Hellraiser (The Devil's Own #2) (12 page)

Melissa

Four hours. It’s been four hours and I glance down at my watch nervously just as Jada storms into the clubhouse, her eyes panicked and etched in fear before a roar of bikes pull up.

“They’ve got him!” Jada bursts out.

My body stills and Meadow pushes off the chair. I look to Jada. “Where were you, and who?”

“Hella called me. They’re here now. They’ve got him,” she repeats.

“They’ve got who?” Meadow asks, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Beast. They’ve got him and they let the rest of boys walk. Bar one…” she answers, squeezing her eyes closed.

“Why would he stay?” Meadow asks angrily.

“Meadow, we just have to wait for the boys to get here. Nyx didn’t make it out. We need to see what’s going on. It just doesn’t add up. Beast and Hella? They’re fucking Einsteins in the biker world. There’s no way they would’ve let this happen, surely?” She breaths out, taking a seat on the barstool.

“Nyx didn’t make it?” I whisper hoarsely, the first tear dropping.

“I’m sorry, Melissa. I don’t know what was going on there, but Nyx was a good guy. He didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

I pick up a bottle from behind the bar and look towards Meadow. “I’m sorry. I need to leave.”

She swallows, nodding her head. “I can take you home?”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch a bus. I just—” I step away from the bar, the room spinning, “—need to go.” I drop the bottle back on the bar before storming out of the clubhouse. Once I get outside, the afternoon sun hits my vision and I see a line of bikes pull up through the blur. Swiping the tears off my cheek, I stare at Hella for one last time before walking towards our house to pack my shit.

I’m done with games. Games get people killed. Nyx was my friend and he was a good guy. He didn’t deserve to die. I just want to go home to my bakery by the beach and go back to shit sex with basic men. That’s what’s easy and that’s what’s safe. I’m a quarter of the way back to the house, the rocky gravel imprinting through the soles of my tennis shoes, when the deep growl of Hella’s bike pulses behind me. I pause on my walk, my eyes heavy with defeat. He looks at me over his shoulder and nudges his head, the vibration of his bike idling in its spot.

“Get on the bike, Melissa.” His voice cuts through the loud sensual engine of the Harley.

My shoulders collapse, my tongue slipping over my bottom lip to moisten the sudden dry cracks which have surfaced. His eyebrows rise as he kicks up the stand and swings his leg off the beautifully modified bike. He removes his cap, running his hand over his hair before placing it back on and leaning against his pride and joy. “Get on the bike, babe. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

“I can’t fight anymore, Hella.” A soft whisper releases from my lips.

He pushes off the bike, his strong strides filled with self-assuredness heading straight towards me.

My feet instinctively step backwards. “I’m tired, Brax. I’m
drained
.”

His steps come to a halt. I slowly sweep my eyes up his body until they reach the deep blue eyes that are usually ignited with fire and flying through heat, only to find them somber and unreadable.

“You win,” I declare through a whisper.

“I’m not doing anything, Melissa. I just wanna make sure you get home, no bullshit.”

Seconds pass by, the silent questions hanging in the balance between us. My eyes scan his. “Okay.” I clear my throat. “You can take me home.”

Melissa

3 months later

It’s been three months. Three months since I left Las Vegas and came back to Westbeach to attempt to carry on with my life. My phone vibrates in my apron pocket and I fish it out, gesturing to Lena to continue serving customers so I can take the call.

“Hey,” I say, pushing through the back doors of the kitchen.

“What’re we doing tonight?” Phoebe demands and I exhale.

“What do you mean? I just want to sit at home and relax with a bottle of Sauv. I don’t want to be shoved around in your rock star drama.”

“Oh? It’s like that now, is it?” she asks, mocking her hurt. “No, seriously, I need to do something. Ryker has landed his ass in some trouble and I just need to escape for a bit.” She just said “escape” like Dory did in
Finding Nemo
.

