Demon's Greed: An MC Romance (Savage Kings MC Book 17)

by Carter Steele

  Luckily, I knew how to shut everything down and say no if it got too bad.

  “I mean that in order to best help my patients, I need to refrain from interacting with them outside the office,” I said. “That means no social media engagement, no meals, no dates, nothing.”

  Really? Did you have to mention dates as an example?

  “If I saw you in the streets and passed you by, I would probably just ignore you. You are right, I am not going to be so rude as to ignore you in a situation like this, but otherwise, I would not engage. I need to maintain professionalism and be detached.”

  Zane took those words in for a few moments, contemplated their meaning, and finally just shrugged.

  “Seems to me you’re just trying to avoid talking to me because you know how dangerously fun I would be,” he said, his eyes narrowing. Fuck me, it felt kind of good to see that look upon me. If I was being totally honest, it had been sometime since a man looked at me like that.

  But I pulled myself back when I reminded myself that, one, I was a professional, and two, even if I was willing to flaunt ethics, I was still nothing more than a target for Zane. I wasn’t someone that he actually would have taken out; I was just someone that was a check box for him, someone he could sleep with so that he could brag to the rest of the club that he had slept with his therapist.

  “In any case, Renee, I absolutely understand that you need to maintain some boring professionalism or something like that,” he said. “I understand that you have an image to uphold and all of that. But this is what I’m going to tell you. And since you’re my therapist, you’re going to hear everything in full detail.”

  “OK,” I said, having to bite my tongue from saying something bluntly rude.

  “Last night, at the end of the party, I was banging some hot chick, like normal, right? But then, craziest fucking thing happened. When I looked at her, do you know who I saw?”

  God. He’s only asking me this question for one reason.

  “May I remind you, Zane, that while therapy can be honest, I expect you to be courteous—”

  “It was you.”

  The thought immediately came to mind of me under Zane, naked, him inside of me, staring straight into my eyes. A second image came one moment later, with me on top, sprawled on top of Zane’s crotch, riding him as his hands squeezed my ass.

  Both thoughts were arousing. Both thoughts were unsettling in just how arousing they were.

  “Well, Zane, I may appreciate that you have chosen to be open and honest with me, I must warn you that this will go no further than what you have already thought,” I said. “If you are having issues being honest with me or being forthright in therapy because of this down the road, we can talk to Sheriff Jones about it and get you a new therapist.”

  That seemed to shut him up just well enough. But it didn’t erase the cocky smile from his face.

  It didn’t erase the images in my head, the ones that were arousing me and making me have inappropriate physiological reactions.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an event to partake in,” I said. “You can call the office on Monday if you need to set up a new appointment.”

  Zane looked like he was contemplating fighting back, but then he seemed oddly content with what he had done. He stood up, patted the table, winked, and headed back to his bike.

  And yes, I watched him go back the whole way, admiring his body as he did so.

  This was a terribly bad situation for me to be in. I was able to admit that some of my clients were objectively handsome in the past, but it was as an impartial observer. Granted, Zane was new, overbearing, and pushing to make something happen like literally no one else ever had.

  But all the “granted” clauses in the world would never add up to permission to break my boundaries. I had to promise myself to be good, to behave, and to uphold the rules of being a professional therapist.

  Unfortunately, those words were quite easy to say when I was in the office with other clients. Zane was making me think and behave in ways that I had never done before.

  And if there was one thing I had learned, it was that it was impossible to know how people would react until they were pushed to their greatest extreme.

  5

  Zane

  “Alright, well, that concludes our meeting.”

  I rose with the rest of the club officers after, once again, one of our shortest meetings to date. Owen was still on the loose, but he hadn’t even shown his face, let alone done anything, in quite some time. We still ran patrols in Romara and kept our eye out for him, but at this point, unless he did something that affected us, the only logical conclusion was that peace had finally come.

  The feeling about that was nothing less of absolute satisfaction. Romara had been haunted for so long by Vulture and the rest of the Anarchists, and now that we were finally free of them, the town could function like, well, a fucking town. On a selfish level, I, too, loved it—I could actually party without having to worry about what would happen every other day. I didn’t have to worry about getting laid being interrupted by having to lay out some fucking Anarchists.

  As we walked out the door, in unusually good spirits, Landon came up to me.

  “So how was the girl last Friday?”

  “Who?”

  I remembered the girl as soon as I said it, but I thought it was pretty telling that the first thing I said was a recognition of the fact that I didn’t have the foggiest of ideas who he was referring to.

  “You really don’t remember?” Landon said. “The girl that you pointed out?”

  “Oh, right, her,” I said. “No, I have my eyes on someone new now. I’m going for the therapist Sheriff Jones gave me.”

  I took a couple of steps before I realized what I’d said had literally caused Landon to stop dead in his tracks. Landon continued with the bit, even after I turned around and acknowledged it.

  “You’re serious?” he said.

