Page 9 of Devil's Due: Sarge

“Nicola,” a man’s voice calls out. One I don’t recognize.

I freeze. Only my eyes move, cataloging which of the girls aside from Tasha, Mae and Jess are out here with me.

“Greer Durning?” calls another voice—I don’t know his either. “I know you’re here…” His words float from inside the trailer closest to the driveway in a singsong way. “Don’t make me come find you…”

All activity stops. “Run,” I whisper to the other girls. They begin to scatter, but there’s no way to know how many men are here. Instead of trying to run, I change my mind, searching out a hiding place instead.

My heart beats so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if they can track me from its pounding. Gun fire goes off. The other girls start screaming and running frantically. They remind me of confused bees when someone hits their hive. I feel like I’m going to pass out. It’s hard to catch a breath. Where do I go? Where do I go? Whipping my head from left to right several times, I’m just standing there out in the open. Whoever is looking for me is certainly going to find me. That’s when I remember the crawl space underneath the back trailer and run for it.

I have to dig my fingernail under the grate to get it off, tearing my fingernail off down to the quick. It hurts and begins to bleed.

“Greer! Bitch get out here!” I hear, then more gunshots. No. I manage to pull the grate off and climb in. As quietly as possible I pull it back into place it seems just in time. The screams of the other women come from right outside the crawl space where I’m hiding. More gunshots. Loud. Deafening. I crawl to the back of the space, scraping my legs all to hell from jagged rocks and exposed nails, but I don’t cry out. I can’t. I turn to sit, pulling my knees up to my chin, and bury my face there to stifle the noise from my crying. If they hear me, I’m most likely dead.

“Ooh… You’re a hot mama today,” Nic says to me, and I blink, watching her as she finishes dabbing the extra lipstick from her lips with a tissue.

Dammit. It’s happened again. The therapist Dr. Brennan-Ellis forced me to see—she’s discrete and is willing to do phone sessions rather than in person. One of the Lord’s women, Livvy St. James, she’s married to the man they call Chaos, has been seeing her since her kidnapping ordeal ended—she, the therapist, says that these memories will continue to come at me while my mind works through the trauma I’d faced, but they should start to lessen as I begin to rebuild my life.

Rebuild my life? You mean the life I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for Nic? She found me in that crawlspace. She got us out. She contacted her Brimstone Lords friends to get us safe. She forced me to hide in the bathtub the day she was kidnapped by Rage. I used to think I was strong, but now I’m not so sure. It seems the only thing I am, as of late, is good at looking out for number one. And I hate myself for it.

I plaster a smile on my face. “Who are you kidding?” I ask sarcastically. “I look hot every day.” We both begin to giggle.

“Is there someone you’re hoping to impress? Like maybe a certain super tall former military man?”

“What?Not even.” Yes. My tone sounds believable. I can do this, go back to normal without worrying Nic. “It’s a party. You have to look good for a party. It’s a rule.”

“Mm-hmm… You keep telling yourself that.”

“Seriously, he gets on my nerves. The man refuses to accept that I no longer need a bodyguard.”

“Well, in that sexy little number, you’re definitely going to need a bodyguard.”

I mean, she’s not wrong. And let me just say, it wasn’t easy finding a look this hot when I’m not allowed to leave the small town of Bentley to go shopping. I still have bad men hunting me down.

No, Greer… get them out of your head. You’re going to a biker party. There’s no time to be sad at a biker party, not if I want to stay on my toes with Sarge around.And I need to stay on my toes with Sarge around.

When I leave the cabin, or the clubhouse, I’m under strict orders to go incognito. Though my guards certainly stand out, all wearing Horde cuts. The times I have to pop into a pharmacy or grocery store, I’m forced to don a hat and big sunglasses, which I like to think makes me look like a celebrity. Though I’m pretty sure that most of the store owners think I’m getting ready to shoplift.

Thank goodness for online shopping. The dress that keeps Nic drooling, the one that she and Vlad purchased for me, is a super tight, red, sleeveless racerback dress with a scoop neckline. It hits mid-thigh and has slits up each side that reach my upper thigh. It’shot. I went back and forth on whether to wear a dress to a biker party or not, but I figured with all the alcohol flowing, I’d end up having to pee a lot and quickly. A dress just made more sense.

The red and black faux snakeskin tall boots with a skinny four-inch heel I’ve paired it with give me more height than I’m used to having, which I like, even though it won’t make much of a difference with most of the men out in the common. Most of them are so stinking tall. Especially Sarge… and Reaper.

My hair looks amazing, if I do say so… and I do. I’ve left it down, creating a look of wild whimsy, having finger-combed out all the tight curls I spent hours putting in so they settle, looking natural.

Nic looks smoking hot tonight. She normally looks hot, but this is other level hot. She has on this tiny jean skirt with a frayed edge and a black T-shirt draping to the left, exposing her entire shoulder and half of her collarbone. She’s paired that with these super sexy booties – my friend is so getting laid tonight. Not that she doesn’t get sex most nights, but tonight it will be “my woman looks fucking sexy and my brothers are all drooling” party sex – or as I like to call it, the kinky kind.

I’d be lying if I said that I don’t miss the slap and tickle. I haven’t had a man between my thighs since I left California. But then, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Seeing as I’m attracted to men, to get laid I have to let a man in—and here’s the thing, there’snot oneproblem in my life that hasn’t been caused by a man.

Not one.

It makes me kind of hate that all I have around me now are bikers. So okay, maybe most of them have that sexy, broody, “I could kill a man with these bare hands, but instead I’m going to worship you with them” thing going on – especially Sarge.No, bad Greer. We don’t think of Sarge as sexy. We don’t wonder what it would be like staring deeply into those gorgeous blue eyes while he lies on top of me, moving inside me.

“Naughty girl…” Nicola draws me out of my head. “What were you just thinking of? You’re completely flushed.”

“I am not.” I so totally am.

“You totally are,” she says with the kind of laugh that would normally get me smiling if it wasn’t for the fact that the laugh is because of me thinking about Sarge. “Your skin matches your dress.”

Oh, god. I press my hands over my face. Why do I have to find Sarge so sexy? I don’t want to like him. I don’t want the kind of trouble he’ll inevitably bring, when I’ve got so much trouble following me already.

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