“You’re right. You do need to get out,” I mutter dryly.

“Yes. I think you do, too. When was the last time you had alcohol?”

“Three months.”

“Leave the boy toy at home.”

I smile, clutching my phone. “I can do that.”

“I can’t believe you’re seeing Chase.”

“I wouldn’t call it
seeing
. We’re just messing around.”

“Every night.”

“Okay, so about tonight?” I change the subject before Phoebe sinks her claws into the topic.

“Oh, yes!” She begins rambling off about what to wear and what time she will be coming to get me. Ryker—the twin brother to Ryder, her husband and rock god—has been up to his usual shenanigans, so she needs a break away. After hanging up the phone with her, I put it back into my pocket and finish off my day.

Hella

“The headquarters of The Army has been completely cleared out,” Beast starts, speaking from the head of the table during church. “Everything, from the equipment to the bodies, it’s all been taken care of.”

“By who?” Ripper questions, leaning forward and flicking the ash off his cigarette.

Beast leans into his chair, his index finger running across his lip. “Good question. There was always someone above Kurr—none of us knew who, but we knew it was a government organization. It was all under-the-radar bullshit. We’ve done the dirty work that the US didn’t want to claim responsibility for. Bullshit like that, that’s what they used us for, what they built us for. There were no boundaries. We had the six commandments and that’s what we lived by.”

“Kurr’s dead, that’s all that matters,” I murmur, pulling out a joint from my pocket and blazing it up.

Beast looks at me, his eyes locking into my gaze when something flashes over them. He nods. “Exactly.”

Yeah, bullshit. I saw that. This conversation isn’t over. After I heard about Melissa cozying up to some fucker named Chase, I rode out toward Westbeach, only to pull over and turn around when I realized what the fuck I was doing. I tend to be impulsive to say the least, and I didn’t think through what I was planning to do once I got to Melissa. I sure as fuck ain’t looking for an old lady and Melissa isn’t the type of girl you can snap a leash around her neck, shove a gag in her mouth, and tell her to sit and play nice until I can come home and fuck her pussy until she screams at me to stop.

So I turned around. I’ve been copping shit for it ever since, too. The brothers think they’re funny. We’ll see whose laughing when a girl shows up in their life and they spend every night with their hands wrapped around their shaft with that girl’s—and
only
that girl’s—eyes in their thoughts.

Beast drops the gavel and everyone starts clearing out. Pressing my palms on the table, I go to push out of my seat until I look up to find Beast glaring at me, so I sit back down. Yeah, this conversation isn’t over. I pull out another J and spark it up, inhaling deeply, preparing myself for what is about to come out of this fucker’s mouth.

Melissa

Rolling off the six-pack I’m so used to being on top of, I exhale, my breath caught. Sex with Chase is good. He’s great in bed, but we lack the internal spark I need. I’m not saying it isn’t easy with him; he just doesn’t do it for me past sex, which is okay because he’s using me for the same thing.

“You going out tonight?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows.

I smile, pulling on my bra. “Yeah. Phoebe wants to go out after that shit with Ryker.”

He smiles his boyish smile and I melt a little. Chase has floppy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a natural tan that has come from him living near the beach all his life. “Yeah, I know. Niko is over there with some chick, Bryleigh.”

“Bryleigh Munroe.” I roll my eyes. “It’s all her fault Ryker is in trouble.”

Chase chuckles, wrapping his hand around my arm and pulling me back down to the feather down bed cover. “It’s not her fault he has a hot temper.”

“Hmmm.” I agree to disagree. I push off his chest. “You need to leave. I have to get changed and ready.”

“What? You kicking me out?” he asks with a smile, shocked.

“Yes. Get out.” I point towards the door behind a laugh.

He chuckles, rolls out of the bed, and pulls on his jeans. “Alright.” He throws on his clean white tee, leaving his jeans unbuttoned at the top, and walks over to me. He pulls me into him and kisses my forehead. “Call me if you’re horny.”

