Read Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6) Online

Authors: Marysol James

Tags: #romance, #Contemporary, #suspense, #Fiction, #Women's Fiction, #Romantic Suspense

Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6) (26 page)

BOOK: Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6)

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And so standing in the blazing sunlight, clutching her coffee, Zoe finally faced facts: she
needed
this. She
needed
what Wolf was offering her. Life in North Dakota wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t anything close to great, either.

Her current job at the tattoo parlor barely covered her expenses, and now that she had Keira, she was struggling. Like,
really
struggling. The money that she’d earn in Denver was more than double what she was making in Fargo, and even though the cost of living was higher here, she’d easily be able to afford a small apartment, and her car payments, and food and clothes for a growing baby. She could make a go of it, for real. Life could and would be better, and she owed it to Keira to give her this. Fuck, Zoe deserved a break too, didn’t she? Just a little one?

And she could handle being around the Road Devils again, couldn’t she? Besides Wolf, she’d limit contact with them almost completely – stay at the tattoo studio most of the time, maybe drop by the bar for a beer once a month, just to say hi to the guys. Be friendly, be polite, but be unavailable for anything more than tattoos, and the occasional game of pool. No need to become best buddies with any of them;
definitely
no need to get personally involved with any of them. No good ever came from
that
, God knows.

So basically she was acting like a bratty kid sister and just fucking with Wolf, asking for the papers and playing coy. The truth was that her mind was almost made up.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding, huh? I’m coming back to Denver. This is home, and it always has been.

Chapter Two

Scars Innis groaned as his cell vibrated on the hotel bedside table. He cracked one eye open, grimaced at the time.

Fucking ten o’clock. Really?

He stretched out one hand, and fumbled with the phone, cursing at the dull, dusty pounding in his head. Yeah, he was hungover. Again.

“What?” he ground out, his voice rough. “
What
?”

“Vic?”

Scars fell back on the bed, his muscular forearm covering his blue eyes against the bright late-spring sun. “Sam.”

“You OK?”

“I’m fucking sleeping, man.”

“It’s ten o’clock.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve been up since five, right, Doctor Innis? Saving lives, and being generally awesome?”

“Actually, I haven’t been to bed yet. I’m just leaving the hospital. There was a bad car accident last night, and I pulled a double shift. Nine people died.” Sam paused. “Including a family. Two young kids.”

Scars sighed. “Fuck, Sam. I’m sorry. You doing alright?”

His brother gave a shaky laugh, and right away, Scars’ body tightened up. He knew
that
laugh: it was Sam’s poor attempt to cover up bottomless pits of hurt and helplessness. The accident would have thrown Sam back more than twenty years, to that horrible rainy night when their parents were killed. Watching those people die right in front of him would have just ripped scabs off old wounds; Scars was certain that his brother had fought like hell to keep those people alive, and the fact that he’d lost them would pierce him deep.

He imagined Sam in his scrubs, his dark eyes deceptively calm behind his glasses, his hands covered with the blood of strangers. He’d have intubated, and sliced, and sewn, and done CPR, and performed surgeries… and in the end, nobody had lived to see the sunrise. Talk about fucking devastating.

“Sam?” Scars’ voice was gentler now. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m OK. I’m just – I’ll be better after I get some sleep.” He paused again. “I’m sorry I woke you up… I just needed to talk to you. To hear your voice.”

“It’s fine, man. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“Where are you, Vic?”

Scars flinched at the use of his civilian name, but then again, nobody on the whole planet called him that except his kid brother, so he’d take it from him.

“Not in Denver.” Scars shifted his large body on the bed, winced as his stomach heaved a bit. “Club business.”

“I see.” Sam’s voice was flat. “You’ll be back soon?”

“By tomorrow night. You want to meet up? Hang out a bit?”

“Coffee sounds good.”

Scars wished that Sam had said ‘beer’, but for his brother, he’d do coffee. Not before noon, though. Lines had to be drawn
somewhere
.

“Yeah, OK. Coffee it is.” Scars sat up carefully, wondering if he could handle coffee now, decided to go for it. “Sunday afternoon?”

“Yeah. Call me when you get back.”

“I will.”

“Vic?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re being careful, right?”

“Sam, I’ve told you a thousand times: the club’s out of all that shady shit now. I’m not doing anything that any other businessman wouldn’t do.”

“So what
are
you doing?”

“I’m meeting with alcohol suppliers for the bar.”

Sam was silent. “Really?”

