The Devil’s Viking (The Road Devils MC #3)

Chapter Sixteen

Zachariah and Michael sat in a white van, watching all the doors: Blue Dragon Ink, Satan’s Bar, The Garage. There was a constant stream of huge guys going in and out, all wearing black leather cuts. The logo on their backs read ‘The Road Devils’, and so it was pretty obvious that the Guardians were in the right place.

It was also obvious that these MC guys were not the types that they wanted to tangle with, so any chance of walking straight through them to retrieve Iris was a fantasy. They’d have to find a less conspicuous, less direct way of getting her back. Assuming she was actually here, of course. It was possible that she’d already moved on.

But this was all they had to go on, and so they’d exhaust it as a lead before admitting to their Master that his woman-servant was in the wind. Neither one of them wanted to have to make that phone call, that was damn sure.

Michael idly watched a beautiful blonde woman walk out of the tattoo place with an absolute monster of a man. He squinted: it looked like the man was badly scarred on his face and his hands, which only solidified Michael’s belief that this MC was, in fact, a criminal enterprise full of men that it was better to stay away from.

He turned to Guardian Zachariah and examined the way that the grey in his thinning hair caught the dying winter sunlight. Zachariah’s cold black eyes were fixed on the blonde woman and scarred beast, and once again Michael felt nothing but resentment and frustration that this old man was somehow Master Gideon’s favorite. It was incomprehensible when Michael was here, and willing, and young. He adored the Master and would never – not in a million years – question him, or hesitate to carry out his will. He’d do a much better job than Zachariah, hands-down and any day.

He just needed to prove it.

“Hey,” Zachariah said suddenly. “Look at this.”

Michael snapped his gaze back across the parking lot and he almost died when he saw Iris – that fucking traitorous bitch harlot – standing outside the bar. She was shaking a mat and looking completely happy and relaxed.

She has no right to look like this .

When the couple approached, she paused and they all exchanged a few words. Whatever it was that the man said to her, it was clearly hilarious, because she threw back her head and she laughed. An open, genuine, full-body laugh that made the poisonous hatred in Michael’s stomach curl and writhe and burn. Who the hell did she think she was, laughing after the way that she humiliated her Master?

She would pay. Michael would make sure of it.

“So we know she’s here,” Zachariah said as the couple went inside and Iris continued shaking the mat. “And we also know that she’s not exactly cowering in a room somewhere: she’s out and about.”

“And she’s alone,” Michael pointed out. “At least sometimes.”

“But she’s still in public view, in plain sight of all the other businesses and the road.” Zachariah sucked on his teeth in that incredibly annoying way that he had and which drove Michael crazy. He’d been listening to it for years now, and he was ready to snap, being trapped in a vehicle with it for days on end. “We need to see if she’s ever anywhere more secluded.”

“Or if she’s out here at a less busy time,” Michael offered. “Maybe early before things open, or maybe late when there’s no visibility.”

“Hmmmm.” Zachariah nodded. “We’ll take it in shifts from now on. Twelve hours each, so one of us is always watching the doors and the lot – if she steps foot outside alone for even one minute, we won’t miss it and we can move.”

“Understood.”

“And for now Master needs to know that she’s here.”

Michael already had his cell out. “I’ll call him.”

“Like hell you will,” Zachariah retorted. “That’s my job as Right-Guardian. Know your place and be happy to stay there.”

Stung and angry, Michael put his phone back in his pocket, watched Zachariah pull his out with a mean little grin. He hated this motherfucker, hated that he wore the golden wings, hated that he bullied and berated every Guardian under him while kissing Master’s ass at every opportunity.

As he listened to Zachariah tell Master the news in a deferential, respectful voice, an idea began to take form in Michael’s head.

I can get away with it, absolutely.

I mean, who at the Garden would take her word over mine? Nobody, that’s who… especially not Master.

And so Michael began to plan his triumphant, exalted return to his Master.

**

Walton, Utah

Roadrunners Bar

“OK, man,” Drake said to his brother. “Time to flip.”

Ice watched Dux retrieve a quarter from his jeans pocket, and he shook his head.

“You’re really going to flip for who gets to ask the cop out?” Ice said; he knew that he shouldn’t be surprised by the twins’ shenanigans, but he still found himself caught out once in a while by them. “ That’s how you’re going to decide?”

“You got a better way?” Dux asked him brightly. “I mean, let’s face it: with all things being equal –”

“ Almost all things,” Drake butted in. “I have a slight advantage in one area.”

“Bullshit,” Dux rejoined. “We’re identical, dear brother o’ mine, and that’s in all things, even that one. You know that I know that – and so do a number of very happy women.”

“Bah,” Ice huffed and took a gulp of beer. “Everything always comes down to your dicks, doesn’t it?”

“ Is there anything else?” Dux asked him, his dark-blue eyes deadly serious. “And as long as we’re talking about happy women… is there a Mrs. Ice lurking somewhere?”

“What?”

