Devil’s game

Epilogue

SIX WEEKS LATER
PORTLAND, OREGON

The coffee shop was supposed to close at four that afternoon, but of course I had a couple of customers lingering. That wasn’t usually a problem. I just flipped the “Closed” sign and cleaned up while they finished.
Unfortunately, these two guys were camped out for the long haul. They’d each bought a small cup of tea two hours ago and had been arguing ever since about whether God was dead or simply never existed. Cookie didn’t like to kick people out, but she was also willing to draw the line in situations like this. I hated to ask them to leave, though. We couldn’t afford to lose customers.
Unfortunately, the shop wasn’t doing that great and I was worried about her. I felt guilty over moving to Kelsey’s apartment, too, although realistically Cookie hadn’t been charging me enough to make much of a difference in her monthly budget. I still tried to babysit for her whenever I could, and I’d even gone over last week and cleaned the house.
That single-parenting shit was exhausting just to watch. I couldn’t imagine actually being in her shoes.
The door jingled as it opened.
“I’m sorry, we’re close—” I started to say, then broke out in a smile when I saw it was Hunter. I supposed eventually I’d get to the point when I didn’t feel totally giddy every time I saw him, but we weren’t there yet.
“You get off work early?” I asked. He’d started a regular job at a mechanic’s shop two weeks ago, although they seemed to be unusually flexible with his hours. I figured there was a story there. I also figured I’d probably never hear it. So far as I could tell, the shop was heavily financed by the Devil’s Jacks. At least he didn’t lie about it—Hunter had been painfully truthful with me ever since our fight over the pictures. This was a double-edged sword, something I discovered the first time I asked him whether an old sweater of Kit’s made me look fat.
(Apparently it did.)
“Burke’s in town,” he said shortly. Then he jerked his chin toward the two hipsters hoarding their tepid tea dregs in the corner. “Why are they still here? You closed half an hour ago.”
I shrugged.
“Chasing out customers feels wrong to me.”
Hunter’s mouth tightened, and he walked across the room, grabbing a chair from their table and sitting down across from them. Their eyes widened as he leaned back in the seat. He reached down and pulled out the large Buck knife he kept strapped to his leg, starting to clean his oil-stained fingernails.
“See that f*ckin’ gorgeous babe over there?” he asked Hipster One, jerking his chin toward me. “That’s my woman. I’d love some time alone with her right now, but she’s stuck waiting for you little posers to leave, even though the shop closed thirty minutes ago and you’re probably not even going to leave a tip. Seems wrong to me, somehow. What do you think?”
Hipster Two spoke hesitantly.
“I think we were just leaving.”
“Good to know,” Hunter replied politely. “Don’t forget the tip.”
Hipster Two nodded, standing and digging in his pocket as Hipster One grabbed his gratuitously ironic leather briefcase, swallowing. They started toward the door, but Hunter cleared his throat pointedly.
“Seems like a pretty small tip,” he said. “Those shoes you’re wearing cost close to two hundred bucks, so I think you can afford to do better. Or were they a present from Mommy and Daddy?”
I frowned as they dug in their pockets again, then decided I should put a stop to this. God help poor Cookie if they got mad enough to start trolling us—they certainly had enough spare time.
“You’re fine,” I said, opening the door for them. “I’m sure whatever you left is great, and I hope you’ll come back again when we’re open.”
“Um, right,” Hipster One said as they scuttled out the door, leaving me alone with Hunter. I slid the bolt closed and lowered the shade, turning to face him.
“Was that really necessary?”
He stood and started stalking toward me.
“Absolutely,” he muttered, eyes darkening. I knew that look.
“Hunter, this is my work,” I protested. He reached out and caught my hair in one hand, twisting it in his fingers as he jerked me into his kiss. I tried to hold back, but his tongue attacked my lips and then he was inside. It was all over and we both knew it.
God, I loved the taste of him.
He kept kissing me as he backed me toward a table against the inner wall. I’d shut all the big window shades already, so we had total privacy, but this still felt very wrong. My ass bumped into the table, waking me to the reality of the situation.
If I didn’t do something, Hunter was going to f*ck me right here in the middle of Cookie’s shop.
I needed to stop him.
But then his hand found my breast, and he started kneading it roughly. Damn, but that felt good. Tingling arousal started swirling through my body. Hunter pulled away abruptly to frown at me.
“What?”
“Burke wants to meet you.”
“Burke, your national president?” I asked, eyes widening. “Why?”
