The Devil in Her Bed (Heartless Devils Motorcycle Club Book 1) (2 page)

A tap on her shoulder made her jump. Turning on her stool, she came face to chest with a giant. At least six foot four, broad at the shoulder and slim at the hip, the tall stranger had surprisingly sweet features. The rough hair on his face, strong chin, and longish hair did their best to minimize them, but it was plain to see that he was a blonde-haired and blue-eyed boy.
Or man
, she thought, as she glanced at his physique.

Jenny smiled up at him questioningly, and she thought she saw a shadow of a smile flicker across his face. “Your dad wants to see you. Upstairs. Now,” the stranger said tersely, and she felt her face drop.

***

John was behind his desk in an office he hated using. On a typical day, he would be downstairs, talking and conspiring with other club members. But today, he knew he had to finally work up the courage he needed to talk to his daughter. John was not by nature a cowardly man. A kind man, yes, and forgiving. But he was hard as nails and very serious about protecting his club. He’d worked hard to earn the respect of his cohorts, and every day he strove to maintain it.

But Jennifer… his wife Melissa had convinced him when Jenny was born that this life was not for her. She warned that Jenny would probably take after her and crave the order and reason of a normal, upper-middle-class life. In arranging this, Melissa had also ensured that her own parents would be involved in Jenny’s life to a larger degree than his own. When they passed away, they bequeathed their not insubstantial estate to Jenny, which she could access when she turned twenty-one. When she received the fortune, she saved and invested it wisely, showing wisdom beyond her years and setting herself up for a comfortable—if modest—life, should she choose not to work.

He smiled, as Asher automatically moved to fetch Jenny. That boy was a good one. He was committed, but not needlessly violent—unlike some of the guys in the club who needed a firm hand to keep their rages in check. But Asher, he knew the limit. He only used violence when necessary. As it should be. Even though John had known him for years, he was still a tough book to read. He was not overly emotional, and he kept a solid distance between himself and anyone else. He had watched him grow from a boy to a man, but even still, sometimes he couldn’t tell what on earth was running through that guy’s mind.

He straightened his leather jacket and brushed his hands through his short hair. The faded tattoos on his arms still did their best to tell his story, each tattoo a memento of a different stage in his life. As his daughter and Asher entered the room, he looked up with a sad smile. Rising to his feet, he moved to Jenny and embraced her warmly.

“Jenny. Come in and take a seat. I’d like to talk to you,” he nodded at Asher, as he crossed the room to take a seat to the side—unobtrusive but still available if necessary.

“Nice office,” Jenny said, trying hard to hide her disdain. Not disdain for her father, whom she loved despite being embarrassed by him, but disdain for his surroundings—the small, grubby office with a ceiling stained nicotine yellow. Despite her efforts, her father still noticed.

“Sorry about the setting. This was just easier.” His tone was gentle, and he cast a furtive, shameful glance at the dirt and mold lining the lower part of the walls and hiding in the corners of the ceiling.

Asher watched his Boss with curiosity. A gentle, fatherly side of John was something he’d only seen directed at himself. Seeing John so soft with someone else, even though it was his daughter, was a new sensation.

“Right. Of course it was,” Jenny replied with thinly veiled sarcasm before shaking it off. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Your mother,” John responded, quick and blunt.

She froze for a moment. Her mother was not something they’d spoken much about since her death. “Okay. Go on.” She waited patiently as her father collected himself.

When he did, the old steel and resilience returned to his eyes. “Officially her death was an accident. The stairs leading up to the house were wet from the rain and she slipped, falling and breaking her neck in the process.” His voice was almost monotone, holding itself steady as his icy eyes met hers.

“Yeah, Dad. I know.” She didn’t like thinking about how her mother had died, alone in the rain, and having it repeated back to her was enough to make her eyes well up and her throat begin to burn.

“We have reason to believe that it wasn’t an accident. Some neighbors saw three men wearing leathers hanging around. We asked some friends in the force to keep it quiet until we learned more about it.”

Her mind drew a complete blank. Like an engine that had stalled, her brain was failing to process this new information. What did members of the club have to do with her mother slipping on the steps? Then, the relevance of their statement hit her, the sudden knowledge making her stomach churn.

John and Asher could see her working through what she’d just been told, the process writ on her face. As the truth dawned on her, Asher leaned in, as he and John anticipated her response.

“What are you going to do about it?” she demanded.

“What?” John was startled. This was the last thing he’d have expected Jenny to say. Cry, scream, or suggest calling the police, all were possible—but this? Never.

“What are you going to do? I know what goes on here.” She paused to cast a wary eye to Asher. “What are you going to do to get justice for my mother?”

