DEVOUR ME: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (The Wicked Angels MC)

by Sophia Gray

  “Amanda, this is the best carrot cake muffin I’ve ever had,” I heard one woman say over a mouth full of food. I smiled and reminded her I could always box up a couple for her to take home. My recipes were my babies, and I guarded them with my life. I’d always wanted to go to culinary school. Well, this was the next best thing. Besides, what was the point of culinary school but to have my own bakery one day? I’d pretty much cut out the middle man.

  Good thing, since I didn’t have the money for tuition anyway.

  A loud growl sounded outside, and every head turned toward the plate glass windows that looked out onto the street. It was a pretty little street, very all-American, with its shops, striped awnings and leafy trees. The sight of two dozen motorcycles traveling down the center seemed extremely out of place. Their engines roared as they passed by.

  “Damn it,” I heard one of the customers grumble. “I thought they were gone for good.”

  Carly came up beside me. “They’re back,” she murmured.

  “Who are they?” I had never seen them before. They all rode black bikes, all dressed in denim and leather. They were a fearsome-looking bunch.

  “The Wicked Angels,” she said. I heard disgust in her voice.

  “Why haven’t I heard of them before? Where did they come from?”

  “Most of them were in jail, some big thing around a year ago. Destruction of property, suspected arson. They were all on probation for one reason or another, so they all got time for violation,” she explained quietly. “I never heard the specifics, but, suffice it to say, nobody was sorry to see them go. I guess they got out. Their clubhouse is right on the outskirts of town. They’re not allowed to do business inside.” A couple walked in just then, and Carly went back to the register to take their order.

  A motorcycle club? That didn’t fit the town at all. It was like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. That’s why I settled here in the first place, just before buying the shop. I heard several customers murmuring among themselves, and I inched my way closer to them. Now that I’d heard of the club’s existence, I wanted to know more.

  “She was such a sweet girl, too,” one of them was saying. “I never understood why she married him.”

  “Suspicious,” another one declared, shaking their head. “Never believed it was an accidental death.”

  “Of course not. Nobody mixed up with that club dies accidentally. Just because she wasn’t a member doesn’t mean she wasn’t part of it.”

  “I heard he still hasn’t gotten over it.”

  “Would you? A dead wife and no answers? And the way she died…so awful.” They continued their gossip while I walked away to clear off another table.

  I thought back to the men I saw riding past. I wondered which one they were talking about. Or was he even riding with the club anymore, considering he hadn’t gotten over his wife’s death? If somebody I loved died tragically, potentially because of what I was mixed up in, I wasn’t sure I’d want to be part of it anymore.

  I hoped they stayed far away from Main Street from now on, and if they didn’t, I hoped they weren’t in the mood for coffee when they visited. I could only imagine how quickly my customers would fly away to the big chain coffee shops if a motorcycle club started hanging around, no matter how delicious my baked goods were.

  I made it a point to busy myself and stop thinking about it. After all, no sense in worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet and probably would never happen.

  I didn’t need any more scary people in my life. I moved to this town to get away from scary people. Or rather, one scary person in particular.

  Chapter 3

  A tall man who looks like he could crush me if he decided to is leading me through the snow. But I don’t have a choice. It’s either this or freeze to death in the backseat of my car.

  We’re actually not far from where I pulled over, I realize. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was only a quarter mile or so. When the storm was at its peak, I couldn’t see a damn thing out the windows. I could have been driving down the middle of Main Street and never would have known, unable to see more than a foot in front of me. Now, I see the house more clearly as we approach. It sits by itself, green siding stark against the gray sky, smoke curling up from the chimney. I turn to check that my car is safe where it’s sitting. I can easily see it from here, even with the flakes that are still falling fast and heavy. I guess that’s how he spotted me.

  A hound dog runs alongside us, bounding through the snow. I can’t help but laugh at its absolute joy. To think I’d probably come close to dying in the same snow this dog finds so thrilling. I wonder if he lives alone, this man, or if he has a family. The idea of freezing isn’t appealing but neither is being raped and murdered in some farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere.

  I’m nearing exhaustion, slowing down even though he’s doing a good job of clearing a path for me through the deep snow. The hound trails behind him, nudging me. Sweet dog. This gets the man’s attention. He doubles back for me, taking my arm and pulling me along with him. I have no choice but to be dragged. I’m glad for it, though. I might have given up if left to my own devices. When’s the last time I ate? I don’t even remember now.

  “Come on,” I hear him shout, urging me to keep up. “It’s getting heavy again. Just a little more.” We finally reach the back porch and stumble up the steps, pushed from behind by the wind that has, indeed, strengthened once again. We make it just in the nick of time. He opens the door and ushers me inside along with the dog, then pushes it shut against the howling wind.

