t ever trade her cramped office for the extra square footage of this one. She’d kill for that massive leather sofa, though, and for the sprawling desk. Her own desk was maybe half the size, and Zoe was big into spreading out when she was working.

  “OK.” He locked the door out of habit, then walked over and sat behind the desk, indicated at the chair in front of it. “What’s up?”

  “Uh, well.” Zoe sat down, trying hard not to fidget as he stared at her in that totally disarming, stripping-flesh-off-her-bones way that he had. “I just – I wanted to tell you that I’m – that I feel really bad. About that kind of… well. That kind of judgmental and mean thing that I said to you.”

  “Which time?” he asked wryly, but not in a nasty or asshole way, more in a ‘gathering the facts’ way. “You’ve had a few choice words for me, on a few separate occasions.”

  “Uh… yeah. I – I guess that’s true.” Zoe blinked, suddenly realizing just how much of a thunderbitch she’d actually been to the man. Well, high time to make it right, and the fact that he was still sitting here and listening to her babbling was a minor miracle. “So, I’m sorry for every time, but mostly, for the last time. In the kitchen… what I said in the kitchen.”

  “Ah. Yeah. The kitchen.” He grinned, and she relaxed a bit at his good humor. “Not the bar back room or the tattoo place. The kitchen. That occasion of a few choice words.”

  “That one, yes. I – oh, shit, Scars. I was way out of line. I’m sorry.” Zoe struggled to find the words, surprised how much it mattered to her that she get this right. Suddenly stopping at ‘I’m sorry’ just didn’t feel like enough. “I’m – I’m horrified at how I behaved, and I’m embarrassed. You were so great with Keira and bringing me dinner, and I just… I was rude. I was more than rude. I was – what I said was unforgivable, but I still want to ask you
to forgive me. If you can, I mean. I’d like to ask – I’d like to ask if you could please forgive me.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  Zoe blinked. “You just… just like that? Just… forgiven?”

  “Sure. Why not?” Scars shrugged, got to his feet, glanced at the clock on his cell, fiddled with some papers on the desk. “Life’s too short for grudges, right? We’re good.”

  “Uh.” Zoe stood up too, though she felt unbalanced. She thought he’d make her crawl, if he didn’t just tell her to drop dead. This easy grace, this automatic kindness, it took her aback, and quite a bit. Then again, his refusal to be a dickhead about her being a thunderbitch made the next part a bit easier, too. “So… then we can be friends?”

  Scars stopped dead, and stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head, right there in front of him. “Friends?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She watched him walk around to her side, his steps slow, measured, deliberate. He advanced on her, and she almost backed up, then she remembered that he’d never hurt her. So despite being wary, nervous, uncertain, she stood her ground. “Is that OK with you?”

  “Uh, no.” Scars was looming over her now, all six-foot-four of him, every muscle in that mountain of a body rigid with anger. “Like hell it’s OK with me.”

  “But you just said –”

  “I said all was forgiven. I never said I wanted to be your goddamn friend.”

  “So, you mean…” Zoe’s voice trailed off as she stood there, totally lost. “So… what do you mean?”

  Scars gave her that smile now – the dangerous one. The one that she loved, even if she refused to admit it to anyone. Not even herself.

  “I mean, baby, that I have exactly zero fucking interest in being your friend.” His voice was pure molten growl, and it hit all her soft, sweet spots. “We’re not friends, you and me, because I don’t want to do with my friends what I want to do with you, and to you.”

  “What?” she whispered, lost in those eyes, eyes so deep and blue, she wanted to dive in and forget the world. “Scars…”