“Listen, man,” Drake said. “We’ve known you for thirteen years, and in that time, we have never – and I mean not once – seen you with a woman other than Vixen for a quickie in the crash room, and that happened twice. So we figure that either –”

“You’re not into relationships,” Dux chimed in. “Or –”

“It’s the complete opposite, and –”

“You’ve totally given your ice-cold heart to some lucky lady. So –”

“Which is it?”

Ice stared at the twins’ faces: they were wearing their standard matching expressions of avid interest, teasing, and an abiding love of shit-stirring.

“Stop talking,” he snapped. “And flip the fucking coin.”

“We knew you’d come around to doing it our way,” Dux told him. “You always do, even if you’re a real grouch beforehand.”

“Dux, I swear to God –”

“OK, OK.” He threw the coin into the air and slapped it onto the back of his hand. “Call it, Drake.”

“Heads.”

Dux looked. “Yep. You win.”

“Yay.” Drake grabbed his beer. “The shady lady cop is all mine.”

His brother raised his beer bottle in a toast. “Have fun. I know you’ll have more fun than me , that’s for damn sure, seeing as you get to hit on the naughty cop with the handcuffs, and I get to stay here and talk to Ice.”

“Jesus,” Ice muttered. “Can we please just finish this job and go back to Denver? You two give me a headache.”

“Well, stop talking to me so I can go,” Drake told him. “You’re so chatty tonight.”

“Drake –”

“I’m going!”

Drake slid out of the dark corner booth and walked to the other end of the room, where the cop was sitting on a stool. She seemed to be alone, so he slowed his walk a bit and gave her a thorough once-over.

The woman was a stunner and no doubt about that, which was extremely unfortunate. If what Iris said was true – and if Wolf believed her, then so did he and no question – this gorgeous exterior hid a twisted, ugly, deceitful interior. This woman willingly conspired with a cult leader who was a legitimate monster, so even though Drake had joked around with Dux about the hot cop, he was truly and deeply disgusted by her. She was an insult to every single person who’d ever worn a uniform – and Drake wasn’t about to forget that.

But he had a job to do here, as ordered by Wolf and ordained by the coin, and so he’d do it to the absolute best of his abilities. If that meant flirting her straight back to his hotel room so that Ice could Spanish Inquisition her, he’d do it.

Here we go. Stealth mode, man .

“Hi,” he said, dropping his already deep voice a bit lower. “How you doin’ tonight?”

She glanced up at him, her plump little lips already parted to give him an excuse or brush-off. When she saw Drake leaning up against the bar grinning at her, his blue eyes sparkling, his muscular upper body defined through his t-shirt, his large hand running through his salt-and-pepper hair, she shut her mouth. Drake watched those cool mint-green eyes widen, then spark with heat and interest.

Bingo, bitch .

“I’m OK,” she responded, in a surprisingly husky voice. “Yourself?”

“Oh, you know.” He shrugged and watched her watch his broad shoulders. “I’m just passing through town, heading up to Salt Lake City for business.”

“Oh, yeah? What kind of business?”

“Personal security.”

Those amazing eyes took him in, scanned the length and width of his frame. “Huh. User name checks out.”

“And you?” Drake asked. “What pays your bills?”

“I’m a personal assistant.”

“For real?”

“Yep. I make the coffee and do the paperwork. All the boring yet crucially important stuff.”

“You like it?” He took a sip of his beer, watching her closely. He wasn’t even slightly surprised that she’d lied about being a police officer – no way to tell how some random guy in a bar might react to that bit of information – but she’d lied pretty well. Just a tiny flicker of the eyes, a bit of tightening around the mouth, but those were the only tells.

“It’s good most of the time,” she answered. “I like the people that I work with, so that helps.”

“You’re lucky,” Drake told her. “I’m heading to do security for a bit of a diva.”

“You don’t say?” She flipped her long blonde hair over one shoulder, the waves shining like the sun. Yeah, she was truly gorgeous, and Drake wished she wasn’t such a piece of human waste. “Who is it?”

“Aw, I can’t tell you,” he said. “Confidentiality and all that.”

“Sure.”

“But you can tell me your name, huh?”

“I can?” she said.

“Yeah. Unless it’s some kind of state secret.” He gave her his best grin, the one that had sent panties flying down around ankles since he was sixteen years old. “Just one thing: if you have to kill me after you tell me, then please don’t tell me. I have a dog that would be heartbroken if I never came home.”

She laughed now, and despite himself, Drake found that deep, throaty sound alarmingly arousing. God , she was attractive. Damn her to hell, why didn’t her outside match her inside? By rights, she should be all gnarled and twisted, spouting moles and zits, and with bright green skin to boot; she shouldn’t be this golden goddess.

“I’m Briley,” she said, extending her hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Drake,” he said, firmly ignoring how soft her skin was, reminding himself that he was now one step closer to keeping his brothers back in Denver safe, Iris safe, himself and Dux and Ice safe. “And you have no idea how good it is to meet you.”