Captured Devil's Blaze MC Book 1 (2 page)

I walk away wondering what exactly just happened. Was that sexy biker really hitting on me?

My body feels like it’s been energized with electricity as I make my way back to the bus stop at the end of town. I’ll catch the bus, then get off at a stop just a block away from my prison—better known as the Sacred and Pure Hearts Learning Academy of Bantam, Georgia. Bantam is in the next county over from Raven Hills, and there’s really nothing there. In fact, the only thing in that place is the private Catholic high school that my stepbrothers Matthew and Colin sent me to when our parents died. I
hate
it. Then again, I don’t guess anyone actually likes being shipped off to boarding school, especially an all-female one. It’s a failsafe way for the board to make sure the sacred and pure part of their school stays that way.

My life has never been one where I could truly enjoy dating and have a normal teenage lifestyle. The other girls gripe about it constantly. With no boys around, there’s a lot of girl-on-girl experimentation. It’s either that or Ryan, the school’s janitor. I’m not going to say having a little “experiment” hasn’t passed my mind, but then again, I’ve never really had time to think about sex with males
or
females.

Until now.

The guy at the coffee shop was unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Covered in piercings and tattoos, he looked sexy and deadly at the same time… the ultimate forbidden fruit for a girl who hasn’t had much time to think about any of it.

Will he really be there tomorrow? Or was he toying with me? I saw his buddies waiting for him outside the shop. I can’t help but wonder if they’re all just laughing at the stupid schoolgirl.

The guy didn’t seem like that type, but I don’t know many men to gage him by. He’s older than me, and he’s definitely a man who knows more than I will ever know about… life. I doubt a high school student who’s been sheltered her entire life could keep his interest. Then again, I doubt he realizes I’m even in high school. I look older for my age, plus I’m wearing makeup today. We’re not allowed to wear it at school, and when I paid Ryan to help me sneak out today, I insisted that I’d wear real clothes and makeup—
no uniform.
I even had my hair fixed. It’s been one of the best days I can ever remember having. It was a big risk, I knew that much, but it was well worth it… even before I met the biker.

And to top it all off: today’s my birthday. Not my
actual
birthday, because I won’t be twenty for three more months. Today makes eighteen months that I am cancer free. I don’t know how to describe what happens when a doctor looks at you and delivers the words that you won’t ever be able to truly wrap your mind around:
I’m very sorry, Beth, but you have cancer.
I still wake up in a cold sweat at night hearing those words.

They’re not something you can forget.

But I beat the odds, and here I am. No one remembered what today is. Not that I thought they would. I don’t really have anyone who cares. My mom married Edmund and that gave me an instant family, but I don’t really know my stepbrothers. Last Christmas, mom and Edmund were in a plane crash coming back from the Cayman Islands. I wasn’t really close to my mom, but she was probably the only person left in the world who cared—
at least a little
about me. Matthew and Colin? To them, I’m just a responsibility, since they pay for my education and give me a monthly allowance. I guess there are worse things in life, even if I am a bit lonely.

Then, the biker showed up and disrupted my coffee, and the part of me that’s filled with loneliness and isolation morphed into something else. I feel excitement. I feel happiness. I feel…
pretty
.

That’s another thing you take for granted, you know.
Feeling pretty
. Where you might have thought that about yourself once, cancer finds a way to steal that from you. It ravages your body, leaving you with black bruises, flesh that sags from your bones, and eyes that are so dark and shadowed, you wonder if they’ll ever go away. You lose your hair. I’m not a vain person, not really. But each morning, waking up to another small clump on my pillow, or brushing my hair and seeing more in my brush than what was left on my head, killed me. It killed something inside of me that made me feel young and carefree. It killed something that made me feel…
pretty
. Trust me: no amount of wigs or pep talks make it better.

Late at night when I was alone in bed… late at night when I was cramping from the medicine and the hunger, knowing that there was no way I could eat—and not wanting to anyways… that’s when I really felt it:
ugly
. All the way through.
Ugly
. I hated the way I looked. I hated the disease inside of me that I had no control of.

I hated…
me
.

The nights were the worst. They were so much worse than the day, because that’s when the fear and the doubts crept in. I would get weak and go into the bathroom, stare into the mirror, and cry. I’d cry for losing parts of myself, cry for not knowing what would happen next, and cry because I felt completely and utterly alone.

With memories like that hanging on you, feeling beautiful even eighteen months later is not an easy feat. You grow your hair back, and it’s thicker and a slightly different shade than before. Though you like it, you’re afraid to trust it, because somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re afraid it will leave you again. Even as you watch your body heal and the medication work its magic, and after you’re no longer a rack of bones… even then, rarely do you feel beautiful.

