Blood (Kings if Sin MC #1)

13. The devil is calling

CHAPTER 13

THE DEVIL IS CALLING

M y head is a mess, my thoughts are too turbulent, and there’s so much to unpack, but all I feel is relief. None of them died. We left a shit show at Ray’s, and that might come back to bite us in the ass, but for right now we’re all breathing. A knock comes from the door, and Diamond opens it a second later.

“Doc’s here.”

“Bring him in,” Callan tells her.

“Talk to me,” an older guy enters, going straight over to Cutter. It dawns on me that I don’t even know Cutter’s real name. “Who worked on him?”

“Me.” I raise a hand, forgetting where I am and who we are. This is a biker club not a hospital and I’m a freaking vet not a doctor.

“The bullet?” he asks, feeling around the wound with the pads of his fingers.

“Still inside. Didn’t make sense to remove it.”

We wait while he checks Cutter over. My nerves chew their way through my guts.

“You did a good job. Med student?” the doctor asks, lifting the eyelids and flashing a light into Cutter’s eyes.

I drop my head and exhale, my muscles loosening. “No. Veterinarian school.”

He pauses and looks over at me, a web of age lines crinkling his features. “I’m impressed. Very tidy.”

Kitty’s smile is megawatt as she reaches out to squeeze my hand. “He needs fluids and antibiotics.” I say, shoving my free hand into my jean pocket, the adrenaline waning, exhaustion taking its place.

“I’ll give him that. Why don’t you go clean up?” His eyes run over my clothing, and I follow their path to see my outfit ruined by blood. I thought Callan looked bad, but my jeans are consumed by the crimson aftermath. The gravity of what I’ve done soaks into me, settling in my chest.

“Come on.” Callan grips my arm and wraps a hand around my back. Walking through the clubhouse, I don’t feel like I’m in my own body. An ocean of brothers await us in the main room. Expectant eyes track us to the center of the room.

“Cutter is going to be okay,” Callan announces. Relieved sighs hiss through the air.

“It’s good Rogue was there tonight. Not only did she prove her loyalty and fearless badassery but she saved Cutter’s motherfucking life!” Kitty booms, swiping a tear from her eye. Cheers shake the foundations of the clubhouse. The walls close in. The noise becomes a blurring sound, getting farther away.

“Rogue?”

In the next heartbeat, I’m in Callan’s arms in a bridal hold.

Ironic .

Once we’re away from the noise, air fills my lungs once more. If they knew who I really am, would I still be the hero or another enemy for them to slay?

“Let me help you out of these clothes.”

We’re in a bedroom. A king-sized bed dominates the space, centered against a black accent wall. The duvet, pillows, and drapes are all black. Metal cabinets line another wall, like a school locker room.

I raise my arms without thought as Callan lifts my shirt, peeling it from my body. The drying blood has stiffened the material and the crimson stains have soaked through, streaking my skin. My arms come up to cover my breasts. When his fingers hook into my jeans, I gasp and step away.

“I’m sorry.” Callan frowns, watching me. He scratches the back of his neck and turns to face the wall, offering me his back. “I was just going to help you into the shower.”

“No.” Heat flushes my face. Walking up to his back, I curl myself around him, my arms circling his waist and resting over his pecs. “I know you’re just trying to help. I’m a little out of it.”

“What you did for Cutter…it’s a big deal, and it won’t be forgotten.” His voice rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my cheek.

“I was so scared when that man pointed the shotgun at you.” My hold tightens as I inhale his scent, my eyes squeezing shut.

“I wasn’t,” he breathes, placing his hand over mine. “Not for me anyway.” There’s a softness he hasn’t displayed before now. It’s nice, complementing his hard shell.

“You baited him. You could have gotten yourself killed.” Anger tries to spark to life, but it dies in embers.

“I was keeping his attention on me. I couldn’t have him turning that gun on you or Kitty.”

Warmth blossoms in my chest. “Do you think it was random?”

His body tenses against my hands. “It’s no secret Ray’s is a Kings’ bar. We take care of Ray. Anyone would have to have a death wish trying to rob that place. Sometimes shit just happens.”

“Like your dad…” Turning, he looks down at me, and vulnerability takes hold, like I’m in a moment that could change everything. “Were you close?”

Large palms cup my cheeks. My hands rest at his wrists as we stare at each other. “He can be a hard-headed bastard, but he did right by Kitty and me. Our mom is a good woman, and although they’re not together, she’s never wanted for anything.” Love. There’s love and respect there. And I get it. He speaks of him as if he’s still here.

“Will you take over as president?”

A slight lift of his shoulders. “Probably.”

“I lost my father when I was a teenager,” I find myself admitting.

His finger strokes over my cheek. “Grief is the darkest road you’ll ever walk. It’s lonely and painful.”

