Page 52 of The Devil's Scars

He pulled out the cork, poured her a glass of red wine. She started, remembering her thoughts earlier, about wishing for a man who’d come on through the door with a bottle of red, and between the wine and the pizza, she got the most uneasy feeling that Scars Innis was a goddamn mind reader. He extended the half-full glass, and she approached with a bit of hesitation, but then remembered that Keira was there. No way Scars was going to start any crap with a tiny drool-monster attached to Zoe’s chest, so she relaxed. Just a bit.

She took the glass, making a huge effort to not so much as touch his fingertips. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He poured a second glass, then cut two slices of pizza. “How many do you want?”

“Just those two, please.”

“As you wish.” He plated her dinner, set the plate on the table, and nodded at the chair. “Sit. You look beat.”

“I’m OK,” Zoe said, even as she felt her body start to sink into the cushion. “Just had a lot to get done in a pretty short period of time. Things’ll settle a bit from now on.”

She lowered Keira down to the floor, away from the wine glass and the food, and the baby took off, scooting on her hands and knees, over to Scars. Zoe was about to jump up again, but Scars was too quick.

He spun from the counter, got down into a crouch, met Keira at her level. Zoe watched as her daughter stopped, then twisted her diapered butt into a seated position. Keira surveyed Scars solemnly for a few seconds, and he just looked right on back at her, his blue eyes warm and bright and so gentle. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to touch her; he just let her sit near him, taking him in fully.

Zoe held her breath, suddenly wondering what the baby was seeing: did she notice the long, white scars? The shaggy dark hair falling over his forehead? His eyes as blue as an ocean? His firm, full lips, now raised in a half-grin? His huge upper body, his broad shoulders ripping with muscle, his massive hands resting on bulging thighs?

She’d never know what Keira saw in those few seconds, of course, but she did know this much: whatever it was, Scars met with the baby’s approval. Keira cooed, then gave the bunny to Scars. Just pressed it into his hand, sharing it with him.

To his eternal credit, Scars treated her offer of kindness seriously. He took the pink rabbit, gave it a little cuddle and a kiss on its nose. Keira watched, clearly delighted, then reached for the toy again. With great ceremony, Scars returned it to its owner, and she crawled away to the living room area, where Zoe had placed all her toys on a play mat.

The adults watched her go, then looked at each other again. Just for a second, it was like a kindness had passed in the room. Zoe dropped her fucking attitude and suspicion and believed that maybe an MC member could actually be a good man, and Scars saw his whole life with these two beautiful ladies and a stuffed rabbit, just hanging out and eating pizza.

Then Zoe remembered just who – just what – was standing there at her kitchen counter and she looked away, breaking the sweetness of connection, already pissed off at herself for her fanciful bullshit. Yeah, bringing Keira a toy was nice, but then again, the terrifying and murderous Ice had brought the baby something too… God knows, that meant nothing much, in the long run.

And the long run was all that Zoe cared about.

“So what do you what, Scars?” she said abruptly. “What’s with the wine and pizza out of the blue after more than a week of nothing? You at a loose end tonight? None of your regular screws available down at Satan’s?”

Scars almost sighed as he watched her slam down those damn emotional shutters deep inside, yet again, and go on the attack, yet again. Jesus fuck, this woman. Every time he thought that she’d shown him a little piece of her heart, that she’d started to soften and bend, even a little bit, she doubled down on the bitch act. He’d known that Zoe Parish was going to be a handful the first night they’d met, but he had to admit, the woman was a tougher nut to crack than he’d expected.

For the past few days, a part of him had gotten up every morning and demanded why the actual hell he was still holding out any hope. Maybe he should just accept that they were a one-time (well, technically, two-time) fuck in a bar back room, and cut his losses, and call it a day. God knows, there were easier women skulking around Satan’s and Denver in general, women who wouldn’t object to him being nice to them. Women who might even appreciate a man who had given them space to sort out their work and home and childcare arrangements, a man who had just backed off and waited until things looked more resolved before making another move.

Scars wasn’t known for waiting when he wanted something, but he’d waited this past couple of weeks, and he’d felt every minute. He’d stomped down hard on his most basic instinct of moving and acting, not just hanging out and twiddling his thumbs… and he’d found that fucking difficult. He’d found himself seriously wondering if he was crazy to overlook other women, women who wouldn’t automatically tell him to get lost the second he entered their orbit.

But… he didn’t want those women. He didn’t want easy. He didn’t want to have some willing woman in his bed, just because the one that he really wanted was a challenge that bordered on being a goddamn military-grade pain in the ass.

And besides, he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Zoe’s face that night when he’d reached up and unclipped her hair, let it fall all around and on his naked chest in those soft, golden waves, and called her beautiful for the first time. That look… such utter, gorgeous stillness. Like she’d heard a voice in her head, or music of unearthly beauty, or her own soul whispering to her. When Scars closed his eyes and thought about Zoe, it was her in those few perfect, shining seconds that he thought of before anything else.

He was sure that that Zoe was the real one. The one that she fought so hard to hide away from the world, maybe the one that she fought even harder to protect using her severe, rigid persona. That hidden Zoe was sweet, glowed from within, was strangely vulnerable… and that was the Zoe that made Scars’ heart squeeze hard every time he remembered her.

Thatwas the Zoe that he wanted her to show him and just him, over and over again, every single day. That was the Zoe that Keira saw and adored, he was sure of it. Scars wanted her to just rip off her brittle mask and have her trust him with that gentle version of herself, because he wanted her to understand that he’d never hurt it, or damage it, or reject it.

No… he’d cherish that Zoe. He’d take care of her. He’d love her.

If she’d just give him a chance.

He’d watched her all week, as per Wolf’s orders, watched her so she had no idea she was being watched, and he’d wished hard for that chance. He’d come over that night, hoping against hope for that chance; or maybe just a chance at a chance. And for a few minutes there, when she’d been holding Keira and watching Scars pour the wine, and she’d had that soft, unguarded look again, he’d thought that maybe he’d be able to beg, borrow, and steal a chance. Even a small one.

But the mask was firmly back in place now – and his shaky, wavering chance had just evaporated like the dawn mist.

Goddammit, Zoe. I’m not a monster. Just see me, the way I see you. Look with better eyes, baby, I beg of you.

“Well?” she snapped, keeping her voice low so that Keira didn’t hear her anger. “Your usual easy lays already all paired off with your brothers for the evening? You do pass them around amongst yourselves, right, the club whores?”

“OK – what?” Scars stared at her in horror, so shocked that he actually dropped the knife in the sink with a clatter. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.” Zoe crossed her arms, quailing a bit at the look on that hard face; maybe she’d gone a bit too far? Then she opened her big fat mouth and carried on taunting him: “I asked if you’re here because nothing better was on offer with its legs open.”

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