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Ride With The Devil(3)

By´╝ÜJoanna Blake

Jack knew better though. As his second in command he knew that Dev had been needing something more than that.

He had for a long time.

After Dev lost his family, the club was all he had. Dev’s dad was the former Club President so he wasn’t hazed or ever a probationary member. But he was young, alone and just getting his legs on the road.

At 28, Jack was a couple of years older and had taken him under his wing. He'd never told the boy what to do, but he'd shown him by example.

The kid had good instincts from the start. He was strong and smart and fearless, sure. But it was his backbone and sense of fair play that Jack had known would make him into an incredible leader one day.

And he'd been right.

Donnie was mimicking Kaylie accepting a larger than life bouquet of pink roses, pretending to struggle under the weight as he simpered in a high pitched voice. A voice which sounded nothing like Kaylie to Jack. He rolled his eyes.

"And then she squeals 'Oh Dev! For me?'"

Everyone laughed except Jack. He'd been there. Donnie had it wrong.

The bouquet had been at least twice that size.

"Speak of the Devil!"

Devlin eyed them warily as he came into the bar. He took the ribbing the way it was intended, with a wink and a smile. He was smitten though.

If Kaylie wasn’t such a good person, Jack might have been worried about him.

Dev was wearing a clean and pressed shirt. That meant only one thing. Kaylie was coming to the clubhouse tonight. That meant everyone had better be on their best behavior, or else.

Jack would make sure of it.

Jack sipped his ginger ale and scoped the bar out for trouble makers. There were always short fuses around to defuse in the SOS bar room. It was only an urgent matter when Dev's old lady was in the clubhouse though. Usually the Spawn let their guys work things out the old fashioned way.

But not when Kaylie was there. Dev was really strict about what was said and done around her. Some saw it as a sign of weakness, but not Jack.

He knew Dev was a lucky son of a bitch to have found somebody who deserved that level of care and protection. Someone who loved him back. If anything, Jack was jealous. Not that he'd ever expected or even wished for anything like that for himself.

He had been born without love, raised without it, and he expected to die without it too.

Dogs like him didn't deserve love.

He did deserve dignity and brotherhood from the other Spawns. But only through the dint of his unwavering loyalty. Other than that, he considered himself to be worthless.

Well, except in a fight.

Then he came in real fucking handy.

Jack stood well over six feet tall and was built like a freight train. With broad shoulders and a massive heavily muscled chest over narrow waist and hips, he was in peak physical condition.

He'd lost the last of his extra padding in the last few years when he'd finally stopped drinking himself into oblivion every night. With his tattoos, muscular physique and streaming long dark hair, he'd earned himself a slew of embarrassing nicknames over the years.

Unfortunately there was one that stuck.

The Viking.

He never responded to the joking around with more than a level stare. The joking usually stopped immediately.

He didn't like to be teased, or taken less than seriously. But he put up with it, because he liked being in the thick of it with his fellow Spawn.

His life had been so desolate before he'd been initiated. He'd ridden alone for years, hitting the road when he was just 15 on the back on a stolen bike. He was still isolated in a lot of ways, but at least he wasn't alone.

For the first time in his life, he knew there'd be someone to cry at his funeral.

His brothers.

Chapter Three


Here we go…

Janet exhaled and forced herself to relax as she followed Kaylie into the clubhouse. Years of dance training had given her a rail straight spine. She reminded herself to slouch a little, and to keep her strides short.

Sometimes people thought she was stuck up because of her posture. She wasn't a snot, though she certainly wasn't a shrinking violet. She relaxed her body, letting it sway naturally, sinking into her hips when she walked.

Do not walk like a freaking ballet dancer!

She stared around the clubhouse as Kaylie led her to the bar room. The place was bigger than she'd thought. Not that she’d ever seen past the twelve foot chain link fence that surrounded the compound before.

You needed an invite to get in, and the club wasn’t in the habit of inviting in high school girls. As far as she knew anyway.

She tried not to look wide eyed, but damn!

It was literally as if the most bad ass, honky tonk bar had been plopped down in the middle of the huge building, far from prying eyes. There was a long dark wood bar with a brass railing, fully stocked, two stripper poles on either end of the room, and chairs and tables everywhere.