Devil on Your Back (26 page)

“I need you in me,” I whine.

“Why?” he asks, mischievously.

“Because it’s where you belong,” I moan.

His eyes darken, and he pulls back that extra half inch to let the tip of his length slip through my wetness. I cry out as he thrusts into me, and cling to my gorgeous man as he pumps in a lazy rhythm.

The pressure builds quickly, our emotions too raw, and I start to push back on his thrust. He bites his bottom lip—the sight drives me crazy. Leaning into our hold, I slip my tongue over his lips, and urge them apart to kiss him deep and passionately. Vince moans into my mouth, his legs stiffen, and I feel each and every twitch as he comes inside of me.

I follow his lead, and groan in pure bliss as my orgasm pulls through me, leaving a path of butterflies and heat in its wake.

Opening my eyes, I find a set of dark irises staring right back at me. “Every day,” he mumbles. “Every day I get that.”

I giggle at his pleasure at the thought, and kiss him on the cheek. “Sometimes twice.”

WE’VE BEEN
back a week. A solid week of the usual jobs, and of losing myself in Sonya in between. Club life has returned to normal, although the dark undertones of what we’re working on behind the scenes stains the walls, litters the floors, and crowds every corner.

At face value, the club is the best it’s ever been. But beneath the surface the iceberg floats, threatening to tear the place apart.

Sonya is out shopping, enjoying the sunshine with Ramona and Mack, who are up to pack their belongings in preparation for the big shift. A handful of prospects and hang-arounds dwell in the common room as I make my way to King’s office.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah,” he waves me in, scribbling something down. “Take a seat.”

I lean against the wall—I’ve never been one to sit.

“Ty phoned,” he says, still looking at the paper before him. “He’s found a way in for Bronx.”

“About time.”

“Hey,” he snaps. “The guy’s doing the best job he can, and from the notes he’s sent me he’s some sort of genius. I mean, the details and thought he’d put into these scenarios . . .”

“Scenarios?” I ask.

“Yeah.” King shoves a piece of paper at me. “Look at that.”

I run my eye over the information on the sheet. Ty has not only collated facts and details about Edward’s guys, but he’s also provided statistics on how often they’re at various places, what the members’ weaknesses are given the patterns to their movements, and even listed specific times they can be found at key locations.

“He’s neurotic, I would have said.”

“Whatever he is,” King says, “he’s got this figured out.”

“So, when is infiltration?”

“He thinks another week and they’ll be set.”

“Really?” How long do we have until Carlos is bored, wants results? The guy’s not going to wait forever.

“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s fine.” His shaky hand reaches for the clearly cold cup of coffee. King’s ashtray overflows, and the guy’s usually tanned skin is pale.

“When did you last sleep?”

King snaps his gaze to mine, and laughs. “Too much at stake, dude. I don’t have time to sleep.”

“You’re no good exhausted. What needs doing? Can’t Callum take over for a bit and let you rest? I’m sure he can wake you if anything urgent happens.”

“You don’t get it,” King says, a pained expression across his face. “I can’t fail. I’ve got to make sure these debts are paid.”

Back to this.

“You won’t fail us, man. I told you that already.”

“Here.” He waves a slip of paper at me. “Got you a run to do. Now go, leave me to it.”

I hesitate, watching the implosion of a man burdened by his own fears. Watching his life run in parallel to how mine was fifteen years ago.

He continues scratching at the papers before him, then stands abruptly and snatches his keys. “Haven’t you got somewhere you’re supposed to be?” he asks as he breezes past.

I swivel, watching him go with my brow furrowed.

What the fuck happened to the joker that pulled me off the street?

More so, in a club full of people ‘loyal’ to him, why doesn’t anyone give enough of a fuck to do something about it?

• • • • •

“I’M WORRIED
about King.”

Sonya looks up from rolling out pastry for a half-dozen pies she’s making. “You noticed.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

She shrugs. “I tried telling him to have a day off, but he doesn’t want to listen to me.”

“We’ve got the party tonight for us.”

She raises her brows, and her eyes flick between the pastry and me. “I completely forgot.”

“Ha fuckin’ ha. I’m serious. You should have seen him, baby. He looks like he’s about to fuckin’ crack.”

“Then do something to
make
him step down for a few days.”

“Like what?” I round the counter-top and swipe my finger in the sweet apple-and-blueberry filling.

She slaps my hand away and moves the bowl to the far side of her. “Take him on a ‘run’. Stage something, because heaven knows the man won’t go willingly.”

I nod, thinking this over. What could I come up with that requires the president to go?

“Callum will need to be in on it,” I say.

“Of course.” She rolls her eyes. “Can you pass me that dish over there?”

I hold it just out of her reach. “Are you going to roll your eyes at me again?”

“Depends,” she says. “Are you going to hand me that dish?”

I cede, and steal a kiss as I pass the dish to her. “Ramona’s sticking around, right? Tonight?”

“Yeah.” Sonya nods. “She’s finishing up with the last of the packing and then heading over.”

“Good.” I duck behind her, and quickly swipe more apple-and-blueberry filling.

“Get out,” she hollers, slapping at me as I leave.

