Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JESS
I didn’t sleep again, and this time it had nothing to do with the possibility of me having nightmares and being afraid I’d wake Poppy. No, this was all because of Lucifer and his wicked mouth.
My God, the man can kiss.
The coffee maker gurgles and spits as I lean against the kitchen counter, my fingers absently tracing the bruises on my neck.
I’ve never had a man attack me like that, and every time I think about the way his teeth grazed my skin or the possessive growl that rumbled from his chest when he continued to kiss me, I get all hot and bothered again.
I forgot what it was like to be desired.
Hell, until last night I wasn’t so sure a man would look at me like that again.
I think about the way he looked at me when he told me my nipples were perfect, and the arrogant look in his eyes when he threatened to take his cock out and make me watch him masturbate—I had never been more turned on in my life, and all I could think about when I got home was how much I really would’ve liked tickets to that show.
To see him come apart and hear the sounds he made when he lost control.
Yeah, I wanted to experience that more than anything.
Another thought that kept me awake was the realization that last night I wasn’t a girl defined by tragedy.
I wasn’t the girl who got burned alive. When he brought me inside the clubhouse and we sat on the couch, it felt intimate.
The conversation—the way he touched me. I wondered if that’s how things would be between us if our marriage wasn’t just a thing of convenience.
Those are dangerous thoughts to have when you’ve been let down by people your whole life.
You realize the walls you’ve carefully curated are crumbling, and the one man you shouldn’t want is the only one you do.
A door opens and closes in the hallway, and I hear Tori mutter something. I straighten up quickly and flip my hair over my shoulders, hoping she doesn’t notice the marks I spent a half hour trying to cover with concealer.
“Morning,” she calls out, her voice still thick with sleep. “You’re up early.”
Keeping my back to her, I grab two mugs from the cabinet. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Tori appears in the doorway, dressed in her pajamas, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She yawns, stretching her arms above her head. “You got in late last night. I’m assuming that means the wedding was fun.”
“It was nice,” I tell her. “It wasn’t at the ranch, though. Something happened, and they wound up moving it to the Fallen Demons clubhouse.”
The coffee finishes brewing with a final sputter. I pour the dark liquid into both mugs and hand one off to her.
“You went to the clubhouse?” she asks, her voice tight.
“Yeah. What was I supposed to do? Tell Jude to take me back home?”
Tori doesn’t say anything. Her eyes travel the length of me, taking in my outfit—a pair of baggy black sweatpants that I’ve paired with a white tank top. It’s what I usually wear for therapy. The only difference is I’ve taken the time to do my hair and makeup, and she apparently notices.
“Why are you dressed so early? We don’t leave for therapy for another hour.” She glances at the clock on the microwave. “Did they change the time?”
“No, they didn’t change the time, but you’re off the hook today.” I pull my lower lip between my teeth and pause. Something in my gut tells me Tori will not be too receptive to what I say next, but I decide just rip the Band-Aid off. “Lucifer is going to take me today.”
Tori stills, her mug frozen halfway to her lips. “What?”
I turn away, reaching for the sugar bowl on the counter. “He offered me a job a month ago, but I was too proud to take it then. Last night, when I saw him at the wedding, I asked if I could still have it, and he agreed. Simple as that.”
“A job. Doing what, exactly?”
I dump a spoonful of sugar into my mug and glance back at her.
I know she’s protective of me, especially after what happened, but I have a hard time wrapping my head around why she dislikes Lucifer so much.
I mean, there are times when she seems to tolerate him, and after I woke up from my coma, they even appeared to be on a united front—especially when it pertained to my treatment.
But then there are also times, times like this, when she acts like he’s the Antichrist, and if I’m being honest, I noticed that long before the fire happened.
There were times I’d come home from work, and I’d tell her how he came into the bar that night and how he wouldn’t let me serve him, or how I’d catch him staring at me, and she’d literally tell me to stay away from him.
“I’ll be working at his clubhouse, keeping it clean, serving drinks, stuff like that.”
Tori’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding me, right? Jess, working for him is what got you into this mess to begin with.”
