Devil (Savage MC--Tennessee 1)

“Then why?”

“Because whatever else we were, Torrent, I think we were friends.”

“Friends…”

“Yeah, and I think you really look like you could use one right now.”

“Don’t pity me, Logan,” she responds, her eyes suddenly looking haunted again.

“Why would I pity you?”

She studies my face for a bit. She looks so tired I fight the urge to take her into my arms. If ever there was a woman who needed someone to lean on it would be her.

“So you’re here… out of friendship?”

“Is that so hard to believe, Torrent?”

“After the way I left things… Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I admit, the way you kicked me to the curb wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t all bad,” I tell her with a grin—even though nothing about this entire situation is worth smiling about.

It takes a minute, but I see when my meaning registers with her. Her face blooms with a bright pink color. She shakes her head and some of the sadness leaves her eyes. Those subtle changes bring me hope that the Torrent I knew is not completely gone.

“I can’t believe you went there! It was just a m—”

“A moment I will never forget.”

“I was going to say a mistake,” she mumbles, avoiding my gaze.

Unable to stop myself—even if I should—I put my hand along the side of her neck and pull her gaze up to mine, needing her attention.

“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me, Torrent. Hell, I think about touching you… I think about you often.”

“You should go, Logan,” she answers, fear threaded in her voice.

“You could go with me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because there are things we need to talk about. Things we didn’t get to finish.”

“Devil—”

“You call me Logan, Angel. You’ve always called me Logan.”

“Things are different now, Dev—”

I put my fingers on her lips, stopping her from talking.

“Logan,” I remind her.

“Things are different now, Logan.”

“So we’re different. Does that mean we can’t talk, especially since I’m in town?”

“Is talking all you want?” she asks. Right now wouldn’t be a good time to be truthful; besides, I don’t honestly know what I want from Torrent anyway.

“Isn’t that what friends do, Torrent? Talk?”

“I—”

“I’m staying at the Golden Pecker off of 63. I’ll be there for a few more days. Do you know it?”

“You’re horrible,” she says and she smiles—it’s weak, but it’s a smile.

“It sounded like the place was made for me,” I whisper, stepping in a little closer, and giving an easygoing shrug—like I don’t have a care in the world.

“It’s called The Golden Woodpecker,” she mutters.

“Potato, Po-tat-toe,” I mutter, watching her eyes and memorizing the bright flecks in her dark eyes and silently counting them.

“I shouldn’t,” she says, but she doesn’t outright say no, so that encourages me.

For a minute, we’re so close that I can smell her sweet vanilla scent and it fires the memories I’ve been trying to bury. A man could get drunk on that scent. She stares up at me and there’s not much space between our lips. I could lean in a little farther and kiss her. The urge is there and I’m having trouble finding the reasons why I shouldn’t…

Until…

“What’s going on here?” Wolf says, his voice harsh.

And just like that the chance is gone and I see the light go out of Torrent’s eyes.

Motherfucker!

“I’m merely saying goodbye to an old friend. No harm in that, is there? The woman is allowed to talk to old friends, isn’t she?” I ask, innocently. I see the hate in his eyes; he’s not trying to hide it. I can’t say as I blame him. If our roles were reversed I’d probably hate me too.

“Torrent, are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks instead of answering me.

“I’m fine, Wolf. Devil was only offering me his condolences.”

“That was awful nice of him,” Wolf answers, his voice cold.

“That’s me. Mr. Nice Guy. Torrent, you know where to find me if you ever want to talk,” I tell her, walking backwards so I can keep my eyes on both of them as I walk away.

“I’ll be fine. Have a safe trip back home,” she answers.

I ignore the disappointment I feel at her words. Give them both a half-salute with my hand and keep walking away.Torrent“How’s my favorite girl?” Wolf asks the next morning.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal. It’s early, probably around five by now. I’ve been wide awake since four and it was becoming apparent I wasn’t going to go back to sleep, so I got up. The nightmares aren’t new, but sometimes they are more vivid than other nights. Yesterday’s ceremony brought too many memories to the forefront.

“Why are you awake?” I ask him, stifling a yawn.

“I’ve got business in Alabama today. Me and a couple others are going to head out soon. I’d take you with me… but…”

“Spare me. I’ve never wanted in the club business. I don’t really want to go to Alabama on the back of a bike either. It’s like a hundred degrees outside.”