Page 14 of The Devil's Viking

And seeing as he’d been through almost everything that could be unleashed upon mere mortals, that left very few versions of hell for this woman to have dragged herself out from, in the dead of night, in the dead of winter. That alone told him that Ice was most likely right: this woman had probably escaped an abusive relationship by the skin of her teeth and if that was the case, there might well be a violent, asshole husband coming looking for her.

Unlucky for said asshole, the Road Devils knew exactly how to handle men who beat on women. Just ask Brian Fielding.

Wolf cocked his dark head at her, tried a smile without too many teeth. “You wanna tell me your name?”

She shook her head, a look of pure terror on her pale face.

“OK, no rush.” He gestured at Scars. “This is my right-hand-man, Scars.”

“Hi,” Scars said.

She nodded, her long dark hair falling over her slim shoulders. She was shaking again and seeing as she was less than four feet away from the radiator cranked up to maximum, it had to be from fear. That made the men back up, back off. At least for now.

“You still hungry?” Wolf said. “Rebel can make you somethin’ hot if you want. A burger? Soup?”

She shook her head again, now biting her full lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Not wanting to push her anymore, Wolf indicated back to the hallway with a jerk of his head, and Scars followed him out.

“OK,” Wolf said. “Time for Plan B.”

“Which is?”

“She might feel more comfortable talkin’ to Zee. You know, woman-to-woman. You wanna fill her in when she gets over here with the clothes?”

“Yeah.” Scars stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. “Yeah, I’ll tell her the score.”

“OK.” Wolf sighed, feeling about a hundred years old. “Have Cole get the bedroom upstairs ready, the one at the end of the hall above my office. It’s got its own bathroom and the door locks from the outside only, so that’s the best place for her for now. I’ll have Zee take her up there, I won’t do it myself. It might scare the crap out of her for me to take her to a room with a bed.”

“Got it, boss,” Scars said, already moving down the hall. He’d just spotted his fiancée coming into Satan’s carrying a pile of clothes and he went to meet Zoe, wondering how the hell to even begin telling her any of this.

**

Iris sat on what was apparently her bed, in what was now apparently her bedroom. The dark-haired, dark-eyed bartender had handed her a bunch of towels as the tall, gorgeous, blonde woman named Zoe had led her through the bar and up some stairs under a large sign marked ‘Private’.

She’d followed Zoe and her sky-high legs to the very end of the hallway, then followed her into a small space, barely big enough for a bed and a dresser and an armchair. Despite it being cramped by normal standards, Iris was sitting staring around her, still astounded at the space, at the sheer luxury of having space of her own. She’d forgotten what it was like to be alone. For the past year, eyes had been on her all at almost all times; her skin had constantly prickled with the awareness that someone, somewhere, was watching her.

Zoe had given her some sweaters and leggings, and they were hanging off her all over the place. Zoe was slim, but Iris was tiny, and so she’d rolled the sleeves up three times and the leggings five times. She looked ridiculous, but at least she was out of the nightgown.

She’d have to burn the goddamn thing at the first opportunity.

Suddenly, Iris took a deep breath and let it out, and that was when she stopped feeling dazed and started to think. What she began thinking wasn’t very comforting, and puzzle pieces began to come together to form a picture that she didn’t like looking at.

So, the men downstairs were named Wolf and Scars, and there were at least another ten of them wandering around the parking lot, the garage, the bar. There was a tattoo parlour across the parking lot where Zoe said she worked. The men all wore matching black leather vests, and she’d noticed that there was a massive patch on the back of each one that said ‘The Road Devils’. The men were tall, ferocious-looking, tattooed, rough. Definitely terrifying.

And just like that, the oxygen from the deep breath hit her stupid, sleep-deprived brain, chasing off the last of her shock – and it dawned on her that she was sitting in the bedroom above a whole bar full of motorcycle club members.

Criminals. Animals. Rapists. Drug-runners. Surely they all had guns, if the scary blond one was any indication. They were barely one half-step above a fucking cult.

Which meant that she’d just taken one hundred massive steps backwards… and straight into the shit. Again.

You should have stayed where you were, you stupid, stupid fucking idiot. Better the devil you know, and at least I knew Gideon. The Road Devils are a whole new devil…

Probably a worse one.

**

Zoe went to Wolf’s office and stuck her head in. Sure enough, Wolf and Scars were sitting there, so she glared at them.

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