Later that night, Scars glanced around the bar, gauging the mood. So far, so good: the place was packed, the alcohol was flowing, his brothers were pairing off and heading for the back rooms which were exclusively for members of The Road Devils. He saw Jinx head down the hall with the redhead who had a real thing for Wolf – Alyssa, was it? – but since Wolf wasn’t around, she’d make do, he guessed.
“Another?” Cole set down the beer in front of his VP even as he asked the question.
“Nah.” Scars shook his head. “Better not.”
“You’re not on duty tonight, are you?”
“Nope. But I’m not really in the mood to drink. Just bring me a Coke.”
Cole shrugged, snagged the beer for himself. “Alright, man.”
Scars turned to survey the massive room again. He found himself watching a group of women on the dance floor, their moves seductive and sexy as hell. He knew most of them, of course, since they were bar regulars, the kind of women who lived to fuck a biker. Nothing wrong with that, he figured… but it wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to be just another random guy, didn’t want to play musical beds with some chick who’d fucked half his brothers. He wanted more.
A bit depressed at the shitty odds of him finding what he really wanted in this place, he looked away from the miles of taut flesh on display, and that was when the door opened. He looked over, looked away, looked back. His breath stopped and so did his heart, both just dead in his chest.
The woman standing there was nobody that Scars had ever laid eyes on before, but holy God, he knew her. He knew her on a cellular level. In his blood. In his bones. In his heart and in his cock. He’d dreamed about her and he’d waited for her. He’d been looking for her forever, and now here she was.
Just waltzing on into Satan’s Bar.
Dreams do come true, man.
**
Zoe glanced around the bar, trying to spot someone she recognized. She scrambled to recall the faces of the guys she’d met so far – Silver, Kansas, Ice, Jinx – and looked around again, peering through the semi-darkness. Her heart sank; no sign of any of them.
For a few seconds, she hesitated. Just stood there in the doorway and wavered, thought about turning around and leaving. But Zoe Parish was no goddamn coward, and she’d promised herself that she’d at least show up and meet Wolf’s VP. This kind of thing was important, she knew, so she lifted her chin, and headed over to the bar. If anyone would have a clue where Scars was, it’d be the guys serving up the booze.
She crossed the room, deftly avoiding the roaming eyes and hands. Suddenly very self-conscious, she tugged her skirt down a bit farther. No good, though – it still hit her just above mid-thigh, and she was showing off acres of long, curvy leg. The skirt was, clearly, a big fucking mistake.
She got to the bar in one piece, looked around, scooted over to the less-busy side. “Hi,” she said to the guy serving up what looked like shots of Jagger, raising her voice to be heard over the pounding music. “I’m wondering if you can help me?”
“Sure can, babe,” he drawled at her, his dark eyes stripping her naked, drizzling her with chocolate sauce and eating her up. “What can I do for you?”
And we have another point for ‘babe’. Bingo. Time to start drinking.
“I’m looking for Scars,” she said, getting directly to the heart of the matter. “Is he around?”
Scars almost jumped six feet in the air to hear his name come out of that sexy little mouth. He stood up, caught Cole’s eye.
“I got this, man,” he said.
Cole nodded.
“I’m Scars,” he said to her, moving a bit closer. “You need me for something?”
Zoe watched as the man who’d been sitting alone at the quieter side of the bar approached her. Her whole body reacted at the sight of him, but the reaction was confused.
One part of her longed to move forward to meet him, to just keep moving closer until she was pressed up against that powerful chest, because this man? This man was something awesome. His strength just rolled on off him like a tidal wave, and Zoe wasn’t just thinking about his large, tight muscles.
No, this man had something else, something that she’d never encountered in the whole of her life. A strength of character, of personality, and it was as tangible as his hard, chiseled body. In a way, it was surprising that a man with this kind of awesome natural authority would settle for being VP.
That was when the second part of her reaction kicked in – and despite being secondary and delayed, this part won, at least for the moment. The urge to back up, to back away. To run and retreat. Because this man? This man looked like nothing but trouble and God knows, Zoe had had enough trouble to last a lifetime. Maybe two.
His face was the face of a warrior: it was hard, rugged, uncompromising. It was also scarred – scarred badly. The raised flesh running the length of his cheeks wasn’t very shiny, so her trained skin specialist’s eye knew that she was looking at scars from a long time ago. Decades, probably.
Fighting her body’s insane prompts to run for her goddamn life, she stood her ground, eyeing Wolf’s VP warily. Zoe was a tall woman, but Scars still towered over her, and she tensed up even more as he moved closer. She fully expected him to get into her space, so when he stopped a respectful distance away, she was thrown yet again.