“Hell if I know. He’s a cagey old bastard.”
His hands slid down my side, catching my skirt and tugging it upward.
“When are we meeting him?” I asked, trying to focus. It was almost impossible, because the skirt was bunching around my waist and he’d found the bare skin of my ass, exposed by my thong. Hunter’s hands tightened on me, and he tugged me forward into his hips. His cock was hard and ready to go, which made it almost impossible to breathe, let alone pay attention to his words.
“He’s in town already, at the Panther, right down the street,” he murmured, massaging my ass. A finger slid toward my crease and worked its way under the thong. He’d been doing that more and more lately.
“The strip club?” I asked, trying to focus.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re supposed to pick him up when we’re done here. Says he wants to show me something. You up for that?”
I reached down between us to find his erection, squeezing it tightly. His breath hissed, fingers tightening.
“I’m up for anything,” I whispered with a smile.
He gave a low groan, then spun me around and pushed me flat across the table. I heard the sound of his zipper going down and he caught my thong, wrenching it hard enough to snap the elastic.
Bummer. I went through more panties that way …
Hunter’s fingers slid into me abruptly and I cried out. Holy shit, that felt good, he always found the target. Always. Then he pulled back out, rubbing my own moisture along my crease. I felt his finger press against my rear opening, pushing slowly inside. It was a strange sensation, but he’d done it a few times now, and I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.
“Someday I want to f*ck you here,” he said, and I shivered.
Someday I’d let him. But now I felt the head of his cock tracing my p-ssy as he lined himself up with my opening. His free hand caressed the small of my back, soothing me.
“You ready?” he asked, his voice ragged. I nodded and braced my legs. Sex with Hunter was fantastic, but rarely gentle. Sure enough, he slammed into me, filling me in one hard stroke. My back arched and I moaned, tender tissues stretched to their limits.
“Christ, you’re a good lay,” he muttered, giving a few hard thrusts. Then he started hammering into me, all but attacking my p-ssy with his cock. The finger made my ass feel impossibly full, impaled and at his mercy.
Holy hell. I’d never been so turned on in my life, which was a good thing. I didn’t see how he—or anyone—could keep up this pace for long. Not that I needed much more time. Every stroke took me a little higher, and my legs started trembling from the mixture of physical strain and building desire.
“I’m close,” I warned him, reaching out and catching the sides of the table. “Really, really close, babe.”
He pulled out of my rear, then gripped my cheeks with wide fingers, digging deep enough that I’d probably have bruises later. I didn’t care. All that mattered was the sensation of his cock splitting me wide. He invaded again and again, until my entire body convulsed, the orgasm hitting me hard and fast. I whimpered, collapsing even as he kept going. Then I felt his cock start pulsing, hot come shooting deep into my body.
The sound of panting filled the shop. Probably shouldn’t tell Cookie about this one, I decided.
“It’s a lot better without the condom,” I managed to say after a few minutes.
“Thank f*ck for birth control,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss the back of my neck. He pulled out, then stepped back. I pushed up shakily, catching my skirt with one hand and tugging it down. My shredded thong had caught around one leg, and I kicked it off.
“So when are we supposed to meet Burke?”
“About fifteen minutes,” he said. “Just enough time to clean up and walk down.”
“You want to bleach the table while I hit the bathroom?” I asked, feeling guilty. What would the health department make of that one? “Everything else is ready to go. Bleach is under the sink.”
“Sure,” he said, giving me a quick smile. “Gotta say, the idea of you out in public, wearing that little skirt and nothing else? It’s turning me on again.”
I snorted.
“Everything turns you on.”
“Nope, just everything about you. Trust me, I don’t feel this way at all when I see that fat chick at the DMV. Now get cleaned up. Or don’t—hell if I care. I like the idea of my jizz running down your legs for everyone to see.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Yup.”
I turned to leave, but he caught my hand, pulling me back for another quick kiss.
“Thanks,” he said, resting his forehead against mine. “I was wound pretty tight. Usually when Burke shows up without warning, it’s not a good sign. You helped a lot just now.”
“I’m a very helpful girl,” I said, waggling my eyebrows. I pulled away, turning toward the bathroom. Hunter smacked my ass and I jumped, laughing.
“Hurry up,” he said. “Burke’s waiting.”
“Will I like him?”
“No,” Hunter said, shaking his head slowly. “He’s usually a complete a*shole, so don’t be surprised if he says something rude. But he saved me and Kelsey as kids. That should count for something. I’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for him. Dead or in prison.”