I roll my eyes. “Always do,” I answer in a singsong voice, and then he’s gone and I’m left in my apartment alone.

After taking a shower, I’m walking into the kitchen, dancing around my apartment to Iggy Azalea’s
“Team”
when there’s a knock on my door. Picking up the stereo remote, I turn the volume right down before swinging open the door.
What the fuck?

Melissa

“Holy shit,” I whisper, clutching the door handle. “What’re you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, sis,” Millie answers, her head tilting. She looks the same, only a little older. Her blonde hair hangs down her back in natural waves and her eyes are a striking blue, the rings of her irises dark. Her skin is paler than I remember, her cheeks displaying a natural blush and her lips still a little on the Angelina Jolie side. My little sister is stunning.

“Are you going to invite me in?” she asks.

I step out of the way and gesture for her to come in. Closing the door, I turn around to face her, my back pressing against the wall. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your nun costume on.”

She sighs, taking a seat on the sofa, her hands fidgeting nervously. “Melissa, enough of the nun jokes, and it’s called a habit.”

I scoff, pulling open my refrigerator. “Want a drink of anything? Water? Coffee? Vodka?” I twist open the cap of my vodka, pouring some into a glass and adding a couple cubes of ice. Tying my silk robe around myself tighter, I walk into the living room and take a seat on the recliner. Watching her, I take a pull of my drink and she brings her eyes to mine slowly.

“I see you’re still drinking.”

“Hey, I’m going out tonight. Girls’ night. And I haven’t touched a drink for three months, so don’t judge. What can I do for you?”

“I need somewhere to go.”

“Why me? Why not mom? She misses you, you know.” I take another drink before placing my glass on the coffee table, unwrapping my hair from the turban it’s in.

“Because I can’t. I…” She exhales. “Forget it.” She rises from her chair.

“Wait!” I halt her, closely my eyes briefly before cursing under my breath. “You can stay here under one condition.”

She turns, her eyes widening, indicating for me to elaborate. I continue with a smirk.

“You come out tonight. It’s just me and—“

“Forget it. I’ll take my chances homeless.” She goes for the door.

I run up to her, grabbing her arm. “Millie! Stop being dramatic. It’s one night and I swear I’ll shut up and you can stay here for as long as you need.”

She eyes me skeptically. “Promise?”

My eyes flick to the kitchen briefly. “Yes, I promise, if you don’t mind Chase coming over sometimes.”

“Who’s Chase?”

I smile, waggling my eyebrows.

Her face drops, a snare coming out her mouth. “Ew, right.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh come on. Not all of us can be Virgin Marys.”

“You chose to be a…
you know
…”

“Whore?”

“Melissa!”

“Look,” I start, pulling her back into the living room. “You can stay here. I’ve missed you, but what’s going on? Why aren’t you wearing your sexy black little getup?”

“A habit,” she corrects, her tone bored.

I wave my hands. “I’m going to ignore that name because that’s fucking ridiculous.” I laugh under my breath.

“Melissa…” she warns.

I sigh in defeat. “Okay, I’m sorry. Come on, let’s find you something to wear. Maybe I can spike your drink and get you talking.”

Her eyes bug out and I laugh, throwing my head back before rolling my eyes. “I was kidding.” I push her onto the bed, walking into the closet, mumbling, “You need to take a joke like I take dick.”

***

“Lissa, I don’t think it’s safe out here.”

“What? No, this is Westbeach. Why? Someone chasing you that I should know about?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “At least I don’t think so.”

I pause, turning to face her. I really wish Phoebe would hurry the hell up. I’ll need alcohol if I’m going to be tolerating this shit all night. I’m in a skintight red strapless dress that has a triangle patch missing under my boobs, showing more skin. Millie is dressed in black slacks and a white blouse. She said it’s all she could pick out of my closet, and I’m pretty sure I wore it to a funeral last year.
Stellar taste.
My blonde hair has been tousled and is falling everywhere, hanging down to my tail bone, and my eyes are shaded in dark smoke with my lips nude. Millie has her hair up in a tight bun with no makeup on. She looks like she’s ready for a business meeting—not like she’s about to get her butt touched.

