Marked By The Devil (Devil's Riders 5)

It looked amazing, truth be told. Retro and cool. Better suited to Brooklyn or West Hollywood than here. But Callaway had always been artistic. He wasn’t just tracing patterns. He only freehanded his designs, sometimes making them up as he went along. His talent with skin and ink was beyond anything I’d ever seen before. He was a good guy, deep down, even if he’d been a crazy playboy for a long time. I wanted things to work out for him and Molly.

I just hoped he was sober enough to hear what she had to say.

Or rather, what she had to show him.

We got out of the car and looked at each other. Molly nodded, even though I knew she was scared. We pushed open the door and went inside.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Callaway

“More.”

“Uh?”

“Open your mouth . . . that’s it. Drink!”

I groaned, trying to push away the hands. Whiskey’s big ass hands were trying to force me to guzzle water. Eventually, he gave up and dumped it over my head.

“Hey!”

I was pissed, but he had succeeded in waking me up. I must have been taking a little cat nap. I blinked at him. It was early in the evening and I’d been at the clubhouse for days. Somehow, I’d ended up in my shop, where I had a comfy couch in the back.

When you partied as hard as I did, you needed a variety of places to crash. Crib. Shop. Club. Any would do. Especially when you didn’t have someone to go home to.

Now Whiskey was here, forcing me to wake up. To come back to reality. And that was the last thing I wanted.

Because in reality, I’d lost her.

In reality, I was alone.

My insta-family had gone bust when I moved too fast. I knew I only had myself to blame. I’d been overeager. I’d wanted to bring her close but all I’d done was push her away. But it still fucking hurt.

I knew I was going to miss Molly forever. I’d even gotten attached to her kid brother. I frowned. I couldn’t abandon Tommy, even if his sister didn’t want to be with me. The kid needed a man in his life. He trusted me. I didn’t want to let him down.

Yet another thing that sucked about all of this.

But nothing touched the ache that was an empty hole inside me. A bottomless pit caused by the fact that she was gone. Gone from my bed and my life, even though she was still technically living at my place. I wanted her there, even if I had to sleep on this couch for all of eternity. It was somehow better than nothing.

She was in my bed. It was the next-best thing to being there with her. She could stay there as long as she wanted. Forever, even. As long as she didn’t bring any guys over. That would kill me. But if she was there . . . it was something.

Somehow, I had a chance. A reason to see her again.

“Get up, jackass.”

More water splashed my face. Well, it did the trick. I was fully fucking sober. Near enough, anyway.

“Ease up, Whiskey. What the fuck is your problem?”

He grinned at me.

“Solving your problems for you, ya donkey.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Whiskey?”

I stood, pushing my wet hair out of my face. My leather jacket was wet too. I sniffed it, realizing I smelled very distinctly of booze and cigarettes. That’s when I saw her.

Molly was standing in the middle of my parlor, looking uncertain. Becky was there too. I noticed they were holding hands.

Maybe this was it. This was goodbye. Molly’s beautiful eyes were so serious that it cut through me like a knife. She was going to do it for real.

Whiskey had sobered me up just to watch me get my heart cut out of me.

“Hi.”

I said nothing. I was too busy drinking in the sight of her. She looked like an angel, so out of place in my shop that it confused my brain. I blinked and realized she was nervous.

Molly was nervous. Why? Was she afraid I would make a scene when she broke up with me? That I would beg?

Well, maybe I fucking would beg.

I clenched my jaw. I would not make this easy for her. I would not lie down and take it. I’d fight for her.

She stepped forward and held out a rolled-up piece of paper. I took it slowly, not taking my eyes from her beautiful face.

“Open it.”

I exhaled, finally looking down at the paper in my hand. It was . . . my eyes were not focusing. It looked like . . . a sketch. A beautiful line drawing of a heart with an arrow going through it. It could have been cheesy but it wasn’t. It was almost folksy looking, like a tattoo from the early days. Something you’d see on a sailor who had traveled to the Far East. Something I would have designed myself.