“Then I’ll love him,” I said. “I don’t care if he’s an a*shole. I still owe him, big-time.”
“Kinda how I feel about your dad,” he said. “Go get clean, woman.”
I flipped him off and headed for the bathroom.
Hunter parked his new truck right in front of the strip club. Nothing fancy. In addition to everything else that sucked about the accident, he hadn’t been able to collect on his insurance. Bullet holes tend to draw cops, and the last thing either club wanted was law enforcement poking around. I’d offered to help pay for the new rig, but Hunter had blown me off, making it clear he could afford to buy his own ride. I wondered about that … Working part time as a mechanic wasn’t exactly lucrative, but if the Jacks were anything like the Reapers, his income stream was probably creative.
Hunter texted Burke, who stepped outside about five minutes later. I don’t know what I expected, but Burke wasn’t it. He was old—way older than my dad or our national president, Shade. More like Duck’s age. His hair was long and gray, and he kept it pulled back in a ponytail. He had a full beard, and it was long, too.
Skid followed him, and we eyed each other warily.
Me and Skid had an uncomfortable truce these days. Kelsey and I shared a place now, thanks to him. I still slept over at the house a lot, but nothing like before. I guess that was a winning solution for all of us. Well, all of us but Hunter. The idea of me and Kelsey living together seemed to scare him a little, and I guess I could understand that. It certainly made it easier to gang up on him.
“I’m Burke,” the Devil’s Jacks president said, stepping forward. “You must be Em?”
I smiled and nodded.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I said.
“You’re not much, for a girl who causes so much trouble,” he said bluntly. “I pictured you with bigger tits.”
My smile didn’t falter for a minute.
“I’m still saving up for my boob job,” I told him politely. “Until then, I’m afraid Hunter’s stuck with me like this. On the bright side, I give excellent head. He had to pay my father six whole goats for me, you know.”
Hunter choked, but Burke burst out laughing. Skid’s eyes widened, and he gave me a sly nod of approval.
“Well, she’s not shy.”
“Not even a little,” Hunter said, wrapping his arm around my neck and pulling me close. “You said you wanted to show us something?”
“Yeah,” Burke said. “I’ll ride with Skid. You follow.”
Hunter tugged me toward his truck and we climbed in.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack back there,” he said. “And I think you gave him the wrong impression—it wasn’t goats, it was kegs.”
“My bad,” I murmured. “It’s so hard for me to hold all that information in my little female head. I get all confused.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said blandly. “I can tell you what to do. We have to keep that feeble little brain of yours from getting tired.”
I smacked his leg hard and he pretended to whimper as Skid pulled out ahead of us. Hunter followed, reaching over to lay a hand on my bare leg, running his fingers up and down my thigh as we drove.
God, how could I want him again so soon?
We didn’t actually drive that far, but traffic was slow enough that it took a good twenty minutes before Skid pulled off into a residential neighborhood. The houses were all old, built in the typical Portland style. Narrow lots, high porches, trees everywhere. The house he pulled up to looked solid enough, but the paint was peeling and the lawn was practically a jungle. Interesting …
“What’s this?” I asked Hunter. He shrugged.
“No idea.”
I opened the passenger-side door, then tried to figure out how to get out of the truck without showing my goodies off to the entire world. Hunter smirked, but he came around and lifted me down, setting me on the sidewalk like a perfect gentleman. Skid and Burke were already up on the porch, watching us with interest.
We climbed up the stairs to join them.
Burke stuck a key in the door and opened it, gesturing for us to go inside. The place was completely empty, and while you could tell it had gorgeous lines, the house clearly needed work. The floors were all wood, but they were scratched to hell and back. It had a shotgun layout—living room, dining room, and kitchen all in a straight line. I assumed bedrooms were upstairs.
“What do you think?” Burke asked Hunter. “In addition to this, there’s an old carriage house out back. You’d never know it, but it’s a double lot. Spans the block.”
“It’s solid construction,” he said. “But not quite sure why we’re here.”
“I’m buying it,” Burke said. “Figured you and Em might like a house of your own. What do you think?”
HUNTER

I stared at Burke, wary. Em’s eyes were wide, but she didn’t say anything—proof positive that she was her father’s daughter. She’d drill me later, but she wouldn’t give away shit in front of witnesses. Good thing, too, because Burke was a twisty f*cker, and for all I knew this was some kind of elaborate test of some kind.
“Skid, why don’t you take Em upstairs, show her the rest of the house?”
