The Devil's Silver (The Road Devils MC Book 2)

by Marysol James

  You asshole. Fucking. Move.

  And this time, he did.

  **

  Just over an hour later, less than ten minutes from Roberta’s parts shop in Lincoln, Silver slammed on the brakes, spun the wheel of the van and turned around.

  “You fucking idiot,” he said aloud as he hit the steering wheel with his open palm. “What are you thinking? Leaving her like that? No word, no note, and you did this to a woman new back in the dating world? Jesus. Talk about a goddamn reason to make her never trust men again.”

  He sped back to Omaha, praying like he never had in his life that Ana was so exhausted from the night before that she’d still be sleeping. He figured he’d grab two coffees, walk back into the room like he’d just left to do a coffee run and then… well. What then? Tell her the truth about being in an MC? Ask her if she’d see him when he went to Arizona? Invite her back to Denver for a few days, if she had time?

  OK, well. He’d wing it and he’d deal with all that shit in his past that made him run screaming from anything like feelings. He’d figure it out for her, but for himself too. It was time.

  All that mattered right now, though, was that she not wake up after that amazing night when she’d so completely let go, and find herself all alone in the bedroom. He had to tell her what the night had meant to him, how it had thawed and opened up a part of him that he’d thought was long dead. He had to hear her voice again, get her phone number, hope that she’d forgive his chickenshit panic move, if she’d already woken up and looked around to find him gone. His heart squeezed as he pictured her face as realization set in that he’d slithered on out like a fucking yellow-bellied snake, and the image made him press the accelerator down despite the snowstorm starting.

  He stopped at a corner store and bought two coffees and then bolted back to the cabin at breakneck speed, holding his breath. He bolted up the stairs and knocked on the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he strained to hear footsteps or movement inside. The anxiety rose, crested, peeked…

  …and nothing.

  He shook his head at the voice yelling at him in his head and knocked again, louder this time. Maybe she was in the shower. Maybe she was still sleeping. Or maybe –

  “She’s gone.”

  Silver turned to look down at Nell, feeling like the world had just tilted on its axis. She was standing in the falling snow, her flowing gray hair shimmering under the flakes, giving her a beautiful glow like a winter angel. But the look on her face made her a damn avenging one, and Silver braced himself for impact.

  “Gone?” he asked softly; he suddenly realized that he’d expected this all along in that hour-long drive back. He’d known that it was hopeless. It was over, ended the worst possible way for Ana. “When?”

  “About fifteen minutes ago and I’ve got to tell you, I’ve seen people make some fast exits out of this place the morning after their complementary morning coffee, but they have nothing on that gal. She damn near threw the key at me as she flew out of the bar this morning.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  Nell looked him. In actual fact and truth, the woman had said a few things that morning over her coffee. Interesting things. Nell wasn’t about to share them because nothing was a done deal, but she was going to feel out the situation a bit from Silver’s end.

  “Did she say anything about what?” Nell asked, as if she didn’t have the first clue.

  Silver tilted his head at her. “You know.”

  “Oh! You mean, did she say anything about you sneaking out on her after fucking her last night?”

  “Nell…”

  “What? That isn’t what you did?” She nodded at the coffees. “Nice attempt at a cover-up, sunshine, but no dice. I know what bullshit looks like and it doesn’t look like taking two-plus hours to go around the corner for some joe, so don’t try to snow me. You suck at it and that girl knew it for what it was – she may be new to the dating world, but she knew enough to not wait around for you to come back.” She paused as something occurred to her. “Actually… why did you come back?”

  “Shit.” Silver leaned against the front porch railing. “I wanted to – to see her again.”

  “Really, huh? So why take off in the first damn place?”

  “Jesus, Nell.” Silver looked out at the busy road, hoping like mad that Ana would pull up up her little blue rental with two coffees of her own, knew that it wasn’t going to happen in a million years. He sighed. “Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

  She softened now as she really took in his unhappiness. She climbed the stairs to the porch, he handed her one of the coffees and she accepted it with a small, sad smile. “You messed up, Bennett?”