“Hey,” he said in a voice that could crush asphalt. “You OK?”
Zoe suddenly realized that she’d been staring at him like a lovesick teenager. She also realized that he still had no clue who the hell she even was. Oh, smooth. She straightened her shoulders, hoped to Christ that her voice came out semi-normal.
“I’m Zoe.” Oh, good, she sounded like herself. “Wolf said for me to come here and meet you.”
Scars stared down at her, equal parts horrified and delighted. Zoe Parish, in the very delectable flesh, was standing in front of him, and she looked like the best thing he could ever possibly imagine.
The thought that he’d be seeing her almost every day was the best news that he’d ever heard, and made him believe that there actually was a God. She was also totally fucking off-limits, since Wolf would skin him alive if he so much as touched one hair on her gorgeous blonde head – which made her nothing but torturous temptation. It also cemented his belief in hell on earth.
“Oh.” It came out a grunt, and he cleared his throat. “Oh, right. Hi.”
“Hi.”
He extended his massive hand, and she took it cautiously. That was when she felt the scars on his hands. Even without looking, just from touching the flesh under her fingertips, she knew now that his scars weren’t from a knife, or glass, or a prison yard fight gone way wrong. These were from burns, bad burns, burns that he’d carried since childhood maybe, and her heart squeezed. In her years as a tattoo artist, she’d covered up hundreds of scars, but in some ways, the most heartbreaking ones were burns. The stories attached to them were always, always so damn painful.
“So. Zoe.” Her name in his mouth was sweet. “Welcome back to Denver.”
“Thanks.” She moved away a bit and he let her go.
“You – uh. You want a drink?” he asked, gesturing at Cole, who’d been listening and watching all of this with avid interest. “I mean… can I get you a drink?”
“Oh.” She looked up at Cole too, flicked her glance briefly back to Scars. He was staring at her intently, and she saw that his eyes were an incredible clear blue. Little patches of perfect sky in a heart-achingly damaged face, and all the sweeter and more gorgeous for it. “Oh, no, it’s OK. You don’t have to do that.”
“Hell, babe, if he won’t, I sure as hell will,” Cole drawled.
Scars glared daggers of death at the other man, and Cole grinned, liking seeing his VP all gaga over a cute chick from the get-go. It had never happened before, and he was looking forward to yanking Scars’ chain. Just a bit. He stuck out his hand to Zoe. “Cole. Bartender extraordinaire, dance champion, jack-of-all-trades.”
She cracked a grin at that. “Zoe. Tattoo artist.”
“Yeah, I know. Wolf’s been singing your praises for years, babe.”
“He has?” she said, happy to have a reason to still not look at Scars.
“Sure.” Cole’s eyes sparkled at her, and she saw the lines around them, took in the shocks of gray in his dark hair. It was hard to tell in this light, but he looked older than she’d first taken him to be – closer to forty-five than thirty-five, for sure. “Now. That drink?”
“Uh. Yeah, OK. Thanks.” She sat on the stool, trying to look relaxed. “What do you suggest?”
“Shots!” Cole said enthusiastically. “Always shots!”
“Oh.” Zoe paused. “Well, I’m not really much of a drinker. Shots might actually kill me.”
“Aw, darlin’.” Cole winked. “Now you’re just throwing out a challenge to me.”
“To get me drunk?” Zoe said. “I’m the easiest drunk to ever walk through that door, so no challenge at all, I assure you.”
“Naw. The challenge is to make you a shot that’ll get you buzzed and happy, but not shit-faced.”
“Aren’t shots, by their very definition, supposed to get you shit-faced?”
“Yeah. OK, you’re right.” Cole thought for a few seconds. “Rum and Coke? Extra ice cubes?”
“Now you’re talking,” Zoe said with a grin. “Thanks.”
Cole moved away to make her drink, and it was just her and Scars again. He hadn’t said a single word throughout her exchange with Cole, and she hadn’t so much as glanced his way, but she’d sensed him next to her the whole damn time, knew that he was watching her. She’d felt that amazing something else coming off him, felt it as sure and strong as if he’d physically laid hands on her.
Gathering up her courage, she dared to glance at him again, and immediately wished that she hadn’t. Because Scars Innis was – hands-down and no debate – the hottest man she’d ever seen in the flesh. Not the most handsome, not the best-looking, definitely not the safest. But the sexiest, and God help her. His primal allure hung about him almost like a perfume, and it fogged her mind. Made her brain slow down, get all sluggish. Made her feel before she thought; made her want things before she could talk herself out of them.
