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"Because it's the only one you're willing to give me or because it's the only one there is?"
"I am a man of my word."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know." I nuzzle my face against her neck, unable to help myself. She smells like juicy apples. And something spicier. Cinnamon. "But it's true."
"Are you just a biker?"
"I'm a lot of things, little one." I nuzzle her throat again, trying to find the willpower to pry myself away from her gorgeous little body. "But a danger to your brother and the Diamond Kings isn't one of them."
Her face scrunches up and then she huffs out a breath and squirms out of my arms. "Fine," she says, putting space between us. "Keep your secrets. But my name is Jessie. Not baby, not little one, and not Jessie baby. It's just Jessie to you, Devil." She looks at me over her shoulder, her expression rife with disappointment. "And keep your hands off me. I'm not your property."
Well, shit.
I gape after her, caught between the urge to prove just how wrong she is about that, and the sinking realization that she's absolutely right. She isn't mine. Not yet. And I have no fucking business putting my hands on her or calling her anything but her name.
Until this is over, I have to leave her the hell alone.
Fuck you, Forsythe. You bastard.
Spending a night with Jessie in my bed is complete torture because I'm not in it with her. I spend the first half of the night on the couch, glaring at the wooden beams of the ceiling. When that gets old, I pace the hallway outside the bedroom. And then I pace the damn driveway. I do everything I can to keep my ass out of that bedroom and away from temptation.
Eventually, I settle on the porch to glare at the rising sun.
It takes more self-control than I'd like to admit. I've known her for less than a day, and she's already got my mind tangled in snarls. There's no way this isn't going to end badly. For me, most definitely. For her, quite probably.
I need to get moving and get this over with. More now than ever. I don't know how long I can last before I break. Not long, I know that damn much. She has me ready to snap. The Diamond Kings might not appreciate what I'm doing here, but I'd like to think they'd agree with my mission regardless. Leaving innocent women in the hands of the Savages wouldn't sit right with them either. But I feel guilty as fuck about lying anyway.
Not all criminals are created equal. Neither is every cop. Me? Well, I'm quickly finding my allegiance torn between the two. And a mouthy little blonde sits dead center. Too good for this world, but too tied to it to belong in that one. Maybe I'm becoming a little too tied to this one to belong in it too.
Fuck.
A little after dawn, I risk calling Forsythe. He's been dragging his feet all week about clearing Catriona Grady. I don't give a shit about his leverage over her brother. The Vipers aren't trafficking people, so I don't really give a fuck about them at all. I need names if she has them, and Jude Despora won't give them to me until her head is safely off the chopping block.
"Yo," Forsythe says, making me roll my eyes. I swear he thinks one of the brothers is going to snatch my phone and start randomly dialing numbers. If they do, it won't be hard to figure out which number is not like the others. I labeled him as No Balls in my contacts. You know, just in case he gets me killed.
"Did you do what I asked?"
"Good morning to you too, Devil."
The fact that he uses my road name grates on my goddamn nerves. He doesn't know what it means or how it came about. He doesn't know that Risk and the brothers started calling me Devil my second week here after a night ride.
"This motherfucker over here looks like he fell from heaven," Risk said, cracking jokes at my expense. "Handsome bastard. The girls are losing their minds over him."
"The devil fell too," Ruin reminded him. "And the world still trembles when they hear his fucking name."
"Fucking A," Axel agreed.
They've been calling me Devil since. Forsythe doesn't know that though. He probably thinks I gave myself the name or something. For someone who's worked with motorcycle clubs for as long as he has, he knows dick about them. He's one of those assholes who listens only long enough to feel threatened, not to understand. To him, road names aren't bestowed during moments of bonding, they have no meaning to anyone. They're just names.
"Did you do it or not?" I ask him.
"Yes, it's done."
I expel a breath. Fucking finally.
"Send the paperwork through today," I growl.
