Page 3 of The Devil's Ice

“Yeah,” he said to the empty room. “Yeah. It is.”

He got to his feet, and headed back to the kitchen for another cup of black-as-the-night coffee. After he poured it, he leaned against the counter, sipping morosely as he yet again thought about Wolf leaving the MC. Going out to Utah as some kind of fucking human sacrifice to Viper Grant, Crusher’s right-hand-man who was now in charge of The Hellions. Doing it to keep everyone else safe, Wolf had said, but if the past few years had taught Iceanything, it was that no matter how hard he tried – and he reallyhadtried, he’d fucking tied himself up inknotstrying to protect everyone – The Road Devils werenotsafe, their loved ones and friends werenotsafe. Not even fucking close.

Ice had begged his President to take him to Utah too. Ice had argued that he could watch Wolf’s back out there, that Wolf going alone was nothing but suicide, and that whatever promises Viper had made regarding his safety were useless and worthless. Wolf had flat-out refused his Chief Enforcer’s help, and had told Ice to stay here in Denver and support Scars, who was stepping in as Acting-President.

It seemed to Ice that the MC was slowly but surely falling apart, one devastating piece at a time. Death and destruction, murder and mayhem, foes and fuck-ups, everywhere that helooked. And if all ofthisshit had happened on Ice’s lookout, when he’d been actively on alert and had been watching for trouble, just what the hell was going to happen to his Prez when Ice wasn’t anywhere close-by, didn’t have eyes on him?

Ice had a horrible feeling, way deep down in the pit of his stomach, that when Wolf peeled off into the sunset and headed to Utah, that would be the last that any of the boys saw of him. He might be the toughest fucker that Ice knew, and Wolf also possessed a level of cunning and smarts that left every other man in the MC in the dust… but he wasn’t invincible.

Andthat’swhat had Ice’s parents poking their heads out of their graves,that’swhat had him up at four o’clock in the morning.That’swhat was setting off every single fucking nerve in his body, and they were vibrating so hard that they were practically jangling like Christmas bells.

Jingle bells, jingle bells.

Shut the fuck up.

Ice roughly shoved any and all thoughts of Christmas out of his mind; he hadn’t celebrated it since he was six, and he avoided anything and everything to do with it. The fact that it was just around the corner – just under a month away now – was yetanotherreason that he was feeling pressured and cornered and weirdly panicky. None of this was like him… he’d earned the name Ice fair and square, but right now, he was a melting iceberg.

Too much going on all at once – and no way for me to get any control over it. Goddammit.

He poured his third cup of coffee and went back to his chair. He sank down into the leather, saw that the stars had moved and dimmed a bit. Ice glanced over at the clock in the kitchen and was startled to see that it was now going on six-thirty. Time was going fast today, a bit too fast for his liking, because as much as he detested sitting here and fretting and stewing, he wasn’tat allready for the day’s events. He hated weddings at the best of times, but considering everything that was happening, he was dreading hauling ass out to Open Skies Ranch to witness Scars and Zoe getting married. He was glad that they’d found each other, and he’d never let down his Acting-President, but he’d give a lot right now for an iron-clad reason to not have to be in the presence of love for hours and hours.

And now – as the first of the morning light lazily touched the mountain peaks, turning their icy caps pink and gold – yetanotherreason for Ice’s stress and disquiet came to mind. He’d been studiously ignoring it, forcing it out of his already brimming mind… but in the stillness of the glorious dawn, alone in his minimalist little apartment, downing his third coffee and pondering his worries for Wolf and his brothers, lying to himself about it any longer just seemed stupid. Stupid and weak.

So here she came in his mind’s eye, just walking on over to him, flashing those incredible firm thighs and curvy hips in a short skirt, her full breasts pushing up against her tight little t-shirt. Her long blonde hair fell over her slim shoulders like a shining waterfall, and her amazing dark eyes – a beautiful inky almost-black, a color that Ice had never seen on anyone except her – were bright with desire. She gave him a heart stopping smile, and all that Ice wanted was to take her in his arms, take her into the back room. Justtakeher.