The halls are quiet, save for the occasional clink of glass as three prospects bring boxes of alcohol in through the back doors. I give them a polite nod and head towards King’s office.

He’s not there.

His bedroom comes up empty, too, so I swing back through the common room one last time, just to be sure.

Definitely not around.

It’s only when I give up and step outside to prepare the fire pits that I find him, pacing the length of the back fence. I approach him with caution, waiting until he realizes I’m there and stops of his own accord, rather than me having disturbed him.

“Hey, buddy.”

His eyes flick to me, and he hesitates, as though he doesn’t understand why I’m standing before him
.

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, hey dude. My mind was elsewhere for a moment there. I’m just working through some stuff,” he says, with a smile that quite frankly creeps me the fuck out. “Needed fresh air. Isn’t it nice, feeling the sun on your face?” He tips his face to the sky, and closes his eyes.

“King . . .”

“What, man?”

“It’s not sunny.” I look at the grey clouds rolling around on the horizon.

He eyes me, and then checks the sky. “Fuck man, you’ve got some serious voodoo magic going on there. How’d you make it so stormy like that?”

I swallow thickly, unsure how exactly to handle this. Sawyer was angry crazy, jaded by a bad parent.
That
was manageable. But this? It’s plain out eating-scones-on-your-front-lawn nutty.

How the hell am I supposed to fucking converse with that?

“Wanna come inside?” I ask. “I’ll see if Sonya has time to fix you something to eat.”

“Nah, nah.” King waves me off, and resumes his walking.

Shaking my head, I look around at the empty yard, at the fact nobody else sees this, and grumble. What the fuck is wrong with this place?

THE MUSIC
ripples through the walls in steady beats, and people yell in an effort to be heard over one another. The party is well and truly alive as I stand and toss back another bourbon, watching Sonya mingle. Her cheeks are flushed, and her smile wide. It’s a fucking beautiful thing to see—her so damn happy and excited to be ‘noticed’.

The other old ladies usher her around, clamoring for her attention. I guess she really did win some sort of trophy by bagging me, even if it was a metaphorical one.

“She’s loving it, hey?” Callum slips between a couple to stand beside me.

I nod. “Sure is.”

“You know what’s up with King?” He nods towards the chair our pres is seated on, folding paper napkins . . . into swans.

“Really not sure, man, but he’s got issues.”

“You don’t say.”

We stand in silence for a while, watching him make two of the paper birds ‘talk’ to each other.

“Any ideas on how I can get him to take a leave of absence without ruining his rep?”

I sigh, and look down at Callum. “I think he’s ruining it just fine on his own, don’t you?”

“He needs a doctor.”

“He needs a fuckin’ straitjacket.”

Callum takes a mouthful of his beer, and watches King arrange the swans. “I’ll see if I can lure him into his office. Meet me there and we’ll talk this through with him.”

He wanders off, and I return my gaze to Sonya. One of the prospect’s girlfriends is showing her their baby, and Sonya’s cooing over it. My chest constricts when I realize we haven’t discussed why she doesn’t have kids. I was so caught up with my own, with Alice, to even wonder why a woman as attractive as her, and with such an obvious love of children, has none.

I look back to where King was seated and find him and Callum gone. Making my way through the partiers, I head towards King’s office and spot the two of them talking as I approach. Callum has his hands stamped on his hips, shaking his head, as King stares at papers on his desk.

“Just let it go, King,” Callum pleads while I shut the door.

King shakes his head furiously. “You don’t get it.”

“Get what?” I ask, throwing my hands in the air. “You’re talking to yourself, playing fuckin’ origami games with napkins. You’re going to snap soon if you don’t take a step back.”

“You. Don’t. Get. It,” he seethes.

I flex my fists, at my wit’s end with his crazy and ready to smack some sense into him, when Callum holds a hand up to me.

“How about you explain it to us,” he urges quietly. “Maybe if you talk it through we can help you figure out where you’re stuck.”

King appears to think it over, still as a statue. Both Callum and I jump when he springs back into action, rifling through the stacks of papers on his desk.

“There’s something I haven’t told you guys about me.”

Callum and I exchange glances.

“I have a kid.”

“What?” Callum blurts out. “When?”

I act shocked, avoiding having to explain that I already knew after our meet up with Carlos.

“He’s seven. Product of a fucked-up love triangle that never should have happened.”

Callum meets my concerned gaze. “And how does this affect what’s going on now?” he asks King.

“Carlos knows about him.” He thrusts some photographs at us. “I’ve had a P.I. following him and his mother—Elena. She won’t let me near him—and the guy gave me those.”

I look at the image in my hands and shudder at the promise behind it. There’s a kid riding his bike on the street and in the background, several houses down, is one of Carlos’s vehicles.

“Is this because of the deal we made?” I ask.

“No.” King shakes his head. “Not ’cause of that.”

“Then why?” Callum hands his image back.

King drops his head into his hands, ripping at his blond hair that is getting longer by the month. “Past grievances.”

“King. I heard the name after Apex passed and wondered.” Carlos holds his hand out. “Now I know.”

