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Devil refuses to let me enter the clubhouse. Instead, he leads me inside his cabin. The rug on the living room floor is old and threadbare. The sofa is a small two-seater with a dark stain on one arm. The floors gleam with polish and everything is neat and clean, though. There are even pictures on the walls. Most of them are of half-naked women draped over motorcycles, but it's the effort that counts, right? Right.
"It's nice," I murmur to Devil.
"It's a shithole," he snorts, dropping my overnight bag beside the door. "But you aren't fucking staying in the clubhouse, so it'll just have to do for now."
"What's so bad about the clubhouse?" I demand, baffled by his insistence that I not be allowed inside. I've been here a few times in the past with Risk. He wasn't thrilled about having me around the club and the club girls, but he wasn't this irrational about it.
Devil turns to look at me over his shoulder. Those piercing eyes rake up and down my body. "For starters, you're too goddamn young to be exposed to half the shit that goes on in there."
"I'm nineteen," I say, bristling.
"Like I said, too young."
"How old are you?"
"Old enough."
"How old?" I narrow my eyes on him, unsatisfied with his answer. If I had to guess, I'd say he was in his early thirties, but I get the impression that he's older than that. Mid to late thirties, maybe. Closer to Risk's age.
"Thirty-six."
"Old enough to know better, too young to care, right?"
"Something like that." He rewards me with another one of those rare smiles.
He's seriously too beautiful for words when he smiles. I bet the club girls fall all over him trying to hook up with him. Ugh. I bet he's probably hooked up with a lot of them. I eye the dark stain on the couch dubiously, my stomach turning. "Are your…women going to have a problem with me staying here?"
"My women?"
"The club girls. You know, the ones who serve themselves up like kitty on a platter."
"Kitty on a platter?" His lips twitch again.
"You know what I mean," I say, rolling my eyes at him. "Are the club girls going to be mad that I'm here?"
"The club girls don't have a say in what I do with my life, Jessie," he says. "And they damn sure aren't invited here."
Well…I guess that answers that question, doesn't it? He probably sleeps with them at the clubhouse and then comes back here for peace and quiet. My stomach roils again. It's none of my business who he sleeps with or where he sleeps with them, but jealousy sinks its claws in any way.
Ugh. This is bad.
"I should really go stay in Risk's room," I say, inching toward the door.
Devil narrows his eyes on me. "You aren't staying in the fucking clubhouse, baby."
"Why not?" I cry, exasperated. "You aren't my keeper!"
"Because I can't risk anyone putting their fucking hands on you," he growls. "Too much is at stake for me to fuck it up now and watch this blow up in my face. So you're going to sit your pretty little ass on the couch while I shower, and then I'm going to make you something to eat. Tonight, you'll sleep in my bed. Tomorrow, you'll go back to campus, and you won't come back until Risk is here to keep an eye on you." He tugs at his hair, sending the dark mass tumbling down to his shoulders. "After this is over, I'll fucking figure out how to handle him so he doesn't rip my throat out over us."
I gape at him, not sure what the heck he's talking about. Pissed that he thinks he can just order me around. Oddly touched that he wants to make me dinner. Confused and jittery over the implication that he intends for there to be an us. What the heck is wrong with me? And who in the heck is this man? Whoever he is, he's not just a biker, I'm certain of that much. I don't understand half of what he just said, but I get enough to know that much. He's hiding something and he thinks I could mess it up.
My mind wheels through questions, trying to figure out where I want to start.
"Who are you?"
Well, I guess I'm starting there.
"Devil," he says.