“People always tell you it will get better.” I shrug. “It doesn’t. You just adapt and learn to live with it. It becomes a second heartbeat that lives in the depths of who you are. The thud dulls, but it never stops.” I reach up onto my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his.

Warm hands slide into my hair, one gripping the back of my neck to steady me as he deepens the kiss and his tongue collides with mine, unhurried but full of need. My tits push against the fabric of his shirt. My nipples are hard, sensitive. A groan crawls up his throat.

He lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist. Callan moves us until my back hits the wall, lodging himself between my legs. His hard cock strains against his zipper, rubbing at the apex of my thighs. The promise of what he has to offer makes my mouth water and my thoughts plummet to the gutter.

Need builds between us. Gentleness is abandoned. Our mouths battle, sucking, kissing, and biting. Large palms squeeze and caress my tits as he grinds into me, dry fucking me. He nearly makes me cum from that alone. My skin hums, my pulse rushing through my veins as I cling to him, thrashing my hips.

“Fuck, I want inside you so bad—want to feel you stretching around my cock,” he breathes against my lips, moving us across the room, his chest heaving. Sitting on the edge of his bed with me straddling his lap, we dual for dominance. I push him backward and begin to climb over him.

“Why does it feel so good?” I murmur more to myself than him. My hips center over the bulge in his pants, and I grind down where I need it, moaning as I twist my hips.

His hands find my tits again, pinching at my nipples. My pussy clenches, desperate to be filled with his thick cock. He grips my hips and spins us so his body is hovering over mine. Roughly, he tugs at my jeans, exposing my lace panties. The blood finds its way back to my brain, reminding me of the tattoo on my inner thigh. My heart drums in my ears. My stomach spirals. I try to grab the material in my hands.

“Shit,” he hisses, and my insides drop. I hold my breath, the air becoming solid in my lungs. “Even your panties are stained in Cutter’s blood. I don’t want to risk getting this inside you.” He shakes his head, crawling off my body. I sigh and shift my jeans up my hips. Closing my eyes, I cover my face. I got carried away. I’m getting too close.

And the worst part: I fucking like how he makes me feel.

I like the people here. I didn’t account for that. Tears burn my eyes. A crack splits right up the center of my body. The high has finally run its course. I’m drained and overwhelmed with a barrage of emotions.

“Are you crying?” Callan’s tone is gentle. His heat covers my body once more as I’m tugged into his chest and strong arms fold around me, offering shelter.

“I’m not crying,” I lie, sniffling.

His phone buzzes, pulling me out of my own misery. “You want to get that?” I wipe my face, trying not to look up at him.

“No. It can wait.” He tightens his hold. And as much as I crave the closeness, I need to recalibrate myself. Pulling away from his arms, I chuckle, a little embarrassed that I’ve fallen apart in front of him.

“I really need to take a shower anyway. Is that okay?”

“Of course.” He jumps up, pulling me to my feet as someone knocks on the door. Pulling the top sheet from his bed, he hands it to me, waiting for me to cover myself before answering.

“Got something,” a man informs Callan. He’s tall and slim, with a crooked nose and scar running through his brow—the guy Callan showed the picture of the ID to when we got back.

His eyes flick to me then back to Callan. “The Winslow kid has an older brother. Armed robbery at local bars is his m.o., but he got picked up for a minor offense a couple days ago. He just got out tonight. No doubt sent his brother to Ray’s in his stead. What do you want us to do?”

Callan shakes his head, his knuckles turning white as he grips the doorframe and the vein in his neck pops out. “Nothing. I’ll deal with him.”

Closing the door, he turns back to me. “I need to go somewhere. Kitty will bring you a change of clothes.” He walks over to another door and opens it. “Shower is in there, then just crash here for a bit, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks,” I murmur, fidgeting with the sheet. He grasps my face and kisses me hard, leaving me dizzy by the time he pulls away.

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

I turn the shower on and strip off my clothes, my eyes trained on the closed door. There’s no lock. He wouldn’t need one with this being his room. Paranoia runs rampant through my skull. The last thing I can handle is him walking in on me and seeing my tattoo.

Before, I felt powerful and righteous infiltrating their club. Now, I just feel dirty, a snake slithering around undetected. I scoop my clothes into a pile and step into the shower, keeping my back to the door. Warm water cascades over me as it washes away the chaotic night, the water turning pink from all the blood caked on my body.

There’s only one bottle of product in here for both hair and body. Brushing my hair after using it is going to be a nightmare. Pushing my hands through my locks, a lump of something comes away in my fingers. Vomit chases up my throat. It’s a piece of skin. Dropping it to the tiled floor, I kick it into the plughole, a shudder racking my entire frame.

My mind flashes back to Callan shooting the shotgun. His wrath was terrifying tonight. Callan transformed into the reaper to defend us—to punish those who would wrong his club and the people he protects. That’s the type of wrath I wanted from Tyler for Harley.

