Circle of Death (19 page)

“Yeah,” he says, crossing his arms, “Like I said, my club’s going nowhere near that stuff. But these guys just won’t take no for an answer. They want us for distribution, and their means of persuasion are getting a bit too...aggressive for my taste.”

“Why can’t they just find someone else to do their dirty work for them?” I ask.

“They want the best,” Devlin says proudly. “But I love how defensive you’re getting on our behalf.”

“Can’t help it,” I shrug, “Between you and Juliet, all the people I care about most in the world are in the Circle of Death.”

I bite my tongue, glancing up at Devlin to see if I’ve gone too far. We try and steer clear of sentimental, lovey mutterings between us. And right now, I can feel that I’m toeing the line. But Devlin takes it in stride, thank god.

“Anyway, I’m sure they’ll back off soon,” he says. “They tried going through one of our smaller chapters. That’s the news Packer had for me the other day. We had to get rid of the brother they bought off. But it’s all taken care of now. No other weak links to worry about.”

“What do you mean when you say ‘get rid of’?” I ask nervously.

“Try on that dress,” Devlin replies, dodging my question entirely, “I want to see how fucking sexy you look in it.”

He leaves me alone to get ready for the evening. I can’t help but be a little perturbed by the details of Devlin’s club business. It would almost be easier if I knew everything about the situation at hand. Knowing only a few details leaves my imagination to run wild. But I guess the only way to be trusted with more information is to prove myself trustworthy.

Lingering shame tugs at my heartstrings as I do up my makeup for the night. It doesn’t escape me that my motives for coming to this island make me the least trustworthy person imaginable to the Circle of Death. Even though I’ve officially killed the story I was meant to write about Devlin and the guys, I can’t help but feel residually guilty about the whole thing. Should I just come clean to Dev about how I ended up here?

“Don’t be stupid,” I mutter to myself, swiping some red onto my full lips. “You’ve got a great thing going, here. No need to fuck it up with full disclosure.”

With my vixenish makeup completed and my hair smoothed out into long, black waves, I’m ready to slip into the dress Devlin so generously bought for me. I step reverently into the gown, holding my breath as I zip up the sinfully low back. When I turn to face myself in the mirror, I barely recognize the person staring back.

The crimson dress glances elegantly against my every curve, showcasing my full bust, cinched waist, and firm ass. I look like a grownup woman of the world. The whole effect is overwhelming. Empowering.

“I didn’t think you could look any sexier,” I hear Devlin growl from the doorway. “But I’ll be damned...”

I turn around to face him, my face breaking into a wicked grin. I’ve never felt more beautiful in my life than when his eyes are on me.

“It’s funny,” I laugh, striding across the bathroom toward him. “You get the same hungry look in your eye whether I’m wearing hiking gear or an evening gown.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous in both,” he shrugs. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me want you less.”

Another twang of guilt pulls at me. I suspect that I know one thing that would, in fact, make Devlin less of a Logan Farrah fan. But no need to think of that now.

“You wanna get dressed so you can show me off to all the douchey bankers downstairs?” I ask, lacing my arms around Devlin’s neck.

“What I want is to throw you up against the wall and fuck you until you scream,” he replies, tugging me hard against his body. “But I don’t want to mess up your hair.”

“You’re incorrigible,” I tease, planting a kiss on Dev’s defined pec. I smile to see that a red lipstick mark is left in its wake, right across the capital “D” of his Diabolus tattoo.

“When it comes to you, I sure as fuck am,” he says, cupping my chin in his hand. “You know, I thought I’d be sorry to leave this place behind, after this week. But now that I know you’re coming with me? I don’t mind one bit.”

“It’s mutual, Dev,” I smile. “I can’t wait to see what your real life looks like.”

“And you’re not gonna get scared away,” he says firmly. I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. “You’re not going to run as soon as you see what my world is really like. What I’m really like.”

“Of course not,” I say softly, laying my hands on his firm, bare chest.

“Good,” he says gruffly, “Because I couldn’t fucking take that, Logan. I really couldn’t.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to sounding sentimental. But something tells me that this man is not going to go soft and mushy on me, no matter how much we may care about each other. And, honestly? That’s just fine with me.

“You’re stuck with me, Vile,” I say, gazing up into those endless dark eyes. “So get used to the idea, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” he laughs, giving my ass a firm squeeze.

“Get dressed, you animal,” I laugh, shoving him playfully away, “We’ve got a casino to take by storm, remember?”

Begrudgingly, he deigns to put on his finest suit—a dark, charcoal piece. I watch him as he gets ready, amazed that I have the privilege of seeing him like this. To the rest of the world, Devlin Vile is a ruthless, hardened criminal. I’m the only one who gets to know him as a real man. A person. It’s not an opportunity that I’m looking to waste, either. Who would have thought that the one person to inspire faith and trust in me would be someone so feared and reviled by the rest of the world?

“OK,” Devlin says, suited up and gorgeous as ever, “Let’s do this thing.”

I lace my arm through his, proud to be the woman at his side for the night. And for much longer than a night, if I have any say in the matter.

Chapter Seventeen

Devlin

Every single head turns our way as Logan and I walk out onto the main floor of The Club. Men and women alike are transfixed by the sight of my girl, and I don’t blame them. I’ll still crack open anyone’s skull who tries to make a move on her, but I can’t blame them for staring in the meantime.