  I’m standing in a little farmhouse kitchen, complete with a fireplace along one wall. There’s a flight of stairs dividing the room in half, with the stove and other appliances on the opposite side of the hearth. The flames are blazing, which is a welcome sight to my half-frozen eyes. The whole room is quaint, cozy, and not at all what I would have expected.

  “Motherfucker,” he breathes, panting for air. “I can’t believe how hard it’s blowing out there.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say weakly, hardly able to speak.

  He must see me swaying on my feet because he rushes to me, sitting me in a chair by the fire. “Let me take your gloves,” he says in his deep voice. “They’re all wet and cold. Same with your boots, they’re probably soaked through now.” He is right. These aren’t snow boots. I am totally unprepared for this. His rough hands rip the boots from my feet, along with the wet socks. “Do you feel this?” He pinches the sole of my foot, and I nod. “Good. They’re red, not white. White would be a problem. Keep them by the fire.”

  I do as I’m told, while stretching forward to warm my hands, as well. If he wanted to rape me, I reason with myself, he wouldn’t be so concerned with whether I lose my toes or fingers.

  Minutes later he comes back, holding out a steaming mug. “Drink this,” he says, thrusting it toward me.

  “What is it?”

  “Tea with whiskey. It’ll get your blood flowing again.”

  I take it, feeling tentative. Is he drugging me? I take a sniff and reel backward, the smell of the whiskey hitting me hard. “I can’t guarantee how well I’ll handle this. I don’t know how long it’s been since I ate.”

  “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, you need to get your blood going and warm up, especially since you were asleep in the cold.”

  I see his point and take a tiny sip. It burns a warm trail down my throat and makes me wince, but there’s no denying how nice it feels to warm up inside. I smile a little, making him smile in return.

  “That’s better,” he says, taking off his heavy parka to reveal more of himself. I watch him through the steam coming off the tea. He’s just as big without the coat as he was with it. Tall, muscular, intimidating. He’s wearing a t-shirt in the middle of winter, stretched tight over his broad chest and around his thick biceps. I see tattoos on both arms. His hair is dark, cropped close.

  “I’ve seen you before,” I say, surprised. “You came i
nto my shop one day around a week ago, didn’t you?”

  He grins. “I did. You have a good memory.”

  “I remember all my customers.” I take another sip of tea, choosing to leave out the part where he stuck out because of how gorgeous he was. He’d come in alone, right after I’d opened for the day. I’d sent Carly to the bank for change, leaving just me and him in the shop together. I’d felt a little overwhelmed by him, by his sheer size and presence, not to mention his smoldering good looks and big dark eyes. He’d been nothing but polite, though, and had left a big tip in the jar.

  “You’re probably the only person in town who was nice to me that day,” he says thoughtfully.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Long story. How’s the tea?”

  “I feel like I’m floating on a warm cloud.”

  “That sounds about right.” He smiles, dazzling against his tanned skin. He must work outdoors or something, judging from the body and the tan.

  “So listen, I hate to tell you this, but it’s gonna take me forever to get your car out of that snow. It’s probably completely buried by now. Besides, there’s a second storm on its way tonight. Anything that’s cleared off will just be back by morning.”

  “Wait. What are you saying?” I’ve fallen off my cloud and back down to Earth with a thud.

  “I’m saying you’ll have to spend the night. There’s just no way for you to get out of here; besides, there’s not enough gas in the tank. Remember?”

  The warm, cozy feeling I had disappears in a flash. I’m sure I’ve seen at least one horror movie that started out like this. “Uh-uh. No way!”

  His expression changes. Now he looks dark, dangerous, the way I’d expect him to be if judging him by his tattoos alone. “Listen, sweetheart, you’re more than welcome to walk your ass back home in the middle of a freaking blizzard if you’re so dead set against it. Be my guest.”

  Damn it. He’s right, of course. I’m trapped here whether I like it or not. Even though the part of my brain still rational enough for thought reminds me I could easily be dead right now, frozen in the backseat of my car if it weren’t for him, the rest of me is annoyed that I have to stay here instead of at home or, better yet, with my parents. Gorgeous or not, he’s a complete stranger.

  A stranger who saved my life, that is.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was bitchy of me,” I mumble. “I wasn’t thinking. It’s just that I was so excited about getting home to see my parents for the holidays. It’s been a while, you know? They were looking forward to seeing me, too. This isn’t how I’d planned on things going.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m sure they’d rather have you alive than frozen to death in the middle of the road.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Okay. You’re right. You win. And it’s nice of you to let me stay. It was really great that you came to get me, too. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We sit in silence for a while, then I remember something.

