Hellraiser (The Devil's Own #2) (9 page)

Melissa

Coffee. The silky black liquid gold that hits the back of your throat before traveling through your bloodstream and giving you an instant hit, is the first thing I smell when my eyes peel open. This isn’t the bed I’d been sleeping on, and this isn’t the living room I was accustomed to walking into every morning since being here.

“You’re not a sweet butt,” a young voice announces from the other side of the room. I groan, my head pounding heavily.

“Garret!” Jada snaps. “Oh good, you’re up. How’re you feeling?”

I peel myself off the couch and move the throw from my legs. “Good, I think. I just need—“

“—Coffee?” she purrs, handing me a full mug as I walk into the kitchen.

“Yes! Thank you.” I clutch my lifeline before taking a seat at the table next to Garret. He’s a cute kid. He looks a lot like Jada, only fair with blonde hair. Could easily pass as Hella’s kid.

My eyes narrow. “I’m the cookie queen, not a sweet butt.”

He chuckles lightly under his spoon and I smile. “I saw this thing on Pinterest. It’s a TimTam cake. Maybe we could make it sometime.”

Jada walks in placing a plate of greasy bacon, eggs, and buttered toast down in front of me. My mouth waters at the scene and I thank her quickly before digging in.

“That’d be pretty cool,” he goes on. “It’s my birthday in December.”

“No kidding. December the what?” I ask, popping some bacon in my mouth.

“It sucks, but my birthday is on Christmas day,” he mutters, pushing his bowl out of the way.

I stifle a laugh, shaking my head. “If I laugh, I’d be laughing at myself because my birthday is on Christmas day, too!”

His eyes widen. “Really! Shit, I haven’t met anyone else with the same birthday as me before! This is so damn cool!”

“Garret!” Jada warns, piling yogurt onto her granola. I smile. She knows I’m hungover, so she made the greasiest thing she could for me. I think I love her a little more and that may just be thanks to bacon.
Bacon
.

“Me either,” I shrug, smiling at him.

He stands from the table, picking up his bag. “I gotta go. Will I see you again?” he asks me.

My smile slightly widens. “Sure!”

“Cool,” he answers. “Bye mom, I love you,” he calls to Jada.

“I love you too, honey,” she returns.

He walks out the door and I look to Jada. “Awesome kid. How does he get to school?”

She nods. “When he wants to be. Skid takes him in the van when I can’t. How’s your head feeling?”

“Much better, because:
bacon
.”

She laughs. “Because:
bacon
.”

***

The rest of the week goes extremely slow. I’ve seen Hella once in the entire seven-day period and it was probably one of the most awkward things to ever happen between us, confusing the shit out of me and him, I think.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I moaned, walking down the stairs and pulling the door open. “What can I do for you?” The air left my body as I took in Hella standing in the threshold, black shirt under his cut and loose, distressed jeans meeting his combat boots at his feet.

“You met Garret,” is all he said.

“Yes,” I replied, crossing my arms. My body really needed to calm down whenever this man was near because my nipples were already alert, pushing against my bra cup, and my thighs were involuntarily clenching together. His eyes were a dangerous deep blue, his hair on the short side and his jaw setting strong and chiseled. He was annoyingly sexy.

His eyes narrowed. “What’s your story, Melissa?”

“Why would you care, Braxton?”

His eye twitched and he pushed me out of the way, walking into the living room before flopping down on the sofa.

“Well, by all means,” I muttered, closing the door. “Come in,” I mocked cheerfully before joining him in the living room, only I kept my distance, standing in the hallway where it joins the kitchen.

“I’m serious, Melissa. What’s your fucking story?”

“Why does it matter? And what’s with ‘What’s your story, Melissa?’,” I mimicked him in a equally deep voice. “You and Beast both asking me that is a little fucked up, if I’m being honest.”

He stood from the sofa and strode toward me. I instantly go on high alert and my palms tickled with sweat. “Who’s your father?”

That was like a punch in the gut. “Why? His name’s Peter Hart and he was a drunk. Why?”

“You say was?” he asked.

“He was in a car accident.”

“When?”

What the fuck.

“Why? What the fuck, Hella. We hate each other. Why are you even talking to me about this shit?”

“I need to fucking know, so just answer the goddamn question and shut your smart mouth for once in your fucking life.” His eyes dragged down my body, slowly assaulting me without so much as laying a single finger on me. It must be a gift. “And your legs, while you’re at it.”