“What’s everyone looking at?” she mutters to me, her grip tightening on my arm.

“You, babe. They’re all looking at you,” I tell her.

Logan rolls her eyes at me as I lead her into the sea of rich men and scantily clad women. She has no idea how incredibly sexy she is. No idea whatsoever. But that disinterest in the power of her good looks is part of what draws me to her. She’s gotten this far in life using her brain alone, never resorting to her sex appeal to get what she wants. It’s a powerful quality.

Logan’s a rare breed here at The Club. Apart from Juliet and a couple of other rich wives, all the women on this island are employees of The Club. Working girls. They run everything around here—from the card tables, to the bars, to the more
intimate
services on tap. Then of course there are the mainland girls who come in to party at night. We’re due for another boatload tomorrow. But Logan even stood out from those girls from the second she stepped foot on this rock. My girl is one of a kind.

What is this “my girl” shit?”
I ask myself, as I lead Logan up to the long bar that circles the room. I’ve been secretly thinking of her as mine all week. And now that she’s agreed to come back to Maine with me, that thinking’s in high gear. Trouble is, the MC life doesn’t really accommodate casual visitors. Logan’s not a sweet butt or an old lady, but lingering in the middle ground isn’t really the Circle of Death way. At some point, that bridge will have to be crossed. Or else burned.

“Two whiskeys. Neat,” I tell the bartender, a woman dressed up as a sexy queen of hearts. She’s conventionally hot, but she doesn’t hold a candle to the woman at my side.

Logan looks out across the expansive, whirling kaleidoscope of a room, settling elegantly onto her barstool. She even makes swigging whiskey look classy. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not just some biker thug who doesn’t deserve her. I may have started out as some poor kid from Western Massachusetts, but I’ve built myself up into Devlin fucking Vile. I’ll never stop being proud of how far I’ve come.

It’s not that I really worry about being good enough for Logan. I’m just pretty amazed to have found my match. I’ve always been a dominate sort of man. Hell, I wouldn’t be where I am today if that wasn’t the case. But never before have I met a woman who can bring me to my knees just by sinking to hers. Every time Logan gives herself over to me, I’m like a man possessed by the need to please her. To show her how grateful I am for her power, her grace, her whole badass self.

I have no idea how to make sense of it, but I’m not complaining about the dynamic, that’s for sure.

“What’re you thinking about, stud?” Logan asks me now, taking a long, luscious sip of whiskey.

“One guess,” I grin, snaking an arm around her tiny waist.

“We only just got here,” she laughs, shoving me playfully, “You can’t carry me back to bed already.”

“Fine,” I sigh, pretending to be annoyed. “Let’s hit the blackjack table then. The sooner we throw down some chips and rake in a little cash, the sooner I can rip that dress right back off that perfect body of yours.”

Logan shoots me her sexiest, most mischievous look as she laces her fingers with mine and tugs me into the fray of the casino floor. I trail close behind her, making sure everyone knows exactly who she came here with. She weaves through the roiling crowd like a minnow, but I prefer to move like a great white shark, parting the swarm as I go.

Just as Logan eases up to the blackjack table, I find myself face-to-face with two little fish who don’t want to swim out of my way. If they don’t beat it, I might have to swallow them whole. I look down with annoyance at the two men who have placed themselves firmly in my path. As soon as I’ve put names to their smug fucking faces, I feel my blood rise to a boil.

“Hello again, Mr. Vile,” smiles the blonde prick from Leviathan who showed up to my headquarters right before our trip. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“You fuckers better get out of my sight. Fast,” I snarl, “Or I can’t be held responsible for what I do to you.”

“I’m sure,” smiles the second, darker man.

“We’re going to need you to join us for a little chat,” says the first man.

“Not on your life, Mikey,” I sneer, pushing past the posh little shits.

“It’s not our lives you should be concerned about at the moment,” says the second man.

I turn back to face them, my entire body vibrating with pent-up rage. “Did you just threaten me, Jimmy?” I ask, my voice low and deadly.

“That wasn’t so much a threat as it was a promise,” Jim replies, crossing his arms. I watch as his eyes gravitate down to my chest, and my gaze follows suit.

“Fuck,” I mutter, spotting the hovering red dot of a gunman’s sight, right there over my heart. Looks like they’ve got backup.

“Convinced?” Mike asks, a grin splitting his tanned face.

I spot Logan looking my way over Mike and Jim’s heads. The corners of her mouth are turned down in concern, and I can tell she’s about to head my way if I don’t put her at ease. I muscle my expression into one of calm and hold up my hand, signaling to her that all is well. Her eyes linger on mine for half a second more before she reluctantly turns back to the game. We’ve gotten pretty good at reading each other—but I’m glad she can’t see all the way through me just yet.

“Let’s go,” I say to the primped suits before me.

“Good man,” Mike smiles, clapping me on the shoulder.

It takes every bit of restraint I have not to snap his arm off. By some herculean effort, I refrain, and let the men lead me away through the crowded club. I allow myself one last glance at Logan see that she’s staring after me, too. I muster up a reassuring smile to shoot her way. No use in worrying her, is there? Scare tactics aside, these idiots are no match for me.

And neither are their sadistic Leviathan bosses.