  “Shit. Is your land line working? I didn’t have any service on my phone, then it went dead. I couldn’t call my parents, and they must be worried by now. Especially if they heard about the blizzard.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He gets up and fetches a handset mounted to the wall by the backdoor. I take it and dial, hoping the lines are still up and I can get through to my mom.

  “Amanda! We’ve been worried sick!”

  “I’m sorry, Mom, really. I got stranded in the snowstorm out here and…had to pull over at a motel for the night.” I glance at him and notice the way he grins when he hears my lie. I roll my eyes, assuring Mom I’m safe and I’ll call her in the morning.

  I hang up, now at a total loss for words. For better or worse, I’m stuck in a secluded farmhouse with a total stranger. What do I do now?

  Chapter 4

  Christopher

  The whiskey loosened her tongue and now she won’t shut up. If I’d known she’d be a talker, I might have left her out in the snow.

  Okay. I wouldn’t have left her out in the snow, but maybe I’d have bought myself some earplugs before the storm. Something to help me deal with her incessant talking.

  I know it’s because she’s nervous. We’re strangers, and I’m sure that to Little Miss Coffee Shop I’m the Big Bad Wolf. I remember how she looked at me when I first walked into her place last week. Her eyes went round before she could stop herself. Her skin was already fair, but it turned so pale I could see the freckles standing out against her nose and cheeks.

  I’m used to getting that reaction when people first meet me, though. It’s nothing new.

  She’s not a bad person, of course. She was genuinely nice to me. But that was because she didn’t know me. She had no idea I really am the Big Bad Wolf.

  Now she’s nervous, alone in the house with me. I notice the way she hesitates before taking off her coat, and I know it’s because she’s still slightly afraid of me. Even though I saved her damn life, she’s still afraid.

  This isn’t exactly an everyday thing for me either. I haven’t spent this much time alone with a woman, awake and with our clothes on, in years. Ever since…

  “Do you live here alone?” she asks, looking at me with those big green eyes. Innocent eyes.

  “Why? You think the house needs a woman’s touch or something?”

  “No.” I think I see a little bit of a blush on her cheeks. “I was going to say just the opposite. It’s a really nice house. Cozy.”

  “Thanks. It was decorated by, uh, a woman I knew.” I look down at my hands. It’s still hard to talk about her, even after all this time. The girl is smart enough to not ask any questions.

  “I just realized something,” she says, laughing. “I don’t even know your name!”

  “God, of course not.” I’m laughing now, too. “I’m Christopher. Christopher Barton.”

  “Amanda Ellingwood.”

  “Amanda Ellingwood, you make a mean blueberry muffin. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for a week. Really, it was excellent.”

  She definitely blushes this time. “Thanks.”

  “You’ve been there how long now?”

  “Six months.”

  “I bet the town considers you a pleasant change from Danny.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Danny was, you know, a guy. And not the handsomest guy either.” As a matter of fact, he looked like a troll. But I keep that to myself, not wanting to come off like too much of a prick. “The first thing I thought when I walked in was that it was a nice change of pace, seeing you behind the counter instead.”

  She scowls, and I wonder what the hell I said to piss her off. “So what you’re saying is that because I have tits, I have customers?”

  “That’s not what I said at all. I’m gonna chalk it up to the whiskey.”

  But there’s no backing down from her. She stands up, hands on hips. “No, that’s exactly what you meant. I’m a girl, so people come to my shop. If I were a guy—a plain, average-looking guy—they wouldn’t be as likely to come in.”

  “What the fuck difference does it make either way? Why are you getting so worked up over this? Either way, it works in your favor. You’re pretty. You’re nice. I’m sure people like visiting the shop and seeing a pretty, nice girl smiling at them. That’s all I meant.” I hold up my hands, surrendering. Christ, she’s tough.

  She’s still simmering, but she sits back down. “My pastries are good.”

  “I just said they are.”

  She folds her arms. “And I remember everybody’s name and what they usually order.”

  “I’m sure they appreciate it.”

  “They do.”

  “Good.”

  “Why do you always have to have the last word?”

  “I don’t.” She turns her head toward the fire so I won’t see her smile in spite of herself. Now that she’s not looking at me, I can size her up. She’s tall, curvy, with wavy dark hair that hangs past her s
houlders. She has that rash of freckles on her nose and cheeks, which I don’t normally like, but on her, they’re cute. She’s the opposite of Michelle.

  Even after two years, my heart clenches like it always does when I think of her. She was tiny, short and small framed, with golden blonde curls. She was always quiet, thoughtful, never really shared an opinion. Always going whatever way I wanted to go. Always stepping aside so I could stand in front of her. Smart as hell, but not overly opinionated. She’d been taught from an early age to keep her opinions to herself.

  The girl in front of me right now is nothing like that. I’d tried to give her a compliment and she practically jumped down my throat.