Devil’s game

Chapter Eleven

ONE WEEK LATER
EM

I couldn’t breathe.
Something heavy crushed my chest, pressing down on my lungs. Something evil, I realized. A demon hungry for my soul? I hovered in that dark space between sleep and wakefulness, terrified as my worst dreams came to life.
“There’s ghost monkeys in the closet …” a soft, weirdly high-pitched voice whispered in my ear. Adrenaline spiked and I sat up, tumbling a four-year-old devil child off my chest.
“Ouch!” Silvie squawked, looking up at me from the end of the bed with an air of betrayal. “Ghost monkeys are scary! I want you to get them.”
Oh, f*ck. Was it morning already? I glanced at the clock. Sure enough, seven a.m. Already. Pisser. Well, at least Silvie was in here pestering me and not Cookie. That woman worked way too hard—she deserved a morning to sleep in.
“Sorry, baby,” I said, opening my arms. Silvie scampered up the covers and crawled into them, snuggling into me tight. “What’s this about ghost monkeys?”
“In my closet,” she said, eyes wide. “Wanna eat me.”
“There are no ghost monkeys,” I told her firmly. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Cody,” she whispered. I should’ve known. I’d only lived here two weeks, but I already hated Cody Weathers, a five-year-old brat who went to daycare with Silvie. His parents let him watch anything and everything on TV, which meant he was constantly filling Silvie’s little head with bullshit and scary stories.
The worst part? He wasn’t even doing it to be mean. So far as I could tell, little Cody had a serious crush on our Silvie girl.
“Cody doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I said. “Would I lie to you about ghost monkeys?”
She cocked her head at me, then shook it gravely.
“Let’s go look in the closet together,” I said. “I’ll show you it’s safe, and then I’ll use some of my monster spray just to be sure.”
We crawled out of bed. She held my hand while I grabbed a spray can of vanilla-scented air freshener I’d bought for just this purpose. Then we stepped across the hall. I heard murmuring voices from the kitchen—apparently Cookie had company. We were coming up on the one-year anniversary of the death of her husband, Bagger, in Afghanistan. She was doing pretty well all things considered, which meant she wasn’t doing that great at all, but she hadn’t rolled over and died, either.
Cookie impressed the hell out of me.
“The monkeys were there,” Silvie said, pointing to the closet fearfully. I flipped on the bedroom light and walked over to the door, opening it.
“No ghost monkeys,” I declared, taking a few seconds to examine every inch, knowing it would make a difference to her. I even checked behind the hanging clothes.
Wasn’t the first time I’d had to inspect Silvie’s closet for monsters.
“Spray,” she demanded.
I coated the small space thoroughly with air freshener.
“There we go,” I said. “No way ghost monkeys or any other creatures will get in there now.”
“Thank you,” Silvie whispered, wrapping her arms around my legs.
“Any time,” I muttered, fighting back a yawn. Shit, I needed some coffee. “Let’s go find something to eat.”
“Mommy’s in the kitchen talking to Uncle Deke.”
Interesting.
So much for Cookie sleeping in.
“Uncle Deke” came to visit a lot. He was the president of the Portland Reapers chapter, and he’d been looking out for Cookie since she moved down from Coeur d’Alene. I couldn’t tell whether he was just taking good care of a brother’s widow or there was more going on.
If so, I was pretty sure Cookie hadn’t noticed him.
I walked in to find them sitting at the kitchen table, coffee cups between them. A box of doughnuts sat on the counter.
I didn’t know Deke very well. He was probably around thirty years old, although hard to tell for sure. I knew he’d been in the Marines before joining the club, so I figured he understood what Cookie was going through better than most. He was a big guy, powerfully built, and one of his arms had been burned pretty bad. Now scars roped it, although it’d missed his hand. Some guys would keep that covered up.
I’d never seen Deke in a long-sleeved shirt.
“These doughnuts for anyone?” I asked, drifting toward the counter.
“Help yourself,” Deke answered. He and Cookie had fallen silent, and I wondered what they’d been talking about.
“Silvie, baby, let’s go get you dressed,” Cookie said. She smiled at me, the hint of sadness she always wore these days firmly in place. Even her hair seemed different since Bagger’s death. The wild, red corkscrew curls were somehow flatter.
She took Silvie’s hand and walked her out, leaving me alone with Deke.
“How’s shit with you?” he asked. I shrugged and smiled.
“Is that you asking or my dad?”