Today in that coffee shop, I felt beautiful. I felt that way because this large, scarred, tattooed and pierced biker looked at me in a way that made me feel like my skin was on fire. I felt beautiful because
he
made me feel that way.

That’s why I am determined to find a way to sneak out again and return to the coffee shop. That’s the real reason I will risk the wrath of Sister Margaret, because today, a man who was unique and gorgeous in his own right made me feel beautiful.

As I board the bus to go back to school, I do the one thing that might even make Sister Margaret proud of me:
I pray
. I pray that the biker is there tomorrow and I’m not just being naïve.

Three days. Three days straight I’ve thrown caution to the wind and had breakfast with the man known only to me as Skull.

I don’t know much about him other than he is sexy as hell, dangerous, sweet, scary, and the first man I’ve ever met who makes me want…
more
. Which is crazy, because he’s the last man in the world who should get that reaction from me.
He’s a biker.
Not only is he a biker—if that patch on the cut he wears is to be believed—but he is the
president
of the Devil’s Blaze MC. I should be running away from a man like this, not sneaking off to have breakfast with him.

If Matthew or Colin knew I was even in Raven Hills, there would be hell to pay. If they knew I was having breakfast with the president of Devil’s Blaze…? Skull or I would be
dead,
maybe even both of us. There would be no in-between.

But even knowing what could happen, I still got Ryan to help me break out of school for the third day straight. I’m still sitting beside the smoothest, filthiest-talking man I’ve ever met—and loving every minute of it. He makes me laugh. He gives me a taste of… life. For so long, I’ve just gone through the motions, never knowing what real life was like. I’ve been, in some ways, afraid to experience it or test the strict boundaries that my family has on me. I know it’s foolish, but I want to savor these stolen moments because I know they can’t last.
They just can’t.

“You’re looking sexy as usual,” Skull whispers into my ear. He doesn’t bother sitting across from me now. He’s right beside me and he has my hand in his, resting them on his lap. His large inked hand swallows my much smaller pale one, and the contrast is beautiful. He’s so much bigger than me and he’s covered in ink. I see it everywhere on him, and all of it is dark and foreboding—but at the same time captivating. I want to trace every mark and learn why he chose it. His voice rakes across my skin and sends shivers of awareness through my body.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I tell him honestly.

“You should be in my bed,” he growls, nibbling down my neck. 

It’s ten a.m., the café is pretty empty, and yet still there are eyes on us. That should bother me. It should at the very least
worry
me, but it doesn’t, and
that
terrifies me. I could lose myself in his seduction.

“We’ve only known each other four days. I don’t see that happening. Besides, I don’t even know your name.”

“
Nombre
? Is this what stops you, lovely Beth? My name is Andre. Now, let’s get out of here.” He growls.

Andre? Okay, that wasn’t a name I expected, so I laugh. He stops nibbling on my neck, which makes me sad, but it’s for the best. Even though he brings out inner-whore tendencies in me, I can’t sleep with him. I won’t.

“You find my name funny, Beth?”

“I’m sorry, I just do not see you as an Andre. It doesn’t fit,” I tell him, choosing to be honest. Skull may have a sweet side when talking, but he’s also gritty and dirty and…
Andre
just doesn’t quite give that impression.

“Does this mean you will not call me Andre?” He asks, but there’s a semi-smile on his face.

“Nope. Sorry, it just doesn’t fit. I’ll stick to Skull.”

“I like the idea of you sticking to me. A coincidence,
si?”

I shake my head at him. “You’re horrible. Stop already. I told you, I’m not falling into your bed.”

“It does not have to be a bed. We could use a wall, a table, shower… or perhaps you’d enjoy a hot tub? That can be arranged, no bed required.”

“You should get an A in effort.”

“You have no idea. Wait until I show you what else I deserve A’s in.”

I shake my head no. “Do you ever talk about anything other than sex?” I ask, exasperated.

“Of course, though it’s not as fun. What would you like to talk about?”

I study his dark face. A few small scars are imbedded in the hardened features, and there’s a piercing on his lip with tattoos all the way up to the top of his neck. He’s got one of those things in his ear that admittedly I hate, but somehow he pulls it off. Perhaps all the hotness that is him drowns that part out? Who knows? All I know is he makes me weak in the knees.

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask.

He leans back and studies me. “Out of all the questions you could ask, the one that comes to mind is what my favorite color is?”

