Page 60 of The Devil's Scars

“Nah.” Wolf drank some more beer. “It meant I understood Zee’s home life pretty good, but it wasn’t ’til we talked and hung out that I realized how cool she was. She was laid-back and funny, and she could kick my ass at marbles. Dead shot with a bow-and-arrow too. Bulls-eye every fuckin’ time.”

“Yeah?” Saint gaped at Zoe. “For real?”

“Almost every time,” Zoe corrected Wolf. “Sometimes I missed on purpose. Just so your ego wasn’t smashed to bits.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wolf chuckled. “I know. Hell, I knew it then. Anyway, we grew up across the street from each other, in the same bad neighborhood. Same bad school, too, for a while, so we saw each other all the time. Survived the drive-by shootings every other week, survived the parents, survived the gangs and drug shit. Made it through.”

“When Wolf patched in with the Devils, what’d you think?” Saint asked Zoe. “I mean, he was, what? Twenty-one when it was made official?”

“Yeah,” Zoe said. “And I didn’t have a clue what it meant back then. I was only eighteen myself, and barely holding on at home with Mom being drunk 24/7, working at a crap tattoo place six days a week to learn the job, and fighting to keep Hailey fed and clothed and in school. Wolf told me he was prospecting, but never talked much about the hardcore shit that he was into already. The violence, the drugs, the gun-running… I honestly thought that an MC was a bunch of guys riding around Denver on noisy bikes, drinking too much, sleeping around with easy women, generally being immature, macho idiots.”

“Well, yeah,” Saint said. “That’s about right, actually.”

Zoe laughed. “It is now, I know, but not back then.”

“No,” Wolf said grimly. “It was bad back then, but the thing is, I didn’t really care. I liked havin’ people watchin’ my back. Never had that before the MC, except for Zee here.”

“We had each other’s backs, Wolf,” Zoe told him softly. “For as long as I can remember, we have.”

They stared at each other, shared a tiny smile. Years and years of friendship were behind that smile. Endless summer nights spent in Zoe’s backyard, lying on their backs and looking up at the stars, just talking and not talking. Countless hours spent under Wolf’s family’s front porch, hiding from one or the other of their violent, drunk, raging fathers, soothing a crying, terrified Hailey, trying to keep her quiet and calm. Uncountable Cokes and beers in long-forgotten dive diners and bars, hanging out and catching up with each other’s lives. Years and years of love, and trust, and die-hard faith, despite anything and everything they’d ever done and chosen. It was really quite something, what they had, and they both knew it. That shared smile said that they knew it, damn good and well.

“So when Wolf patched in, you were cool with it, then?” Saint asked. “Clueless, but cool?”

Zoe paused. “Well… I kind of… got sucked into the life myself. A bit.”

“Wait.” Saint looked riveted and delighted. “You – you hung around The Road Devils? Way back then?”

“No fuckin’ way.” Wolf’s words were clipped. “You kiddin’ me? You think I’d let Zee around a bunch of one-percenters at the age of eighteen?”

“Oh, no.” Saint looked horrified. “It’s just, she said that she got sucked into the life so…”

“Oh, later,” Zoe explained. “Wolf patched in, and then for about six years, I barely saw him. We kind of lost regular touch, I guess, but we talked on the phone and caught up when we ran into each other around town. Then one night, just over six years ago, we met up at a bar for a few drinks, and he brought some of his brothers. I kind of – hit it off with one of them.” Zoe forced herself to keep her tone disinterested, distant. “We dated for a while. Didn’t last long, just a few weeks. But I was around this bar and the clubhouse a bit, but only for about a month.”

Saint nodded, drank some more beer. “You were a short-term biker babe, huh?”

“Yep. Not really my thing, though. Not then, and certainly not now.”

“Damn, sweet cheeks,” Saint said with his sunny grin. “There goes my chance with you, huh?”

“Not a prayer, handsome,” Zoe told him. “Bikers are not my thing.”

“Huh. So… you were hanging around here, what, about six years ago?” Saint said. “Just before my time, then.”

“I guess so.” Zoe shrugged. “I left Denver then, remember, so it’s not like I’ve been around for all the big club changes and all the new members. Missed everything, really. I don’t recognize any of you guys, to be honest. Even the MC guys now who were around back then, I don’t remember.”

“Not even Scars?” Saint asked. “He’s pretty damn hard to forget, if you’ve seen him even once from across a dark, crowded room. He’s a distinctive-looking bastard, and all.”

“Nope,” Zoe said, all casual and definitely not thinking about Scars and Vixen probably fucking wildly in the back room right at the goddamn second. “I don’t know why I didn’t see him all those years ago, but I didn’t. I mean, I wasn’t here that much, but still… I’m sure he’d have stuck in my mind.”

“Scars wasn’t around much back then,” Wolf explained. “He was the club’s main delivery man, remember, Saint? So he was always ridin’ out of state for Jensen. I think he was back here maybe a week a month, total. Easy to have missed him, for sure. Bad timing.”

“Aww, yeah. Of course.”

Zoe looked up sharply. “What kind of deliveries?”

“Doesn’t matter, baby girl.” Wolf waved his hand. “It’s all over. Long over.”

Zoe scowled, sucked back her drink, wished it was stronger. Yeah, she knew what Scars would have been driving out of state for Kirk Jensen. Guns and drugs, for sure. Probably hookers, too.

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