Vix.

In Satan’s Bar, Victoria ‘Vixen’ Shaw was known as the MC’s favorite ride – and she was rumored to have been with every one of the guys, and multiple times, though Ice knewthatto not be true, at all. Whatwastrue was that she had been the ultimate pass-around, the quintessential biker’s girl… and she owned that moniker, without shame. The woman was smokily and sexily hot, aboutthatthere was no doubt, and she had the brazen, aggressive, unpolished beauty of a wild creature. There was nothing demure or elegant or wallflower about Vix as she carried out her waitressing duties. She was, to her core, an MC bar back room toy, and she was proud of it.

Ice had never had an issue with Vix’s sexual activities, never saw her as anything cheap or low. How could he, when he’d been in those back rooms so often himself over the years? Ice was an asshole in more ways than he could count, but he wasn’t a hypocrite. Except that it turned out that he was worse than that: he was actually a bigger prick than evenheknew.

The last words that he’d spoken to Vix came back to him now:

“The only useful part of you is between your legs, not between your ears. Keep your fucking inane thoughts to yourself, whore.”

God, the look on her beautiful face when he’d said that… he’d never seen her hurt before, but that wasallhe’d seen that day. He’d lashed out at Vix because he’d felt frustrated and impotent about Wolf going to Utah, and he’d taken it out on her. Just unloaded on a woman who didn’t deserve it, not even a little bit. He’d been utterly appalled at himself, shocked and disgusted with the uncalled-for name-calling. Worse thanthat, though, was the name that he’d actually used.

Whore.

The way that he’d said it, the tone and the vitriol, was an echo of someone else’s voice, a voice that still carried almost thirty years later. A man with Ice’s same blue eyes and cropped blond hair, and his height and strength. And rage.

Dear Christ, am I turning intohim? Have I alwaysbeenhim?

Ice had just turned and walked away from Vix that day, left her standing there. Ice knew the truth about Vix, which was that she hadn’t been with anyone except him for well over a year now. Oh, sure, the woman flirted with men and flaunted her hot little body – but that came with the territory when you waited for tips at a biker bar. When she’d told him that she was with himonly, thathewas all she wanted, he’d never doubted her for one second; she was honest with him about her sexual desire and her sexual history. She was also the hottest thing that he’d ever touched – she drove him crazy with want.

And then he had called her a whore, just thrown that absolute bullshit insult in her face. All because he was angry.

Despite his violent history, Ice didn’t much believe in having regrets, didn’t at all believe in wallowing in doubt. If he’d taken a life, it had been necessary, and that was that. He didn’t spend time agonizing over what he’d done and he didn’t lose sleep over any of it… but if he were being honest now, he bitterly and totally regretted saying what he did to Vix in that bar hallway. He felt deep shame about it, actually, and he was struggling with this new emotion; before now, Ice Johansson had thought that he was impervious to it.

This had all happened two weeks ago, and they hadn’t spoken since. Ice knew that he should have gone to Vix that same day and apologized. He should have made it right, and right away, but not only was he a colossal prick, he was also apparently a pathetic coward.

As he poured his fourth bucket-sized cup of coffee, he turned that word over and over in his mind. He doubted that anyone wouldeverthink to call him a coward to his face, not unless they had a death wish, but Ice had to face the truth: he was afraid to talk to Vix, terrified to apologize. And why? Well…

“Don’t trust a woman. Not one, not ever. Don’t let one close to you.Neverlet one get anything over on you.”

Ice wasgood and worried about a lot of shit right now, and if he were being honest with himself –and what better time than when I’m sitting here alone and downing gallons of coffee like water?– he was freaked out at how much of a hold Vix had over him. He just couldn’t believewhatshe’d come to mean to him, despite his utter lack of interest in relationships; he didn’t understand justhowshe’d crawled into his mind and set up residence in there.

It was an unending source of confusion to Ice justwhyhe’d taken his asshole father’s last words to him to heart, but he had. Fuck knows that he didn’t carry around anything else that the bastard had ever told him, but that advice about women had burrowed into his skin and just taken hold. But why?

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