Rusty (Twisted Devils MC Book 2) Read online

  Rusty

  An MC Romance

  Book 2 in the Twisted Devils MC

  By

  Zahra Girard

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Zahra Girard

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue Rusty

  Epilogue Avery

  Want More Steamy Action?

  The Twisted Devils MC

  Book one: Razor

  The Rebel Riders MC:

  Book one: Thrash

  Book two: Riot

  Book three: Duke

  Book four: Rooster

  Book five: Creole

  Book six: Bull

  The Wayward Kings MC Series:

  Book one: Bear

  Book Two: Ozzy

  Book Three: Hazard

  Book Four: Preacher

  Other books by Zahra Girard:

  His Captive

  Liar

  Chapter One

  Rusty

  A single glass, a booming voice, a backing choir of dirty blues rock and the murmur of the men who make up the roughest elements of the city of Torreon.

  “Raises your glasses, lads, because tomorrow I’m going to hell.”

  Four glasses rise and crash together. All of us — Trips, Razor, and me — say our condolences to Mack, before downing our whiskey.

  In this grimy dive bar an hour’s ride from Lone Mesa, the underworld of the city of Torreon pulses around us like the beating of a black heart. Fueled by cheap booze, the throbbing of heavy drums, and the wail of the guitar on the stage.

  We wear the dusty memories of a hard day’s ride to nowhere, hours spent cruising the desert in this burned part of California. My body aches, there’s strong brown liquor in my glass, and I’m in that too-rare state that I chase most every night — drunk and exhausted enough that I can forget the pain that hangs over me like a black cloud.

  This feeling won’t last long. It never does. No matter how hard I cling to it. But, for a rare moment, I’m happy. The demons on my shoulder are silent — all I hear are the jawing voices of my family, their laughter, their jokes.

  “Truthfully, I’m glad you lads could join me today. It will be too fucking long before I’ll see you all again. Tomorrow morning, Stone is sending me to Phoenix to run another errand for that rotten whore, Rogerio Lopez, and his fucking unnameable cartel,” Mack says.

  “They’re not unnameable, Mack. You just don’t know the fucking language, which is a fucking travesty considering we’re only a couple fucking hours from Mexico. It’s Los Cuchillos Sangrientos. It means ‘The Bloody Knives’,” Razor says. “Samantha’s been teaching me a bit of Spanish.”

  “You sure it’s Samantha that’s been teaching you, and not that chick from that Mexican restaurant?” Trips grins and punches him in the shoulder.

  Razor frowns. “You know about that?”

  Mack grins. “Everybody knows, lad. We’ve known for ages. Stone speaks Spanish, and she asked him about you one day. He said that, when she talks about you, her voice gets so fucking thirsty it’s like she’s been wandering the desert for a week.”

  “Hold on. You’ve all known all this time? Why the fuck didn’t any of you tell me?” Razor says, slamming his glass down on the table. “You should have fucking warned me that the old woman who makes my tacos wants my dick.”

  “We didn’t tell you because we fucking love her food. Good burritos are worth a lot, brother. You know that,” Trips says. “And besides, Stone said not to say anything. He wanted to give her a chance to shoot her shot. Everyone’s got a right to that. Plus, if you said yes, maybe we all would’ve gotten some free burritos every once in a while.”

  “You were hoping I’d whore myself out just so you could get some free burritos? I hate you all so much,” Razor says.

  “Burritos, man,” Trips says.

  Mack empties his glass and snatches a new one off the tray of a passing waitress. She shoots him a dirty look, but keeps walking.

  “Nobody would’ve judged you, Razor. A woman that can cook is worth a whole fucking lot,” he says. “I knew this chick in Dublin, she was ugly as sin, with a face that’d make the dead weep. But she made the finest shepherd’s pie on God’s green earth. You can hear heaven’s choir with every bite. The way she made the fucking mashed potatoes to go on top — loading them with butter and herbs — it was a revelation. And the tender lamb she used… Lamb, lads. Oh, it was divine. I’m not ashamed to admit I made her moan like a banshee from time to time just to get a piece. And, if she’d asked, I would’ve done a lot more than just fuck her to get myself some.”

  “Yeah, Mack?” Razor says. “You sure about that?”

  “Oh, I would’ve lost my tongue in her asshole for a piece, you can be sure of that.”

  “You’d really do all that for what’s basically some meat, veggies, and mashed potatoes?”

  “I’m Irish, Razor. A century and a half ago, we crossed oceans in search of potatoes. The meat and veggies would just be a bonus.”

  Mack goes on, but my attention drifts while the whiskey burns a trail down my gullet. There’s a woman at the bar staring at me with eyes so deep I could drown in them.

