Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(59)

The sincerity in his gaze and conviction in his voice brings on another flood of tears. But I’m tired of crying. He never had to tell me he loved me, I’ve known it all along. And although his words play on a loop in my head, I want to do something to lighten the mood.

There is nothing better than you. I sigh.

“Nothing?” I ask, smiling up at him.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Not even Harleys?”

“Don’t get cocky, babe,” he smirks. I start to feel drowsy suddenly, and find he holds my pain button in his hand. “Sleep, Love.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” I ask, letting my eyes flutter closed. I give up my fight and surrender to sleep at his promise.

“Always.”





If I were to lay in the middle of the road, have hot tar dumped on my body and let a fleet of Mack trucks roll over me, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t come close to the pain I feel in this moment. The only part of my body I move when I wake is my eyes, and even that hurts.

Bryce is sitting next to my bed, sleeping soundly. Even his presence and the reminder of his confession aren’t enough to dull the pain. Pressing the intercom button on my bed again, there’s a low beep before the nurse’s voice crackles through the speaker. Bryce’s eyes spring open at the sound.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m dying again,” I whimper, and when a small sob pulls at my chest, I have to fight the urge to scream in pain.

“The doctor is on her way,” the nurse responds.

“Love? You okay?” Bryce stands, and moves to touch my hair.

“Please don’t touch me.” He pulls back his hand, worry creasing his brow. “If they’re not here in the next five seconds, rip this motherfucker to pieces.”

He fights a smile. “Gladly.”

“How you feeling, Miss Scott?” I roll my eyes at the doctor’s ridiculous question.

“Why does everyone keep asking that? I feel like shit. Fix me.”

“Well, I do have some good news.” She flips through a chart—stealing a glance at Bryce who stands at the head of my bed. “Your catscan results are clear. No more swelling and no more bleeding. We’ll start some therapy tomorrow, get you up and moving and you’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

“Yeah, that’s great and all, but what about now? Where’s my button?”

She gives me a tight smile. “We’ll be administering your pain medication orally from now on. It’s been three days. It’s time to take the next step toward recovery.”

“Three days?” I screech, then wince when something tightens around my abdomen. I push back the covers and lift my gown to find a large bandage that stretches the length of my stomach. “What the hell is this?”

“We had to make a rather large incision to go in and stop the bleeding. We were able to cauterize the blood vessels and stop the bleeding. It wasn’t as major as we’d thought.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I feel Bryce’s hand on my shoulder, but I ignore it. “Not major? This,” I point to the gauzed taped to my belly, “this is major. Huge.”

The doctor isn’t the least bit fazed by my outburst. “You’re alive, Miss Scott.” She pats my foot and gives me an understanding look. “Be thankful you’re here. When you first arrived, I didn’t think you’d pull through. You’re a very lucky young woman.”

What is it about people saying nice things that make me feel like shit? She’s right. I am so very lucky. Not only am I alive, but there is a very, very sexy man, wearing leather, looking down at me as if I’m the most beautiful sight that’s ever graced his presence.

“Has it really been three days?” I ask, allowing him to feed me the pill the nurse had left.

“Yes.” He looks so tired. How had I not noticed before?

“I’d tell you to go home and get some sleep, but I’m not. I want you here. If I have to suffer, you suffer.”

He laughs at that, the tone rich and warming—making me feel better instantly. “Sounds like a plan.”





I stayed in that godforsaken hospital for nearly two weeks. I thought it was a little extreme considering after day five I could get around on my own. But they were worried about me developing blood clots, and insisted I stay until I was healed. So I did. As did Bryce.

He never left my side.

The club took care of both of us. We didn’t have to eat not one shitty meal the entire time we were there. They fed us, clothed Bryce and even sent flowers when I complained to Scratch that the room smelt funny. Every day I had a fresh bouquet.

