Devil's Kiss

Copyright © 2014 Hearts Collective

All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.

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I'd like to dedicate this book to
all the
awesome
readers
:)

DEVIL’S KISS

Widowmakers Motorcycle Club

A
Vegas Titans
Novel

By
Celia Loren

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

I lean against the white-slatted wall of my parents’ ranch house. The Nevada night is heavy with heat, waves of it still rising from the brush-covered ground. Only the sound of parents’ voices cuts through the thick air, carrying out through the living room window above my head. I don’t know what they’re arguing about, and I don’t really care. Their arguments always seem pointless to me anyway—needless and repetitive. The sound of a glass shattering inside startles me. There’s a short silence, and the yelling resumes, louder now than ever.

Pushing off the wall, I pull a pack of Camel Lights from my back pocket. I got one of my older friends to buy them for me. I’m still a couple years away from being about to buy my own smokes, but I’m not going to let
that
stop me. My mom smokes, though both of my parents tell me not to. But I don’t really feel like listening to either of them right now.

I put some distance between me and the house, take out my Zippo, and light up a cigarette. I inhale, but not all the way. I don’t really care for the feel of the smoke traveling down to my lungs, but I
do
like the idea of doing something my parents don’t approve of. It’s silly, I know, but satisfying all the same. I ash onto the dirt and carefully stamp out the smoke, making sure to crush it completely. The brush is dry out here—it could catch fire in an instant.

The low drone of a motorcycle engine signals my older brother’s return. Drew—or Stick, as he likes to be called now—saved up for years to buy his first Harley, working every job he could find. The roaring sound grows louder, and I spot two orbs of light shining down the road that leads to our house. A shiver runs through me, despite the warm weather.

Drew is probably riding with West, his lifelong best friend. They go everywhere together. Stick is the more outgoing of the two, with a mouth that his body can’t quite back up. West is the one who always finishes the fights Stick starts. West’s mom is a real piece of work, and his dad is long gone, so he doesn’t like to spend much time at home. My family life might not be ideal, but it’s better than his. My parents let him stay with us a lot when he was younger. And now...well, he sure grew up.

West is only three years older than me, just nineteen, but he looks like a grown man already. He’s constantly surrounded by women. I’ve seen Stick get plenty of girls interested with his personality and his sense of humor, but all West needs to land a lady is one look. I feel like such a dumb little girl around him. I can always feel my face getting flushed, and my dad inevitably catches me and laughs because I can barely look at West, much less talk intelligibly when he’s around.

Puffing nervously on my cigarette, I pull in more than I mean to. I burst out in a coughing fit, just as the boys arrive. Through watering eyes, I watch the bikes pull into the driveway and hear the engines cut out. I catch my breath and hear the screen door open and shut. Stick will be able to talk my parents down. He’s good at that.

I take a smaller drag of the cigarette and glance back toward the yawning darkness at the rear of the backyard. A twig breaking by the house snaps my focus back. In the dim light spilling out of the windows, I see West making his way out toward me, walking slowly. I can only see the outline of his body, but know it’s him. He has about fifteen pounds and three inches on my father already, and I don’t even think he’s done growing yet.

Shit,
I think to myself,
What do I do?
I try to slow my heartbeat, which has already spiked. I aim to look casual, and immediately feel tenser. I nervously run my hand through my hair as West ambles up to me. At least I’m wearing my short jean cut-offs and a cute tank. Could be worse.

“Hey there, Tiny,” he says by way of greeting. I swallow hard as I feel him stop next to me. This far from the light of the house, I can’t even see his expression. His voice has gotten so deep. Raspy, with a hint of devil-may-care arrogance in it.

“No one calls me that anymore,” I reply, trying for brave but coming off whiny. Tiny is what my family always used to call me because I was so small for my age. But I grew an inch and a half this year, which puts me...well, still below average height, but at least not
as
far
below.

“Oh, yeah? What do they call you now?” West asked, amused.

“Olive,” I say, “You know. My
name
.”

“Olive,” he repeats, tasting the word. I feel a little rush at the sound of my name on his lips. “Aren’t you a little young to be smoking, Olive?”

“I turned sixteen in March,” I reply, attempting to match his cool detachment.

“Sixteen, huh?” he murmurs. I feel his hand close around my wrist and gasp. He slowly but firmly draws my hand, and the cigarette in it, up towards his face. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I can feel my blood rushing loudly through my veins.

He brings my hand up to his mouth and takes a long drag of the cigarette. His thumb strokes the soft inside of my wrist as he breathes in. Time slows down to a crawl at his touch. Lowering my hand, he keeps the cigarette,
my
cigarette, cradled between his lips. He turns his head and drops the smoke from his mouth onto the dirt, quickly stomping it out with his boot.

“Hey! I don’t have many left!” I protest.

“Good,” he growls.

I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that he still has his hand wrapped around my wrist. I fall quiet at once as a long moment passes between us. In the dark, I feel safe with him beside me. I can feel his gaze on me, warm and lingering.

He tugs me gently toward him, closing the distance between us. I only come up to his chest, and can smell sweat and fresh air on him. He draws my arms around him, and I rest them on the small of his back. He runs a hand up my back. I can feel his fingers glance over the clasp of my bra underneath my shirt. My head feels light, and my knees begin to shake.

He brings his hand to my face, running his thumb over my lips. I can’t help but let them part. My head tilts into his palm as he cups my cheek. He leans down, and I feel like I’m watching the moment from outside my body. I’ve been kissed once before by this guy at school, but it was sloppy and rushed. And when my brother found out, the kid got a black eye and a broken rib. Or two. I can tell this kiss is going to be a whole different experience. A wonderful experience...

I breathe in sharply and close my eyes just before his firm lips touch mine. I feel his mouth open against mine, and I follow his lead. His tongue presses into my mouth, and my eyebrows raise at the sensation. I’m amazed how good it feels. I let my tongue glide against his, and feel my body heating up.

I forget any awkwardness and press my body tightly against his. To my surprise, he lets out a low groan, pulling me sharply toward him with both arms. My body lights up where our torsos press against each other and I bury my fingers in his shaggy brown hair. His hands slide down my back, and I gasp as he cups my ass and pulls me roughly against his crotch.

Whoa,
is the only thought I can form.

“Hey West! Where’d you go, man?” calls Stick from the front of the house.

West drops his arms and backs away from me. His quick retreat is jarring after feeling him so intimately against me. I feel like I’m emerging from underwater, and the cold air is a shock to my system.

“Be right there!” West calls back.

We look at each other for a moment. West runs his hand through his hair. “I...” he begins. He glances toward the house and Stick, then back at me. After a moment, he turns toward the house and walks away.

Fuck
. I watch his retreating figure, an inky blot against the light of the house. I turn and kick the dirt in frustration.

Stick is so ridiculously overprotective of me. Sometimes he acts more like my dad than my older brother. Maybe that’s because my dad isn’t really much of a dad, but still. Stick shouldn’t interfere so much. No boys have so much as asked to borrow a pencil from me at school, ever since Stick beat up the kid who gave me my first kiss.

My anger at Stick recedes, and I remember the good part of what just happened. I smile and touch my lips with my fingertips. West just kissed me.
West just kissed me!
And it was good. Really good. And I know he enjoyed it, too, by the rise I felt in his jeans when he pulled me against him.

I take a deep breath to compose myself and brush my hands through my hair. With a smile still plastered on my face, I head back toward the yellow lights of the house.