  “One hundred percent. Think about it. How many people can say they’ve slept with their therapist? They’re the ultimate in secret keeping. They’re the ultimate form of professionalism. If I can sleep with one…”

  “It would certainly cement you as someone capable of sleeping with anyone.”

  Landon didn’t exactly say those words as a compliment, or at least he didn’t sound like it.

  “But is that really what you want to do? If she wasn’t affiliated with Sheriff Jones, I would get it, but dude, Brock and I like Sheriff Jones. You go and do something like that—”

  “Relax,” I said, although I couldn’t just pretend that the concerns of Landon were inconsequential. It was one thing to freak out Renee herself or to draw wide eyes of surprise from club members; it was an entirely different ballgame to draw actual fear from them. “I am not going to walk into my office and force myself upon her. I’m going to earn it. And in doing so, I’ll make sure that she doesn’t then end up turning around and reporting what I’ve done to the sheriff.”

  Landon did not look convinced. Given my reputation as being one step below a sex addict, I couldn’t really blame him.

  “When do you see her again?”

  “Tomorrow morning, at the ass-crack of dawn,” I said. “And let me tell you, I’m going to have some fun with her.”

  Landon rolled his eyes.

  “Just remember the chain of events that could happen if anything goes sideways,” he warned.

  “Yes, Dad,” I said with a loud laugh.

  But I wasn’t laughing on the inside. I knew this was one concern I couldn’t dismiss with charm or humor.

  I just decided not to sleep Thursday night. I ended up playing video games until it was time for my therapy session. I was definitely feeling sluggish and like a zombie when I entered the waiting room, but I was much more alert than if I had slept for two or three hours and then tried to make it through.

  When Renee opened the door to invite me in, I couldn’t help but smile. She looked beautiful, wearing hoop ear
rings and a gold necklace, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  “Come on back,” she said, waving me in.

  I tried to look for any sort of emotional sign on her face. It was clear she was forcing herself to look neutral—a look that I knew wouldn’t last forever.

  And sure enough, as soon as she entered, a smile came on her face that I didn’t even think she knew reflected how she felt.

  “Bet you thought I was going to try and show up earlier this week,” I said. “You probably thought after last Saturday that I was going to just show up on Monday and ask you out.”

  “That’s not of particular concern to your well-being right now, Zane,” she said, although, again, her facial reaction gave her away. This is too easy.

  Which is probably not a good thing.

  “What is of concern to you is picking up—”

  “Can we just spend five minutes talking real?” I said, folding my arms. Renee seemed happy enough to do so, holding out her hands as if gesturing me to proceed. “I know how you feel about me, Renee. I see it in your eyes. You can sit here and pretend that you are professional and such, but I know that you want this just as much as I do. We can sit here weekly and pretend that there’s nothing between us, and then wonder why, at some point, we both have an insatiable desire to see the other… or we can just go out, see what happens, and then move on.”

  Renee swallowed, took a deep breath, and smiled.

  “While you are unlike any client I have ever dealt with, Zane, that is very far from saying that I feel a certain way about you.”

  God, she’s still going to be difficult, isn’t she?

  “You are here to improve your antisocial behavior and become a better part of society. Perhaps, at some point, when you finish your therapy, we can meet for coffee some time later to chat about your progress and see how you are doing. But until that time, I am not going to purposefully meet you anywhere except for this office.”

  Curious how you slipped in the word purposefully. Lots of things can happen by accident.

  “I know how you guys work. I know that for many of you, when you meet your woman, you think that if you just get her alone or get her to a club party, you can work your charm and your magic and get your way with her. Perhaps that is true. But it will not be true with me, because like the woman who never buys cookies because she knows she will eat them, I will not meet you outside of the office.”

  So you’re saying I’m a cookie and you’d eat me? Hilarious metaphor aside…

  “And for what it’s worth, Zane, even if I was to indulge a silly fantasy with one of my clients, you would not be one of them. You want sex and only sex, and you’re a young kid still. I’m looking for something a little more serious than that. So, now that you’ve had your chance for real talk, can we move forward?”

  But see, with you, it’s a little different. You’re not like the others.

  Maybe I’m hyping you up in my head to be something you’re not. But I’m pretty certain that you might actually get me to come back for seconds if it happens.

  There were a lot of bread crumbs that Renee had just laid that were all but impossible to ignore. I was pretty sure she had, more or less, said something was possible once my therapy was done.

  Unfortunately, I also had no idea how long that would take, and I suspected she’d read through my bullshit if I just acted exactly as she wanted. I had no choice but to rely on one of two outcomes.

  One, either exercise patience, which, fuck that. I didn’t wait for things to happen—I went and grabbed them.

  Or, two, rely on some good fortune to bring us closer together.

  A third idea came to mind, one that suggested being even bolder and more aggressive, but the risk of her turning me over to the sheriff was too much to ignore.

  “Yes,” I said. “We can move forward.”

