Page 20 of Devil to Pay: Cutter

“No. It’s Ace. He’s named after Sarge’s favorite band AC/DC. Get it? AC—Ace.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s actually cool.”

Greer, who smiles with her whole face, turns it on me. “It is. Thank you.”

“I didn’t know bikers do the whole ‘family’ thing. Not to say they don’t have kids—bastards floating around in the world or mistakes they don’t support at all. But families wig me out.”

“Sarge wants as many kids as I’m willing to pop out. He lost a son when he was still with the Marines.”

“Oh–” I gasp. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too, for him. No parent should go through that,” Greer says. “So now it’s like he’s on a one-man mission to double the population of Kentucky. But I grew up pretty much alone, and Sarge can be particularly persuasive when he wants to be.”

“Which is every time he gets you alone,” Nic says, laughing.

“I came with kids,” Rae says. “Dark wanted me, he needed to accept them, too. We’re a package deal. One I’m just really glad he decided he wanted for the long haul.”

I want to believe them, but it doesn’t make sense. Bikers and babies donotcompute.

“And you guys are okay with them bedding club whores when they get tired of playing family man?”

Not one of them attempts to answer but instead the trio of gorgeous women hold a conversation with only their eyes while Nic invites me to rummage through her plethora of bikinis hanging in a closet. It’s bigger than any place I’ve ever lived. They’re close, and that makes me uncomfortable because I don’t know if they’re good people or spies for their men, for the club. Though I’m not sure what information they’d hope to glean from me. The women who hung around the Death Bringers’ clubhouse were as cutthroat as the men. I always had to watch my back around them. I always had to watch my mouth around them. But with Nic, Rae and Greer, I’m not sure if they’re being sincere or really good at snagging unsuspecting prey into their nets.

“So, I take it you don’t have any kids?” Nic asks and I bark out a laugh at the ridiculous question.

“No. I’d be a terrible mother. If I can’t get my own shit together, how would I expect to take care of anyone else’s? Every decision I’ve ever made in my life has been the wrong one. Do I change in the bathroom?” I point to the master next to the closet because I need to get away from them for a few minutes. I need a chance to clear my head.

“Sure. Go on in,” Nic offers. “We have our suits on under our clothes. Come downstairs, out the sliding door. That’s where we’ll be.”

After shooting her a single nod, I step into the bathroom and shut the door. They do know that I stole from Cutter, right? Why would she leave me alone in this beautiful home? Not that I have any plans of stealing from her, but she can’t know that.

Nic’s chest is slightly smaller than mine, given the way my boobs fit—or don’t quite fit, to be exact—in the swatches of triangle meant to be a top, baring more side boob than I think it’s meant to. My ass fits in the bottoms just fine.

As I walk down the hallway and down the stairs, it’s evident that Nic is proud of her family. Vlad’s and hers and the MC family. She’s decorated the walls and shelves in artfully candid photos. Deep down, I feel the jealousy rearing up, which I hate myself for. What good does jealousy do? It won’t change my shitty life. Why should she not have something good just because I don’t?

I straighten my shoulders before sliding open the heavy glass door leading to a patio. Beyond that, I see the girl posse already in the pool, all with large Mason jars full of margaritas. Lime wedges and umbrellas present daintily sitting on top of the drinks.

“That suit looks really good on you,” Nic says. It’s a simple, black, glittery number.

“Aside from the boobs,” I reply.

“Actually, the tight top looks sexy,” Rae says. “Cutter sees you in that, you won’t be in it long.”

“Guys—” I start.

“We know,” Greer says, cutting in. “You and Cutter aren’t together. But we all know you’re bumping uglies.”

Is it that obvious? I feel my cheeks heat.

“Stop, Greer,” Rae says. “You’re embarrassing her. Her cheeks are bright red.”

“What? She’s hot. There’s no way that he’d let her go without hitting that. And we’ve all seen what Cutter’s packing at club parties. He’s hot, has a huge dick, and he knows how to use it. Do any of you think she’s stupid enough to turn that down? Because I don’t.”

“Didn’t ZZ Top sing ‘every girl’s crazy for a big-dicked man’?” Rae asks.

“I think that’s ‘sharp dressed,’ but I like your version better,” answers Nic wearing a wide grin and winking at her friend.

“Best sex of my life,” spills from my mouth without my consent. I throw my hand over it to stop any other embarrassing things from falling out. And these crazy bitches offer up bemused smiles to me and to each other while falling against one another, shoulder to shoulder. I swear they’re laughing without making a sound.

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