“Yeah. Wolf’s unhappy with some of our current suppliers’ delivery times, and he asked me to find a few alternatives.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Scars swung his legs over the side of the bed, waited for his head to stop spinning. “It’s all above-board now, I swear to you. Wolf has completely changed the club, and we’re all better off for it.”

“OK.” Sam sighed. “I’m at my car now, so I’ve got to go. Call me, yeah? And be safe?”

“I will. To both things. Go get some rest.”

“I will.”

Scars disconnected, and threw the phone on the mattress. He knew he should get some more sleep, but he was one of those people that when he was awake, he was awake. Still, though – he hadn’t hit the bed until five o’clock, and he could definitely use another three hours.

He got to his feet, ambled over to the coffee machine. He puzzled over the fucking knobs and buttons for while –
fancy-ass shit in this hotel, man
– and after consulting the goddamn instructions, he finally figured out that the capsule thing went inside the top. He shut the lid, gingerly pressed a few buttons, remembered to actually stick the damn cup under the spout just in time. He was gratified when the coffee started to pour, and he inhaled, starting to feel semi-human again.

As he waited for the coffee to finish, he hit the bathroom. He used the toilet, stared at himself in the mirror. Yeah, he looked pretty bad: his brown hair was standing up on end, his blue eyes were tired and bloodshot. And that was all
before
you considered the long, shiny scars on his face and hands, and most of his left side.

He went back in to the main area, and grabbed the cup of coffee. He took a huge gulp, then another, wondered if he was up to opening the blinds. He knew it was another clear and bright May day out there, sunny and a bit cool. Perfect weather for riding his motorcycle – but with sunglasses, of course. His hangover needed to be placated by shades.

His mind wandered back to the night before. He’d ended up in some dive bar on the side of the highway that in some ways reminded him of his second-favorite Denver bar, Dangerous Curves. It had been full of questionable types, which he liked just fine, seeing as he was one such type himself, and easy women, which he didn’t like nearly as much.

The problem was that easy women liked
him
plenty. He got the attraction, he really did: the ladies went for large, muscular, scowling bikers with big hands, and lots of tattoos. If they weren’t repulsed by his scars, then they found them a turn-on. They usually imagined that he’d gotten them in some badass MC-related event, and Scars never bothered to correct them. It was none of their fucking business, anyway.

No, one-nighters had never been his thing, surprisingly. Scars was a one-woman kind of man, and the trouble was that his sort-of-chosen lifestyle made it hard to find a one-man kind of woman. Oh, sure, he’d had some girlfriends. Even serious ones. But there had been nobody since Rachel, and she’d dumped him more than a year ago.

Scars thought about Rachel for a few seconds, wondered if she’d found what she’d wanted with her new guy. Scars had tried hard to be everything that she’d needed, but he just couldn’t go all the way… hell was going to freeze over before he tied up and hit a woman in the bedroom, or anywhere else. Even if she
had
begged him to do it.

He shook his head, drank some more coffee. Maybe it was time to give it another shot on the woman front. God knows, he was ready to get laid again, and he also wouldn’t mind having someone around in the mornings. He liked making more than one cup of coffee, liked showering with a woman, liked having someone to call during the day. Now that all this shit with Dawson and the new club had started to settle down, maybe Scars would focus on his personal life once more.

Now the fun part: finding a woman with hot looks, and a razor-sharp brain, and a good heart, and an awesome sense of humor. Yeah, like a woman like
that
is just gonna waltz on in to Satan’s Bar. Dream on, man.

I hope that you liked this sneak peek of ‘The Devil’s Scars’ (The Road Devils MC #1), which is Scars and Zoe’s story. It will be released in spring 2016, so check my
Facebook
page and
Twitter
stream for updates, or sign up for my
newsletters
to stay on top of all my news.

Thank you for reading!

Marysol

About the author

Marysol James is the author of the 'Open Skies', ‘Fighting For Love’, 'Unseen Enemy' and 'Dangerous Curves' series, as well as the upcoming 'The Road Devils MC' series.

She writes steamy, sexy, slinky romances which feature strong, complex women and equally fascinating men. Marysol is interested in producing well-written and passionate stories with characters who learn to let go of control and to trust – both in and out of the bedroom.

Her stories are very sensual (very!), and offer smart plots, a bit of humor, and lots of character development, so her books will appeal to readers who want emotional connection as well as sexuality.

When not writing, Marysol can be found swimming, doing yoga, listening to music and drinking coffee. To stay up-to-date with her, visit her official author website at
www.marysoljames.com

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