Page 67 of The Devil's Weakness

“Let’s go.”

I lead her over to my truck and open the passenger side door for her.

“I get to ride in the front this time?” she laughs.

“Get up there, smartass.” I gently smack her ass before she sits down.

Once I climb into the driver’s seat and start her up, I head down Brick Store Road toward the heart of town.

“I guess I don’t need to give you directions to my house,” she says.

I grin but don’t look at her.

“Sasha, since you are going to be around, there are a few important things that I need to tell you.” I begin.

There’s a certain code that we live by. We might be outlaws, but we still have rules to follow.

“The most important thing is discretion. We’re extremely private. We don’t consort with outsiders, present company excluded, of course.” I shoot her a smile. She already looks like she’s overwhelmed by the rules, and I’m only on the first one. “Long story short, you can’t tell anyone about anything that goes on in the Club. Period. If you can remember that, you’re golden.”

“What happens if I do? By accident or something?”

“The last person to talk about Club business got his tongue cut out.”

“Got it,” she gulps, wide-eyed and terrified.

“I’ll leave it at that for now, but if you have any questions, all you need to do is ask me. I probably won’t be able to answer all of them—there are some things you’re not allowed to know. But I promise I’ll answer any that I can.”

The rest of the short ride is quiet. I wish I was better at this. I’ve talked more around her in the past three days than I’ve talked around anyone inside the Club or out in a long time. But right now, I’m all out of things to say.

When we get to her apartment, I pull into the space in front of her unit and hop out. By the time I make it to her side of the truck, she’s already half out of the car. I shoot her a look, which is returned with just about the same level of displeasure.

She’s not going to make this easy, but I’ve lived an entire lifetime of “not easy.” Great, now she has me using mental air quotes. I roll my eyes at them, but she thinks it’s directed at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not helpless. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I can open my own door,” she snaps.

As she walks away, I softly take her by her bicep and swing her back around to look at me. Gently, I push her back against the side of my truck and pin her with a stare. I need to make sure she understands exactly what I’m about to say.

“Just because youcando something doesn’t mean youcan’taccept help when it’s offered. I know we barely know one another, but I know enough about you to tell that you’re a survivor. You’re more than capable of a lot of things, Sasha. Me wanting to help you doesn’t mean I don’t think you can do it. Got it?”

She looks surprised by what I just said. Maybe she wasn’t expecting me to be so firm with her. Maybe she wasn’t expecting me to be upset by what she said. I don’t care how many times it takes for my words to sink in before she believes me. I’ll say them a million more times if I need to.

She still hasn’t responded when we see one of her neighbors come out of their apartment—an older woman who looks far too interested in what we’re doing.

She pushes me away instead of letting this person witness her in close contact with a deplorable person such as myself. It doesn’t matter, though. Small town gossip travels faster than a snow cone melts in the pits of hell. All it takes is one busy body like her to get it going.

It’s exactly the kind of unsolicited help I need for my claim over Sasha to spread through Whispering Valley like wildfire.

Without responding to a word that I said, she marches off toward her door. It’s not until she tries putting her key in the lock that I remember her entire doorknob configuration is fucked from when I busted her door down.

Before she gets her key in, I speak up.

“It’s not locked. It’s barely closed.”

She stops and turns to look at me again. Her cocked eyebrow and pursed lips get hotter every time she throws her attitude my way.

“God, you’re sexy when you do that,” I admit.

“This isn’t time for jokes,” she spits.

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