The day has finally arrived for me to go home. Bryce insists they wheel me down in a chair to the front. I roll my eyes, but don’t argue. Besides, I’m kinda getting used to this overshow of affection. I’ve never had it before.

Everyone is here—waving at me from a distance. Either I smell funny or Bryce’s death glare warns them off. He’s been so worried someone would hurt me if they hugged me too hard. Something tells me I won’t be getting fucked hard anytime soon.

I’m lifted inside a truck I don’t recognize. Bryce comes around to the driver’s side and I sigh when I see him in the natural light wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Colorful tattoos swirl up his thick arms. He’d look dangerous if I hadn’t been dealing with the big teddy bear he really is for the past couple of weeks.

“Put this bitch in the wind,” I say, propping my legs up on the dash. “I’m so ready to be home.”

“Speaking of home.” Bryce glances over at me as he pulls into traffic—following behind the pack of bikes that drove here just to escort me to Hattiesburg. “I thought about buying the little house from the club.”

I raise my brows at him. “Really?” It’s where we fell in love.

“Yeah.” He shrugs, seeming a little nervous. It makes me smile. He’s never nervous. “I thought it’d be nice to have a place of our own.”

“Our?” I gasp and smack his arm. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to, but if I say no now, it’ll be a dick move.” I narrow my eyes and he laughs. “Yes, Delilah. I’m asking you to move in with me. Get our own place. Live our own lives.”

“And my job? What about that?”

“You can still bartend if you want. Or maybe you can focus on becoming what you’ve always wanted.”

I frown. “What?”

“A trampoline gymnast.”

I shake my head at him…this man I love more than life…this man who loves me back…who says I’m better than everything…

Except Harleys.



Its day four and I’ve settled comfortably back into life at the clubhouse. It’s as if I never left. My duties are still the same—minus me having sex with other people. I told Bryce I wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, and he told me to take my time—he wasn’t going anywhere. And he hasn’t.

The ugly scar that runs from the center of my stomach to well below my navel is a daily reminder of how close I came to losing my life and everyone in it. It’s jagged and uneven—a result of the emergency surgery. I guess when someone’s lying on your operating table bleeding from the inside, vanity takes a back seat to survival. I can’t complain, but I am slightly self-conscious—especially since Bryce has yet to make love to me.

I’ve tried like hell, but he yields his calming control over me, and I give in to his embrace instead of my desire. Him holding me is nearly as rewarding as him fucking me senseless. Not quite as good, but almost. But I don’t feel like there’s an absence in my life without the sex. And I guess the pain of the wreck was enough to last me a lifetime. I’ve found that all I need is him, and it’s just enough.

I feel like a new person. It’s as if my life before Bryce never even existed. Only one memory still haunts me, and it only rears its ugly head on Sundays—which just so happens to be today. The constant trigger immediately took me back to that dark place deep in my mind the moment I woke.

I can’t help but worry about my mother. The troubles of my mind have kept me distant all day and Bryce has noticed. The looks he kept throwing at me were a dead giveaway. He acted as if any minute I might snap and do something stupid. I haven’t and I don’t plan to. I just needed some time and space to think—which is what I’ve been doing for the past two hours.

My phone is ringing. What if it’s my mother? The thought is fleeting and I roll my eyes at my ridiculous assumption. Swiping it from my dresser, I find Bryce’s name flashing across the screen.

“Yes?”

“You finished feeling sorry for yourself yet?” Insensitive prick…no wonder I love him so much.

“Only if you have something better for me to do at,” I pull my phone from my ear to check the time, “three in the afternoon.”

“I might.” I can hear the smile in his voice. I’m smiling too.

“Fine. But don’t disappoint me.”

Opening the door, I find him on the other side. His face is scruffy with a two-day beard. His eyes are sparkling and his lips are smirking—making me want to stand on my toes and kiss them. I wish I could say my reaction to his appearance doesn’t affect me like it once did. I can’t. He still makes my belly flip and my toes curl.