Page 53 of The Devil's Scars

Scars was a man of few words at the best of times, but that didn’t mean that he was often rendered speechless. His silence was mostly because he found small-talk annoying and boring, and he just opted out of conversation. When he did talk, it tended to be about important shit.

Thistime, though, he was just struck dumb. How dare she? Who the fuck did she think she was? Hot lay or not, the woman was way the hell out of line here, and Scars wasn’t taking this crap from anyone. Not even Zoe, gorgeous green eyes and perfect breasts be damned.

“Shut up.” That voice was a low, menacing growl, and she did back up now. “Shut that pretty little mouth Zoe, before I come over there and shut it for you, you hear me? Not one more fucking word about me passing around women like a goddamn pimp, I swear to Christ.”

“You threatening me, Scars?” she said, ignoring his command, angry enough now to be reckless. “How are you gonna shut me up, huh? You going to smack me around in front of my kid?”

“What?” he repeated, stunned anew at just where her mind went sometimes. “Oh, my God, Zoe, do you actually think that I’d ever lay a fucking finger on you in violence?”

“You’re the one who said that you’d come over here and shut me up.” She glared at him. “How exactly were you planning on doing that?”

“Ideally, I’d throw you over my shoulder and toss you on the bed, fuck you until you couldn’t talk or walk. But we got a baby over there, so that’s out.” He approached now, slow, his eyes pinning her in place. He watched her shrink back, and he stopped, eyeing her from five feet away, keeping his distance but making damn sure that she could feel his power and anger. “So how about I keep your mouth busy in other ways?”

“No,” she whispered, wondering how fast she could get to Keira and out the door. “Don’t touch me –”

“You sure, baby?” he said, teasing her, taunting her, making the words a threat that sounded like an invitation. “You don’t want my lips on yours, shutting you up before you can spout any more b.s.? My hands running over your body, holding you in place against that wall for my pleasure? My fingers snapping open those jeans and sliding inside you, making you come right here, make you come until you beg for nothing but more?”

“Yes,” she said, not sure that she meant it.

“Yes, you want all that?”

“No,” she retorted, stung at his smug grin. “Yes, I’m sure. No, I don’t want all that.”

“Liar,” he said softly. “Such a beautiful little liar, but a liar all the same.”

“Scars…” She was still afraid, but her fight was coming back. “I want –”

Just then, his cell phone rang. He cursed, still holding her gaze, grabbed it out of his jeans pocket.

“What?” he snarled, not even bothering to see who the hell had such lousy damn timing. “What?”

“Clubhouse.” Wolf’s voice was low, cold, emotionless, and Scars snapped right to attention. He knew that tone, and he knew that whatever it was that had caused Wolf to call it out, Scars wasn’t going to like it. “Now, man.”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Yeah.”

Both men disconnected without another word, and Zoe narrowed her eyes at the distracted, distant look his face. In less than five seconds, he’d gone from totally focused on her to mentally checked-out. In his head, Scars was already on his bike, heading to whatever mess or dirty business was waiting for him – she was already a thing of the past, a blip in his day.

It would have always been like this, she knew, if they’d ever actually gotten together. He’d show up when he was horny; he’d walk out on her when the club called. Straight and narrow activities and out of the criminal life be damned, it was still club first with these boys. It was the only life they really knew, it was all they really believed in. And he actually wanted her to get serious about something together?

Yeah. As if.

“You got trouble, big guy?” she said casually. “Gotta go?”

“Yeah.” Those blue eyes stared at her absently, and she felt a pang when she compared that prairie distance to the heat and passion of just a few minutes before. Then Zoe reminded herself that she was glad that he was leaving… that’s what she’d wanted, right? “Enjoy the pizza and wine without me, and you and that little peach have a good night.”

She watched him stalk across the room, heading for the front door. He stopped suddenly, turned, stared back at her with no warmth. Like she was a total stranger.

“By the way, Zoe… what you just said was bullshit and way out of line and super-bitchy. No call for it, at all. I’ve done nothing to deserve that from you, or from anyone. You really think that about me, then I’m happy to leave you the hell alone. You ever have anything that I can help you with, you let me know, but I won’t be coming around here anymore. I sure as hell won’t be asking you out again. You run Blue Dragon, and I’ll run Satan’s, and we’ll nod politely as co-workers for the MC when we see each other. Besides that, we don’t know each other and we never did. Deal?”

Her heart plummeted into her stomach, and she felt actually, physically sick. She plastered a stony expression on her face, though, because the alternative was to tell this man that she was sorry for being such an utter bitch-on-wheels after he’d been so sweet. To say that maybe, just maybe, she’d been wrong.

No wayshe was apologizing to Scars Innis. No way she was copping to regret.

It came to Zoe – suddenly, in a blinding flash of ‘oh, shit, I get it’ –that she wasn’t angry at Scars at all. She was angry at herself. Angry at herself for kissing Scars outside that bathroom. For going with him, willingly, happily, eagerly, to that back room. For leaping in response at his every touch, his every kiss. For letting him into her trembling, needy body. For begging for more, and more, and more again. For being unable to kick his tender toughness out of her head, once and for all, and to hell with him. For invading her dreams, causing her to wake up a sweaty, turned-on mess in the middle of the night. And most of all, for giving her hope – hope that maybe she could be with him after all.

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