Page 38 of The Devil's Scars

Sam had assured Scars that Annie was actually semi-fine being around him, but she just needed time to show that. She was cautious by nature, protective of Sam and Cindy, and she knew a thing or two about what trouble looked like in male form.

So Scars was cool with waiting for Annie to come around if and when she wanted. She was an incredible girlfriend to Sam, which was a big plus; her kindness and love to Cindy was an even bigger one. After all, Cindy was Sam’s daughter, but not Annie’s, and Cindy’s sudden appearance in Sam’s life just a couple of months earlier had almost ended their relationship.

Sam hadn’t known about Cindy, hadn’t even had a clue that he was a father, until his ex-live-in-girlfriend Kathleen had shown up with Cindy in tow, and dropped the bomb. DNA tests confirmed that Kathleen was a snake and a bitch and a cheater, but not a liar (about paternity, anyway), and Sam had moved Kathleen and Cindy in with him, worked to figure out how to make it work. And Annie had stepped aside and back from the relationship with Sam – and effectively ended things between them. She’d wanted to give Sam a chance to work things out with Kathleen, if it was at all possible, and she’d wanted him to get to know his daughter. She hadn’t wanted to be a distraction, so she’d removed herself from the situation completely.

When Kathleen had taken off one day –just walked out and abandoned Cindy while Sam slept after a shift – she’d left behind documents relinquishing any and all rights to her daughter. Scars wasn’t a Dad, though he did want to be, but he couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around that selfish, horrible, devastating decision. How the hell did the woman do that? How did anyone do that? How the fuck did they live with themselves after?

Scars and Sam knew a thing or two about losing parents suddenly, so it hadn’t been a surprise to Scars when his brother had stepped up to take care of his daughter. Gotten her in therapy twice a week, found an incredible babysitter that Cindy trusted, cut back on his hours a bit at the hospital, worked damn hard to get his daughter to see him as a calm, steady, reliable presence in her blown-apart little world.

And Annie had come back to Sam, eventually, after a bit of time. Scars understood that they were taking it slow for Cindy’s sake, letting her get to know Annie, trust her, maybe even love her one day. Sam and Annie’s relationship was going to go at whatever pace Cindy could handle – and Scars had nothing but admiration for them and that decision. If it took Cindy five years to be ready for them to all live together, or for Sam and Annie to get married, then they were going to wait.

Scars took a deep breath, reminded himself that sometimes the best things had to be waited for and won over. Coaxed and convinced; shown that what was being offered was genuine and could be trusted.

I’m gonna seeZoe again tomorrow, and we are gonna talk. Hell, yeah, we are.

He looked over at Annie now, took in the tiny streaks of gray in her long auburn hair, smiled. She was older than his brother by fifteen years, and had two grown kids, and worked in a crappy diner, and lived in a bad neighborhood, and Scars really and truly didn’t give a shit about any of that. All he saw when he looked at Annie Matthews was a woman who understood sacrifice for a child – even if that child wasn’t hers – and that was worthy of respect. It was something that both Annie and Sam understood.

And Zoe too.

He sat down on the living room sofa, and Cindy cuddled up next to him. He accepted a cup of coffee from Annie, then leaned back and took a sip, started to let the tension drain from his large body. He was exhausted from the night before, for more than one reason.

The sex with Zoe had been earth-shatteringly incredible, of course, but even though he’d been drained from it, he knew that if she hadn’t left, he’d have gone for at least three more rounds with her. Preferably at his place in his large bed, then in his spacious shower, then on the kitchen counters, then maybe back to the bed, but really, he’d have made it work anywhere. He was sure that he’d be able to figure out how to get back inside that hot little body even if they’d been trapped in a tuna can.

For that woman, Scars would do anything to hold her close, to drive his cock into her welcoming warmth, to watch her fall apart under him, all around him. To swallow her cries of release into his mouth, before driving into that hot, wet pussy deeper and harder – almost too deep and too hard – then shattering into a million pieces himself, just being blown to bits and floating away, like stardust in the air.

Reminding himself that getting hard here and now was a terrible idea, Scars wrenched his thoughts away from the look on Zoe’s face when she’d come for him while riding his cock. God, he’d never seen anything so pure or beautiful, not in the whole his hard, rough life.

But really, he wasn’t just wiped out because of his mind-blowing orgasm and the killer sex session. No, what was really making him drag his ass today was the fact that he hadn’t slept a wink the night before. Too much on his mind. Way too much.