I feel my back stiffen, my defenses rising. “I can’t just sit around and do nothing, Tori.” I pad over to the cabinet and pull out the stack of bills I found the other morning, slapping them down on the counter. “This shouldn’t all be on you.”
Tori’s face falls, her gaze dropping to the stack of envelopes. She sets her mug down with a heavy thud, coffee sloshing over the rim.
“Where did you get those?”
“Does it matter?” I counter. “What matters is that you’re drowning, Tori. And I’m sitting here doing nothing while you work yourself to death.”
“I have it under control,” she says, her voice clipped. She snatches the bills off the counter and shoves them back into the cabinet, slamming the door shut. “I’ve made arrangements for payment plans. Everything is being taken care of.”
“Okay, then we’ll get them paid faster if I’m contributing.” I cross my arms, frustration bubbling up. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal of this.”
Tori turns to face me fully, her eyes blazing. “He’s not a good guy, Jess.”
“You didn’t seem to care when you handed that check over so he could forge my name on a marriage certificate.”
Tori’s jaw tightens, and she takes a step back from the counter as if I’ve physically pushed her.
“You could’ve died,” she says, her voice dropping to a low. “I did what I had to do, and I’m not sorry I did it.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I don’t want to fight with her.
“Tori—”
“No.” She holds up a hand, cutting me off.
“Don’t you dare stand there and throw that in my face.
You were in a coma. You had severe burns covering your body.
” Her eyes glisten, and she blinks rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.
“You needed insurance, and he was the only way you were going to get it.”
The kitchen feels smaller, the air thick and suffocating.
“I know,” I whisper.
“Then stop acting like I betrayed you.” She wraps her arms around herself, her shoulders curling inward.
“I’m just looking out for you.” Her eyes move to my neck, and I realize then that my hair had moved behind my shoulder, revealing one of the hickeys.
I flip my hair forward, trying to cover it, but it’s too late. “I’m guessing that came from him too.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I feel the telltale flush spreading down my neck. “It’s not a big deal.”
Tori cocks her head to the side, her arms crossing over her chest as she quirks one brow.
“The fact that you think that is probably even more alarming than you working for him.”
The doorbell rings, cutting through the tension. Both of us turn toward the door, and my stomach flutters with a nervous energy that has nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with the man standing on the other side of that door.
“That’s him,” I say quietly.
Tori sighs, her shoulders slumping as the fight drains out of her. She uncrosses her arms and presses her palms flat against the counter, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Jess.”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her, even though I’m not entirely sure I believe it myself.
Tori doesn’t respond. She just picks up her coffee and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the echo of the doorbell and the rapid thudding of my heart.
Lucifer looks so out of place in this truck. Every time I glance at him, my brain short-circuits. The president of the Fallen Demons—a man who probably bleeds motor oil and breathes exhaust fumes—driving a pickup like some suburban dad running errands. It’s comical really.
“You’re staring.”
His voice cuts through my thoughts, low and amused.
I don’t bother denying it. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day the president of the Fallen Demons swaps his Harley in exchange for a Dodge Ram.” I pull my phone from my pocket and hold it up, pretending to take a picture. “I feel like I should be documenting this.”
His lips quirk, that half-smile that does something dangerous to my insides. “See the things I do for you?”
My stomach flutters, a warm rush spreading through my chest. I’m sure it’s meant to be a joke, but there is some truth behind those words, isn’t there?
I pocket my phone and press my lips together. My gaze slides to the window, and I take in the sights as we make our way into town.
“Wasn’t sure if riding was a good idea,” he says finally, his eyes still on the road. “Considering your legs are still healing.”
I glance at him, surprised by the consideration. “I didn’t even think about that.”
“The exhaust pipe gets hot,” he explains. “Real hot. If your skin made contact with it, it could cause damage to the grafts.” He pauses, his jaw tightening slightly. “We should probably ask your doctor about it. See what he says before I take you out on the bike.”
The thought of riding behind him on his Harley—my arms wrapped around his waist, my chest pressed against his back—sends a jolt of heat straight through me.
I shift in my seat, and Lucifer notices, his gaze lingering for a beat too long before returning to the road.
“Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle before?”
I shake my head. “No.”