“Sure,” Skid said, his tone neutral, but I saw a hint of something dark in his eyes. Whatever was happening here, Skid was already in on it. We’d have words about that later. He led Em away, and I turned to Burke.
“What’s this all about?” I asked bluntly.
“Investment property,” Burke said, offering a fatherly smile. “The market’s still recovering, and it’s a good value. Plenty of room out back. I might want to store some things there at some point. You kids do the work to fix this place up, you live here for free. In a few years, you can buy it from me. Hell, maybe I’ll just give it to you. You’re the closest thing I have to a son, Hunter. If you’re really ready to settle down, I want you in a good place.”
I stilled, not buying it for an instant.
“What’s the game?”
Burke dropped the pretense, eyes hardening.
“That’s why I like you so much, always have. No bullshit. It’s a f*cking shame you can’t go higher in the club, at least not for now. Until then, I like the idea of you playing house here in Portland. We’ve got a decent presence started, but it’s touch and go. I set you up here with Princess Emmy, the Reapers will think twice about shooting up the place if things go south. Instant safe house.”
I shook my head.
“I won’t risk Em,” I said, and I meant it. “Deal breaker.”
“It’s not a risk,” Burke said. “She’ll be safer here than anywhere else. We won’t hurt her, and they sure as shit won’t, either. That girl is walking, talking neutral territory, and putting her in this house brings us one step closer to establishing a real chapter in Portland. The only place she’d be safer is in her daddy’s house, but I’m willing to bet you won’t be moving in with him.”
“She’s a person, you know. Not just a pawn for you to play with.”
“We’re all pawns,” he replied softly. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he looked almost human. “And the cartel will keep coming. This game doesn’t end and we both know it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you. Proud, too. You know, back when we first cooked this whole Em plan up, we figured she’d be a good old lady.”
“Best ever,” I agreed warily. God damn, but he was a wily old bastard.
“Then treat her right. You know, I used to be married. Didn’t work out too well …” he said, looking away. “I regret that, I honestly do. You got something good with that girl, so don’t f*ck it up. Now go upstairs and look around, see if Em’s on board. If she is, I’ll call the real estate agent.”
Em stood by the window in the front bedroom, overlooking the street. There were two smaller rooms and a bathroom, too. I came to stand behind her, wrapping my arms around her small figure and dropping my chin to her shoulder. Burke wanted me to use this beautiful girl again, and I f*cking hated him for it. I’d hurt her once already on his orders. It had to stop here … although he’d been right about a couple of things. The first was the game—it wouldn’t end. And the second was that I had something real good with Em.
Too good to lose for anything. Even the Jacks.
“Thoughts?” I asked, her small body tucked against mine, the feel of her completing me in a way even my club couldn’t. It reinforced my decision and I felt a sense of something like peace about what I had to do. Sure, the thought of it still sickened me, but the thought of losing her sickened me more.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “Was he serious?”
“Yup. He wants to buy it and have us fix it up. In exchange, he’ll let us live here for free.”
“That seems a little … out of character? I mean, based on what you’ve told me about him.”
“You could say that,” I answered. “He’s not doing it out of the goodness of his heart, that’s for sure. He wants neutral territory, and figures putting you in a house with me will help keep the peace.”
I felt her stiffen, but then she nodded. “I can see that. What do you think?”
“I don’t like the idea of using you again,” I told her honestly. “I love you and I realized something down there, listening to him.”
“What’s that?”
I paused, taking a deep breath, my heart suddenly pounding. The club had been my life. My family. My brothers. Everything.
Jacks first.
I’d lived by those words for eight years.
“Maybe I should leave the club, Em. We can pull free of all this.”
She stilled. Some women wouldn’t get what I’d just offered, but Em was a child of the Reapers. She knew. Then I felt her body relax and her hands came up and covered mine where they lay across her belly.
“But would letting him use me really be that bad, if it’s for peace?” she asked softly. “My club doesn’t want to hurt me, and if I’m helping you create neutral ground, that’ll make me even more valuable to yours. Isn’t that about as safe as we get in this life? This could be good for all of us, Liam.”
Something in me unclenched, and I felt such incredible relief I could hardly stand. I loved my club so much … it was just that I loved Em more.
“Are you sure?” I asked her. Em tugged away from me and turned in my arms, looking up as she cupped my face between her hands. Her eyes met mine and she held my gaze, her expression utterly serious.
