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"I…" I trail off as the loud purr of a motorcycle engine reaches my ears. I turn my head just in time to see a pale green Harley turning the corner. My heart leaps into my throat, waves of heat flowing through me. Devil on the back of a bike is a sight to behold. His long hair flows free, his expression fierce as his hunter's eyes move in my direction.
They lock with mine and the breath stalls in my throat. Even from yards away, I get caught in his eyes and the predatory gleam in them. In the way he looks at me like he wants to eat me alive. His filthy question from last weekend floats to the surface of my mind.
Did you touch your pussy in my bed, baby?
I wanted to. God help me, it took every ounce of self-control I had not to slip my hand into my panties to touch myself. I couldn't sleep because I wanted to do it so badly. But somehow, I resisted. Right now, I wish I'd given into that wanton urge. I wish I had slipped my hand into my panties and made myself come in his bed. Maybe then I wouldn't ache so badly. Maybe then I'd be able to tear my gaze away and pretend I don't feel a little bit like his willing prey.
Except I am. Except I do.
Creed "Devil" Thomas isn't who he says he is. I think he might be dangerous. To the Diamond Kings, maybe. To me, most certainly. And God help us all, but I don't think I care.
I rise to my feet as if in a trance and take a step in his direction, expecting him to stop and explain why he's here. Expecting…something. More push and pull. More dirty words and rare smiles. More of whatever he's willing to give me. But he doesn't stop.
He stares at me for a moment like he's starving for the sight of me, and then smirks at me and drives off. I stare after him long after his motorcycle disappears from sight. Long enough for him to circle the block and reappear. He doesn't.
"Uh, Jessie?" Remington says, touching my arm. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I lie, shaking off the seeds of frustration sprouting in my stomach. I plop back down on the bench beside her, giving her a bright smile. "I'm fine."
The longer the day wears on, the more frustrated I grow. I can't believe he's stalking me at school! Actually, I can totally believe he's stalking my school. What I can't believe is that he got busted stalking me at school and didn't even stick around to say hey or explain.
He just smirked.
He is infuriatingly cocky!
Why do I like it?!
"Because you're a crazy person, that's why," I mutter to myself, flopping down on my bed to glare up at the ceiling. "His stupid-hot body fried your brain." That might be true. Lust can turn even the most rational people into sex-starved mad women.
I huff out a groan and grab my phone from my nightstand, deciding maybe Remington was right. If he can stalk me in person, I can stalk him online. Turnabout is fair play.
I quickly type his name into the search bar and hit enter before I can talk myself out of it. My heart pounds with nervous energy as I wait for results to load.
"Whoa," I whisper when numerous pages of news articles immediately pop up. I scan through them, quickly realizing that Devil used to race in the motocross circuit. He didn't suck at it, either. He won a lot of races when he was younger. Like…a lot of races. And then the articles just stop suddenly.
I hop up from my bed and move to my desk, repeating my search on my laptop. It takes about fifteen minutes to find an article that talks about his last race. His best friend died in a crash halfway through the race. There's even a picture of the two of them together. Devil is younger, more carefree. His long hair is shorter. He still has a cocky smirk and piercing hunter's eyes.
I back out of the article.
The only other article that returns in the search results is partially behind a paywall. I skim the first paragraph, preparing to back out of it. The article itself is about human trafficking, which doesn't really feel relevant. But the last line catches my attention.
According to law enforcement agencies across the state, outlaw motorcycle gangs are becoming increasingly involved in human trafficking in Texas.
"Trafficking is a major concern. People are somewhat of an unlimited resource," explains Captain Johannsson of the Dallas Police Department. "Motorcycle gangs in the state are capitalizing on that in big ways. It's a billion-dollar industry for them and it's not going away anytime soon."
That's why, according to Johannsson, the Motorcycle Gang and Trafficking Task Force, was established earlier this year.
The rest of the article is behind the paywall, but that last line….
I flick my gaze up to the article date. It was written a little over three years ago. I'm not sure why it's showing up in search results for Devil, but I don't believe it's a coincidence, either. Is he involved in human trafficking? My stomach turns at the thought. Could that be the paperwork he was talking about last weekend?
My mind and heart immediately reject the possibility. I don't know why, but it just doesn't feel right. He isn't that kind of guy. I know that instinctively, automatically. He's too protective. That isn't an act, or something easily faked. Whoever he is, he isn't involved in human trafficking.
Is he an informant?
Maybe. That's a lot more plausible than the other. But if that's the cause, I don't understand why he's with the Diamond Kings. They don't traffic women. I may not know everything about them, but I know that much. Risk would never let that happen. He would never stand for it. Some things are unforgivable as far as my brother is concerned. That's one of them.
I tap my bottom lip, trying to sort it out. But nothing I come up with makes any sense. The sad fact is the answer isn't here. It's on the ranch. I need to go back. Devil isn't going to like it. Neither is Risk. That's just too bad for both of them. If Risk didn't want me hanging around, he shouldn't have gotten involved with a motorcycle club. And if Devil didn't, well, he should have been honest.
Besides, if he can show up here whenever he wants, then so can I.