Dangerous. Dangerous as all hell.
“So, Zoe.” She loved how he said her name so soft in that rough voice. “You all settled in?”
She nodded and toyed with the end of her ponytail, feeling oddly shy.
“And Keira’s room is all set up, too?” he said.
Surprised that he’d remembered her baby’s name, she looked straight up at him, and their eyes met and held.
Mistake. Fatal fucking mistake.
God, his eyes. The bluest blue eyes that she’d ever seen, and so warm and gentle. The contrast of something so pure and calm in that hard warrior’s face was a shock, one that held her suspended in space and time. Her breath and heart stopped in her chest; her whole body just stopped for a few seconds.
When her heart and breath started up again, Zoe felt nothing but heated longing. She wanted to touch him, and God knows, she wanted him to touch her.
She wanted it more than she’d wanted anything in a long, long time.
Zoe wasn’t used to wanting things for herself. Not anymore; not since Keira. But she wanted Scars Innis for herself, wanted everything that a man like him could offer her, no matter how temporary or limited. She wanted those rough, scarred hands moving on her body, in her body. Wanted those full lips stroking her lips, her breasts, between her legs.
Even for just one night, she wanted it.
Sending up a silent plea for strength and cool, she opened her mouth.
“Yeah.” The word was kind of a pathetic squeak and she gave a little fake cough, determined to not show weakness. “Yeah, the guys got Keira’s bedroom ready for her.”
Scars nodded, looked away as Cole brought Zoe’s drink over. She forced her eyes away from Scars’ massive, corded forearms covered in long scars, managed to give Cole a smile.
“Thanks.” She fumbled with her purse. “How much?”
“Nothing.” Cole winked at her again, liked how she blushed all pink and sweet at that. “This one’s on me, OK?”
“You sure?” she said, already knowing that like Silver, Kansas, Jinx and Ice, Cole was going out of his way to do something nice for her, already knowing that she wasn’t going to so much as open her wallet in front of him. “Totally sure?”
“Totally. Welcome home, Zoe.”
“Thank you,” she said, oddly touched at the gentle words growled in that husky voice.
“Hey, Cole!”
A shout from the other side of the bar caught Cole’s attention, and he shot Zoe an apologetic glance.
“To be continued,” he murmured, all low and sexy. “You sticking around for a while, babe?”
“Oh.” Zoe swallowed, resisted the urge to look at Scars. “Oh, no. My friend’s flying in tomorrow with my daughter, so I need to have an early night. I’ll just have one drink and then I’m out the door.”
“OK. You need a taxi home, you tell me. I’ll call one for you.”
“Thanks, Cole.”
“Sure.” He wandered off now, shouting at the guy that he was coming, already, Jesus fuck, man. The other man – a blond guy in a Road Devils cut and with tattoos across the knuckles of both hands – shook his head impatiently, then grinned when Cole poured him another shot.
“Who’s that?” Zoe asked Scars, aiming for neutral conversational ground. “The blond guy?”
“Saint.” Scars drank some Coke, since he was finding his throat incredibly dry in this goddess’ presence. “Works in the tattoo parlor too, so you’ll get to know him a bit.”
He tried to keep the bitterness in his voice to a minimum, since he was suddenly insanely jealous of Saint, Viking and Arrow. They’d all be working with Zoe Parish day in and day out, and now that Scars had clapped eyes on the woman, he never wanted to let her out of his sight again. He sure as hell didn’t want her around guys – not any guys – and most definitely not his MC brothers.
The MC was made up of decent men for the most part, he had to admit. Well, not all of them, and not all of the time. Sure, Wolf had taken the club legit, but these guys had pasts. Like, serious pasts. The kind of pasts that Scars wasn’t totally convinced that they’d shaken off. Not all the way.
Maybe it just wasn’t possible to shake off that much violence and darkness, though. Maybe they were all just damned and marked, and each man had to make his peace with that in his own way, in his own time. And yeah, Scars counted himself among the damned and dirty. No doubt about that.
He thought – he hoped – that he could be called a good man at the end of the day, but there was no denying some of the things that he’d done. Bad things, dark things. Things that had kept him up at night at the time that he’d done them, things that he was scared were going to haunt his dreams forever.
But those things were in the past. Scars was looking to the future.
It had been almost a year since Wolf had pulled The Road Devils out of all that violent, illegal shit for Kirk Jensen, and thank Christ for that – but that didn’t mean that they were all a bunch of Boy Scouts now. On paper and on the surface, the MC was totally above-board and beyond reproach. Scars hadn’t lied to his brother Sam about any of that – for the first time since patching in just over twenty years ago, his income was earned honestly and paid via bank transfer, not wads of cash handed over in bundles held together by elastic bands.