  “I messed up big time.”

  “No way to find her? No way to fix this?”

  “No. I don’t even know her last name.”

  “I have all of that from the cabin reservation, but you know that I can’t give it to you.” She took a sip of coffee. “I’m really sorry. I want to help, but I can’t help that way. If she freaked out about me compromising her confidential information, I’d lose the bar and the hotel. I don’t play by many rules, but I play by that one.”

  “No, I know and anyway, it’s my own damn fault. It’s over. I’m the one who walked out the door without a word.”

  “Yeah, handsome. Yeah, you did.” Nell studied him closely: based on what the woman had said that morning about where she was heading next, Nell knew damn good and well that this probably wasn’t over between the two of them. Maybe that was a good thing, maybe it wasn’t, but Nell had no place interfering. “She could have been something a bit of special maybe?”

  “She maybe could have been something a lot of special. I know how dumb that sounds, but sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes you kind of get a feeling.”

  “I know that feeling.” Nell’s hard blue eyes took on a rarely-seen dreamy and faraway look. “I knew Gunner was something a bit of special within five minutes of having him say ‘hi’ to me. Took us ages to actually get our shit together, of course, because no way I was going to trust an MC man-whore but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t know right away. A bit like your Zoe and Scars, I imagine.”

  Silver nodded, sighed again. Yeah, like Scars had felt the ‘rightness’ about Zoe, Silver had known that Ana was pretty much his dream woman within five seconds of laying eyes on her, and known it even more keenly within five minutes of talking to her. They say that hindsight is 20/20, but he hadn’t needed the benefit of hindsight to know that much about the woman.

  Something else that he didn’t need the passing of time to know, that he knew here and now, in this moment:

  That he’d just made yet another huge, self-defining and -changing life mistake.

  That he was sorry he’d treated Ana badly.

  That he desperately wanted to see her again.

  Chapter Six

  Monday morning; three days later

  In despair, Jo stared at herself in the mirror and wondered if she should change again, which would make it her fourth outfit attempt. But then she looked at the clothes on her tiny less-than-single bed, and realized that she didn’t actually have any more clothes to try on. She’d left Brian with almost nothing in her rental car – she’d been in a pretty big rush to leave, to put it mildly.

  Anyway, nothing else on offer in terms of wardrobe would do much to improve the situation that faced her in the mirror. No matter what she did, she was going to look like she’d just escaped a nunnery that had an in-house coal mine and no ironing facilities. Every single thing had been dictated by Brian’s demands and expectations, naturally, so it was all shapeless, gray and as far from unfashionable that anyone could possibly imagine. Jo suspected that most nuns would actually revolt if they were told to don one of her frumpy, ghastly dresses; surely even they’d have standards exceeding her own.

  Well
. This was really very depressing. Then again, Jo wasn’t in a big rush to show up to meet Mr. Wolf in the red dress from Friday night either. It was form-fitting and vibrant and made her glow – and it also sent out all kinds of vibes and messages that were perhaps best avoided and muted when dealing with a motorcycle club guy. It all had weird shades of Little Red Riding Hood skipping around the woods about to get eaten by the Big Bad Wolf – and that wasn’t worth thinking about. Jo didn’t want anyone to get even a hint that there was more on offer than her accounting expertise and skill. Best to go for boring and professional and without breasts or curves. Most people had that flat, gray stereotype of accountants anyway, so no real harm showing up looking the part. Even to extremes of unattractiveness.

  Besides, the absolute last thing that Jo was interested in was attracting the attention of a man. Any man. Especially not…

  And just like, quick as a blink, Zeke was in front of her eyes. Tall, strong, tattooed. Smiling at her, those amazing eyes crinkling up in that devastating way that stole her breath. Then – oh Lord help me – he was naked and muscular, his hot mouth on hers, his huge hands all over her trembling body. She felt him, felt him over every inch of her body, inside and out. She heard him too, heard the way that he whispered her name over and over as he moved in and out of her, then how he gasped it out on a growl when he came.

  Get out of my damn head, Zeke. I didn’t deserve a goodbye; you don’t deserve another thought.