“More me bein’ polite than anything,” he said, his face unreadable. “You know we’re here if you need us, but I got better things to do than babysit. Glad someone’s in the house with Cookie, though.”
“Yeah, I’m happy to be here,” I said. “She’s doing me a huge favor. I won’t be able to work much once my program gets started, so keeping costs down is pretty important. Win-win for both of us.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, offering him a quick look of apology.
“Tell Cookie I said good-bye,” he said, standing. I nodded, then looked at my phone.
HUNTER: How you doing?
Shit. I glanced at Deke, but he wasn’t paying attention to me at all. Good, because I was pretty sure my guilty vibes were strong enough for him to sense if he bothered.
ME: Good. I thought we weren’t going to do this anymore.
I’d told Hunter to stop contacting me at least once a day since the party at his house. I suppose it made me a horrible person, but each time he got back in touch anyway, I felt the thrill all the way through my body.
HUNTER: Yeah … about that. I need to see you
ME: Skid was right. I wont be part of ruining you
HUNTER: Skid doesn’t know everything. Its more complicated. Thats my problem to deal with.
ME: No
HUNTER: Tonight
ME: I’m babysitting Silvie tonight
HUNTER: Then call when she’s asleep
ME: I’ll think about it
I thought about it, all right. I thought about it all day as I filled in at Cookie’s coffee shop. I continued to think about it while I made Silvie dinner (Kraft macaroni, because that shit is good) and while we had a bath (because that shit is messy). We checked for ghost monkeys and I monster-proofed the bedroom before tucking her in for the night. Then I went out into the living room and turned on the TV, still wondering if I should call Hunter.
Probably not.
Absolutely not.
I called Kit instead.
She didn’t answer. Not a huge surprise, considering it was a Friday night. Kit wasn’t really a stay-at-home-on-the-weekend kind of girl, and apparently she’d met some new man in one of her classes last Tuesday. Kit also wasn’t a wait-and-see kind of girl, so I’d be willing to bet she was putting him through his paces right now.
At ten thirty I turned off the TV and changed into a tank and some boxer shorts before slipping into bed. I considered my Kindle. Then I grabbed my phone and texted Hunter.
ME: What’s up?
HUNTER: At the house, hanging out. Clutch has a few girls over. Says its important to celebrate life or some such shit. Think he just wants to get laid as many times as possible while the pity f*ck thing still works for him
ME: Poor guy
HUNTER: Heh. How about you?
ME: In bed. Silvie is sleeping and Cookie is at a friends house. She doesnt get out much so I told her she needed a night off
HUNTER: Hows she doing?
ME: Good I think. I like it here. Feels good to be treated like an adult
HUNTER: I’ll treat you like an adult … Call me?
HUNTER

I stared down at the phone, wondering if she’d do it. I’d promised myself I’d let her call first. Of course, I’d also promised myself I’d let her text first, and look at how long that’d lasted.
My phone rang.
F*ckin’ beautiful.
“Hunter?”
Her voice was soft and questioning, a whisper in the darkness. Holy shit, she sounded soft and pretty. Just texting with her was enough to get my dick up, but hearing her voice?
Made me so hard it hurt.
“Hey,” I said, falling back down on my bed. Outside my door I heard voices and the faint sound of music. Not too loud—the phone wouldn’t pick any of it up. Last thing I needed was her hearing whatever bullshit might be going on downstairs. “Call me Liam.”
“Hi, Liam,” she said. Damn. What was it about this girl?
“F*ck, Em. I missed talking to you. So you’re in bed?”
“Yeah,” she said, and I felt my balls tighten. I reached down and pushed on my denim-covered cock with the heel of my hand, the pressure sweet and painful all at once. Those pictures of hers did me in every time, but they had nothin’ on her voice. Husky and sweet, just for me.
Jesus, I wanted to drive over there and just pound her ’til she screamed. No, scratch that. I wanted her here, with me. In my bed. Riding my cock. Shouldn’t be so goddamned complicated to make that happen. I’d given almost a decade of my life to the club. Never complained, never held back. I’d done terrible things for the Devil’s Jacks. I’d keep doing them, too.
All I wanted in return was one thing. One girl. Of course it had to be the girl who could start a f*cking war with a phone call …
I still wouldn’t give her up.
“This is bullshit,” I muttered. “Let me see you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up, we’ll go for a ride. Hell, it can be like a date or something.”
She laughed.
“Do people still date?”
“F*ck if I know,” I admitted. “Not my thing.”
“So you’re a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy?” she asked, her voice teasing.