John was completely thrown. What was his daughter, the soon to be lawyer, suggesting he do? Put a hit out? He turned to Asher, silently begging him to wade in while he found his words.

“There’s not a lot we can do right now,” came Asher’s terse response, picking up on his cue. “We’re not sure, but it sounds like from what the neighbor’s saw that it may have been the Trifectas. They are not guys we want to mess with on a whim. We need a strategy and to find out what their ultimate goal is.” Asher stood as he talked, walking around to John and placing his hand on his Boss’s shoulder. John was nodding his agreement.

“The smartest move right now is to move slowly. We rush into something and we could start an all-out war. Nobody wants that,” John said, picking up the thread when Asher paused. He watched, as the black clouds of anger rolled off of his daughter and she absorbed the logic in what they were saying.

“Fine. So, we just continue as normal until your cronies have a game plan? I’m supposed to just carry on with my life—all the while knowing that my mother’s killer is wandering free?” Her tone was bitter, but she inwardly decided to think about what her father had said and make the final decision for herself later. “I need to be heading back home soon anyway. Was there anything else?”

John and Asher looked at each other before turning back to her.

“What?” she asked, a ball of dread forming in her stomach from their facial expressions.

“Well, given that we don’t know what they’re playing at yet, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be on your own. This may well be a personal attack on me, destroying the things that I love. So I need to keep you safe above all else,” John explained, as he looked at his daughter with concern. “Families are typically off limits, but…”

“So, you want me to move in here? Into those dorms you have in the back?” she asked, recoiling at the thought of sleeping in those dank, greasy pits. “No way in hell. Forget it.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary, you can stay at home. However, Asher will be there with you. And everywhere else. At all times.” John grimaced on the inside while outwardly smiling gently. He knew full-well that neither party was or would be keen on this plan.

Jenny’s jaw had dropped. “You got me a babysitter?” She glanced at Asher’s blonde hair and blue eyes again. “A giant Nazi babysitter?”

Asher’s back tensed at her description of him, his hand clenching on his Boss’s shoulder. However, he remained silent, waiting for John’s response.

“He’s not a Nazi. He’s not a babysitter. He’ll be your bodyguard.” He held up his hand, as Jenny moved to interrupt. “That’s all there is to it. It’s happening; you’re going along with it, and you won’t make this difficult for him. If you do, you will be moving into the dorms. Twenty-four seven.”

She dropped her gaze from her father’s intense look. Glancing at Asher, she could tell that he was none too pleased about this arrangement either. This irked her slightly. What did he have to be annoyed about? He’d be living with her in her upscale apartment, eating her organically grown food, coming with her to the most—her thought cut off. How on earth was she going to explain Asher to her friends? Say he’s a boyfriend? She glanced at him again. He certainly was good-looking enough for the part. They might buy that she’d gone for a bad boy. She wasn’t sure how she’d work around him following her around school though. Fortunately, they’d split up for the holidays soon, and maybe this would all be sorted by the end of it.

“Fine. I’ll sort out the details with Ashley on the way back to my place.”

“Asher,” he said with a dry half smile.

“Whatever.”

Chapter 2

Jenny was silent but impressed on the drive back to her place. Asher had insisted he drive her home, plucking the keys from her hand and opening the passenger door for her before she had chance to realize what had happened. Part of her hoped he didn’t know how to drive a stick, but of course he drove perfectly. Her father’s right hand man, he clearly must have some skills not visible yet. Apparently, knowing how to manually change gears in a car is one of them—despite his head brushing the roof of her Porsche Cayman.

The silence that reigned over them was slightly awkward as they sped along. Asher paid no attention to the posted speed limits. He knew he was a good driver, and he was dancing the car skillfully through traffic.

She handed over her pass card, which he swiped to open the door to the secured garage of her apartment building. She directed him to her reserved spot where he pulled to an easy stop and hopped out to open her door before she knew what was happening. He took her by the elbow and led her toward the elevator, holding her as if she were a senile old lady in need of a guiding hand.

“I am capable of walking by myself, you know. I’ve been doing it for quite a while now,” she snapped, jerking her arm out of his grasp.

“I’m just making sure you stay close,” he responded, dropping his hand but keeping his proximity.

“Well, I’m not going to run away, and I highly doubt the security guard is going to try something,” she replied, nodding and smiling a hello to him as they passed.

Asher said nothing else and remained silent for the rest of the walk through the building and the swift journey up the elevator.

