Page 21 of The Devil's Ice

“So, I know that it’s all unpredictable, and Scars will definitely need you around more.” She shrugged, her long hair rippling like sunlight over her shoulders. “If he calls, you need to come, and if I’m here when that happens, I’ll just have to deal with it. I know that, and you should too.”

Ice nodded slowly. She was right, of course, as she was right about so many things. He wondered just how idiotic he was, truly, to not have seen her as more than a great fuck before now. She’d been there this whole time, standing right in front of him, and he hadn’t seen her. Not at all.

And now that he did, Vix was out the door. Literally.

“I’ve got to get to work,” Vixen said quietly. “But I’m glad we talked, actually.”

“Me too.”

She gave him a small smile and opened the staff room door.

“Vix?”

She turned back to him.

“I really am sorry.”

Vixen studied him, saw something that she just couldn’t place; all she knew was that it wasn’t an expression that she’d ever seen on that hard, gorgeous, closed face before. She’d seen Ice ice-cold with controlled rage, and molten hot with lust, and even unfairly cruel. Butthis… what was this?

“I know you are,” she said, and stepped out into the hallway, ending the conversation completely.

She walked to the bar, giving Cole a vague smile, her mind still working furiously to figure out what the hell that look had been. And as she took lunch orders and dutifully brought over Diet Cokes and sparkling water, and watched that lazy bitch Cara disappear to the bathroom every ten minutes, her mind kept whirring, just unable to let it go.

It was like one of those slot machine things, the one with all the fruit and ‘7’s’ and gold bars, where you pull the lever down, with everything just going around and around, seemingly aimlessly and endlessly and at random. Vixen had never been able to make heads or tails of the game, and didn’t have a clue what all those oranges and lemons evenmeant.

Suddenly, as she stood at the bar waiting for Cole to finish pouring the twentieth Coke of her shift, her mind stopped spinning and all the cherries clunked into place, in a tidy little row. In that second, she thought she knew what that look on Ice’s face had been:

If it were anyone else, I’d call it regret.

But since it was Ice, she didn’t believe that. Not at all.

Chapter Seven

The first thing that Wolf felt was pain. It sliced through his head so deep that his teeth and cheekbones actually hurt. He bit back a groan, heard breathing coming from in front him, tried to get some sense of who else was in the room with him.

There was a sudden kick to his stomach, and the force of it rolled him over. Now he felt the concrete floor beneath him, and its chill brought him back into his body more fully. It came to him that he was completely naked.

Another kick, this one aimed at his upper back. “Wake up, asshole.”

Wolf opened his eyes, saw a gray wall just a few feet in front of him. He blinked, and full sensation and consciousness rushed into his head, his body, his fingertips. He was one hundred percent awake and aware – and he wasseriouslyfucking pissed off. Too pissed off to feel worry or fear,thatwas for sure.

In a single movement and without any warning, he shot to his feet, turning as he did so: he was gratified to see that Viper and Preacher looked shocked at him getting up so fast and facing them. Without any doubt, they’d been looking forward to giving him a few more kicks while he was down. Quickly, Preacher raised the gun that he’d been holding slack at his side, and Viper narrowed his eyes at Wolf.

“Welcome to your new digs, Connor. I hope the decor meets your expectations. Sorry about the fact that you’re gonna be locked in, but that’s the deal.”

“What thefuck,” Wolf rasped, totally unconcerned about his nudity. “What’s the fuckin’ game you’re playin’ here, boys?”

Viper had fully recovered himself now, and he smiled. “No game.”

“No?”

“No.” Viper cocked his head, and the large black snake tattoo on his neck almost seemed to sway with the motion. “It’s best for everyone if you just stay out of sight, and out of mind.”

Wolf glared at them, trying to get a look at the room out of the corner of his eyes. He saw a bed and a urinal, both of which acutely reminded him of his time in prison. No windows, just one door with a sliding panel at about chest level, a chair with his clothes in a messy pile, and cement everywhere. The chill in the air gave him the sense that this was a basement, and he wondered if he was beneath the clubhouse, or if they’d moved him to some far-flung building that the MC used to hide from the authorities.

And to dispose of any fuckin’ problems.

He had to admit that he wasn’t sure what to say next. If movie villains (and his own personal criminal past) were anything to go by, the best way to get a jerk to start talking was to stay silent. Give them a chance to peacock and crow and monologue, and gather what information you could from their loose tongues and massive egos.

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