Page 22 of Devil's Plaything

Zeke

I check the time. Almost ten p.m. I’ve somehow convinced myself if I wait until after midnight, she’ll be gone and this will be over. Hell, she may not even be there anymore.

“Jesus, man,” Snake says, seeing my destruction. “You good?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I’m good. Just have to bury him somewhere.”

He looks over Shawn. “You did…you did a number on him.”

I don’t try to make any excuses. He deserved everything I did to him. Fuck that. He deserved worse. His own rotting dick in his mouth was just icing on the cake.

“I never had the opportunity to thank you. All this shit with Hawk was fucked up. I should’ve never questioned your loyalty to the club.”

“You had reason to. I haven’t always been a model member.”

He grins. “No, you haven’t. Still, I knew my son was power hungry.”

I lower the chains, bringing Shawn’s lifeless body to the tarp I have spread out on the floor.

“What’s the story behind this? This is a bit more extreme than your usual MO. I mean, his dick in his mouth? Really?”

“He hurt someone I care about.”

“Damn, man, never thought I’d see the day. Who’s this woman that has your nuts in a vice?”

I shake my head. “Not like that.”

Snake laughs. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. I’ll give you some advice. If she’s willing to put up with your bullshit, don’t let her go. Women like that are fucking hard to find.”

I snort in response, unsure what to say. She was just supposed to be an outlet. A plaything to satisfy my demons. How the fuck did she become more than that?

32

Cleo

I’ve been nursing my beer long enough. He isn’t coming. I should’ve known better than to sit here waiting. I start to get up, but then the lights go dim, music starts. It’s almost midnight. The dancers are done for the evening.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Zeke struts onto the stage in a pair of tight leather pants, ripping his shirt off as he comes toward me. He does this grinding motion and I burst out laughing. He jumps down from the stage and jerks me toward him. The crowd cheers and claps.

“I’m not fucking running.”

“No, you’re dancing. How much for a private dance?”

He grins, then his expression grows somber. “I fucked up. He never would’ve hurt you had it not been for me.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “I don’t hold you accountable for what he did. I hold you accountable for what you do. You weren’t there. You left.”

“I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.”

“Then don’t. I don’t have relationship goals or shit like that. I only ask for one thing. Be there.”

That’s all I ask of him. I can handle pretty much anything else but I want to know I can count on him when it matters. If he can do that, we can figure out everything else. We can get past the drama between the clubs, crazy exes, and the relationship issues we both have.

“Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.”

“Okay. Then answer this one question. Are you wearing a g-string?”

I smile and he bends down, picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder. I smack his ass as he carries me out of the room. I know exactly where he’s going.

“Get the fuck out,” he orders, slamming the door when everyone leaves.

He lowers me onto the table and strips his pants off, revealing that he is actually not wearing a g-string. He’s not wearing any fucking underwear.

“Give me all you got, big boy.”