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"Mostly everyone," I admit with a wry laugh. I'm not self-conscious about it or embarrassed about who I am. But my life hasn't been easy. "Apparently, women aren't supposed to have strong opinions or brains. When we do, we're intimidating, or too loud, too sassy, too fierce, too passionate, too intelligent, or too much of a million other things that simply boil down to not attractive in a female." I roll my eyes. "Frankly, I think their opinions are asinine garbage."
"Good girl," Devil says, making me smile. "If they can't keep up with you, the problem isn't you, Jessie baby. The problem is them. Fuck anyone who tries to cut you down because they can't compete on your level. Don't ever let a motherfucker like that change a goddamn thing about you. Matter of fact, you send them my way if they try."
"Why? So you can bury them in the desert somewhere?" I tease, shaking my head. "Thanks, but no thanks, Devil. I can fight my own battles. And there's far less blood to clean up when I do it."
"Smart ass," he mutters.
I laugh at him. "Risk always says the same thing. Send them to me," I say, mimicking my brother's deep voice. "But I can handle myself. He taught me how to do that a long time ago. Now, I just need him to let me do it."
"He worries about you."
"He shouldn't."
"You're right," Devil says, scooping me up into his arms. "That's my job now."
"Devil! You can't just carry me wherever you want me to go," I complain, smacking his shoulder. "I have two feet. Put me down."
"Hell no," he growls, swatting me on the ass. "I'm carrying my woman to my bed. I'm getting her naked. And then I'm going to see how good she can be while I claim what's mine. In the morning, I plan to do it again."
"Oh," I whisper, my core clenching. "Then walk faster."
"Now you're talking my language, little one."
He locks the door and hits the lights before carrying me down the hall to his room. The last time I was here, he slept in the living room. Or didn't sleep. I don't think either of us slept at all. This time, I hope he plans to stay in the bed with me.
Like the rest of the cabin, his room is small and sparsely decorated. Aside from the king-sized bed, a dresser, and a single nightstand, there isn't much else in it. There are no pictures of half-naked women draped over motorcycles back here though. In fact, there are no pictures at all. There's nothing of him in this cabin, no hint of who he is or what matters to him. It's as if this is merely a place he exists.
"Where did you live before here?" I ask, suddenly desperate to know something about him other than this place. Desperate for some piece of him that's real. Because this place isn't. It's hard to deny that truth while standing in this room. It's hard to forget that he's not who he says he is when the evidence stares me in the face.
"Here and there," he says, pulling his shirt off over his head.
"That's not an answer."
"That's because I don't have one for you, Jessie baby," he says quietly.
"Don't have one or can't tell me?"
He sighs. "What's this about?"
"Tell me something that's real," I whisper, hating the vulnerability in my voice. "Anything, Creed."
"I'd kill for you. That's real." He strides toward me, taking my hand in his. He lifts it to his bare chest, splaying my fingers across his sternum, each finger pointing toward one of the jewels lining the crown on his club tattoo. His heart pounds beneath my palm. "This beats for you. That's real."
"Devil."
"I grew up on the back of a bike and I'll probably die on the back of a bike. That's real, little one," he says, his eyes locked on my face. "The man standing before you is real. The details are just details. They don't change the fact that I don't see anything but you. They don't change the fact that you're mine or that I'm yours. They don't change the fact that I fucking breathe for you. That's real, Jessie. That's as real as it gets, baby."
My throat aches with emotion, my heart pounding in my ears so loudly I barely hear the last of his statement. He's in love with me. Maybe he didn't say the words outright, but that's what he's saying, nonetheless. This gorgeous, infuriating man loves me. No, he doesn't just love me. I think he'd rip apart the damn world for me.
I can't lie and pretend I don't feel the exact same way about him. He has my heart. He's had it since the moment he scooped me up in his arms and told me to settle my ass down.
"Are you…" I swallow hard. "Are you with Satan's Savages?" That's the name I heard Tank and Ruin say tonight, the MC they're worried about. I think that's the one that's after Sin's girlfriend.
"Fuck no," Devil growls.
"Do you…trade people?" I can't bring myself to ask if he traffics women. It's too awful to even put into words, but I need to hear it from his lips. Even though I know in my heart that he doesn't, after finding that article, I have to ask. It's been weighing on me. Not because I believe he's involved, but because seeing his name tied to something like that, even if indirectly, is…heavy. It's been so damn heavy. I need him to lift that burden from my mind because he's the only one who can do it.
Before I give myself permission to free-fall deeper, I have to know if I'm right about him. I need him to tell me that he's who I think he is—someone trying to do the right thing. Because I've had my heart locked up tight for so long, I don't know how to trust it.