“Yeah, but I leave my women happy,” I replied, rubbing my hand up and down my dick again. I imagined her lips wrapped around it and my hips arched a little. It took everything I had not to groan. Damn. I couldn’t think.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” she replied softly. “I don’t know, Liam. I want to … But is it a good idea?”
I gave a short laugh—she had no clue how bad an idea it was.
“No, probably not,” I said. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re wearing instead? No harm in that.”
I heard her breath catch. Would she answer?
“I’ve got a pink camisole, with pink and gray jammie shorts,” she said. “It feels weird talking about this. Should I have said I was wearing something sexy from Victoria’s Secret?”
“I can’t imagine anything sexier than what you just described,” I replied, and I meant every word. I’d jacked off to the pictures of her naked a hundred times—and yeah, I get how creepy that is, and no, I don’t give a shit—but hearing her talk about her little pink cami was f*ckin’ hot. Em wasn’t some cover model or anything—nice curves without being super stacked. But those tits of hers were perfect for me in every way. Now I pictured them, spread out a little as she lay back in her bed, the nipples making little peaks in the soft fabric of her top.
I wanted to suck them into my mouth and roll them around until she screamed. Maybe bite them when I finally came after f*cking her tight cunt for an hour. I slid the zipper on my jeans down, letting my cock pop out. Then I wrapped my hand around it.
“What are you wearing?”
“Jeans, an old T-shirt. Nothin’ special.”
“You look pretty special in jeans,” she whispered. Then she gave an awkward giggle. “That was so cheesy. I can’t believe I said that.”
“I’ll take it,” I replied, smiling.
“I’m just not real good at this. I mean, I know we’ve talked at night, but that was before … You know.”
She didn’t want to say it and I sure as shit didn’t need her remembering what I’d put her through.
“We’re not doing anything,” I said, slowly rubbing my cock up and down. I squeezed it hard, watching as fluid beaded up on the tip. “This is just two friends talking, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. “But there’s something I need to know first.”
“Ask,” I told her, hoping to hell it was a question I could answer.
“Liam, do you have an old lady tucked away somewhere? I mean, I know I don’t have any right to ask, but …”
That caught me off guard. What the hell? This was what I got for giving her space, I realized. Was someone filling her head with shit?
“No. F*ck no—where’d that come from?”
“Well, you say you’re not into relationships, but a lot of guys say that when they want to get laid,” she replied, sounding nervous. “Then it turns out they’re already with someone, just looking for something extra on the side. For all I know you’re married with ten kids. You’ve already lied to me about other stuff, and I know some of the brothers keep more than one woman.”
I coughed.
“If I was married with ten kids, I wouldn’t be talking on the phone with you. I’d be shooting myself in the f*cking head.”
She laughed.
“So the answer is no?”
“The answer is definitely no,” I said. “I’ve slept around—I’m not ashamed of that. And I lied to you for my club. But I don’t have to trick girls to get laid.”
“So no more surprises?” she asked.
“No, straight up,” I answered, hoping she’d believe me. My phone beeped—another call—but I ignored it.
“Where are we going with this?” she asked. “Has anything changed? Or should we just hang up and end it before things get worse?”
I considered carefully before I answered.
“I don’t know,” I replied, and for once it was the truth. “You want me to be honest, so I’ll be honest. I don’t know what’s between us because it’s not like we’ve had a chance to explore it. You’re different than any other woman I’ve been with. I actually like talking to you about shit that’s not sex, but I won’t pretend that f*cking you isn’t what I think about the most. Just your voice makes my dick stand on end, so I’ll take whatever I can get. If that’s just a phone call, don’t spoil it for me yet, okay?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment.
“I just slid my hand down into my boxers,” she whispered, and I swear a pint of blood left my brain. “I’m remembering what it felt like when you sucked my nipples. I want to lick your stomach.”
My entire body clenched. My fingers slid up my straining cock to find the beads of precome. I palmed my cockhead, then started jacking myself slow and hard.
Yeah, this was what I needed.
“Find your *,” I told her, my voice going low. “Are you wet yet?”
“Yes,” she said. “I feel really weird doing this … Like I’m a whore or something, because the club—”
“You’re not a whore. And don’t think about the club. I don’t want you thinking about anyone else at all when you’re touching yourself, got me? Think about me and what I’m going to do to you the first chance I get.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll start by sliding my fingers deep inside your p-ssy, get them nice and wet. Then I might play with your *.”
I heard her breath catch.
