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“You might have something in the junkers behind the shop but nothing that can be up and running in a day,” Heathen muses. “Suppose someone ‘round town might trade her cars, but she won’t get a good trade.”
“What’s her rush?” Bones asks before taking a long drink to finish his beer. He holds up the empty bottle. “Another round, probies.”
The three probationary riders jump up, eager to follow the order. The bear collects the empties and the two others make their way to the bar for more. Bones snickers watching them, no doubt hoping Sydney will come down and find them behind her bar. No one is allowed back there without her explicit permission.
“Won’t say.” I lift the bottle to my lips, but it’s already empty. With a quick look for Sydney, I pop the cap off the other one. “She’s got secrets, and it’s connected to them.”
The rest of them nod. I have a nose for secrets and when people are lying. It’s one of the things Reaper uses me for. When a job requires interrogation or teasing secrets out, he sends me in. I get answers no matter what, either with my fists if it’s a man or through my charm if it’s a woman.
Secrets all have a different taste, and when someone lies or skirts around the truth, I feel it on my tongue. It’s not something I could turn off, even if I wanted to. With Claire, though, I want to taste more than her secrets on my tongue. The thought of burying my head between her thighs has my cock growing again, and I take another gulp of the beer. No woman has ever made me feel this hot so fast. If she’d been willing, I’d have shoved those thin leggings down to her knees and fucked her over my bike, just from spending ten minutes with her sitting behind me, holding on to me.
Like Brute said, she’s too good for us demon bikers. She probably doesn’t even know we’re real, and I don’t feel like dealing with her screams if I’m not buried balls deep inside her.
I push back from the table, abandoning my beer. “I’m headed to the shop, see if we got anything in stock that might work for the repair.”
Brute follows me and it’s only a minute later that I’m back on my bike in the gravel parking lot, making the engine roar to life and rumble under me. The sun beats against my bare shoulders, trying to coax my own flames out to play. I’m tempted to give in, to let this human form bleed away until the truth of what I am is bared for anyone to see. No, not just anyone. Claire.
Shaking thoughts of her from my head, I don’t let myself look up to the row of windows on the second floor before I ride out, Brute at my side.
Pretty city girls aren’t meant for exiled demons. One good deed isn’t going to change that.
3
KENNEDY
“Bedroom’s up here, bathroom is shared.”
Sydney is a walking example of efficiency as she gives me an abrupt tour of the place she’s letting me stay tonight, thanks to Blaze.I resolutely don’t think about the ride earlier. For the first few minutes of the ride, I was terrified I’d fall off. Once I’d relaxed, all I could think about was how he felt where I was pressed up against him.
Downstairs, the bar looked like the standard dive bar. No windows, scarred wooden tables and chairs, a handful of leather booths along one side and pool tables along the other. Everything was clean, though, and the people seated clearly respect Sydney. There has to be a reason why. She has to be a person worth respecting. So, other than her being the only other woman in the bar, I don’t feel too nervous.
We’d passed through what had been a locked door into a small landing, then up a narrow flight of stairs that had emerged inside a second-floor apartment. Not just any apartment. Sydney’s home. She points down the hall. “That door’s my room. Don’t go through that door. Next door is the bathroom.” She pulls out a keyring that is hooked to her belt. “Here’s the room I sometimes rent out.” She unlocks the door, then swings it open before ushering me in.
Not knowing what else to do, I walked in. Unlike the bar, this room has a row of three small windows that overlook the gravel parking lot and the road Blaze and I rode in on. It’s a small room, especially compared to the house I lived in with Enzo. But it’s big enough to comfortably fit a queen-size bed with a simple wooden frame and no headboard. It’s covered with a plain, sky blue comforter and has two pillows encased in a matching blue. The walls are painted a soft, neutral tone, and the windows are trimmed in white. There aren’t any blinds, but there are short curtains that are pushed open to let the afternoon light in.
Adjacent to the bed is a small, compact writing table and chair with a small table lamp. It’s the perfect size for working on a laptop, and I can instantly see myself working there, writing away on my book. Directly across from the bed is a low, six-drawer dresser that matches the wooden bedframe. It’s got a short stack of white towels on it but otherwise is empty.
“Not that you’ll need it, but there’s a closet there,” Sydney’s voice follows me in and I turn towards the narrow closet door. “I’ve got some stuff in there. Don’t fuck with it.”
“Of course not,” I agree, trying not to be waspish. It’s not like I’d have messed with her stuff without the warning. I’m not an asshole.
I set my tote bag on the bed and, with a final look around the room, I give her a smile. “This is great. How much do I owe you for the night?”
Sydney waves my question away. “It’ll go on the Knights’ tab since it was Blaze who brought you in.” She cocks her head and makes a point of looking me up and down. “I don’t let none of them boys up here. So if you want to tangle with that demon, you make sure he takes you to his place.”
My eyes go wide and I sputter before shaking my head. “Oh, no, that’s absolutely not going to happen,” I promise her. “I’m—” I snap my mouth shut before I say I’m married. Her eyes narrow again, and she makes me think of a bloodhound who’s gotten a scent. “I’m just here until my car is fixed or I can trade it in for a new one.”
She shrugs and turns away from the bedroom, probably going back downstairs. “There’s shampoo and shit in the bathroom if you want a shower. Not much in the fridge, but help yourself or come downstairs for a burger and fries. I’ll kick you out if you eat my sorbet, though.”
I don’t manage to respond before her heavy footsteps head down the stairs, leaving me alone in the apartment. At a loss, my skin itches and I grab my bag again and one of the towels from the dresser before finding the bathroom she mentioned. I want to weep with joy when I flick the light on and close the door behind me.
For the last month, I’ve been dealing with tiny bathrooms with questionable stains and cracked tiles. Half the time, a shower wasn’t worth the risk so I’d made do with stale, threadbare washcloths and soapy water to key areas.
Sydney’s bathroom won’t be in any design magazines, but compared to my recent experiences, it’s luxurious. Like the bedroom, the walls are an off-white and the only color comes from the shower curtain, which is printed to look like the Monet painting of water lilies. The sink area is a basic vanity, with space for Sydney’s makeup bag tucked to one side and a toothbrush holder.
I lock the door and catch my reflection in the mirror above the sink. Great. I scrunch my face with distaste before shaking my head. It’s a wonder Blaze didn’t run screaming from me. I’ve got bags under my eyes, and my black hair is falling out of its bun, giving me crazy-witch vibe à la Helena Bonham Carter. At least I haven’t been wearing makeup, so I don’t have any black smudges around my eyes, but my lips are in desperate need of Chapstick.
No wonder Sydney hesitated at letting me stay in her place.