But things were still happening… things were still lingering. Scars knew that during their time with Jensen, the boys had learned to deal with things a certain way – and that way was still their go-to reaction when shit went down.
Now, Wolf favored talking over fighting, preferred using cool heads and not hot fists, preached patience and stepping down and back from a war. But despite their goodwill and loyalty to their Prez’s leadership and decisions, many of the boys didn’t fully understand any of that yet.
What they understood was violence, and they understood it intimately.
Oh, Scars didn’t believe for one second that any of The Road Devils would hurt Zoe. But he also didn’t believe for one nanosecond that they’d be serious about her, or that they’d offer her anything serious. Even Wolf, who really was a good man in his heart and who clearly loved Zoe fiercely, wouldn’t be able to do right by her. Not the way that she needed.
Zoe had a daughter that she was struggling to take care of, and now she had real professional responsibilities. She wasn’t going to be into a guy who was just going to mess her around or play games. She’d have exactly zero use for some hot-headed sort-of-ex-one-percenter who communicated with secrets and silence, then called it ‘club business’.
No, Zoe needed someone open, honest and serious. Someone who’d treat her right, and respect her, and who’d be there when she needed them. Someone who’d protect her, who’d keep her safe and close. Someone who’d put her and Keira first – before the club, even before himself. Someone who’d fucking love her the way that she deserved, in all the ways that she needed.
She needed someone like Scars.
So hell, yeah, Scars was nailing his eyes on the future.
And all that he saw when he looked at his future was Zoe.
Mine. She’s fucking mine and no debate… even if she doesn’t know it yet.
“And is he?” Zoe said now.
Torn from his thoughts, Scars stared at her, without a clue what she might be talking about.
“Is who what?” he asked.
“Is Saint a saint?”
His hard face cracked into a smile at that, and Zoe almost swooned. Much like a teenaged girl going all stupid over some boy band, Zoe really, truly, almost full-on swooned. Just when she thought that she liked Scars just fine all scowling and rough, he went and smiled at her.
Damn him.
It looked good on him, the smile. Zoe got the feeling that he wasn’t a man who lightened up a lot or often, and so his smile had the beauty of something rarely seen. Like a solar eclipse or the Northern Lights, it was dazzling and all-too-brief… but it was life-changing. Maybe even life-affirming.
Yeah, she was starting to suspect that her life had just changed irrevocably by meeting Scars Innis – and in her confusion and discomfort at that thought, she took a huge gulp of her drink.
And promptly began to cough.
“Hey, whoa,” Scars said, startled at the outburst. “You OK?”
She nodded – still coughing, tears now streaming from her eyes – and wondered if she’d ever felt more stupid in the whole of her life. One extra-large glug of rum-and-Coke, and she was hacking away like some thirteen-year-old sneaking her first Berry Breeze wine cooler.
“Zoe?” Scars’ dark eyebrows were all drawn together as he stared down at her. “Can you breathe?”
She nodded again, managed to wheeze out, “Barely.”
“What the fuck?” he said. “You dying on me?”
She waved her hand at her drink, tried to speak, sputtered some more.
Scars grabbed the glass, took a suspicious sniff, then a massive swig. Zoe watched as his face went all thunderous and he hollered over at Cole.
“Hey! Asshole!”
Cole turned, his face the very picture of innocence as he took a heavy drag from his cigarette. “You calling me, Veep?”
“Damn right I am. Did you actually put any Coke in this?”
Cole grinned, not looking even remotely abashed. “Sure. A splash.”
“Asshole,” Scars said again. “You trying to kill the woman? She said she isn’t a big drinker, then you give her a glass of almost nothing but dark rum with no heads-up? Come on, man. Fuckin’ dickhead move.”
Cole looked at Zoe, saw the tears still running down her cheeks, and he had the grace to look a bit guilty now.
“Sorry, Zee,” he said, stubbing out his smoke. “I didn’t think it’d take you down. I just wanted you to relax, have a welcome drink. You aren’t driving tonight, so I really thought no harm.”
“S’OK,” she said, her voice rough. “I’m good.”
“Yeah?” Scars said, still watching her closely. “For real?”
“Yeah.” She took a deep breath. “Yeah, really. I’m OK. And don’t shout at Cole, Scars… I took a too-big drink and practically inhaled half the glass. My fault.”
“Still an asshole,” Scars growled. “But he’s a generally harmless one.”
“Aw, thanks, Veep,” Cole said, then switched his attention back to Zoe. “You want me to top that up for you, babe?” He caught Scars’ eye and added, “With Coke?”