“What do you mean, you don’t think so?” I whisper to her. “Millie, what’s going on?”

Her mouth opens just as a sleek black limo pulls up to the curb and the back window winds down. “Get in, bitches! Holy shit! Millie?” Phoebe peers out the window with a glass already in her hand.

“This was a mistake,” Millie whispers before following me when I pull open the door. I smile at Phoebe and, just as I’m about to step into the car, a shiver runs down my spine and my eyes shoot up to another black limo that’s parked across the street with blacked-out windows. My smile falls. Phoebe yells again, “Get in!”

I shrug it off and slide in with Millie following closely behind me.

The club’s air is thick with drunken behavior, bad decisions, and hormones. Taking a drink of my ice cold water, I lean against the sofa in the VIP area—because we’re with Phoebe
Oakley
—and look toward Millie who is sitting on her hands and looking around nervously like I just lead a lamb into the lion’s den.

“Millie, chill.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “I need air.”

“You need more than air,” I mutter before standing to my feet. My phone dings in my pocket, so I switch hands with my drink and fish it out. Sliding it open, I see it’s a text from Chase asking where I am. I shoot him a quick reply before shoving it back into my pocket. My phone dings again and I sigh, pulling it back out to see “See you soon” written across the screen.

I turn to Millie. “I’ll come with you.”

“Where’re you going?” Phoebe comes bouncing over toward us with another girl with bright dyed-red long, thick hair. “Guys, this is Indie!” Phoebe points to her.

“Hi,” we both answer before I look back to Phoebe. “She needs air. We’ll be back.”

She nods her head before pulling the redhead back toward the dance floor, and I follow Millie out to the front of the club.

The cold air whisks over my sweaty skin and my eyes zone in on Millie. The line is still long outside and I smile at Nikos, who’s on the door. Nikos is Chase’s brother. The Coleman brothers have lived here all their lives and own CLM security.

“Okay,” I begin, running my hands up my arms, my mind sobering a little. “Spill. What’s going on?”

She begins to pace along the curb, her hand raised against her forehead when the same black limo pulls up next to her. My hand flies up and I yank her back, pulling her toward me. The back window goes down and a man sitting in the darkness murmurs, “You have four seconds to get in this car or your mother is dead.”

All the air leaves my body and my throat hitches.

“Now,” he repeats, and I push Millie back.

“Okay,” I manage to choke out. “I’ll come with you. Millie?” I turn around to find her face pale. “Go inside and stay by Phoebe.”

A deep chuckle comes from inside the car. “No. You
both
get in this car. Now.”

Millie’s pleading eyes look to me and I squeeze her hand reassuringly. “It’s going to be okay,” I whisper. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” We both step into the limo.

I’m a lot of things. I enjoy exploring my sexuality and have a smart mouth (apparently), but if there’s one person in this world that I would undoubtedly lay my own life down for without thinking twice, it’s my sister. I’ve failed her a lot in the past. I told myself that if I ever got another chance at being a sister to her, I’d guard it with a tight grip. The scent of rich bourbon and cigar smoke invade my senses, and I swallow down harshly, trying to get a better glimpse at the man opposite us. The car pulls away and I see the outline of a man wearing a crisp suit with a white collar. He has a glass filled with amber-colored liquid in one hand and a cigar in the other.

“Who are you?” I ask, shivers running over my skin and my stomach flipping upside-down.

He leans forward and I catch his face clear from the passing streetlights of town. My breath catches. “Who are you?” I repeat, following the leather skin that covers his face.

He smiles, flicking the ash off his cigar and retreating back to his position. “I’m your worst nightmare. Or, you can call me Kurr.”