Devil (Savage MC--Tennessee 1)

“What’s it to you?”

“How long we known each other, Devil?”

“Too fucking long,” I joke, my gaze drifting back to Torrent against my will.

“In all that time—you have never—and I mean never mentioned a girl to me. You’ve never even thought of claiming and settling down with one, and you have never—not once—been lost in your head for months over a chick. I figure I owe it to you to find out what’s going on. If she’s a bitch, then find out and move the fuck on.”

“And if she’s not?”

“Then you decide if she’s worth bringing the hammer down.”

“And if she is?”

“Then we prepare for hell, because God knows getting her away from that man won’t be easy.”

“I think it could be pretty easy. I could kill the motherfucker,” I mutter, liking the idea more and more.

“That girl is haunted, Devil. When you talk to her, look in her eyes, watch how she moves—put the anger aside and watch and listen. Whatever you do, buddy, you got to go gently where she’s involved—or she might not survive.”

I listen to Diesel’s words and they burn through me. Part of me was hoping Diesel was right and Torrent is being controlled by Wolf, that maybe there is a chance…

But I don’t want a chance with her, if I’m only getting it because she’s so fucking fragile she’s going to shatter on me… That’s fucked up. Torrent… at least the Torrent I knew…deserves only happiness.

Fuck.TorrentThere should be a limit to how much a person can handle. Today has definitely been mine. I watch as Wolf empties another glass. He’s getting trashed. I understand it. He loved my dad. But, I have zero desire to stay around a drunk man. Actually, I don’t want to be around a man in general right now.

“I’m tired, Wolf. I’m going to go lay down.”

“We haven’t had the bonfire yet, Tor,” he responds, his words slurring just enough to tell me he really is drunk as hell. Wolf can handle his liquor—he can drink most men under the table, even my father. For him to slur means that he is drunker than I’ve ever seen him. Since I’ve known him my entire life, that’s saying something.

“I don’t really want to see the bonfire. That’s for the club. I don’t want to be here for that,” I tell him and it’s the God’s honest truth. I have no wish to see them burn my dad’s cut and say goodbye to him. I wanted to keep the cut and wrap it around me and smell him on it.

“I’ll take you back to your room,” he says and I bite down the urge to scream at him. I don’t want him to take me to my room. I want to be strong enough to take myself back to the room. The truth is, however, that on the few occasions that I’ve walked alone, I keep seeing shadows and hearing laughter. I feel like someone is following me…waiting to jump out and hurt me at any second. I disgust myself with how weak I’ve become, but I’ve not been able to shake it. Of course Wolf doesn’t give me much of a chance to try either and that’s both a blessing and a curse. He’s starting to smother me and I have a feeling that if I don’t try to be independent now, I will never be again.

“I’ll be fine. You need to be here to start the bonfire,” I tell him, hoping I’m right and I will be fine. “Besides, no one will bother me with me wearing your cut,” I remind him—since that’s the very reason he said I should wear it.

“I still want to take you back to the room, Tor. I don’t know some of these men from the other clubs, at least not well enough to trust them. It will take—”

“Hey Wolf, I was wondering if I could ask your advice on something? I’ve been admiring the way your courtyard is set up. The security is top-notch,” that man from earlier—Diesel—says, suddenly appearing behind me.

I look around for Devil, but I don’t see him anywhere. Maybe he left… That’s for the best. For a second, Wolf’s hand tightens on me and then relaxes.

“It will have to wait. I’m going to take Torrent to—”

“Red can take me,” I compromise, wanting to get away. I don’t want to see Devil and part of me is scared with his buddy so close that he will show up. I’ve had enough today… more than enough.

“Sweetheart…”

“I’m fine. Besides, Red is probably more sober than you at this point.” I force myself to smile up at him, to soften the words to make it seem like I’m joking. Inside, I’m annoyed he’s drunk, which is unfair, but I needed my friend today and when he’s drunk, being around him just doesn’t feel the same.