“I’m doing that right now,” she said. “What about you?”
“I’ve got my cock out and I’m jerking off while I listen to your voice,” I told her bluntly. “My balls are so f*cking tight they feel like they’re in a vise, and I keep imagining how hot and slick you’d be around me right now.”
“Oh,” she whispered. Her breath caught again. “You’re better than my vibrator, you know that?”
The image of her using that vibrator filled my brain and I lost the power to speak. I felt my balls drawing up, my hand gripping my dick so hard it almost hurt.
Almost.
“How are you doing?” I asked, trying to slow myself down.
“Good,” she whispered.
“Tell me about it.”
“I’m rubbing my *, one finger on each side,” she told me. “First up and down, and then I sort of wiggle them against each other. I’m using my other hand to play with my nipples. Your turn.”
I gave myself another hard tug, hips lifting. Hell, I was getting damned close. Usually I could last for hours, but something about Em f*cked with me on every level.
“Jesus, wish I was better with words,” I muttered. “Honest to f*ck, Em. I’m pretty close to blowing my load. Picturing you getting yourself off makes me feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack.”
“You want me to stop?” she asked, her voice almost playful. My dick spasmed and my balls drew up tight. Shit shit shit.
“If you stop—” I started to say, and then the door to my room burst open.
“The f*ck?” I yelled, sitting up and dropping the phone with a crash.
“Get your ass out here,” Skid said, his voice grim.
I decided to shoot him.
I let my cock go and reached for the gun sitting on the bedside table, but he held up a hand.
“You gonna get off the phone?” he asked, giving me a pointed look. I couldn’t think—all the blood in my body was currently concentrated in my dick. My balls seized up and I realized I was in for some serious pain.
“Liam, are you okay?” I heard Em’s voice, high-pitched and tinny. I reached down and grabbed the phone, pulling myself together.
“It’s fine, babe,” I said, glaring at Skid. He shook his head and made a slashing motion across his throat. “I have to go, though. Skid needs help with something. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait—” she started to say, but I hung up.
“This had better be really, really f*cking important,” I told my club brother. “You got shit timing.”
“It is,” he said. “Put away your joystick and get your ass downstairs. We got serious trouble.”
I walked painfully down the narrow stairwell to the living room. Damn house was a hundred years old and it showed. Zipping up my jeans hurt like a bitch and I decided the next time I needed information from someone, I’d torture the f*cker by making him talk to Em, then turn off the call and force him to put on my pants.
Like most Friday nights, we’d had company. It hadn’t been a formal party, but Skid and the other guys had invited a group of slutty girls over. Not quite a real clubhouse, but better than nothing. Now two of those girls were naked and making out on the couch. Another had passed out cold on the floor and I heard more laughing in the kitchen.
Typical night for us.
It wasn’t normal for the girls to be playing alone, though. They were putting on a hell of a show, and it went against everything my club brothers believed in to miss live girl-on-girl action.
“Down here,” Skid yelled. I followed his voice to the basement stairs. It was a dankish pit kind of a place, but it had its uses. Smoking out, storing product, laundry, and even one memorable night when this hippie chick did some kind of weird talking-to-spirits thing …
It was also where we had church. Not that we were a real chapter or anything, but we essentially functioned as one, complete with formal meetings and the occasional vote.
“This better be f*ckin’ good,” I muttered as I climbed down. Clutch lay back on the ratty couch next to the semifunctional washer and dryer, his bum leg propped up on the armrest. Grass paced back and forth, muttering, while Skid leaned against the washer, fingers tapping a rhythm restlessly against the ancient metal.
“Got news,” Grass said, eye twitching. F*ck, was he tweaking? I’d told him no more, but it’d been a rough couple of weeks. He stopped pacing and rubbed his chin mindlessly, the motion spasmodic.
Yup, he was. Great, because we needed one more thing to worry about.
“Toke is dead,” Skid said. I glanced at him sharply.
“How?”
“They found him this morning,” he replied. “Still in protective custody, but his throat was slit. No explanation. Word just filtered down—I guess Picnic called Burke.”
I raised my brows.
“No shit?”
“Gets weirder,” he continued. “Reapers want to know how we pulled it off. Burke bullshitted them, bought us some time to investigate. He wants to know if you arranged something. You been playin’ games without tellin’ the rest of us?”
I cocked my head, feeling something dark building inside me.
“Don’t care for your tone, brother,” I said slowly and carefully. “One, I didn’t do shit—but if I had, that’d be between me and Burke. Two, why is Burke talkin’ to you and not me?”