“I got this,” Scars said, still pissed at his bartender. He took his own can of pop, dumped the rest of it in Zoe’s drink, picked up the glass and swirled it around with gentle wrist motions. He set it down in front of her. “Try that, Zoe.”
Cautiously, she took a tiny sip. “It’s better now. Thanks.”
“Crisis averted!” Cole said brightly, then he saw Scars’ still-murderous expression and beat a hasty retreat. “You need anything more, you call me.”
“She needs anything more, I’ll get it,” Scars grated out. “You keep your distance.”
“OK,” Cole agreed. “She’s all yours, man.”
Scars glared harder, glad that he’d made himself clear with at least one of his brothers: he was staking his claim on this woman, staking it here and now. Fucking end of any and all discussion, and he’d deal with Wolf and any objections later.
“Yeah,” Scars said, driving the point home. “She is.”
Cole swept off, already gearing up to flirt with Vixen, one of the bar regulars and a very willing pass-around who was on more than a passing acquaintance with the back rooms. Zoe and Scars were left to stare at each other.
Zoe’s head was actually spinning a little bit, and it occurred to her that she was way out of practice at drinking the hard stuff. Throw in some serious sleep-deprivation, exhaustion from her long drive, and the fact that she hadn’t eaten much over the past few days, and you were left with a slight buzz from one hit of damn-near pure alcohol. She shook her head, tried to clear it.
“You really alright?” Scars asked her, his voice gentle now.
“Yes.” Her tongue felt huge in her mouth, and she tried again. “I am.”
He gazed at her, saw that the tears had stopped. He nodded once more, then abruptly and without a word, he sat down next to her. Her immediate instinct was to lean forward, to just sink into his massive chest, but she kicked that down. Hard.
“So.” Scars shifted that body a bit on the stool, and she watched the way his muscles flexed at even that small movement. “Keira arrives tomorrow?”
“Uh.” Zoe blinked, readjusted her train of thought to hold up her end of a civil, adult conversation. No way she was going to admire the hot man in front of her and talk about her sweet baby at the same time. “Yeah. My friend Willa is bringing her. I pick them up just before noon.”
“How old is she? Keira?”
“Almost a year. A year in a little less than a month.”
“She walking?”
Zoe smiled, a real smile. “Not yet. Not on her own. She holds my finger and kind of toddles around… but she’s not totally mobile yet.”
Scars found that he liked that image; he liked it a lot. He paused, dying to ask about Keira’s Dad, but not at all sure how to bring the topic up.
It was clear enough that the guy wasn’t too involved. If he were, then there’d be no way that he’d let Zoe and Keira just up and move states without one hell of a fight. Christ, if Zoe was his woman, Scars wouldn’t even let her leave his goddamn bed without a struggle. The fact that her ex was letting Zoe start up a whole new life in Denver without protest told Scars that the guy was clearly a dickhead.
Well, too bad for the ex… but good for Scars. Zoe was in his orbit now, and he wasn’t about to let her float on out of it without a knock-down, drag-out fight.
He took a deep breath, took the plunge. “And Keira’s father? Where’s he?”
Zoe shrugged, took a sip of her drink. “No clue.”
Scars’ heart leapt and he did a mental fist-pump. On the one hand, he was fucking thrilled to hear that, because it meant that the relationship coast was clear for him to move in. On the other hand, he was seriously pissed off that a guy would father a child and then just fuck off on the baby and the mother. It also meant that Zoe was quite probably not all that enthralled with men in general, and so Scars could expect some initial resistance and suspicion.
“He’s out of the picture?” Scars kept his voice casual. “Not in your lives?”
Zoe shook her head, drank again. “Totally out, totally not involved.”
Take it easy, man. Ease on in with the questions. Stay cool and slow your roll and for fuck’s sake, don’t push too hard.
But Scars had never been especially good at tap-dancing around things. Not when he really wanted something, and God knows, he wanted Zoe Parish. So, in his usual bull-in-a-china-shop style, he just launched on in, head-first and throwing all caution and discretion to the wind:
“You never see him?”
Zoe cocked her head at Scars, gave him a strange look. “No. Of course not.”
“So no chance of you getting back together with him?” Scars was determined to get the actual words out of her sexy little mouth. “No way, no how?”
She gave him an even stranger look. “What?”
“No chance of taking him back?” Scars repeated.
“Taking him back?” Zoe echoed, looking completely lost. “We were never together.”
Scars blinked. “So… Keira was – what? From a one-night-stand?”
Too startled to even be offended, Zoe stared at him. “Didn’t Wolf tell you about how I got Keira?”