  Jo mentally reared back and kicked Zeke’s rock-hard ass out of the bed, out of her head. She made sure that she was wearing steel-toed work boots, saw them in her mind’s eye as they made contact with Zeke’s perfect taut butt muscles, imagined him howling as he flew through the air like something out of a cartoon, all flailing arms and flying over a cliff. She watched in satisfaction as he hit the bottom of the desert canyon in a cloud of dust, very Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote in its ridiculousness and drama.

  It was all useless though. Zeke would be back again, just sneaking into her thoughts as easy and quiet as he’d snuck out of her bed and her life. The bastard.

  But right now, Jo had other things to focus on. Important things, like getting this job so she could start her life all over again again, the right way this time.

  And this this time, she’d make sure to stay the hell away from men who she didn’t have to work with. No more sweaty, steamy, amazing sex with practical strangers – not even with all the strapping motorcycle men with tattooed arms and hard eyes and sexy road names who may well be sauntering into her life soon, like some endless parade of leather and ink MC hotness.

  Jo shook herself and smoothed down the frumpy gray dress, pulled her hair back into a bun that would have made her high school librarian proud, and put on her basic black pumps, her only pair of shoes without a hole in them. She had to be at Satan’s Bar by nine and she needed a coffee on the way, for comfort and courage; God knows whatever was about to happen, she was undoubtedly woefully unprepared for it. But then again, how exactly to prepare for a job interview with a motorcycle club President? Surely coffee was required, but beyond that, it was anyone’s guess.

  She grabbed her cheap beige purse, checked that she had everything that she needed – car keys, CV, wallet, trailer key – and wrapped herself in her shapeless black coat. The snow on the ground had hardened to the consistency of concrete so she didn’t need her clumpy boots, but the wind coming down The Rockies was something else. It cut through her body like a knife, chilling her lungs and making breathing challenging.

  Jo loved it in Denver, though, loved it already. She’d already decided that even if this accounting job fell through she’d look around for something else to pay the bills, and she’d do whatever it took to stay here, at the foot of the most incredible natural landscape that she’d seen in years. She loved the rugged, craggy mountain faces; she loved the sense of being watched over and protected by their wise, ageless solidity.

  She was home. Now she just had to start her life properly and that meant a steady income. She wanted to shut down her little accounting business ASAP – she was sure that Brian was going to find it eventually. And that meant that he’d be one step closer to finding her.

  Jo left the trailer, struggled to close the door against the December wind, slammed it hard enough that she saw the vase of flowers in the window above the sink wobble. No, living in a trailer park wasn’t ideal, but she wasn’t complaining, not even slightly. She’d take this cheap, flimsy tuna can on blocks over the luxurious, sprawling house that she’d shared with Brian in a damn heart beat. No debate and no regrets.

  She got into the car, made a mental note to call the car place today and extend the rental period by another forty-eight hours so she could figure things out if she didn’t get the job, and then sat and waited for it to heat up. She rubbed her hands together and wished hard for the gloves that she’d stupidly left behind, but then Jo remembered that she’d given up on making wishes.

  Nothing was being left to chance anymore, or faith, or luck. Or fate.

  To hell with all of that.

  She was in charge and in control of her own damn life. At long last.

  **

  Calvin ‘Wolf’ Connor and George ‘Kansas’ Milligan exchanged relieved glances across the desk in Wolf’s office. Jolene Angeles was everything that they’d been looking for in an in-house accountant: smart, experienced and freelance, so not associated with any firm that might be touchy about their client list. After the last preppy white guy had run screaming from the office in his seven-hundred-dollar shoes, all shaken and upset about the fact that Wolf’s guys were rough and uneducated for the most part, Wolf had decided to think outside the box for the replacement accountant. No more rigid, easily-shocked types.

  What the club needed, he’d decided, was a fellow maverick; someone who wasn’t all hung up about suits, business cards and office protocol. Someone who could go with the flow and not look down on the boys for not understanding the first thing about the ins and outs of tax deductions. Someone who’d be cool with being surrounded by some guys who glowered in silence, and others who’d tease them mercilessly and unrelentingly. Someone who’d understand that they were actually joining a family, with all the strengths and struggles that that would bring.