My shoulders squared along with my jaw. “Excuse me?” I scoffed, throwing my head back. “That’s fucking rich!”

“Yeah?” he mutters. “My club, my rules. You stay away from all of the brothers here.”

“Where the fuck is this coming from? And no, I will not. I’ll do what I want.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You didn’t seem to mind my legs being open when they were wrapped around your waist, Braxton. Bit hypocritical, don’tcha think?”

“Fuck it,” he mutters, turning in his step and walking towards the door. “I fucking mean it, Melissa. Stay away from my brothers. If you need someone to fuck? Need someone to lick that pretty little pussy for you until the sun comes up and you forget your own fucking name? You come to me, and me only.” Then he walked out and slammed the door behind himself.

After all that, I didn’t manage to get to what his deal was about my dad. My dad was a drunk who rode off the harbor bridge with my sister in the backseat in Westbeach before I left for college. My mom, sister, and I left Westbeach and moved to Saugatuck after that.

The fact that Hella still wanted to fuck me was an eye-opener though, and as much as I’d like to say I kicked that idea under the bus, I didn’t. I exhausted it every single night after that day, but at the end of it all, it wouldn’t be worth it. He’d still be Hella and I’d still be me, and between it all, there was too much hate. Nothing healthy could come of that. Not that I cared for healthy. But anyway, since my and Nyx’s chat that afternoon, he has stayed away from me too, for the most part, which pisses me off. Actually, now that I think about it, everyone has stayed away from me except for Meadow and Jada. But in this world, this world full of demons and monsters veiled as bikers, I was a hot mess wanting to be fucked—hard. Ergo, I will not be following Hella’s instructions to not sleep with anyone here. If his shoe fits, you bet your ass I’ll be letting him slip it in.

Jesse Pinkman lighting up a cigarette in his wheelchair brings me out of my thoughts. I pull the blanket up and laugh at his humor before Meadow double-steps down the stairs.

“Which season are you up to?” she asks, laughing. Guilty. I’ve drowned myself in Netflix for the past week, so I haven’t left the house.
Breaking Bad
is the best show to ever hit television, this much I know.

“Season four! I think I love Jesse Pinkman,” I state, tilting my head at the TV. There’s just something about him, I can’t tell you what.

Meadow scrunches up her face. “No, Melissa. Just. No.”

“Yes. ‘
Move me further, bitch.’
The man has the keys to my heart.”

“You want to come and watch Jada kick my ass tonight?” Meadow asks, eyes wide.

“You’re fighting Jada? Beast
will not
let that happen.” I walk towards the kitchen, rolling up my grey track pants around the waist because they’re falling off me. I need to up my calorie intake again. 

She shakes her head. “No. She’s training me. Beast wants to know where I’m at.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll come.”

“Good! Get changed. We’re going down to the clubhouse now.”

“I don’t want to,” I moan, pulling out the ice cream from the freezer.

“I don’t care. Go get pretty. I miss my friend.” She removes the Ben & Jerry from my tight grip and places it back in the freezer. It’s at this moment I realize how distant I’ve been with Meadow for the past week.

I pull her in for a hug. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a bad friend. But Beast has been keeping you company.”

“You smell. Shower, then we’ll go.”

Melissa

“You ready? You look hot, babe. I’m surprised you haven’t bedded any of the other guys. Hannibal’s beard? Damn,” Meadow says playfully, nudging me in the arm with hers.

I do look good, in a casual way. With skintight, white, worn cutoffs and a tight white tank that shows my hip bones, I could have done worse. With the tennis shoes on my feet, I’m completely comfortable and ready to get drunk.

I snort. “Yeah, they’re all hot to boot, and trust me, I did try. But none of them will touch me.
Bikers
, Meadow. I can’t even score a biker who, by the way, sleeps with those beautiful club whores all day. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why; they have better offers.”

She shakes her head before whispering, “I don’t think that’s why.”

We’re walking into the clubhouse when Meadow states the obvious. “Maybe just stay by me. I don’t know who these people are, but they must be okay or else Beast wouldn’t have told us to come down.”

“Fine for you. You’re claimed by the Devil himself,” I state, looking around the packed clubhouse. Something is obviously going on with the club.

