BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(49)

She poked the piece of bread into her mouth. After swallowing, she continued. “Nobody’s perfect. You know that, right?”

“All too well.”

“Well. I’m not even close.” She grabbed another bread ball, poked the entire thing into her mouth, and continued as she chewed. “I think I had self-esteem issues when I was young. So, I let anybody who wanted to bone have at it. I was the girl in school that was commonly referred to as a slut. It started after my parents were gone. I never blamed what happened between them for my deficiencies, but it played a part in me being who I was.”

“How old were you when they split up,” I asked.

“Thirteen.”

“There’s a reason hotels don’t have a thirteenth floor.”

“They don’t?”

“Nope. It’s bad luck.”

“I’ll agree with you on that one.” She bit into one of the fried cheese balls and rolled her eyes in pleasure. “So, anyway. I was a little tramp. Then, we moved to Syracuse when I was in eleventh grade. When we did, I decided to change. No more sex unless I was in a relationship. I met a guy. We got serious. Everything was perfect. At least it seemed like it.”

“What happened?”

“Everything.” She tossed the remaining piece of food onto her plate. “He lied to me. About everything. I thought he had a job, but he didn’t. He was a drug dealer. I thought he was faithful. But he wasn’t. He stuck his dick in half the city’s women. I thought he wasn’t abusive, but when I confronted him about lying, he beat me. Not a little bit, either. He tied me up and left me in our apartment.”

I felt sick, for more reasons than one. I wasn’t a mirror image of her former ass hat boyfriend, but I was close. I was a criminal and I wasn’t completely truthful.

I’d never beat a woman, and I’d beat any man who did, but that didn’t excuse me from my other faults.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but it’s not near enough,” I said.

“He said he’d kill me if I left him, but I came out here to go to school anyway. Holly came too.” She laughed and pushed her plate to the side. “Her and her husband. He fucked some skank at Hooters and they split up right when I was graduating college. I guess when you get right down to it, I’ve got a hard time trusting men.”

The last thing on earth I wanted to do was cause her harm. I couldn’t see any way to keep from it, though.

“I’m sorry you went through all that,” I said. “I really am.”

It was all I could think of, but it wasn’t enough, and I realized it. Knowing that she’d been through everything that she described – and somehow managed to graduate college and carry on with life – spoke volumes of her character, strength, and worth as a human being. I admired her from a whole different perspective because of it.

“It’s just life. I’m a big girl.” She picked up her butter knife and wagged it at me. “I can say this: there’ll never be another man that treats me like that. Not unless he wants his dick cut off.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “You’ll need a bigger knife than that.”

She laughed out loud. “That’s no shit. I’d need a chainsaw for that tree trunk of yours.”

I finished my bread and nodded toward her plate. “Are you done?”

“I’m stuffed.”

“Too full for dessert?”

“Right now? Yeah.”

Goose had prepared pave, a Brazilian layered cake. It wasn’t what I needed, and I doubted it would cure how she was feeling. There was only one thing I knew she wanted for sure, and it wasn’t something I’d ever been interested in providing anyone with in the past.

In fact, until that night, I viewed it as off-limits.

I pushed myself away from the table. I’d been dying to see her in a pair of jeans anyway.

“Do you have some jeans you can change into?”

“In my purse?”

“No. At home.”

“I mean. Yeah. Why?”

“Because,” I said. “We’re going for a motorcycle ride.”

“Seriously?” Her eyes shot wide and she leapt from her seat. “I thought it only held one person?”

“I’ve got another one downstairs that’s supposed to hold two.” I said. “I’ve just never tried it.”

“You’ve never given a girl a ride?”

“Nope.”

“Superstitious belief?”

“No. I’ve never met anyone worthy,” I said. “Until now.”





THIRTY-ONE - Andy





The weather in San Diego allowed people to enjoy riding motorcycles twelve months of the year. Proof of their popularity was apparent on the highways, which were peppered with them every day of the week. The truth surrounding their fascination remained a mystery to me.

Until I got on one.

A motorcycle wasn’t a means of transportation. It was an experience. Being on it gathered all of what had gone wrong in my life and cast it into the wind as it rushed past us. Baker made a huge mistake by giving me a ride. Getting me off it wasn’t going to be as easy as asking.

He was going to have to get a court order.