Devil's Game

“What were you trying to do, anyway?” she demanded.

“I want to sleep,” I told her. “You need sleep, too, and it’s more comfortable without jeans. That’s it, babe, no big, evil plan to get you out of your clothes. It’s gonna be a long haul, you should rest while you can. God knows what’ll happen tomorrow.”

“My dad’s killing you tomorrow,” she muttered, but she didn’t sound entirely happy about it. Interesting.

“You sound almost sad,” I said. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided I should live after all?”

“Fuck you.”

“That an invitation?”

She turned away from me and started doing up her corset-thingy, which was a damned shame. Then I caught a glimpse of the bandage and sobered.

“You in any pain?”

“It’s fine,” she muttered. “You aren’t sleeping in here, are you?”

“Yeah,” I told her. “Don’t worry, I’ll share the covers with you.”

Em cocked her head at me.

“Why don’t you put me in with Sophie?” she asked. “I’ll bet she’s scared.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Scared?”

“That’s a dick question, under the circumstances,” she muttered. “I guess it was all a lie between us, but please don’t think that because I was stupid enough to fall for your shit once means I’m actually stupid, okay? I’m not going to talk this out with you and give you more information, or let you play with me for your own entertainment.”

Now that was a shame. My c**k liked the idea of playing with her quite a bit . . . But she was right—this wasn’t a game, we weren’t friends, and I shouldn’t f**k with her head any more than I had to.

Had to respect her for that.

“Okay, lie down,” I told her bluntly. “I’m going to cuff your wrist to the bed. Then I’m going to sleep and so are you. Don’t fight with me and I won’t play games. This isn’t a negotiation.”

I saw something cross her face . . . Disappointment? Maybe. Or resignation.

Either way, I knew I’d just broken her a little more.

Like so much that’d happened tonight, I didn’t know what to think of that.

• • •

An hour later I was still wide awake.

I don’t know what I was smoking, thinking I’d fall asleep with Em in my arms. She dropped off pretty quick, which kind of surprised me. I mean, I knew she was safe with me—at least physically—but she didn’t.

She’d refused to take off her clothes, but I still felt every inch of that beautiful body up against mine and it was fantastic. Of course I knew guys with old ladies, and they seemed to enjoy being around them. I’d never understood it, but if it was anything like this, maybe it wasn’t so crazy.

I decided to play a little game. I’d lie in the dark, holding her, and pretend she was my old lady for a while. Pretend we lived in a world where I could have something as beautiful as her. That I didn’t owe the Jacks everything, or that she wasn’t a Reaper.

Then I caught myself, because what the f**k?

Christ, I didn’t want an old lady—or at least one like Em, who could think for herself. I’d signed on for someone who’d do what she was told and be thankful for it. That’d been the plan, and now it was blown to shit. If I was gonna pretend, a better fantasy would be rolling her over and screwing her brains out. Nice . . . Imagining myself inside her was fun for a while, but then my c**k started getting pretty pissed off that we weren’t screwing her brains out for real. Considering I’d only brought a couple changes of clothing with me and I’d already soaked one pair of pants, seemed like a good idea to get some space.

I managed to get out of bed without waking her and headed downstairs to find Skid in the living room, playing Halo. An energy drink sat next to him, right next to a dusting of white powder. Guess I wasn’t the only one pulling an all-nighter.

He set down the controller and raised a brow.

“So, what kind of game you playing, bro?” he asked me. “Because something feels off to me. This bitch is your means to an end. That’s it, right?”

“I’m aware,” I said, my tone dry. “Believe me.”

“Just don’t forget whose team we’re playing for. I heard from Kelsey. Grass is stable. She says it’s not as bad as they thought when he first came in.”

“No word on Clutch?”

“Nope,” he answered.

“Em says Toke’s gone rogue. Reapers have lost control of him. If it’s the truth, we’re f**ked.”

“Think she’s messin’ with you?”

I considered the question.

“I think there’s a good chance he’s off the reservation,” I replied. “None of this makes sense. We’ve got a truce, the Reapers voted on it. Shit with Gracie happened a long time ago—if this was a club hit, I don’t think they’d have bothered talking truce in the first place. Retribution’s worthless if you don’t claim it.”

“Asshole couldn’t have f**ked Burke over better if we’d planned it out with him,” Skid said, sighing. “We don’t shut this down, it could take him out. All of us f**ked then.”

I didn’t bother responding, because it was the simple truth. We had one shot at revolution in the club. Mason had already given Burke the heads-up—his cancer was spreading. The national president of the Devil’s Jacks MC was on his way out. He wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer, which meant Burke had to make his move soon or it was all over.

This was our chance to take the Devil’s Jacks back, make the club back into what it’d been created to be. A brotherhood of riders. Not a bunch of cheap thugs looking to line their own pockets. We’d hoped for more time to consolidate our position, but if the truce held, we’d have the votes we needed. The charters down south were desperate for help keeping out the cartel—help we couldn’t give them if we had to fight a two-front war with the Reapers.

“Hey, bro?” Skid asked.

“What?”

“Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure even if we manage to pull some kind of peace out of the fire, you won’t get to keep your pretty toy upstairs.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, letting myself fall back into a chair. I scratched my stomach and eyed his can of Monster. I needed some of that shit. “It’s f**ked.”

Silence fell between us.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” he asked. “‘It’s f**ked’? Where’s the big plan? You’re the one always thinkin’ things through, telling us we need a strategy.”

“The plan isn’t coming together this time,” I said. “Do you still think we can pull it off?”

“Pull off what? Surviving tomorrow? I give us sixty-forty. Feelin’ optimistic.”