  When Jolene’s CV had appeared in his e-mail inbox, he’d had a good feeling about her right from the word go. Her accounting education was solid, she’d worked with large companies in New Mexico, she’d been freelance for the year and running her own small company working with clients of all sizes and financial needs.

  She was almost a chameleon in some ways, easily adaptable to different environments and demands, and even though an MC was a whole new world, Wolf was pretty confident that Jo could handle it. She’d looked petrified when she’d first walked into Satan’s and seen him, looked like she wanted to die when she’d seen Kansas, but now she was clearly calm and back in control. That level of flexibility wasn’t able to be taught: either someone could adapt to a situation or they couldn’t. She could, and in spades.

  Jo was sitting there in that atrocious baggy dress and the unsexiest shoes that Wolf and Kansas had ever seen, with little-to-no makeup and severe hair – and she was perfect. She was on her best and most professional behavior right now, naturally, but beneath the ultra-dull exterior both men had picked up on the fact that the woman was a hell-raiser. She’d do just fine with The Road Devils, they were sure. Hell, she’d probably be more than able to keep the boys on their toes with her brains and wit.

  So, the woman’s CV and references were impeccable, she was more than able to handle the job. Now just one last question.

  “So Jo,” Wolf said in his usual half-growl. “You’re from Santa Fe originally. Went to school out there, family still out there. But you’re comin’ to us from Minneapolis. How’d you end up way up there for work? Nothin’ in a warmer climate?”

  Jolene smiled at him
and despite the polite reserve she was showing, it was still a smile that damn near knocked the men over flat. She was a secretly-smoldering little thing, no doubt about that, all warm golden skin and black hair and eyes. A dark sunset kind of woman, an irresistible and rare combination of somehow both dusky and glowing.

  “Minnesota wasn’t my choice, believe me,” she said in her surprisingly deep voice: it had a dark and husky undertone that just added to her sexiness and blew those oversized clothes out of the damn water. “My ex-husband was a lawyer and was offered a firm partnership out there. We were based in New Mexico at the time, but it was a great opportunity and he jumped at it, and so off we went. I twas stuck out there in the cold and the prairies for six long years.”

  Wolf grinned. “You do know that Denver ain’t no sunshine-and-bikini state?”

  She grinned back, her eyes flashing with sass and humor. “Well aware. Got my boots and coat. No bikini.”

  “And the ex?” Kansas asked. “Out of the picture?”

  “Yes, thank Christ. I walked away last month, came out here for a fresh start.”

  “Bad breakup?” Wolf said, his gray eyes narrowing. “Not our business and I know it, but if you’re gonna be gettin’ harrassin’ phone calls or somethin’ like that here, it’s better that we know that now so we can make sure you ain’t bothered. We can make arrangements for you, easy enough. Just say the word, Jo.”

  Jo stared at him, completely shocked. Never – not in a million years – did she think that this man would show any sensitivity or thoughtfulness to her having had a shit breakup.

  Not that Wolf Conner, President of The Road Devils MC, had been an asshole. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Oh sure, Jo had been sufficiently and appropriately freaked out by him when she’d first ventured into Satan’s Bar and seen him sitting there, just casually drinking a cup of coffee and waiting for her.

  It was like every single stereotype of a one-percenter MC badass-slash-supermodel had come to life, stood up and shaken her hand whilst saying ‘good mornin’” in a low growl. The man was hot, like the kind of hot that made him almost hard to look at for fear of turning to stone or being struck dumb by his beauty or something. He was hands-down one of the most gorgeous specimens of manhood that Jo had seen in the whole of her life – well over six feet tall, broad and muscular, dark hair that fell over his forehead and perfectly framed his stormy gray eyes. His cheekbones could slice paper, his lips were full and sensual, his large forearms were covered in ink and bulging veins. And his voice… dear sweet Lord above, if a human voice could summon and raise the dead panting from their graves, then Wolf had it.