Chapter 19: The Devil’s Reward: Chapter 18

I try not to think of the question I just asked. I don’t know how Quinn Holt, a woman I barely know, can have this much effect on me. When I asked that question, it felt as though in that moment, if I didn’t get the answer, I was going to combust. Like it was eternally important that I knew.

We keep running into each other, and I have to think there’s a reason for that. If it was always in a professional setting, I’d like to think I could brush it off. But lately, it’s always in public. The convenience store, the grocery store, and now on the street. It’s like she’s constantly being thrown in my path so I have no choice but to face her. And, face how I feel.

All my instincts flare up at once. I want her safe, protected, and looking at me with that smile that makes my insides warm. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt before. Not even with Sam.

Sure, when Sam and I were working together, or alone for any length of time, I felt a lustful heat. The kind that simmers slowly in the presence of someone you desire. This is different. This is a warmth that spreads in my chest and creeps its way through my entire body.

It makes no damn sense. I don’t know Quinn, and this is ridiculous. She’s a beautiful woman, nothing more. I’ve been alone for a long time, and having her constantly being thrown at me is some kind of fucked up cosmic joke. It’s messing with my head. I need to keep things professional and find a woman to help me take this edge off.

Simple as that.

I see Viper near the mouth of the alley where Frank had been, and I have to bite back a snarl at the thought of him trying to intimidate, or even attack Quinn. He’s lucky I didn’t kick his ass all the way to the ICU. He knows better, and we’ve told him before if we ever caught him doing that shit to anyone, we would make sure he regretted it. I have to assume Viper took care of that for me.

Viper falls into step beside me as we begin the long walk back to our bikes.

“I took care of him,” Viper says casually, glancing over at me. “He’s realized the error of his ways.” He smirks and flexes his knuckles.

“I hope you knocked a few teeth out and broke his fingers,” I say darkly.

“A few might be loose and his fingers are going to be sore for a few days,” Viper replies with a slim smile. “Though, before I did that, I asked him for information.”

I glance at him sharply. “And he saw something?”

Viper gives me a curt nod. “Saw one of our guys meeting someone late one night, but it was dark, and he was in the shadow drunk as a skunk, he couldn’t make anything out. Just remembers the patch on the back of his cut.”

“Fuck,” I snarl, frustration eating at me. “That’s the second person to see this bastard, but never clear enough to give us anything to go on.”

Viper hums low in his throat. “Probably on purpose. If it is a brother, he knows our informants; who to avoid and who to be in front of, because chances are they won’t be able to identify him. Still, the description of the man he was talking to matched one of Dmitri’s foot soldiers. Cryos can get us more information on him when we get back to the clubhouse.”

“That’s something, at least. Did Frank say where he saw them? Maybe we can figure out which business is involved.” Another longshot, but I’ll take anything.

“Over near the deli,” Viper replies. “Busy spot, and full of bars and restaurants, so it could be any of them.”

I make a mental note to check out a map of the area. “I’ll look into it and then run them through Cryos.”

“I let Bullet know, and he said he’s calling Church in a couple of hours. Said to keep the intel from the informant to ourselves, but we can update them on checking into local businesses.”

I nod. “Smart plan. Our mole could get nervous and start killing off witnesses, and as much as Frank and Louie are pains in the ass, they’re valuable.”

“But also easily bought off,” Viper points out grimly. “If the mole doesn’t kill them, Dmitri will try to use them for himself. Keep us off his tail.”

He has a point. “You tell Frank to keep to himself for a few days?”

Viper nods. “Doubt he’ll listen, but with his sore face and fingers, he’ll be nursing a bottle more than hassling people, I’d say. Speaking of which, Ms. Holt alright?”

I nod. “I walked her down to the ice cream shop before you texted. She was a bit shaken, but relaxed when I left her.”

“Mhmm.” He’s quiet for a moment. Then he gives me a sideways glance. “Are you going to admit that you like her, or do I have to pretend I can’t tell?”

I look over at him sharply. “What?” I bark.

“Oh, come on, brother,” Viper sighs in exasperation. “You seriously can’t think it’s not obvious that you two have chemistry. It’s not that explosive kind like with King and Sage, or Bullet and Rose, but it’s there, simmering under the surface. Not to mention, she has that adorable blush whenever you’re around, even as she tries not to stammer and act all awkward around you.”

I know exactly what he means, and that’s part of the problem. She’s far too endearing. “Chemistry is normal,” I argue. “It’s not like I can do anything about it anyway.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Have you already forgotten about our mole problem? Or that this mole likes to go after the women of the club? She has a five-year-old. I can’t risk her getting hurt.”

Viper is quiet for a long moment. I start to think he might let it go, but then he says, “I hear what you’re saying, but are you sure you want to let the chance slip by? We all know how much you want a woman of your own. It’s not exactly a secret.”