“Uh.” Scars was finally starting to clue in that there was way more to this story than just some asshole abandoning a woman and his kid. “No.”
“So what did he say?”
“Just that you have a daughter.” Scars thought about it some more. “But he said you didn’t even tell him about Keira until she was about two months old. He was – erm – surprised that you hadn’t said anything sooner.”
Zoe gave a wry grin, sucked down some more booze. ‘Surprised’ wasn’t the right word for what Wolf had been when she’d finally called and given him the news about Keira. Infuriated, enraged, worried, hurt… those were better words to describe his reaction.
“Yeah.” She sighed. “Well, the whole situation was hard, and it all happened right around the time that Wheels died and Wolf took over as your President. He was up to his eyeballs in trouble and problems, mostly with getting you guys away from Jensen, and he didn’t need me to dump my crap on him. I waited until things settled down a bit over here, then I called him.”
“OK.” Scars was now pretty interested in hearing about the crap. “You gonna tell me how Keira came to you?”
She dropped those incredible green eyes, played with her almost-empty glass. Scars observed her reluctance with a bit of alarm. There was a story here, and it wasn’t a nice one. He knew that much, and he felt a wave of protectiveness and concern start to swell in his chest.
“Zoe?”
She glanced up. “Hmmm?”
“Can you tell me? I mean… is it OK to talk to me about it?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright.” She exhaled. “She’s my sister’s kid.”
Scars leaned forward. Just a bit. Enough to catch a whiff of her perfume, all sultry and woodsy and warm.
“Go on,” he said, his voice husky.
“I took Keira after Hailey… died. Well, after she was murdered.”
“Oh,” Scars said softly, very sorry to have started this conversation. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” She sucked down the last of her drink, felt the dark rum burn her throat. She told herself that’s why her voice was suddenly thick as she spoke. “Hailey’s ex – Keira’s Dad – killed her. Damn near killed them both, actually, since my sister was nine months pregnant with Keira when Gil stabbed her eleven times in a drug-induced rage.”
“Motherfucker,” Scars snarled. “He killed a pregnant woman?”
“He did.” She set her glass down, wishing that it was full to the brim and Coke-free. “Thank Christ the neighbors heard the fight, and came over to check on Hailey after Gil had stormed out. She was barely alive then, but she was conscious and in full-on labor, and she held on long enough for the ambulance guys to deliver Keira.”
“Did Hailey see her baby?” he asked quietly.
Zoe glanced at him, and he saw tears shimmering in those clear green eyes before she looked away again. “Yeah. Just for a second. Then she… then Hailey let go. I think – I think that she willed herself to live long enough to see that Keira was OK, and once that was done…” Her voice trailed off.
“Goddammit.” Scars wanted to take her in his arms right now, wanted to make her stop hurting. “Zoe…”
“Anyway.” Zoe took a deep breath and collected herself. “I took Keira when she was six days old, and I’ve had her ever since.”
Scars paused, saw that she wasn’t at all comfortable with his sympathy. He decided to change the topic slightly. “Your parents help you out with Keira?”
Zoe huffed out a laugh. “Nope. No way.”
“Because?”
“Because my alcoholic Dad left when I was thirteen and Hailey was ten, and Mom’s a drunk. I’m not much and I know it, but believe me, I’m the best that little girl’s got.”
“Why do you say you’re not much?”
She shrugged, a deceptively casual gesture that didn’t totally hide her pain. “No real education. No real money. No house of my own. I’m a struggling tattoo artist, now working for an MC.”
“So?” Scars rasped. “Something wrong with any of that?”
“Maybe not. But I’m not really classy or much of a role model, you know?”
“Bullshit.” Scars didn’t like her devaluing herself, and he wasn’t about to let that stand. He knew a thing or two about raising kids who kind appeared out of nowhere, from watching his own brother do it with his daughter Cindy, and Scars knew that it was a hard job to do right – maybe one of the hardest jobs out there. “Nothing classier than stepping up and taking that baby, Zoe. Nobody better for that little girl to look up to than the woman who loves her, and keeps her out of the foster care system.”
Startled, Zoe gazed up at him. “You think?”
“Yeah. I fucking think.”
“Oh.” She blinked at his ferocious expression, looked away from the intensity in those incredible eyes. “Well… thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Scars paused. “And why didn’t you tell Wolf all of this right after it happened? I thought you two were tight. Like brother and sister.”
“We are, but like I said: he was dealing with enough. I knew that if I told him about all of this, he’d be on a plane and in Fargo in a matter of hours, and things would be in jeopardy here.”
