Page 14 of Ride with the Devil

Devil drops the phone against his meaty thigh. ““Go on. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I don’t even knowwhatI’m thinking, only that those pretty brown eyes of hers are seared their way into my brain. But I try my best as I navigate the streets that have become as much a part of me as the blood in my veins. All of my attention back on the road even as my thoughts are with the girl in the trunk—Is she okay? Did the sedative take? Will shehateme…—I make my case.

Devil lets me ramble as we roll. When I’m done, all he does is lift his phone back up again after selecting a contact.

I wait, heart beating wildly in my chest.

“Burns? It’s Devil. I need a favor…”

Tanner explained that,once injected with the sedative, the effects will last for at least four hours. Depending on the height and weight of the person I used it on, it could be a little longer, a little shorter.

Banking on the fact that I should have at least the four hours—though, realistically, it would be longer since the girl in the trunk is smaller than a full-grown man—I didn’t waste any time.

Officer Mason Burns—Mace for short, though most of us just refer to him as Burns—is a cop on Devil’s payroll. About a decade older than me, give or take, he’s been a beat cop his entire career. He likes it that way, too, walking around the city, patrolling with his new trainee, and reporting back to Devil for a heft deposit to his bank account at the end of the month.

He’s not the only cop that Devil pays for. At least one-third of the Springfield PD is bought by the Sinners Syndicate, with another chunk serving on Damien Libellula’s dime. But when Iasked Devil if I could have the girl, he immediately got in touch with Burns.

On the one hand, Rolls and Devil agreed that the vice mayor’s body needed to be found. If only to remind the rest of Springfield not to even think about rising up against the Sinners, he needed to be made an example of. Plus, the battered, bloody, and bullet hole-riddled corpse would be a message to Johnny Winter, too.

Rolls, Killian, and Juan are responsible for relocating the body away from the scene. A heads up to Burns and his fellow officers—including his lieutenant—meant the murder would be a ‘tragedy’, but not necessarily a crime. Some of the straight cops might try to investigate it as such. They won’t get too far, and with Mayor Harrison desperate to keep his secret about fucking male aides half his age while presenting himself has a happily married, doting Christian father of four, he’ll have a new vice mayor by the end of the week, no questions asked about what exactly happened to the last one.

That’s the thing. Without someone reputable to admit they saw what happened, it’s easy to get away with murder. A bubbly girl at the wrong place at the wrong time could be the Sinners’s downfall if the right cop or the right judge took up the case.

Maybe we could buy her off. Everyone in Springfield has a price, and it’s possible that Devil could’ve found hers. Then again, maybe it would just be easier to make her disappear. Walking around Skid Row alone after dark… wasn’t she just asking for trouble?

That’s how Devil sees it.

Not me.

I’ve never thought of myself as a white knight before, but something about her… I know we only had one conversation, but even before she opened her mouth, I was struck dumb by her beauty. I haven’t felt such instant attraction to anyone since Emily, and there are times I remember her and wonder if Iwanted her so badly because she was Emily or because she was the only girl my age in the HCofJD.

Devil doesn’t say it, but I get the vibe that he only agreed to give me the girl because it’s the first time I’ve shown any interest in one since I’ve been a Sinner. I try not to look too closely at that. If he’s telling me I can basically babysit our captive until the vice mayor sitch is all taken care of or I can convince her to keep quiet, I’m not going to second-guess it.

I’ll do anything to keep her from becoming another casualty.

Should I be so enthralled by a woman I barely met? Of course not. But I blame myself. If she hadn’t knocked on my window… if I hadn’t been parked on the street, waiting for the boss… if her pouty lips and bright eyes and wild curls hadn’t distracted me… she wouldn’t be sprawled out on a cot in Mace Burns’s basement.

That’s exactly where we are. In a small mountain town about an hour-and-a-half outside of Springfield, Officer Burns has a wooden hunting cabin that he uses to flee the big city with his wife. Devil knew about it, and the favor he asked of the cop? Was to let me bring th girl in the trunk up to the mountains where I’ll keep her with me until everything blows over—or Devil has to make another decision.

He doesn’tneeda driver. He’s perfectly capable of driving himself around, and if he wants to keep up appearances, he can just grab one of the other Sinners while I’m out of town. Without any family that I’m in contact with, it’s not like I need to be around for the holidays. If I want the girl, I have to keep the girl, and that means as my prisoner in a bonafide cop’s secret basement.

There’s a cot down here. A shower and a toilet down here. A lock on the basement door, and—more importantly—the cot comes equipped with a pair of handcuffs looped around the headboard bars, plus chains perfect for what Devil has in mind:well and truly making this girl my prisoner until I can make her my… my…

Fuck if I know what she’s going to be. But I’ve made myself her protector, and that’s what I’m going to do.

It’s been three hours now. That’s how long it took for Burns to meet us at the Playground to drop off his keys, then for me to drop Devil off at Paradise Suites before I stopped at my place to pack whatever shit I thought I’d need for a while. I was taking the town car with me—obviously, considering the precious cargo in the trunk—and with Burns’s address plugged into the GPS on the dash, I started the ninety-minute drive a little past midnight.

Burns’s doesn’t have any neighbors. His cabin is at the end of a long, winding, dirt path, surrounded by trees. I parked the town car behind it to be on the safe side, and after opening up the cabin, turning the lights on, and finding the door that leads to the basement, I went and retrieved the girl.

Devil already searched her over. She has no ID so, for now, she’s just the girl in the trunk. She told me she left her phone at home, and she must’ve because she doesn’t have one of those, either. In fact, the only thing we found was a tube of lip gloss and some cash.

She’s still sleeping now, wearing the leather jacket she had on and a pair of black winter boots. I leave them on as I lay her out on the bed. Seeing the handcuffs, knowing I have to even if I don’twantto, I reach for her nearest hand.

Her nails are short and manicured, the pink polish impeccable. No rings on her fingers—and, yes, I looked purposely—though I do see that she has a faded tattoo peeking out from between her thumb and forefinger.

It’s an ‘H’. Drawn in a vaguely cursive style, that’s all it is. An ‘H’.

I wonder what it means?

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