Victory Rising (3 page)

“Yes.” He pursued her. “Come on, baby. You can do better than that. Everyone knows you’re fucking Gaylord.” And that bothered the hell out of him.

“I’m not.” She twitched from head to toe.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was Sassy Road’s sister, developing visible tics as time wore on. “Don’t play me for a fool, Victory.”

“Really. It’s a rumor.”

Bullshit.
Her facial expression gave away the whole foreplay and lay. “You’re not, huh?”

“No.” She shook her head in adamant denial.

He leisurely dragged his thumb across the swell of his bottom lip and sniffed. “Yeah, right.”

She took a deep breath and studied him like lying to him had pained her. Finally, she conceded. “
He’s
fucking
me
.”

Yeah, buddy
. He pegged that one right.

“That’s about what I figured anyway,” he admitted, a passing image cluttering his thoughts. He remembered the way she’d worked her way around his tongue the night he and Addison had asked her to join them. He’d been dying to taste her, after Addison had claimed Damsel talked about her having the “sweetest tasting puss he’d ever had under his lips”.

Devon didn’t know if her cunt was the sweetest, but it was by far the most talented piece of pussy he’d ever experienced. And her body was second to none. Her five-foot-four frame was nothing more than sex striking a pose. Plump breasts, curves and hips, and good God almighty, she was simply a man’s gift.

“How’d you know about Gaylord?” she asked.

“I keep up with women of interest,” he confessed, pointing to the trunk. “I don’t reckon you have a few spare tires in there. Do you?”

“No,” she replied, immediately returning to the more interesting topic. “Who told you about him?”

“Word gets around.” He looked her up and down.
Stay focused.
“We have two choices. I can have one of my boys haul your car over to our clubhouse or you can call Gaylord and see what he wants to do.”

“I’m not Gaylord’s woman,” she informed him. “And I don’t care about the damn car. I’ll probably need another one soon anyway. It’s in Damsel’s name. It’s due to be repossessed.”

“From what I understand, Gaylord still has a wife,” he said, watching her. She suddenly looked ill and acted as if he were discussing a topic designed to make her physically sick. “And if the car belongs to Damsel, what are you still doing with it?”

“Gaylord didn’t take it from me, but the club stopped paying Damsel’s bills.” She looked at him crossly. “And Melinda, Gaylord’s wife, is a friend of mine.”

“With friends like you, no one needs to worry about meeting up with a snake in the grass, huh?” Carrying on two conversations at one time suddenly lost its appeal.

“There’s more to it than meets the eye.”

“There always is with the Devil’s Angels and their women.”

“I don’t belong to them.”

Devon stuffed his hand in his pocket and retrieved his cell. As soon as he confirmed he didn’t have service there, he cursed under his breath. He didn’t know why he checked the damn phone in the first place, perhaps killing time, making the most of a few extra seconds while he decided what to do about Victory.

“Any chance Gaylord’s wife did this?”

“I guess there’s a good possibility.”

“Hmm,” he muttered. “So you don’t belong to Gaylord?”

“No.”

“Well then,” he said, taking a good deep breath of country air. “How about Damsel?”

“He’s in prison for life,” she said, grinning. “I thought you knew.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that,” he teased, reliving the moment he read the news in the local paper. It was a satisfying moment, to say the least. “I seem to remember the day he was arrested. You promised to come see me.”

“I’ve been meaning to stop by.”

“Uh huh. I reckon you were on your way when your tires went caput,” he said, gaze-groping. Good Lord, she was one fine woman. With tan legs and short shorts cupping her perfectly round behind, Victory flaunted what she had with ease. Wearing a fitted navy camisole top, Victory seemed unaware that her red bra straps weren’t quite tucked away out of sight. Devon loved a sexy gal in red lingerie.

“I would’ve eventually made my way out to your place.”

“I stopped looking for ya a year or so ago. I figured you were waiting on Damsel, hoping he’d eventually be released.”

“Damsel is where he belongs,” she assured him.

Thank God. At least she appeared to have her head on her shoulders again. A gnawing sensation immediately reminded him of where her head had recently been—in Gaylord’s lap—but that didn’t stop him. “A gorgeous woman once told me, ‘He was the club president. You know how it is. You take what’s yours and everyone else’s.’ Do you remember that conversation, Victory?”

“Of course I do,” she said, grabbing her purse from the front seat. “We were talking about Damsel.”

“Well, now, I’m talking about me.” And she knew better than to put up a fight. “So what do you say?”

“About what?”

“You ready to leave your car on the side of the road and generate a few whispers?”

“Do I look ready?” she asked, eyeing him with stark determination.

“Baby, I hope you are because I’ve waited nearly eighteen months to take what apparently belongs to someone else. And quite frankly, I’m tired of putting off what I should’ve picked up over a year ago.”

“Hmm,” she purred, grabbing hold of his arm. “I see someone is still a flirt.”

“Whatever works, darlin’.” He winked. “You ready to ride?”

“Why, Devon, I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Two

“Oh boy,” Cara sang, leaning over the bar as soon as Devon and Victory entered the Heroes and Rogues clubhouse.

Devon had expected as much. Cara didn’t like new broads entering her den, much less one known to rub leather with a rival club.

Tigger twisted around on his barstool and crossed his arms, studying them as they approached him.

After a minute, it apparently struck him who accompanied Devon. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the
fuck
are you thinking bringing her here, man?”

“That took you longer than normal, Tigger,” Cara said, wiping down the bar like she didn’t have another care in the world. Once known as nothing more than another club broad, Cara was the club’s mama. She took care of the fellows, and they looked out for her, but lately, Devon had noticed a change in Cara.