“I’d have handled all of it just fine on his behalf. Believe me.”
Zoe looked at him, took in the strength and stubbornness of his body and his personality. “I can see that now, but I didn’t know you then.”
He liked her saying that she didn’t know him then – the implication that she was getting to know him now was hanging out there, and God knows, he wanted her to know him. In more ways than one.
“And the dickhead?” he asked, still not happy with the vagueness of her answers about the son-of-a-bitch who had killed her sister. “Where is he?”
“Gil? I really don’t know.”
“On the run from the law?”
“He is indeed.”
“Any sightings?”
“One, about six months ago. Some tourists said that they saw him in Mexico.”
“It’s solid info?” he said, ready to get on his motorcycle and track that fucker down personally. “They got a real lead on him?”
“I have no idea. The cops took it seriously enough at the time, but nothing ever came of it.”
“Damn.”
“I know,” Zoe said sadly. “But really, I’ve pushed him out of my mind, mostly. I mean, I’m so, so angry that he may well get away with murdering my little sister, but my priority is Keira. I can’t let what her Dad did play too big of a part in our lives.”
“I can understand that.”
“You can?”
“Sure I can. That baby girl is your daughter now, and that makes her your heart and your breath. You’re gonna do what you gotta do, whatever it takes to do right by her. I can tell that about you.”
To her absolute horror, Zoe felt tears rising again… but this time, she couldn’t blame the alcohol. Or, actually, maybe she could. She was buzzing and dizzy, and she felt drained and a bit vulnerable right now. This hard, tough man’s gentleness and compassion were a surprise to her, a revelation of sorts: she hadn’t been looking for them when she’d walked into this bar tonight, and she sure as hell hadn’t been expecting them from this glowering biker.
Scars saw the shine on her cheeks, and this time, he did reach for her. He took her small hand in his large one, and they both jolted at even that small, tender touch. They stared at each other again, with a sense of being aware and wide awake.
“You OK?” he asked her, his rough fingers wiping the tears away. “Zoe? You good?”
She gazed up at him, and when she saw the desire burning bright and hot in those eyes, she just froze up. Fear was creeping into her body now, real fear, as she realized that Scars was making a move on her.
Oh, he wasn’t being super-aggressive about it, to be sure… but no mistake and no doubt, he was touching her for a reason. And that reason was the very reason that she’d almost ended up raped and beaten in the bar back room – it was the same reason that she’d left Denver all those years ago, without regret or even a look back.
It was the reason that she didn’t trust men, and most certainly not men like him.
It felt damn good, though… it felt so damn good. He was touching her gently, carefully, and more than anything else going on here, that confused her the most. How could a man with that face and that body be gentle, be careful?
He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Yeah. I’m OK.” In one movement and with great effort, Zoe pulled away from that amazing touch. She stood up a bit unsteadily, feeling like her whole world had just tilted. “I’m going to go and clean up.”
Scars stood up too, and now that delicious, disturbing something else was back, big-time. It washed over her in slow, deliberate waves, and she was suddenly terrified that she was going to go under its relentless, pulsing strength.
That she was going to go under him. Under that body. Under all that heat and muscle.
In this moment, she knew – knew with everything inside of her – that despite her fear and her past, Scars Innis had the power to take her down to the ground. And the truth was, she didn’t know if she liked that or not.
Time to flee, take a breather, get her head together before she touched him. If she did that – if she got her hands and lips on his face and body – then she’d be lost. She knew that for damn sure.
“I’ll be right back,” she blurted. “I want to wash my face.”
“Bathroom’s that way,” he said, but she was already off. She remembered where the bathroom was, of course. Time hadn’t erased nearly enough from her memory, and the layout of this bar was as fresh in her mind today as it had been six years before.
Zoe bolted to the ladies’ room, ducked inside. Thank Christ a stall was empty, and she almost dove into it and locked the door behind her. Then she sat on the toilet seat, buried her face in her hands, and shook.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
What the hell was wrong with her, anyway? She knew better than to think and feel about Scars what she was thinking and feeling about him. She knew what he was; she knew who he was. She knew that he wasn’t what she needed or wanted; she knew that he’d never, ever be able to be a safe, steady presence in her life, and most definitely not in Keira’s.
Scars Innis was VP to an MC, which made him raw and risky. He was nothing but danger and darkness, and with every brain cell that she possessed, Zoe knew that.
And yet…
He called to her somehow, called to her like no man ever had in her life before. He called to her in ways and places that she’d long ago pushed aside and denied.