He’s right, but it’s not my priority. “Yes, but I don’t think she’ll be a good fit.”

“Why not? She seems smart, has a stable job, a kick ass kid by all accounts, and she supports Vets. In my book, she’s damn near perfect.”

I snort. “Then why aren’t you asking her out?” I drawl.

He gives me a cool stare. “Because we both know she’s not my type, but she is yours. You want someone who needs you, and someone who isn’t crazy like Rose or Sage. Quinn is that to a T. Or are you only holding back because she looks like your dead teammate?”

I stop cold and turn my head to stare at him. He holds my stare, eyes far too perceptive, and I have to stomp down the urge to tell him to fuck off and walk away. Mostly because I know he’ll ignore me then chase me down. “What did you just say?” I ask, tone dangerous.

He doesn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he widens his stance and crosses his arms over his chest. “I know the two of them looking alike is messing with your head. Especially since you keep running into her. Are you avoiding asking her out because you’re afraid you’re going to lose her too? That you won’t be able to protect her?”

With each sucker punch of a question, I harden even more. My entire insides are steel, and I want to punch the look off Viper’s face. How dare he question me. He doesn’t know shit. Doesn’t know what it’s like to lose his entire team, including a woman he’d wanted but couldn’t have. Doesn’t know what it’s like to lose the only future he could see.

My tone a frigid shard of ice, I answer him. “Sam is dead, and Quinn is not Sam. Yes, they look alike, but in every other way, they are exact opposites. Do not assume you know what’s going on inside my head, Viper. You don’t know shit.” I turn on my heel and storm off, not caring if he follows.

Bloody hell, today is a fucking disaster. First it was the messed up search, next was running into Quinn almost being mugged, and now Viper sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong. I don’t need this shit. I have a hell of a lot more important problems to handle than my reaction to a woman that I have no business thinking about.

Viper is right about one thing. She’s shy, and a bit awkward, and no matter how endearing that is, a biker club isn’t the place for her or her daughter. They deserve a nine to five, always home for dinner, homework, and bedtime, kind of man. Or at least someone who isn’t as rough around the edges as I am. I’ve done a lot of healing and growing, but I will always be the former Special Forces member that survived a mission that took the lives of his entire team, and then became a biker.

I wasn’t a good man for Sam, and I’m definitely not good enough for Quinn Holt.

When I reach my bike, I straddle it, not even looking at Viper, who kept up with me. But before I can turn the key, he stops me with a wave of his hand and gives me a cool, challenging look. “If I’m wrong, then you won’t have any problem asking Quinn out on a date,” he says easily. “And if I’m not, I’ll never say another word. But I won’t let you throw away your chance at something real. Samantha Nolans is gone, Shadow. You always say you need to honor her memory by living. Well, here’s your chance to fucking prove it.”

Then he climbs on his bike, turns it on, and pulls away. Instinct has me doing the same, but Viper has just thrown down the gauntlet.

I stew on it the entire way back to the clubhouse, my mood getting darker and darker with each passing mile. When we roll up, I park my bike, climb off, and stalk inside. Everyone gives me a wide berth, even the girls, who lose their smiles when they catch my expression.

I storm up to my room and shut the door, locking it behind me. I want to let loose the anger I’m feeling inside, but I can’t. Rigorous training will never allow that, and I don’t feel like buying a bunch of new shit because I destroyed mine.

So instead, I walk to the window, look outside, and force myself to take a few deep breaths. I need to calm down and think. I glance at the dresser, knowing the picture of my team is in there, silently beckoning me to pull it out. To torment myself with the memories that I keep pushing away.

My therapist’s words from when I first went to see him come rushing back.

I hate it when he’s right, even when I haven’t seen him for almost a year. I have half a mind to call him and get him to help me straighten this out, but that doesn’t appeal to me.

I move to the dresser, open the drawer, pull out the photo and stare into faces that haunt my nightmares. Though, in the past couple of days, they’ve been dreams more than nightmares. The one I had last night creeps back into my mind.

It’s a memory more than a dream, but I can still see Sam in the driver’s seat, screaming with laughter as she drove faster and faster, dust and dirt flying, almost sending us rolling a few times. I can’t help the small smile as I think about how she glowed when we were done and she climbed out, hair flying and eyes bright. It was the most alive I’d ever seen her, and it only made me want her more.

But it’s her final words in this memory that haunt me.

Her words echo in my head and I grip the picture frame tighter. I look at her face and can all but see her standing there screaming at me to stop being an idiot. To live. To trust.

So, I set the picture back, shut the drawer, and grab my phone. I’ll prove to myself that there’s nothing there. One date won’t hurt, and as much as I say I’m not the dating type, Quinn is, and I’ll give her what she deserves.

Even if she deserves more than a broken man who only wants to forget.