He must be freaking Dev out.
Hell, he was freaking himself out.
“Another bad dream?” Dev asked.
With an exhausted huff, Cash dropped to his back, sprawling out on the king-sized mattress, glancing over at the alarm clock on the floor. A blinking three forty-five in the morning mocked him. He was tired, but sleep was pointless.
His hand went to his heart, rubbing absently in a futile attempt to relieve the burden.
It was only a dream.
“Yeah,” Cash finally answered. A tray sat on the floor by Dev, a dimmed lamp on top providing the only light in the room.
They weren’t too far into their latest truce. Another renewed commitment for Dev to turn federal informant. His heart, which was seriously an untrustworthy organ, wanted to believe Dev was truly on his side this time.
But too much had gone wrong in getting them to this point. Dev’s security was at risk. If he wasn’t with his guy, he watched him from a close distance. Dev was also finally following all the rules imposed on him. Even with Cash stuck to him like glue, Dev still contacted him at every scheduled check-in. Dev carried his cell phone and other surveillance equipment everywhere he went, which consisted of two places—the ink parlor in South Dallas and to visit his children in north Fort Worth.
This afternoon, Dev had been excited as hell to see the wheels of justice finally work in his favor when his best friend, and probably, by now, former fellow club brother, Keyes Dixon, had been cleared of all charges. His record wiped clean. A condition Dev had given when agreeing to work as a federal informant.
How would Keyes feel if he ever found out Dev was behind his forced removal from the Disciples of Havoc motorcycle club?
The weird bond those men had to their one-percenter motorcycle club had a tight hold over all of them.
Was that the meaning behind the nightmares?
No. They felt like a premonition. A glimpse into a future he couldn’t control.
The truth settled on Cash like a stone in a lake. The overwhelming love he had for Dev made him too vulnerable. And Dev was going to get himself killed if he continued to play both sides against the other. Cash rolled away from Dev and pushed off the mattress.
“Where’re you goin’?” Dev asked, sounding confused and fed up with whatever had Cash putting space between them. “It’s the middle of the night in an ice storm. I figured we’d be here for a while.”
He’d love nothing more than to stay tucked away inside this room, far away from the evils of the world, but that would have to wait. He needed to find a better way to ensure Dev’s safety.
He reached for his pants. His attitude plunged deeper into something dark and nefarious.
With furrowed brows, he shoved a leg inside his bespoke slacks. He was usually careful with his clothes. He spent a lot of money to get them custom made. Well, the government spent the money, but he took care of them as if he had made the purchases himself, knowing he’d never be able to replace any of them on the pittance he was paid.
“It was a dream, Cashin.” Dev’s use of his real name sent a shiver racing down his spine. His downward spiraling thoughts sent him straight back to when they were children. To the weird kid with a mean reputation and clever personality. As a young boy, Dev had already earned the nickname Devilman.
Daydreams of Dev used to bounce around his head, never giving his soul a moment’s reprieve. He gave an inner mocking laugh at the memory of himself, a skinny, underdeveloped, perpetually happy boy who constantly tried to engage the elusive bad boy with the simple greeting of hello.Hello, hello, hello, hello.He’d never taken the hint that Dev’s scowl meant he wasn’t interested in being friends.
He drew up his pants and tucked himself inside. Then he reached for his dress shirt, shrugging an arm through a sleeve as Dev rolled from the bed.
“You aren’t gonna say nothin’?” Dev’s tone hovered on the edge of anger. “What happened? Did you figure somethin’ out?” Dev asked, fists dropping to his hips. “Come back to bed and tell me all about it. Chill the fuck out. I’m the unexplainably angry one.”
Cash shook his head, hoping Dev stayed on that side of the room. “No, I’m gonna go workout. Check in with my director. See if Keyes was told he’s out of the club. I also want permanent security on you. We’ve been patient, but it’s time my superiors worked it out.”
“Why do I need any more security than you?” Dev countered, sauntering toward Cash in a clear message ofI don’t need anyone. I got myself covered.
Maybe Dev’s movements weren’t meant to be sexy as much as chock-full of cocky attitude. It was just the way Dev moved. He walked straight into Cash’s personal space.
The Dev in his dreams was wrong. The man smelled sinfully sexy all the time. When he got this close, he had a way of occupying Cash’s mind until nothing else mattered. He couldn’t allow it to happen any longer. He’d been foolish until now.
“I was under the impression limited people know about me workin’ with you. Five total.” Dev used his fingers and started counting those people off, probably trying to take Cash’s mind off his troubles. “You, Shanna, the security guy who never speaks. Joe, right? The flower chick—Rose or Lily or Magnolia. Shanna’s chick, who’s quieter than Joe and never around. One plus one plus one until you reach five. I guess I make six. We’re a decent enough team. Besides, my big ole bear ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to me.” The teasing only accentuated the dire warning of his nightmare, causing Cash to move away from Dev.
“I have your back, but I can’t shake how quickly your father’s informant put together Alec Pierce being at the jail asking for Keyes. All we have is each other against a vastly corrupt system. You haven’t always been honest with me. We have too many obstacles in our way. I tried, but the risk is too great. I can’t take the chance with your safety any longer.”
The mischievous glint in Dev’s eyes flaunted how much the devil inside him liked the idea of riding the line. Dev’s unwavering confidence showed the absurdity of Cash worrying about his safety. Instead of saying any of that, Dev kept his composure, meaning he was most likely teetering around the truth of something...
