Page 35 of The Devil's Scars

Zoe raised her eyebrows at him. So maybe he really was into repeat performances after all, huh? She supposed that meant that he was one of those guys in the MC who had his stable of eager and favored women that he was very possessive of, who all stood around the bar, preening and prancing, trying to get his attention. Hoping that they’d be chosen to be the woman of the night that night. That he’d go back to their place and be a great bedmate and pillow with them.

Well, as much as she’d enjoyed herself, no way she was the ‘pick me!’ type. She wasn’t much of a joiner, really, and wasn’t flattered that he seemed to want to add her to his harem of owned objects.

Scars was a much-needed stress-release, and he was damn good at what he did in the bedroom. She’d definitely benefited from his wealth of experience with the ladies, and she wasn’t complaining or judging. But she also wasn’t into playing this kind of bullshit game. She wanted permanence and safety, both for herself and for Keira.

And this scowling, scarred, tattooed biker didn’t look permanent or safe.

“Don’t worry about it, Scars.” She ducked under his outstretched arm now, got the door open. “I know this kind of thing means nothing at all to you boys, so there’s no need for you to pretend it does. I’m cool with it being what it is, so there’s no sense you faking being the commitment type to stroke my ego.” Zoe flashed him a gorgeous smile. “I know the score, and I played the game knowing what I was getting into. So thanks for the good time, and go on back to your regulars. I’m sure you’ve got a few waiting on you out there, who’ll be thrilled to take you home.”

Stunned by her words, this time Scars let her go. And he watched the only woman that he’d ever fallen for at goddamn first sight just waltz right on out of Satan’s Bar.

Dreams do come true, man… and then they’re taken away from you.

Well. Fuck. That.

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