  Our session went like the previous one did, although I did my best to be better and more honest. Perhaps that was feeding into her hands, but I could tell by the ever-so-subtle statements and emotions that she was feeling a certain way about me.

  I just had to wait for my opportunity.

  The payoff would be unlike anything I’d ever had before.

  6

  Renee

  The good news when Zane left his appointment was that I had a whole host of therapy sessions lined up for the rest of the day. It was easy to forget everything that he had made me feel when I had so much other work to focus on that I couldn’t give any attention to him.

  The bad news was that as soon as I finished work, he immediately popped to mind.

  And frankly, my curiosity to know more about him was going from intellectual to personal. I knew that his club threw a party every Friday. What would happen if I just drove by to see what it looked or sounded like?

  There was absolutely no chance that I was going to go into the party. That would have raised a whole host of problems that I was unwilling to raise up. But not only had I not had a good man in some time, I also hadn’t been to a good party in some time. Maybe it was worth seeing in passing, if only to remind myself why I hated parties and preferred to stay away from the madness of it all.

  I first headed straight home to unwind, have a glass of wine, and see if I could let my laziness work in my favor as I did my best to avoid going to that party. The couch just had that wonderful effect of being like a magnet; it was so hard to get up from it once I was actually on it.

  But even after an entire rerun episode of CSI, even after a glass of wine, even after I had kicked my shoes off and elevated my feet onto the soft cushions, I still felt curiosity to go and check out the party. Damnit. At least underdress so you’d feel weird about going to the party.

  I pulled my phone up and looked at the address of the clubhouse. It was at least on the other side of town, so I’d have plenty of time to contemplate why going there would be a bad idea, but “the other side of town” wasn’t like traversing across Los Angeles; it was a mere twelve minute drive.

  Eventually, I just told myself that this was an urge that I needed to address, and the more I tried to suppress it, the more it would cause me harm. Even I wasn’t convinced of that, but at this point, I was just looking for excuses to get out of the house and go.

  I threw on some sandals, put a light jacket on, headed to the car, and pulled out of the apartment parking lot, headed toward quite possibly one of the biggest mistakes of my professional career. Remember that you’re just going to drive by it. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  I kept waiting for my better instincts to kick in and turn the car around, but it never happened. Once I crossed over Main Street, I knew there was no turning around at this point—the momentum was carrying me forward enough. This was now an itch that I had my finger on, and all I needed to do was rub my finger to bring about the scratching that I so craved.

  About four minutes from the meeting, one biker pulled out in front of me. I quickly realized it was not Zane, which was for the best; I couldn’t even imagine the humiliation of Zane realizing I was following him. At that point, just the perception of things would have probably forced me to tell the sheriff he needed someone else.

  In this case, then, the appearance of the biker was actually a great thing, as it helped me make sure that I was headed to the right place. I tried not to tail too closely behind in case he looked back, recognized me, and told Zane, but it was all but a certainty that we were headed to the same party.

  We turned the last street corner before the shop would show up on the right. I hit the brakes about fifty feet, letting the biker in front of me get the chance to pull in without me looking too obvious. Then again, this whole exercise probably looked shady as hell, as if I was an undercover—

  BANG!

  I gasped in horror as the biker unleashed bullets into the repair shop. What—what the hell was going on?!?

  But then my eyes went wide in horror when I saw him turn back and look at me. I instinctively ducked just as the bullets hea
ded toward my car. One struck my windshield while the rest went swirling by. I wasn’t hurt, but I was reduced to curling up into the seat, my hands covering my head, praying that I hadn’t just gotten caught in the crossfire of a gang war.

  This is what you get for getting yourself involved. You pushed into this spot. You knew better, Renee! You knew better, and you went ahead and just… you just let your emotions get the best of you.

  “Hey! Hey!” I heard Zane yelling in the distance. “Owen, you fucking bastard!”

  More gunfire erupted, but by this point, the biker—Owen, I guess—had driven off. I slowly peeked over my hood and saw Zane and a few other bikers at the entrance, cursing and looking my way.

  “I’ll go check it out,” Zane said. “You guys stay here, keep watch.”

  I held my hands up in the air, gulping. It was only a few seconds later that Zane saw me and ran over.

  “Renee?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  No more beating around the bush.

  “I guess it’s my turn to start talking.”

  Other Books by the Author

  Promised Lust

  Get it FREE with Kindle Unlimited

  She’s still playing hard to get—but all games eventually end.

  Renee thinks she’s remaining above the fray.

  But when I rescued her from gunfire, I knew the truth.

  She wanted to spy on me and see what my life was like outside the club.

  This wasn’t a professional curiosity—this was a personal one.

  I know there’s an opening, and I intend to take advantage of it.

  Granted, I will have to get creative—and I may even have to make some sacrifices along the way.

  But when I set my eyes on someone, I don’t ever stop, I don’t ever give up, and I don’t ever lose.

  And that’s especially true when the feeling starts to become more than just physical.