“That you do,” King says, shaking his hand firmly. “It’s been a while.”

“What did you do?” My back finds stability against the wall. I’m not sure how much more of this shit I put up with—especially tonight, when I’m supposed to be celebrating with my girl.

King eyes us, guilt dripping from his expression.

“You fuckin’ sly dog.” Callum chuckles. “You fucked Carlos’s missus!”

“Shh,” he hisses. “Don’t fuckin’ tell the whole club.”

“How did he not know about it until now?” I ask, moving to lean on the front of his desk. “Did she run?”

He nods. “When he found out about the affair, I helped her start afresh, bank-rolled her to begin a new life away from him. He never knew she was pregnant.”

“So what changed?” Callum asks, eyes narrowed. “How did he find out?”

King chuckles, and swats at the back of his head with one hand. “Would you believe it if I said his kid—the one he has with his current woman—goes to the same school? He did the math.”

“You fucked up that relocation, man.” Callum walks around the office, staring at the shit on the walls as he shakes his head.

“I didn’t want her too far from me,” King explains. He stares me square in the eye. “I didn’t want to miss out on my boy growing up.”

I swallow back the flood of emotions that threaten to take me over. I can relate, too well, and he knows it.

“Carlos has been sending Elena messages,” King continues. “Started with vandalizing her car, moved on to killing the family cat, and now he’s sending her artwork of bent and mangled bodies.” He scrubs his face with both hands. “I think the guy doesn’t take to infidelity well.”

“Fuck.”

“Mm-hmm.” King stacks the files on his desk, and pushes them aside. “I don’t know how to fix it, guys, and I’m going out of my mind.”

“Elena—is she safe?” Callum reaches across the desk and picks up a photo of a Hispanic woman, carrying bags of groceries.

“She won’t listen. She doesn’t want to leave the house in case it startles Dante . . . my kid,” he explains when he finds both of us staring at him. “The woman’s stubborn as a mule, and then some. She thinks she can settle this with Carlos without Dante having to know.”

“Yeah, right,” I mutter.

“What if somebody else talked to her? Would that work?” Callum asks.

“Another biker?” King scoffs. “Hardly.”

“Another woman, then,” I say. “What if we sent Ramona, Sonya, both of them even?”

He shrugs. “I guess, maybe . . . look, I’m not doing anything that jeopardizes anyone else. I’ve had enough of sending lambs in for the slaughter.”

The room falls quiet while we all retreat into our heads. Sending the girls to talk reason into this woman could work, but I see his point—placing Sonya at risk like that doesn’t sit well with me.

But the risk is slim, and at the end of the day it’s their decision.

Choices.

“Be back in a minute.”

I head out and round up the girls, walking them into King’s office less than ten minutes later.

“No, Lynch,” King protests.

I hold up a single finger, scowling at the guy. “You can’t handle this on your own—that’s abundantly clear. Tell them.” I nod towards a confused Sonya and Ramona.

“Tell us what?” Sonya asks, looking toward me. I nod at King, silently redirecting her attention.

King hesitates, rolling a pen under his palm. “I made a mistake several years ago that’s put someone I care a great deal about in danger.”

“Layman’s terms,” Ramona prompts.

“I had a child with a woman . . . Carlos’s woman.”

Jaws collectively hit the floor.

“No way!” Ramona exclaims. “Why haven’t you said anything until now?”

“It’s not exactly something I’m proud of.”

“What do you need to tell us this for?” Sonya questions, looking amongst the three of us men.

“Elena—the woman—won’t leave her house. Carlos has been threatening her and I want her safe.”

“You want us to try and convince her?”

“Exactly.”

“Sure,” Ramona says without missing a beat. “I’m in.”

I stop in the scuffing of my boot, realizing Sonya hasn’t answered. Her blue eyes are on me, silently asking for permission.

“You do what you feel comfortable with,” I say.

She nods, and looks back to King. “I’ll do it.”

The five of us spend the next half hour talking through the details. Watching Sonya as she runs through the information with King and the gentle way she handles him in his current state leaves me nothing short of proud. Yet again, she’s willing to help others out without a second thought for her safety.

Ramona exits the office with Callum once the girls are briefed on Elena’s quirks and personality, leaving us alone with King.

“While we do this,” Sonya asks of him, “where will you be?”

“I’ll hang about here, waiting on a call. It goes well or it doesn’t—either way, I expect to be kept informed.”

“Wrong,” Sonya states clearly. “You, my dear man, will be resting—no phone, no Internet, nothing.”

“What if you need me?” he exclaims, eyes wide. “Who’ll look after the place?”

“Callum’s more than capable,” I say, joining in on this plan of hers, “and we can send a messenger if you need to know anything.”

The man is one twitch shy of a nervous breakdown. Dealing with yet another nerve-wracking task such as this is bound to push him off that cliff.

He scours the desk for anything and nothing, then stalls to look at us in turn. “Okay. But only because I know you bastards wouldn’t let it fuckin’ lie otherwise.”

“Call it an intervention,” Sonya says, smiling at him.

I look at the two of them curiously as they laugh at some private joke.

Well—at least she got him to laugh.

That’s something.