I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. My eyes are on the door handle as it turns and the door swings open. My heart leaps out of my chest and my stomach drops before relief hits as Kitty marches into the room, her arms loaded with clothes. My hand flies to my chest and I breathe out. I think I’ve aged fifty years tonight alone.

Her eyes wide, mouth dropping open, she dumps the pile on a chair then strides toward me. “What the fuck is that?”

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to think of something to say.

“Did you get hit tonight?” Her fingers stroke over my shoulder blade, jarring me.

“What?” I pull the towel tighter around myself, trying to ensure it is long enough to hide my secret.

“You have a nasty-looking bruise forming.” Lines crease her forehead as she inspects my skin. She’s still wearing the same clothes caked in stains. Her pretty face is red and swollen, her makeup left as black smudges under her eyes.

“I hit it on the bar top.” I haven’t even noticed it, but I do recall my weight hitting the bar when I smashed the bottle over that guy’s head. A hiss flees my lips when she pushes down on it.

“I can ask Diamond for an ice pack…”

I scoff. “I’m a badass, remember?”

She moves to leave. “You really were a badass tonight. I’ll never forget what you did.”

Before I can summon a response, she’s gone again.

I dry off then hurry into a pair of sweatpants and a crop top. Finger-combing my hair, I go back inside Callan’s room and crawl into his bed. His scent engulfs me, dragging me into slumber.

I wake with a start as the door across the room slams, sounding like a boom next to my ear. My bones ache. My eyes are sore, but I fight to keep them open. The shower turns on, and movement inside the bathroom draws me across the room. I tap on the wood before I open the door and peek around.

Callan’s standing in front of the mirror, dabbing a cloth on a small cut on his brow. He’s wearing a different set of clothes than he left in, but there’s blood discoloring this shirt now too. Speckles of blood dust his face like freckles.

“What happened?” I move into the room to come up beside him, and take the cloth.

“Had to take care of something.” His jaw is rigid as I look up to inspect the cut. “It’s nothing.” Dark eyes burn into me through the mirror. He takes my hand and presses his lips to my fingers, then opens the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out a roll of garbage bags, tearing one free and handing it to me. Tugging his shirt over his head, he drops it into the bag, his muscles taunt over his creamy flesh, flexing with his movements. Swirling ink covers his lower and upper arms expanding across his broad shoulders. He is so much bigger than Tyler. Callan could probably snap him like a twig if he wanted to.

Unzipping his jeans, he shoves them down his legs, kicks them off, and adds them to the bag. I reach out, stroking my fingers over a large scar near his ribs. He lets out a puff of air that blows over my face, shifting my hair. “Knife,” he says, his voice a husky murmur. My mouth waters at his cock thickening in the tight boxers he’s wearing. I’m not sure if I woke up or if I’m dreaming.

Steam billows from the shower, disguising the heat building within me. A shiver dances up my spine when he licks his lips. If possible, his eyes darken further. I want to surrender to this madness building inside me. Want this man to devour me. There’s no Devil, no King—just a man and woman who want to fuck each other’s souls out. No, it’s so much more than that.

“Rogue.” His voice is a pained grunt, a warning that travels straight to my core.

“Can I watch?” I utter, biting down on my lip, my eyes hooded, and my chest heaving. Seconds pass as the atmosphere hums with an electric rhythm.

Lowering his boxers, he places them in the bag and turns for the shower. I see the insignia splayed across his back—a blaring reminder of who I’m trapped in this insanity with.

I’ve never seen a more perfect specimen in my whole life. I feel his eyes everywhere when he turns to look at me over his shoulder before stepping into the shower. Water caresses this flesh, soaking him, and dammit, I want that to be me and my tongue. Observing me, he lathers the body wash and rinses the stains from his skin and hair. My feet move on their own, needing to be closer.

He wipes his hand across the glass to clear the condensation, then grips his thick shaft and begins moving his fist up and down. My pussy aches. My breathing accelerates as he picks up the pace, the pad of his thumb stroking over his bulging head. His muscles strain, and his delectable moans tighten my core.

“Fuck,” he groans, placing a hand on the glass. I raise mine on the opposite side, moving closer, almost flush. Heat crawls up my back as I watch him, zapping pleasure through my nipples and settling between my thighs. His brow furrows, his hand moving faster. An animalistic hunger takes over his eyes as ribbons of cum pulse from the tip, coating the glass and his fist. His head drops. Rapture captures him. Pulling the door open, I take his hand in mine and suck his finger into my mouth, tasting him.

“You’re beautiful.”

He doesn’t speak. The intensity in his eyes is indecipherable.

I hand him a towel and slip out, leaving him to dry off. His phone vibrates against the table as I walk into his bedroom, the light glowing through the dark room. I don’t mean to look. It’s purely accidental. And my gut clenches.

Thunder booms in my head. I’d know that number anywhere.

Tyler.