“I’m sure,” she said. “There are things I don’t like about your club, but they also helped make you who you are. They’re your family, and now they’re my family, too. I’m not a civilian and I didn’t fall in love with a stockbroker. I fell in love with a Devil’s Jack. I know what it means to wear a cut.”
Then she gave me that same beautiful, goofy smile that’d made me fall in love with her in an instant so many months ago in that parking lot. F*ckin’ punch to the gut. Every. Time.
“Now do you want to move in with me?” she asked lightly. “Maybe create a little safe patch of peace here in Portland? The house has potential—I could be happy living here. But only with you. Skid and the boys can come visit, but they have to keep their own place. I don’t want to live in a frat house.”
“Easy call,” I said, wondering what the f*ck I’d done to get this lucky. “He doesn’t smell nice like you.”
“Well, I guess if smell is the criteria, I probably do win,” she said, leaning forward, arms tightening around my waist. I could hold her like this forever. “I like the idea of keeping the peace. And we’re practically living together already. I guess if things get bad, I could always go back to Cookie’s house.”
I clenched up again.
“No,” I said firmly. “If things get bad, you’ll stay right here with me and we’ll work through it.”
“Okay,” she whispered, reaching up to tuck some hair behind my ear. Then she popped up on her toes and kissed me gently. “Want to get started right now?”
“Started on what?”
“Working through things. Because I think you need some clarification on the whole lying issue …”
I froze. What had I done now? I searched my memory, wondering if I’d lied without even noticing? F*ck.
“I know I said to only tell me the truth,” she whispered. “But for future reference, when a woman asks a man if something makes her look fat, the answer is always no. Always. Think you can remember that?”
Oh, thank Christ.
“You’re f*cked up.”
“But can you remember it?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“Then I guess I’ll move in with you. But I’m serious about Skid. He has to stay at the other house with the guys.”
“That’s fine, so long as your dad stays at the clubhouse when he comes to visit.”
“No problem,” she said, giggling. She squeezed me tighter. “Love you, babe.”
“I love you, too.”
It wasn’t a lie.
JANUARY
COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO
PICNIC

“Pic, check this out.”
Picnic glanced up from his desk toward Gage. The club’s enforcer sat in front of four screens streaming security footage.
“What?”
“New cleaning bitch,” Gage said. “Marie’s out, says she can’t handle it and her homework. Nobody else is available, so Bolt hired a civilian. She runs a service or something, got a good rep.”
“And I should care because?”
“Look at her ass, then rethink the question.”
Picnic pushed up slowly and walked around his cluttered workspace in the pawn shop office. He’d spent the last hour trying to figure out what the hell he’d done with the ticket for the red and gold Harley out back in the yard. Some dumbass rich kid had pawned it, probably to buy pot or something equally stupid. He’d had his eye on it ever since. Spoiled little shit had defaulted that morning.
Gage leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach.
“Nice, hmm?”
Pic leaned forward and took her in, then gave a low whistle.
“She know there’s a camera on her?”
“Probably not,” Gage replied, smirking. “They’re not hidden, but they don’t jump out at you, either.”
The new cleaner was down on her hands and knees, ass pointing toward the camera mounted in the corner. And what an ass it was … Her faded jeans had ridden down, exposing the very top of her rear. No crack, but damned close. It was shaped like a heart, nice and bouncy and curved exactly how he liked ’em.
She leaned forward a little more, and he realized she was using a knife to scrape something up off the floor, under the overhanging lip of the display cabinet. She wiggled again and Pic shifted, reaching down to adjust his pants. F*ck that was hot.
“Her face as pretty as her ass?”
“Yeah,” Gage said, leaning forward to fiddle with the controls. The camera zoomed in on her crotch as she spread her legs slightly. Pic bit back a groan.
“This her first night?”
“Yup.”
“Anyone tap that yet?”
“Nope.”
“No f*ckin’ the help allowed. Make sure it’s known.”
Gage glanced up at him and smirked.
“Since when is that a rule? You’ve slept with half the girls at The Line. Hell, you took one home last night.”
Pic grunted, eyes glued to the screen. “New dancers are easy to find. A good cleaner isn’t.”
Gage shook his head, then zoomed back out. The cleaner stood up, stretching her arms high over her head. She turned and said something to another woman working across the showroom. The reply made her smile and Picnic caught his breath. Damn, she was stunning, despite the fact that her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her jeans and sweatshirt had seen better days. Thick, dark eyelashes. Deep brown eyes that sparkled. Big, pouty lips.
Lips that belonged around his cock.