Skid offered a twisted smile.
“He called you first, a*shole. You didn’t answer. What were you doin’ that’s more important than takin’ a call from your VP? Seein’ as I found you on the phone with your dick hangin’ out, you might wanna consider what you plan to tell him very carefully.”
Shit. I shut my eyes and shook my head, rubbing my temples.
“Jesus, Skid,” Grass snapped, his voice high-pitched and trembling. “Stop being such a little bitch. What are you, jealous?”
We both looked at him, startled. Grass threw up his hands, clearly frustrated and even twitchier than before. He wasn’t done yet, either.
“What does Burke want from us?” Grass demanded. “I’ll bet it’s the Reapers that took him out. He f*cked them over, and now they’re tryin’ to blame us. Use it as an excuse to end the truce.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Skid snarled. “Jesus, Grass. You need to lay off that shit, it’s makin’ you paranoid. Reapers want peace, too. They don’t need an excuse to go to war. They wanna fight, they’ll just start shooting. It’s entirely possible they killed Toke—f*cker betrayed his club, no surprise there. But I don’t think they’d come callin’ if that was the case.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot!”
“Shut the f*ck up!” I roared. The two men jumped. “Christ, what are we, f*cking children? Skid—did Burke have anything he wanted us to do?”
Skid scowled.
“No,” he admitted. “Although he said to watch out. Until we know who killed Toke and why, we need to assume there’s a new player.”
“Cartel?” Clutch asked. “You think they have the contacts this far north to pull off a hit in protective custody?”
We all stilled. Shit. Not a comforting thought.
“Okay, we need to assume there’s someone local we don’t know about, someone with that kind of power,” I said slowly. “Time for more security. Make sure you check in with each other, and we all start carrying. Grass, when you stop seein’ shit that isn’t real, I want you to make sure Clutch has a place in his truck that’s safe from a search, okay? Can’t risk a parole violation. Anyone else need help rigging up something for their bikes?”
“It’s covered,” Skid said, sighing. “Sorry, Hunter. Didn’t mean to be such a dick.”
“Fair enough,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. Christ, what a night.
“I f*cking hate Portland,” Grass announced suddenly. “This town is like hell, only cold. It rains all the time, like we’re living underwater, and now we have to worry about the cartel, too? Getting away from them was the only good part about moving north.”
“We’re doing our jobs,” I reminded him, my voice cooling as I moved into enforcer mode. Enough of this shit. “Burke needs us here—we all agreed to it—so stop whining. He wants active intel, and that means we’re in Portland until he says otherwise.”
Skid crossed his arms, silently backing me up. God, I wanted to kill him sometimes, but I had to give him credit—he always put the club first, and that meant keeping discipline. He never let it get personal.
Grass glared at me, but he closed his mouth. He knew damned well I was right. He also knew I’d make an example of him in a heartbeat if I had to. We couldn’t afford kindness, not with the club divided and elections coming.
“We have a problem?” I asked Grass bluntly. He held my gaze a moment longer, then shook his head. I glanced down at Clutch, deciding I was way too sober for this shit.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “Leg hurts like a motherf*cker, but I’ll pop some pills so it’s all good.”
“p-ssy,” Skid taunted, rolling his eyes. “Been a full two months since Toke tortured you. You still whining?”
Clutch let out a choked snort and shook his head. The tension broke and just like that, it was all good. Thank f*ck for Skid—it’d been a long stretch in this water-logged city without allies, but every time we found ourselves at each other’s throats, he’d step in and somehow make it better. The guy had a gift when he chose to use it.
I flipped the guys off and climbed back upstairs.
The chicks on the couch had passed out, and I didn’t see anyone in the kitchen. I used my foot to roll the girl on the floor out of my way, grabbed a beer, then flopped down in a chair and clicked on the TV.
Porn. Of course.
Naturally, that made me think of Em fingering herself, and I wondered if I should call her back. I decided not to—it was late and the mood wasn’t right. Not only that, I wasn’t sure I could handle hearing her husky, sexy little voice calling me Liam again. My balls f*cking hurt, and not in a good way.
A few minutes later, Clutch hobbled in and sat down on the couch next to the girls. Together we watched some redhead with giant implants get f*cked up the ass on the big screen.
“Shit,” Clutch said after a few minutes. “The high-def has totally ruined porn. Are those ingrown hairs?”
I choked on my beer, and he grinned at me.
“Jackass.”