I shrug. It wasn’t, but it seemed the safest to go with.

“Black,” he answers.

“Black isn’t a color.”

“What color is that dress you’re wearing?”

I frown at him. “Okay, well, black is a
kind
of a color. It absorbs light. It’s like the absence of color.”

“You make my brain hurt. But I do find myself wishing that the dress you are wearing is absent, so I’ll agree with you on that.”

I sigh heavily, but it’s more to stop the giggle that bubbles up at his hound dog expression. “Your turn,” I tell him, glad he’s giving me a little room to breathe. 

“Are you wet?”

I was taking a sip of my coffee, but at his words I stop mid-drink and nearly choke. “I said no sex talk!”

He winks at me and leans back in the chair. “Where are you from?”

My heart speeds up, but I breathe evenly and relax. There’s nothing he can find out if I do this right. 

“Montana.”

“That fits,” he answers cryptically. “How did you end up in Georgia?”

“That’s two questions. It’s supposed to be my turn.”

“I’ll owe you one.”

“My mother remarried.”

“You don’t sound happy about it. Who’s your stepdad?”

“Ah, ah, ah. It’s my turn. Umm… What made you decide to join a motorcycle gang?”

“Club, not gang.” He grumbles. I can tell the question irritates him. 

“Club,” I amend, waiting.

“That is a question for another time,” he says, getting up and reaching out his hand to me.

“Time to go?” I ask stupidly, because I don’t really want him to leave yet. I enjoy our time together. In fact, spending the mornings with Skull has become the highlight of my day.

“I’m afraid so,
querida
. I have a meeting I can’t reschedule.” 

I get up and let him lead me outside. He always holds me close and puts his hand on my lower back. I like the feeling. It feels as if he has to have me near. I don’t think I’ve ever had that.

“Thank you for breakfast. I’ve really enjoyed talking with you this week,” I tell him lamely as we come to a stop outside the café. Then he does something that I’ve been admittedly wanting from the first time he spoke to me. His hand slides around the side of my neck and he pulls me to him. The texture of his skin is rough, and a shiver runs through me at the way he grabs and demands I follow his lead. At the same time he pulls me into him, his thumb applies pressure under my chin, so I raise my lips towards him. I don’t really need the encouragement. I want his kiss.

At first, his lips against mine scare me. His taste is intense and I want to drink from it. I may never want to stop. But the cold metal of the hoop in his lip touches me and it feels… strange. Does it hurt him? How do I kiss him? 

“Run your tongue over it and tug gently,” he coaches, reading my mind, and I do as he instructed. It feels different, but erotic… especially when he groans and shifts my head so he can delve into my mouth. I guess he likes my fumbling. That’s the last sane thought I have before I get completely lost in his kiss and the way his tongue seeks out every inch of my mouth.

When we break away, I say the only word I can think of at the moment: “Wow.”

He lets out a snort of laughter, and his fingers wrap into the hair at the back of my neck. The pressure is enough to cause a small sting of pain. He rests his forehead against mine. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but I like it. Eventually, he pulls away and his dark eyes look dangerous, intense. They are predatory.

“I think my knees are weak,” I tell him before I can stop myself.

“Come with me, Beth. You can wait for me at the club, then I will most definitely fuck you until your knees are weak. You won’t be able to stand for days,” he promises, and I’m completely positive he could make good on that promise.

But I need to go back to reality. “You keep bringing up sex. I feel it only fair to tell you, I’ve taken a vow of chastity,” I tell him, avoiding eye contact.

“Chastity?
Mujer
loca!
What the fuck for?”

“My life is complicated. This is a way to simplify it.”

“So, you are saving yourself for marriage?” he asks incredulously. It annoys me because, although it’s not a popular decision in the biker world, it is
not
completely unheard of in the rest of the world.

“Not exactly. I just don’t need anything or anyone making my life more difficult right now.”

“I’ll change your mind,” he says, and he sounds so cocky and sure of himself that it annoys me further.

“That’s not possible,” I huff, pulling away from him. I turn around, intent on getting away. I’m not even sure why I’m upset. Part of it is because he’s not taking me seriously. The other part, and it is considerably larger, is the fact that I kind of want him to talk me out of it, and that
cannot
happen,
will not
happen.

He slaps me on the ass. It stuns me and I turn around to look at him.

“Be at breakfast tomorrow, Beth. Do not make me come find you.”

I don’t answer because there’s not much to say. I want to tell him I won’t be there, but we both know I’d be lying. I’ll be there because I can’t stop myself. I can’t stay away from Skull, and that’s bad—
for both of us.