Then she pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing a blue spaghetti-strap tank top. It showed off her tits just right—good size, and he’d bet his life the nipples hiding underneath would fit his mouth perfectly. Tossing the sweatshirt lightly on the counter, she leaned over, grabbed a spray bottle of blue window cleaner, and started attacking the display case.
“Jesus, I wanna f*ck those tits,” Gage muttered. “You sure she’s off-limits?”
Pic growled. “Yeah. I’m sure. Anyone who touches her will answer to me. D’you think she’s puttin’ on a show for us? I don’t need that kind of trouble.”
“No idea,” Gage replied. “She’s missed her calling. Bitch should be doin’ porn.”
Couldn’t argue with that.
“Fire her,” he said suddenly. “Find someone else.”
“We’ve had the prospects cleaning for a week now. We need them on other things, and I guess Bolt had a hell of a time finding her in the first place.”
She stood, then leaned back against the counter, cocking her head as she said something to her co-worker. The fact that the counter was the perfect height to shove her down and f*ck her on didn’t escape his notice.
“We got a file on her?”
Gage leaned over and opened a drawer, pulling out a folder. Pic flipped it open. Not much there. London Armstrong, owner of London’s Cleaning Service. Thirty-eight years old, which surprised him. She looked younger. A lot younger. Not that the security cam had the best resolution, but still … She’d been in business six years, solid reputation. Total civilian. And she might be single, but she had custody of a kid—some high school girl. Not hers. A cousin.
Shit.
London didn’t sound like the kind of woman who’d be down for a one-night stand. Nope, despite her sexy little dance, she had a clean, wholesome look, which killed him, because he didn’t do clean. He liked his girls filthy dirty and without strings … not to mention young enough to follow his orders without too many questions. Women her age were old enough to know better.
“Tell Bolt to find someone else ASAP,” he muttered. “And until then, hands off. I’m serious.”
Gage laughed.
“Just f*ck her and get it over with. It’s obvious you want to.”
“Eat shit,” Pic muttered, rubbing a hand across his stubbled chin, because Gage was right. He did want to f*ck her.
He wanted to f*ck her a lot.




Author’s Note

Devil’s Game covers some of the same time period and events in Reaper’s Legacy, but if you’ve read other books in the series you’ll note that this book is slightly different in tone. I’ve had several people ask me why, and the only explanation I can offer is that the characters are younger and this is how their story played out. In many ways this is a New Adult book, and the structure reflects that.
A note on motorcycle club culture: One of the most common questions I hear from readers is, “How real is the Reapers MC?” It’s difficult to answer because my books are romantic fantasies, and aren’t intended to delve into the inner workings of a club or explore the ethical implications of club life. They’re meant to entertain, and have been sensationalized to make that happen.
Having said that, as a former journalist, I started the series determined to make it as realistic as possible in terms of culture and language. To that end, Devil’s Game has been reviewed for accuracy by a woman currently attached to an outlaw club, and the club details are relatively true to life (with a few minor exceptions, where I allowed myself some artistic license). MC culture is diverse and the lives of women living in clubs are relatively undocumented. It has been my privilege to get to know many of these women through my research, and I have come to believe that stereotypes about their existence are often inaccurate and even damaging. Their input on this story has been extremely valuable, and I am deeply appreciative of their ongoing support.



Acknowledgments

I live in terror of leaving out someone important at the beginning of every book, because so many people have worked together to make Devil’s Game possible. Special thanks to Cindy Hwang, my editor, and Amy Tannenbaum, my agent, for all your ongoing support. I am also very appreciative of the entire team at Berkley, especially Jessica Brock, who has worked so hard to help me achieve success.
I want to thank my writing friends and beta readers, who give me daily encouragement. These include Kylie Scott, Kim Jones, Renee Carlino, Kim Karr, Katy Evans, Kristin Ashley, Cara Carnes, Raelene, Sali, Hang, and Lori. You ladies are amazing.
Without the support of reading groups, bloggers and super readers (you know who you are), no author would ever reach her audience. I love you Maryse, Jenny, Gitte, Lisa, Giselle, the ladies of the Triple M, the ladies of Kristen Ashley Anonymous, and all the incredible women in my Junkies group. I also want to give a special shout-out to the girls I originally met on Maryse’s Facebook page—I’m so honored to have your support as I’ve built my writing career. I hope you know how much I treasure you in my life!
Finally, I need to thank my family for their endless support. My husband, my kids, my parents, and my brother kick ass. I love you guys so much!