She could feel the tension spreading through her back and shoulders, and she tried in vain to roll her neck to ease it. Tension always seemed to settle in her neck, back, and shoulders, and she had been suffering with it for days. And why not? Her mother being killed, the funeral, the gorilla walking along a half-pace behind.
What do I have to be tense about?
She sarcastically thought to herself.

He noticed Jenny rolling her neck and shoulders as they walked the short distance down the hall to her apartment. They entered, and after a brief rundown of various necessities, sat across from each other at the island in the kitchen as the coffee machine did its thing. She felt awkward, not knowing what to say, so she said nothing. Finally, the machine finished, and she rose, grateful to be able to move and break Asher’s intense gaze.

“How do you take it?” she asked, as he reached into cabinet for a couple of mugs, pulling out a soup mug for him.

“Black.”

Of course. No wimpy cream or sugar for the big bad biker,
she mused, as she poured her cup then poured the bulk of the remaining coffee into his mug. She added a splash of cream and a teaspoon of sugar to hers to knock the edge off the bitterness, then she sat the mugs on the bar.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Her neck and shoulders were still tense, and intermittently she would roll her head, desperately trying to loosen up.

He watched as she twisted her head and reached around to rub at her shoulders. After a few moments of this, he took a long pull from his still scalding hot coffee and stood. She leaned over to the side, watching him as he moved around the bar. He rolled his eyes and pulled her back up straight, as he stopped behind her. Moving his hands to her lower neck and shoulders, he began to massage the muscles, his long, dexterous fingers soothing the knots that had formed. Initially, she tensed at the unexpected contact, but after a few moments of work, he could feel the knots beginning to loosen.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she relaxed under his touch, her body responding well to his knowledgeable hands. She felt a more pleasant tension rise between her thighs and leaned back, relaxing under his caresses until, just as suddenly as the experience had begun, it ended. She felt slightly embarrassed, as he drew his hands away before he casually topped off his mug with the remainder of the coffee and rounded the bar to return to his seat.

Asher sensed the change coming over her at his touch and was somewhat alarmed. It was not his intention for any of the kind to happen; he just wanted to perform a nice gesture to show her they were on the same side and make being together all the time somewhat more bearable. He did not mean to lead her on in any way. If anything were to happen between them—it didn’t bear thinking about. He’d be out of the club—that much was sure—and exiting feet first in a body bag wouldn’t be out of the question. All that he had worked for and all that had been promised to him for the future would be ripped away. He’d have nothing left but his bike, a little house with a mortgage, and the clothes on his back. He had a vision for the future, and Jenny did not feature in it.

As he sat down, she realized just how long it had been since she felt the touch of a man. Now, as she thought about it, she realized it had been far too long. Asher hands were strong and firm, much like the rest of him. Her eyes flitted around the apartment, her gaze finding everything in the room except Asher as her blush faded. She didn’t want him to know what his touch had done to her, how weak she really must be.

No, she had to keep her game face on. If her father found out something had happened between her and his right hand man, his heart would break. It had been his intention, for as long as she could remember, that she grow up to have a strong career in a legitimate business and a marriage to a respectable man—preferably with his own money, but that wasn’t necessary as long as his intentions were pure. To wind up in any kind of relationship with the rough and ready Asher, other than guard-guarded, was unspeakable. She needed to sort herself out and forget about any uncouth ideas. It simply would not work. But the silence had to be broken.

“What would you like for dinner?” she asked, her voice loud in the silence. Asher looked up from his cup with a start.

“Nothing in particular, I’m not fussy. Take out is fine,” he said casually.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Takeout is so bad for you. I don’t mind cooking, just tell me what you like.”

“Italian?” he suggested, somewhat bewildered.

“Wonderful. Let’s set up. You chop; I’ll cook.”

Jenny directed him around her kitchen but stopped short of asking him to wear an apron. She feared that her frilly English housemaid apron may be too much for his machismo to bear. As she stirred the browning onions, her eyes kept wandering to his busy hands. He handled the knife with skill, delicately chopping fresh tomatoes and oregano, his long, wide fingers almost tender in their actions. She couldn’t help herself, but she made sure her glances were furtive to ensure he didn’t notice, that her humming remained casual, and the small amount she needed to say to him was kept unemotional.

Throughout the meal, it was as if they were in a particularly dull play. They spoke little, and even then, the conversation was strained. After washing up, Jenny retired to her room, as much to give them some space as due to exhaustion. She showered and fell into bed, drained from the day’s activities. She tried to study for the upcoming exams, but she couldn’t focus. She could hear the television in the front room, as he watched some sporting event from the sound of it. She didn’t want to stay in her room, but she didn’t want to be around Asher either, worn down by the tense blandness of the evening.