I laughed, because he was probably right. I’d get Em through it, though. No way that pretty girl was gettin’ caught in the crossfire. I wasn’t quite sure why I felt so strongly about keeping her safe, but I did.

“Tomorrow I’m going to meet with Hayes,” I said. “Burke’s checking out his story, maybe our sources down south can say whether it’s true he doesn’t know where Toke is. Based on Em’s reaction, I think there’s a pretty good chance he’s gone rogue.”

“How do you know she’s not spouting the party line?” Skid said. “I think we’ve established your dick’s doing the thinking when it comes to her.”

“You’re probably right there,” I admitted. “But I believe she’s telling the truth. According to her, he’s been on the run for a full week. He sliced her up at a party last weekend. She’s got a knife wound—someone cut her.”

That caught Skid’s attention.

“Damn,” he muttered. “What the hell is going on in that club? Hayes is serious as shit about his girls, no way he’ll let that stand.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “That’s why I’m not ready to give up on the truce just yet. If she’s telling the truth, they want his head as bad as we do. But what the f**k do I know? She could be setting me up.”

Skid laughed.

“There’s karma for you . . . You at least get laid up there?”

“I’m not gonna answer that.”

Skid started laughing so hard he choked on his drink.

“You f**king pu**y,” he muttered finally. “She’s got your balls in her pocket already. When’s the last time you got some ass? Haven’t seen any coming out of your room lately.”

“I’m not gonna answer that, either.”

“You think Princess Emmy’s got a bike?” he asked me, an unholy gleam in his eyes.

“No idea.”

“Better find out. You’ll look cute riding bitch.”

I considered tackling him, but it seemed like too much work. I flipped him off instead, then reached for a game controller.

“Wanna play?”

“Sure.”

It felt good to zone out, and for a little while I was able to pretend we were back at our house and this was just like any other Friday night. Well, except for being f**kin’ sober and having two girls cuffed to the beds upstairs.

Well, except for being f**kin’ sober. Heh.

After a while Skid spoke, not bothering to look at me.

“Just remember you can’t keep her.”

“I know.”

“Just checkin’, bro.”

“No worries. I got my orders.”

“Don’t forget—Jacks first. You really like her?”

“Jesus. What is this, Oprah?”

“If you give a shit about her at all, you’ll hurt her bad. Make her give up on you now. Burke wanted her to fall for you, but with this kidnapping shit nobody’ll think twice about her hating your guts after it’s over.”

I snorted.

“Considering she’s cuffed to a bed after being lied to, you really think I need to go out of my way to hurt Em more? Seems like overkill.”

“You got scratches on your back, dickwad. They don’t look like defensive wounds to me, so no, it’s not overkill. You need to hurt her so much she never looks back.”

I considered his words and sighed.

“You’re probably right.”

We played a few minutes more, and then I turned on him and shot his character point-blank. Animated blood spattered the TV screen.

Skid started laughing again.

“You got anger issues, bro. Or maybe just blue balls. Not my fault you’re a pu**y.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I’m gonna eat a pizza pocket. You want one?”

I considered the question carefully.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

• • •

I climbed back upstairs around five in the morning.

Skid had camped out on the couch, still playing games and bitching that he’d given up a perfectly good bed so Sophie could have her beauty sleep. A bed that had more than enough room for him and her . . .

I pointed out that if I couldn’t have Em, he couldn’t have Sophie.

He pointed out that I could’ve had Em. I reminded him that Burke wanted peace, which probably wouldn’t happen if I screwed Emmy Lou Hayes while she was prisoner handcuffed to a bed frame. We settled the argument by calling each other ass**les and glaring at each other for a while, which seemed to do the trick.

Now I found myself back upstairs, looking down at the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Before I left this room, I’d make her cry.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

She’d rolled onto her stomach, kicking off the covers. One leg was cocked to the side, which curved her ass perfectly, nicely set off by the fact that her low-rise jeans didn’t quite cover the top of a red thong.

And there, right in the center of her back, was a f**kin’ tramp stamp.

I looked closer, trying to figure out what the hell it might be. Some kind of Chinese symbol surrounded by angel wings. Pretty goddamn awful. Cliche as shit.

I loved it.

It made me think of every  p**n o I’d ever watched, and because I’m an evil bastard my dick got so hard I felt my heartbeat pulse through it. I wanted to pull off those jeans and f**k her pu**y, then hit her ass. I’d finish up blowing my wad right in the center of that tat.

Shit.

Yeah. She wouldn’t be down for that.

I slid into bed with her anyway, because she hadn’t been through enough. I tugged her into my body, wrapping my arm around her. Her corset had ridden up, leaving a thin strip of flesh across her stomach. I found myself stroking it, wondering what it would feel like to run my cockhead across that smooth skin. Em squirmed, stretching forward in her sleep. This pushed her ass back into my crotch, which was both the best and worst sensation I’d ever experienced in my life.

Then she stiffened and I heard her breathing change.

“Good morning,” I said quietly.

“Crap, this really happened, didn’t it?” she asked, and her voice sounded small and soft. She was only a few years younger than me, but that softness reminded me just how different our lives had been. Compared to her, I was an old man.

“Yeah, it really happened,” I told her, sniffing her hair. Flowers. “I’ll meet with your dad today, see if he’s found Toke. Maybe end this whole thing before it gets any worse.”

She made a little noise, a sort of hopeless moan that she immediately cut off. Shit. She hadn’t faked that. Either Toke really was in the wind, or she knew the Reapers wouldn’t give him up, even to save a couple of their women. If the whole club decided to take a stand, probably wasn’t much Hayes would be able to do.