  “Rusty, you with us, brother?” Trips says, eyeing me with concern.

  Mack’s eyes follow mine and he spies the woman sitting at the bar. “No, he ain’t here. I think our boy’s got something other than shepherd’s pie on his mind.”

  “Go for it, Rus. You’ve been in this funk for so fucking long, you need to snap out of it. There’s nothing like a good lay to clear your head. Shit, with how that chick is looking at you, you won’t even have to work for it,” Razor says. “Get over there.”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “Fine? Bullshit,” Razor says. “We’re not blind and you’re not that fuc
king subtle.”

  Mack clears his throat. “Listen, Rus, as your superior and the man who Stone designated as in charge of this Phoenix job, I will give you a choice: you can either go talk to that fine lass at the bar and get yourself laid, or I’m taking you with me to Phoenix.”

  I sit up straight and forget all about my whiskey. My last trip to Phoenix is what caused the nightmare that’s followed me for years. There’s not a chance in hell I’ll go back there.

  “Fuck no,” I snap.

  “Yeah, I thought that might motivate you. Get over there. We will watch you and make sure you’re doing your damnedest to get laid. And, for extra motivation, I’m taking the spark plugs from your bike. You can get a ride home from the lovely redhead. We’ll give the plugs back to you in the morning.”

  I stare at Mack in disbelief. This shouldn’t be hard — before Phoenix, I had no problem getting close to anyone, even if it was just a one-night stand — but I can’t even imagine taking that first step towards the bar.

  “Get over there,” Razor says, standing up and pulling me out of my chair.

  “Buy her a drink. Tell her you noticed her watching you. That’s all it will take, brother,” Trips says. “You’ll be deep in that chick in no time.”

  I nod, finish my drink, and set the empty glass down. I’ve got no choice.

  “Fine. I’ll do it. But only because there’s no way in hell I’m going back to Phoenix.”

  Mack laughs. “What, you don’t want to help Rogerio clean house before his daughter’s wedding?”

  It’s a slow walk across the bar to take a seat next to the redhead who’s been staring at me most of the night. I pull up a stool and wave for the bartender to bring me another whiskey. When I smile at her, for some fucking reason she smiles back and idly twirls the stir-stick in her drink in a distracted display of interest.

  Surprise rises inside me. This gorgeous redhead has no idea who the hell I am or the things I’ve done. If she knew even the half, she’d be running for the door. Still, conscious of my brothers watching me, I clear my throat.

  “Darlin’, the way you’ve been looking at me leads me to believe you’ve got something on your mind. And I couldn’t help but come over here and find out if I’m right. My name’s Rusty. What’s yours?”

  “Avery. And you’re right, Rusty, I do have something on my mind. I noticed you earlier and I’m glad you came over,” she says.

  “That so?”

  A mischievous smile lifts the corners of her mouth, like she’s holding on to a secret that she can’t wait to share. Ruby red lips shine against porcelain skin, a delicate face dotted with freckles and buried in a mess of fiery red hair, she is beautiful temptation.

  “I kind of have a thing for bikers. Well, real ones. You’re not really some dentist who just rides on the weekend, are you?” Her voice is crooked from alcohol and the carnal intentions that only come out after a few stiff drinks.

  “No, Avery, I’m not a dentist. Not even close.”

  I down my whole whiskey in two quick gulps and the bartender has my glass refilled before I even have to ask. It doesn’t matter how easy this is, how bad she wants it or even how bad I want it, there’s still that ache inside me that demands I drink more, until all feelings — good and bad — drown beneath a tide of liquor.

  She slides her stool closer and pearly white teeth and ruby lips tease me over the edge of her lipstick-stained glass. Her hand brushes my leg.

  “How long have you been, um, I don’t know what they call it — a full member of your MC?”

  “I’ve had my patch just over seven years. Why all the questions? You a cop?”

  “Do I look like a cop, Rusty?” She says, her eyes flickering with amusement. “I’m an accountant. And I minored in computer science in college because I went through this phase where I really hated people. Now, I just sort of hate people. I’m interested in you because I’ve just got a lot of powerful memories involving men like you. Something about your type just, I don’t know, intrigues me.”

  There’s no way she knows know what guys like me do for a living; the way she’s looking at me is like she’s got this fantasy that everything in my world gets settled with a few fistfights and some whiskey and, after that, it’s all hugs and smiles. She doesn’t understand how dark things get.

  “You really don’t know what life is like in an MC, do you?”

  “No. But maybe I want to find out. Maybe I want to learn a lesson tonight. Do you think you can help me with that, Rusty? Can you teach me? I’d be a very willing student.”