He’d watched Zoe tear out of the back room like a bat out of hell, then just kind of stood there for a while in his underwear, wondering just where the actual fuck things had gone so wrong between the two of them. All that soft, murmuring warmth replaced by a cold, hard woman throwing insults and spewing venom. What had he done to bring on that change? He was pretty sure nothing – but from what he knew of Zoe from Wolf, the woman wasn’t a head case, so the theory that she’d flipped out because she was a nutbar didn’t really hold water. So what, then?

Eventually, he’d gotten dressed, headed back to the bar and checked in with Cole. Glanced around to ensure that things were cool and under control, and he’d spent the next three hours sitting at the bar alone, drinking plain Coke with ice and chatting with Cora and Jasmine, two of the bar waitresses. He’d also given every drunk female eyeing him up the cold shoulder. Well, more than cold, really. Glacial.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that Zoe had ruined him for all other women. No matter how tempting the breasts spilling out of those little tops, or how firm and curvy the thighs exposed in those skirts, or how taut and rounded the ass as they flirted with him, he wanted none of it. None of them. True enough, he never really had, and his time with Zoe had just put the last nail in that coffin.

Give him the silken blade; the honeyed edge; the icy flame. Give him Zoe, in all her glory and fire. Give him days talking to her and making her laugh, then give him nights buried between her thighs, his hands cupping her breasts and his thumbs teasing her nipples.

Give him her every mood, her every fear, her every worry, her every demon, and let him hold her hand as she faced those fuckers down. She wasn’t the kind of woman who needed saving, because she damn well could save herself and Scars knew that, but he didn’t want to save her. He just wanted to have the astonishing gift and privilege of being the man that she turned to when her strength flagged, or she needed a hug. He just wanted to be in her life, and he’d do a lot to have that. Even just a little place, just for a little while.

Yeah. Fucking ruined. Totally toast. Just like that, and so damn quick.

At about five in the morning, he’d nodded at Cole and the waitresses, then headed out back to the private parking lot reserved for the club motorcycles. Ignoring the grunts, moans, and cries coming from the club delivery van – though he did idly think that it was Vixen in there with one of his brothers, and no big fucking shock, since the woman was working her way through the MC like clockwork, and probably for the third time – he’d strapped on his helmet and peeled on out of there. He’d arrived at his cabin up in the Rockies just as dawn was breaking. He’d made a coffee, then sat on his porch, still in his leather jacket and cut, and watched the sun rise. Pink and gold, and so bright and gorgeous, it hurt his eyes.

Like Zoe.

Fuck, the woman was in his head.

He’d sat there for hours in the crisp late-spring morning, telling himself that he should go get some sleep, but just not getting up to do more than pour more coffee and make a bunch of sandwiches. He brought everything back to his porch, propped his booted feet up on the railing, and ate and drank while staring out at the calm beauty of the mountains. Just breathed and thought, made some promises to himself and made some decisions… and one included talking to his younger, smarter, way more successful and civilized brother, who was now a single Dad to a sweet little girl.

Maybe Sam would understand Zoe better than Scars ever could? Maybe he could give his rough, idiotic, big brother a goddamn hint? Because right this minute, Scars would pay whatever was sitting in his bank account and buy a fucking clue, if it pointed him in the right direction.

At about noon, he’d dragged himself into the shower, then out to Sam’s house. He’d hoped that Annie would be there, though it was no guarantee, because he didn’t want to talk about this in front of Cindy. All’s he had to do now was figure out how to get Sam away from the ladies.

Turns out, he didn’t have to scheme at all: after about half an hour, Annie took Cindy off to the kitchen to make cookies together. They did this pretty often, according to Sam, just headed off to bake and cook all alone, and it seemed that this was the gentle, unobtrusive way that Annie was letting Cindy get to know her. The food was a bonus, Scars supposed, but the true good thing was the kindness and patience that Annie was extending to this confused, hurting little girl. Besides, Cindy loved ‘helping’ – though Scars couldn’t imagine that she did much more than make a huge mess – and Annie treated her as an equal in the kitchen.

So yeah, it was fair to say that Scars liked Annie just fine. He watched Annie hold out her hand to Cindy, watched Cindy take it without hesitation, watched them trot off to the kitchen a couple of rooms over. They chattered happily the whole time, and he liked the way that Cindy leaned into Annie. Like she wanted to be closer, as close as possible.

“So.” Sam stretched a bit, his shoulder muscles straining against his t-shirt. He wasn’t as broad or built as Scars was, but the man hit the hospital gym regularly and it showed. “What’s up with you?”

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