Mama looked happier, healthier, and had a special glow about her, not to mention an added sparkle in her big blue eyes. The biggest change he’d noticed was random disappearing acts, and generally when Cara went MIA, Tigger was nowhere to be found.

“I’ve got this, Cara,” Tigger said as he stood. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Tigger didn’t acknowledge Victory, and she didn’t seem to mind. She strolled over to the pool table and struck a conversation with Old Red, the club’s Bluetick Coonhound. Old Red wagged his tail, and Victory immediately oohed and ahhed over the blasted mutt.

Damn dog was a lady’s man.

About that time, Britt approached Victory. A club broad for over three years, Britt had been passed around quite a few times before Devon paid her any attention. One night with her and he’d almost been hooked, but Britt had a few addictions, problems Devon didn’t want or need.

“Who are you?” Britt asked Victory before shooting Devon a sour look.

“Victory,” she replied. “You’re Britt, aren’t cha?”

“He tell ya that?” Britt asked, tilting her chin toward Devon. For a split second, she appeared well satisfied as if she thought a mere mention of her name might mean something extraordinary.
If Britt only knew the truth.
Her name was synonymous with a number of unattractive nouns.

“No,” Victory stated flatly. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one the Angels passed around at a biker rally. Gaylord brought you back to Fall Branch, made you believe you’d found a home, and our boys set you out on your pretty little ass before you had time to select a room, bed a full-patch member, and work out the terms and conditions of an extended stay.”

Cara slammed her hand against the bar. “What a fucking—”

“Cara!” Tigger yelled, barely glancing over his right shoulder.

Cara cursed. Britt snarled and quickly averted her attention away from the messenger, looking at Devon as if she thought Victory might have shared some news he hadn’t previously known. Thinning her lips, Britt stamped her foot and left the room. Victory returned to doting on the hound.

Without a doubt, Victory had been around the clubs enough to know how to handle the women found there. The MC’s broads were obsessive, possessive, and downright jealous when a new female arrived.

Victory apparently wanted to be there. She walked in and commanded attention, demanded respect, and was more than willing to pick a fight and earn some.

“I’m talking to you,” Tigger said, obviously determined to keep Devon focused.

“I hear ya,” Devon grumbled, wise to the fact he couldn’t quote the first word prior to the last four Tigger had spoken.

“We don’t need this shit, man. Since Damsel’s been inside, we’ve been able to get along with the Devil’s Angels. You bring her in here, and you’re asking for trouble.”

“Who said I was taking her anywhere?”

“What the fuck is she doing here then?” Tigger demanded, barring his teeth like a Pit bull.

Noncommittal, Devon said, “You mentioned the word, and by damn, you gave me one hell of an idea.”

“Damn, man,” Tigger continued, glancing up and acknowledging Logan Marcs with a tilt of his head when the other man entered the building. “Oh boy, Marcs is gonna love this.”

“What’s she doing here?” Logan asked, picking up his pace as he strolled across the concrete floor.

“Seems to be the universal question,” Cara called out.

Victory pretended not to notice him. She kept rubbing Old Red, stroking him between the ears.

“In case the two of you have forgotten, I’m this charter’s president. If anyone has a right to bring a gal into this club, I do,” Devon said, squaring his shoulders.

“Not when the broad in question is Damsel Road’s old lady,” Logan said, always ready to question Devon’s authority.

“I’m with him on this,” Tigger remarked coolly.

“Imagine that,” Devon muttered.

“I’m serious, man. She’s no good, and we can’t cope with the fallout. We have a bunch of guys out of town this week. If shit comes down, we’ve got no way of handling a war.”

“You made your position known before Logan ever got here,” Devon reminded him. “And we’re only ten short. Half of those guys are prospects.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Tigger bit out, shooting Victory one hell of a look. “You damn well know who she’s fuckin’!”

“Of course he does. He doesn’t care. All he sees is a pretty young thing who used to belong to the man who killed the love of his life,” Cara said, adding another uninvited opinion as she joined them. “What better way to get even with the person responsible for his lover’s death?”

“I’m sick and tired of hearing how Addison was the love of his life,” Tigger said. “If that were true, he would’ve stopped fucking anything that moved.”

“Kind of like you?” Cara asked, putting him on the spot before she sashayed away.

“She nailed you with that one,” Logan said, jovial all of a sudden.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny, baby,” Tigger muttered, turning to give her a disapproving stare.

She blew him a kiss. “If it ain’t true, deny it.”

Tigger opened his mouth then shut it again.

“Looks like Mama may soon need a vacation,” Devon said, aware of the fact Cara wasn’t sleeping around with the other club members anymore. Hell, there wasn’t a man in that place brave enough to seduce her now. Tigger was too smitten by her. Before long, she’d be wearing more than club colors. She’d have an added “property of” on the bottom rocker of her jacket. She might as well advertise the commitment. Tigger already treated her like his cherished old lady, his chosen woman.

“Don’t try and change the subject,” Tigger said, giving Devon his full attention again.

“He’s right, Devon. Victory can’t be here.” Logan frowned. “She probably still keeps in touch with Damsel. Just because he’s inside doesn’t mean he let her go. You’re smarter than that.”

“Damsel isn’t the one I’m worried about,” Tigger said. “Gaylord is in charge of club operations. He took the gavel after Damsel was sentenced to life in prison. He runs the show over there, and from what I understand, he’d leave his wife for Victory. She just hasn’t asked.”

“She ain’t gonna ask either,” Devon informed them.

Victory jerked this time. She took a deep breath, her delectable chest lifting so high her boobs almost tapped against her small rounded chin.

For a second, he thought he might have spoken out of turn. Then, her lips turned up in an adorable smile.