  I cast a look back at my brothers. They’re settling their tab with the waitress. Razor is already on his feet, and both Trips and Mack give me a thumbs up. They will still steal my spark plugs, but at least they seem satisfied enough to get off my back for a while.

  I turn back to her and lean in. She’s so much smaller than me, almost fragile. I’m not the kind of man she should be with — I would ruin her.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking, Avery. You want the truth? Nothing good would come out of getting close to me.”

  There’s a pause. She bites her lip, and the sight of temptation on her face stirs me up so much it’s all I can do the keep in a moan.

  “Let’s start over, Rusty. How about I buy you another drink?”

  I nod.

  “Good,” she says. Smiling wider, she gestures to the bartender to get me another round.

  I turn. Mack waves goodbye and I nod to him that I’ve got this woman well in hand.

  “One more drink,” I say.

  Whether or not I fuck her, at least I’ve bought myself a bit of peace from my brothers worrying.

  And a break from Phoenix — there’s not a force on earth that can get me to go back there.

  I turn back to see a grinning Avery holding a glass of whiskey. I grab it, clink my glass to hers, and take a drink. It goes down easy.

  My fingers tingle, my lips, too. I take another drink and suddenly, I’m a lot more amenable to her questions.

  “What do you want to know?” I say.

  “So, you’ve decided you’ll stay and chat with me?”

  “For now.”

  “Well, cheers to that, Rusty,” she says, raising her glass again.

  “Cheers.”

  I drink deep.

  Her eyes flicker to something over my shoulder. Then, satisfied with whatever it is she saw, her devilish smile flashes from behind a stray red curl that’s fallen over her face. She takes a languid sip from her drink and her sweet voice caresses me like the darkest, sweetest rum.

  “I’ve got a lot of questions for you, Rusty. First, have you ever been to Phoenix?”

  I raise an eyebrow, take another sip of my whiskey.

  “The fuck does that matter to you?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t recognize me. Because I sure as hell recognized you. I could never forget your face. Or what you did. The second I saw you, I knew. I knew way deep down in my bones, but had to be sure.”

  I finish my drink. Try to slam the empty glass down on the bar, but it’s like my body’s moving in slow motion. The glass tumbles from my numb fingers, rolls fitfully along the bartop to crash and shatter on the floor. My vision darkens at the edges. My tongue feels heavy, like it belongs to someone else.

  “What the fuck?”

  “I’ve been looking for you for seven years. Seven years. And I am so glad I finally found you,” she says. Her voice is garbled, as if she’s under water.

  I sway in my seat, the darkness at the edge of my vision closes in; my sight an ever-shrinking tunnel and the darkness is moments from swallowing me.

  When I try to stand, I fall to my knees. Dizzy, weak, and getting weaker.

  She’s ready.

  Quickly, she hops from her stool and slips an arm around my shoulders. Avery is strong for someone so slight, she’s able to drag me to my feet with on
ly mild effort. She’s fueled by the kind of determination that comes with seven years of suffering.

  “You OK, man?” The bartender’s dim voice intrudes on my consciousness.

  I want to tell him ‘no’. Tell him that something is wrong. That I need help. But, even if I could put the words together, I doubt he’d believe a guy like me could be taken down by a petite little thing like Avery. If that even is her name.

  Avery puts a handful of cash on the bar and flashes the bartender a disarming and exasperated smile. “He’s fine. My boyfriend’s just had too much to drink. As usual. Here, this should cover us. Keep the change.”

  Together, we leave the bar behind.

  Each step saps me of my strength, each step takes me closer to the blackness of unconsciousness.

  My blurry eyes scan the parking lot, hoping against hope that I might see Mack, Trips, or Razor, but no luck. As she shoves me into the backseat of a minivan, she laughs.

  It’s a relieved laugh. Joyful.

  “You really have no idea how happy I am to have found you, Rusty. And how much I’m looking forward to killing you.”

  Chapter Two

  Avery

  It’s him.

  The murderer.

  The man who ruined my life.

  The devil who snuffed out my dreams and replaced them with nightmares that would never go away.

  The monster who drowned my hopes in blood and burned his frightful, scowling face into my soul.

  I’m so giddy I almost can’t believe my luck — every stop light, every intersection I pass through, I have to look over just to reassure myself that he’s still there, that this isn’t some figment of my imagination.

  But it’s him.

  I’m sure of it. I could never forget his face. Never forget his voice. Never forget the way he looked down at me when I was covered with my father’s blood, rendered mute by the sheer horror of seeing half of my family stripped away from me in the time it takes for a bullet to enter a man’s head.