Finally, well before her normal bedtime, she gave up pretending to study when she thought she could finally succumb to sleep. As she lay there, waiting for sleep to take her, the words of her father returned to her and the creeping sleep disappeared in an instant.

How could she let herself drift into slumber after her father had revealed that her mother’s death was a murder and there was nothing she could do? She wasn’t allowed to reap the justice she craved. She was impotent, unable to raze her adversaries to the ground, and perhaps their club as well. The Devils could be in serious trouble if they were to lash out without thought, and she understood that, but to allow her mother’s death go unanswered was more than she could live with. As she lay there, she tossed and tumbled, her sheets and blankets becoming a tumultuous mess around her.

The tears started trickling from her eyes. Slowly at first, like the starting drops of a fall shower, but then they gathered speed and tempo, and soon her whole body was wracked with sobs. She couldn’t help herself as the cries came, her whole body shaking with the effort of trying to keep herself together, her tears the result of a turbulent mixture of anger, resentment, frustration and fear.

Asher became still, trying to understand what he heard. He had turned the lights out a half-hour ago, but the damn couch was too short and supremely uncomfortable, and he hadn’t yet gone to sleep. He had almost decided it was just his imagination when he heard it again, more clearly this time, the sound of a woman sobbing. He had never been able to stand the sound of a woman crying, and he knew what it was like to lose someone, to have them ripped from your life by the hand of another man.

He couldn’t stand to hear her, but he wasn’t sure what he could do to make it stop. He tried to block the sound with a pillow over his head, but as her sobs became harder, he knew he had to take more decisive action. He rolled off the couch, his chest bare, and pulled his jeans back on over his underwear. His t-shirt was discarded somewhere, and he had little inclination to search for it.

He tiptoed through the apartment, realizing that it was stupid since she was clearly awake. He carefully pushed open the door into the pitch black room and crossed to the bed.

Setting himself carefully on her bed, he reach out to find her. He sat there a moment, hand on her side, but her crying did not ease. He turned and lay down next to her, his chest flush with her back as he wrapped her up, feeling like a giant protecting a fairy.

Her back was to the door, so she was startled when her bed sagged a moment before he touched her. She tried to gather herself, not wanting him to see her cry, but she couldn’t stop. She had been strong over the past week—for her father—but her loss finally overwhelmed her. After a moment, she felt the bed move again and a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around her. She could feel the muscles tense, as he grasped her tightly, holding her through her tears. A warm, broad chest was pressed against her back, and a deep voice whispered nonsense comforts in her ear. The arms crossed over her front, one at her waist and one at her collarbone, the hands stroking and soothing whatever they touched, and she held the one at her neck with her own hand. Eventually, after what may have been minutes or hours, her sobbing slowed and her visitor began to loosen his embrace. As he began to slip his arms from around her, she tightened her grip on the hand at her shoulder and held it tightly around her.

He pulled slightly harder on his arm, but Jenny tightened her grip farther, refusing to let him go. He could easily overpower her, but he relaxed, thinking about his situation. He had done nothing to solve her problem, but sometimes all someone needed was the comfort of a human touch. When she seemed to be slipping to sleep, he tried to disentangle himself again, but once again, her grip tightened. Again he relaxed and decided that he wasn’t that inclined to leave anyway. The bed was much more comfortable than the couch, and the warm softness in his arms was nice indeed. With a slight smile and a soft snort of amusement at what he was doing, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her and settled down for a night’s sleep.

***

The next morning Jenny woke with a jump, startled by the feeling of breath on the back of her neck. It took her a moment to remember that it was Asher in the bed with her and that nothing had happened. His arms were still wrapped around her, though not as tightly, and she was beginning to feel overheated. She carefully slid out of his embrace a bit, his arms loosening and allowing her to turn. She stayed in bed and under the covers, moving over just enough to give herself some room to turn and face him.

It was still early, and the light in the room was dim. She could just see his face. All of the seriousness and stern expressions had left him while he slept, his skin smooth and his expression innocent. If not for the coarse growth on his chin, he would have looked sweet. She tentatively reached out a hand to stroke it, the coarse hair like sandpaper under her finger. She quickly pulled her hand away, as his eyelids began to flutter, and she closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

Asher woke gently, the memories of the previous night flooding back to him. Jenny had been upset, and he had comforted her but nothing had happened that was inappropriate. Well, not that inappropriate anyway.
I still have my pants on after all,
he mused. It would be a different tale if someone could see them together like this, but he had never been one for taking advantage of a distressed woman. The sound of a woman crying wasn’t a turn on for him as it was for others.