“Damn straight she’s been claimed by the Devil himself,” Beast growls, walking up to Meadow and wrapping his hands around her waist.

“Hey baby,” she coos, turning to mush under his hands. I’m trying really hard not to be envious of their relationship because it’s not like I want one of my own, but holy shit, these two lay on some serious PDA.

“Come, both of you. Melissa, you’re Meadow’s friend, so that means you’re protected here. You should know that,” he states, gesturing toward the back of the clubhouse where the sofas and pool tables are.

“Thanks, Beast.” I smile at him appreciatively.

He steps in front of me to lead the way, Meadow following closely behind. Beast pauses and spins back around to face me. “Close your eyes,” he urges.

I roll my eyes. “I can handle whatever it is that’s happening, Beast. You’re not the first bikers I’ve been around,” I answer, sidestepping around him with a scoff.

My eyes come up to the sofa and my stomach drops to the Earth’s core. Beast and Meadow’s worried expressions fade, along with the drunken laughter, dancing, and loud rock music. All I can see in my line of sight is Hella sprawled out on the sofa, his arms stretched over the top with his legs spread wide and a fucking blonde mop of hair over his lap, bobbing up and down on his cock.

You’re better than this, Melissa. You’ve survived worse. This is why you use and abuse men. This is why you don’t date, and this is fucking why you are to stay the hell away from him.

I bring my eyes up from the action on his lap to his eyes that are piercing into mine with an unrestrained amount of intensity. Heat spreads all over my body as his gaze slowly rakes down my body. His hand goes to the blonde’s head in his lap, his lip draws into his mouth as his gaze locks in deeper with mine, and a slow smirk slithers onto his lips. My jaw clenches when I realize what he’s doing—along with my thighs. What sort of sick pervert would get even slightly turned on by this performance? Someone like me, apparently. His eyes continue to peer into mine and, just when he probably thinks I’m going to crack, I square my shoulders, tilt my head as the corner of my mouth tips in a smirk. Yeah, not going to happen, buddy, not to me, and not today. I have more pride than sense.

“Hon? Are you okay?” Meadow asks. Her hand touching my arm pulls me out of my manic stare-down with The Devil’s finest.

“I’m fine,” I reply, ignoring the sickening churn in my gut.

“Okay. I’m just going to do something real quick.” She walks away from me to the opposite side of the room where Ripper, Nyx, Hannibal, and Skid are. She leans down and begins talking with them, their eyes shooting to me every couple of seconds. Deciding I’ve had about enough of being sober, I walk towards the bar and order shots.

“You okay, pretty girl?” Old Fella asks, pouring tequila into a shot glass.

“I’ll be fine,” I repeat with a plastic smile. Picking up the shot glass, I down the contents before placing it back on the bar and nodding my head. “Hit me, keep going until I say stop, and then just keep going anyway.” Why should I care? What gives me the right to be pissed at him for getting his dick sucked? I peer around the space and, amongst the drunken sloppy bikers, there are threesomes going down on pool tables and women walking around with their tits hanging out as bikers walk up to them and suck them into their mouths. It’s not like it’s anything really out of the ordinary here. So why do I feel sick?

Picking up my shot glass, I shoot back again and smile, signaling to keep ‘em coming. I can’t be mad at Hella. I have no right to that. I’m not going to justify his actions by saying, “He’s a biker, it’s what they do,” because that’s shit. You’d never catch Beast pulling that bullshit, and he’s about as “biker” as they come, so all I’ve got is, it’s just him. It’s who he is. He’s a fucking prick, and that’s that. Can I be mad? No. We fucked once. You’d turn a whore into a housewife before you whip someone like Braxton Ward after one lay. So, answering my own question, I
can’t
be mad at him for what he’s done, but I’m well within my right to be hurt. I’ve lost track with how many shots I’ve had by the time Meadow walks back up to me from her chatting with the boys, but when I glance at the tequila bottle Old Fella is holding, it looks half empty and the words “Jose Cuervo” are a blur. Not only that, but my happy buzz is kicking in and I already feel better.
Pssh,
and people say alcohol doesn’t fix anything. Right now, alcohol has fixed a wound that was there before, so I’ll drink to that.

Meadow walks past me, stopping for a brief second to whisper into my ear, “Thank me later.” She winks at me, then walks off. I really hope Beast meant that I was protected here, because I’m about to make some poor choices.