Dealing with Hailey’s brutal murder, figuring out how the hell to raise a baby all alone, working her ass off to try and keep a roof over their heads and food on the table… these things had been her focus for a while now, and they’d keep being her focus for the foreseeable future. And she was good with all of that. She really was.
And yet… and yet…
She was lonely, she finally admitted to herself as she sat there. More than that, she was bone-tired from fighting and struggling. She’d been on her own for so long now, and she was exhausted. She wanted to lie down, just for a little while, and she wanted a large, solid body there when she did – and not just any body. She wanted Scars’ body… only his.
She wanted Scars to be there with her when she let go and let loose. She wanted his arms around her, his lips on hers, his hot breath in her ear. She wanted his hands moving over her curves, his cock driving deep inside her as she trembled and tumbled into oblivion.
She wanted Scars Innis for herself, wanted everything that a man like him could offer her, no matter how temporary or limited.
Even for just one night, she wanted it.
She wanted him.
To hell with him being in an MC. To hell with being just one of the many women to get in to bed with him. To hell with thinking about anything beyond the next hour or two.
A tiny part of her brain slammed on the brakes right about then, asked her if she was really going to be safe with him. This was a big question, not one to be taken lightly or shaken off, just because she was lusting after a devastatingly sexy man. This was the question… the only one where the answer truly mattered, in the end.
The truth was that Scars was – to all intents and purposes – a stranger. Oh sure, Wolf had talked about him quite a bit, and Zoe knew that her best friend thought the world of Scars. Said over and over that he was a straight-up, honest guy, one who was hard-working and loyal. One that Wolf trusted with his own life, and with the life of his MC members.
Scars was, after all, the man that Wolf had tapped to be his VP… that wasn’t an honor that was bestowed lightly or randomly or on a whim. If Wolf had seen something in Scars that inspired that kind of confidence and faith, then Zoe was prepared to think well of Scars just based on that.
And that was what made up her mind at last: if Wolf trusted Scars, then so could she, so would she. She’d trust him with her body and its needs, just for one night. Just that, nothing else, nothing more. Nothing of her, really.
No, he wasn’t a ‘forever’ kind of guy… but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Scars wasn’t going to hurt her, not for anything. He knew what Zoe meant to Wolf, and there was no way that he’d lay crude or violent hands on her. If he did, Wolf would kill him without batting an eyelash, bond of brothers be damned.
Zoe took a deep breath, got to her feet. Her shaking had stopped as soon as she’d faced and acknowledged her own desires, and she unlocked the door and walked over to the sinks. She washed her hands, patted the cool water on her flushed cheeks and around her eyes. She stared at herself in the mirror for a few seconds, asking herself if she was going to be OK with this… if she could really do this.
If she could be with Scars, just for one night. If, after it was all over, she could pull away and walk away from that body, from those lips.
From those eyes.
He could be with her just this once, she knew that for sure. Hell, she was sure that he was more than capable of banging her with great enthusiasm – and hopefully great skill – in the back room, sending her home to bed, and then picking up some other chick within moments of Zoe’s ass heading out the bar door. He may well have been a good man in most ways, but he was a womanizing bastard the way that Wolf was, and she knew that damn good and well.
And that worked for her, if she were being honest with herself. She wasn’t in any position to be with any guy quite yet – not even a decent guy – so why not just enjoy some safe, consensual, strings-free sex? If she did this with no expectations and went in with her eyes wide open about Scars not wanting more from her, then it would just be a bit of fun. It’d be a fantasy. It’d be meaningless.
Yeah, she could do meaningless. Just this once, before she got back to her real life. Back to her non-fantastical, non-fantastic reality.
Her mind made up, she turned and walked out into the hallway, ready to go back to the bar and respond to any signal that Scars sent out. And she stopped dead in her tracks.
He was standing right outside the bathroom, leaning up against the opposite wall. Massive arms crossed, those eyes so blue and bold, his dark-brown hair tousled and falling over his forehead. His broad shoulders looked even wider in his leather cut, his scarred face looked even more fierce in the semi-darkness.
He was just standing there, all casual in well-worn jeans and a tight black t-shirt; just standing there, all sexy and smoldering. Just waiting.
Waiting for her.
“I wanted to check on you,” he said, his voice dark and rough. “You OK, baby?”
It was him calling her baby for the very first time that did it, in the end.
Zoe took two breaths and then – before she could change her mind, before she could start to feel afraid, before she could talk herself out of any of this insanity – she moved to him.
Scars uncrossed his arms, and Zoe just stepped on into them like she’d been born to be there. She pressed herself against his large frame, clutched his t-shirt between her fingers, lifted herself up on her tip-toes.
And she kissed him.