Drive Me Wild: A Biker Romance Serial (The Devil's Host Motorcycle Club Book 3) Read online

  Drive Me Wild

  Part 3 of the Devil’s Host MC Serial

  Shari Slade

  Drive Me Wild

  His club is demanding answers. His sister is missing. Noah needs to draw on every ounce of strength in that muscled body. It’s not the time for him to let anyone see he’s more than fists and ink.

  Sometimes I catch a glimpse of the man behind the cold, hard mask. Something like caring. Something like kindness. I live for those moments.

  He might die for them.

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  DRIVE ME WILD is Part 3 of 5. The wildly erotic journey starts with RIDE ME HARD and continues with BREAK ME IN. These are short, hot reads, sure to leave you panting for more.

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  Sign up for Shari Slade’s newsletter to stay up-to-date on all the latest releases, happenings, and events.

  Dedication

  For Lizard, who listens.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Want More Alpha Hero Hotness Right Now?

  A Sexy Excerpt from Three Nights with a Rock Star

  More Books by Shari Slade

  Devil’s Host MC Serial Playlist

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  The longer I wait for someone to come get me, the harder it is to stay still. For the first fifteen minutes after Noah left to meet with the other club officers, I sat quietly and focused on the weave pattern in the thermal blanket spread over his bed. For the second fifteen minutes, I traced my finger over the curves of every pin up model gracing his walls. His commitment to diversity is impressive. His appreciation for a phenomenal rack, unquestionable. Now I am aggressively folding laundry—anything to keep my hands busy. I assume the clothes are clean. Dark t-shirts, jeans, bandanas and soft flannels. The earthy scent of him lingers in the laundry just beneath the mountain spring blast of detergent freshness. I only press my face into it twice. Okay, three times.

  I only wonder who washes it for him once.

  I pull the t-shirt away from my face and fold it again.

  There’s a gentle rap on the door and then it creaks open. A young guy with barely more than a milk mustache on his upper lip pokes his head inside Noah’s room. If we were back at the diner I might joke with him about his baby face, ask him if he wanted crayons while he waited for his eggs and bacon. Instead he’s here to take me on a gallows walk. “They’re ready for you now.”

  I want to ask him what’s happened so far or if he’s heard any news about Noah’s sister. I want so many things but instead I drop the t-shirt I’ve been folding and smooth my skirt.

  Deep breath, Star. Deep breath.

  Noah promised me before he left for this meeting that even if they decided the worst, I’d still be okay because he and Stone had cleared out the club’s cancer. That’s what he’d called Dev and his men. A cancer.

  I just hope the club stays in remission. I didn’t ask what the worst might be.

  The kid escorting me is a prospect. I know this because it’s emblazoned on his back and because Noah explained a little bit about how the club works. His version of pillow talk. Now I know there are prospects, guys who want to be members and are on a kind of indefinite trial run until they prove themselves. Then they become full members. And I know there are rules and by-laws.

  Noah broke them when he killed Dev without a vote.

  I swallow hard as we pass the room where it all happened. It feels like a lifetime ago, but it was only a few days.

  The rumble of voices drifts into the hallway from behind another door, and the prospect stops in front of it. He knocks more forcefully than he did for me, but he looks grimmer. Oh. He’s hiding his nerves behind a rough expression. A little boy, determined not to be afraid of the dark.

  I want to give him a snack and a juice box and tell him that it’s almost never the dark you need to be afraid of; the things that come for you in the daylight are so much worse.

  He opens the door, wraps his fingers around my upper arm and pulls me inside. Sunlight filters through the blinds in sharp slants, highlighting dust motes and smoke curls, casting shadows on the grizzled faces gathered around the long conference table. There are a dozen of them at least.

  Hard, angry faces. With heavy brows and unruly beards. My heart hammers into my breastbone like it might escape this inquisition, and I search for Noah in the lineup of intimidation.

  Noah sits in the corner, back to the wall, with a full view of the whole room. His eyes rake over my face and body, dark and possessive, communicating more than I can follow in a few seconds. Reassurance, sorrow, desire. Anger at the sight of the prospect handling me. Hope.

  Stone sits beside him, equally tense.

  I don’t recognize anyone else at the table except for the big man who’d gotten his face slapped the night I arrived. When he opens his mouth to speak first, relief washes over me. At least I’ve witnessed his kindness.

  “Honey, I’m Zig. I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to tell us the truth. You do that and nothing bad happens. Got it?”

  I nod.

  “Did Noah promise you protection when he brought you here?”

  Protection. What does that even mean? My knees start to buckle, and I’m grateful for the prospect’s grip. He was going to make me fuck off Harry’s debt, that didn’t seem very protective. Except every other thing about him was hyper-protective. I was his, he’d reminded me of that over and over. I guess protection meant different things to different people. I’d let them decide. “He said I’d be working off my cousin’s debt in trade, but if I did what he told me I wouldn’t be hurt.”

  “Was the trade specified?”

  This sounds like something from a legal contract. Jesus, I hadn’t realized bikers were freaking lawyers or something. It makes sense though, criminals would be intimately familiar with the law. What do they call them on TV? Jailhouse lawyers. And the way they sit around staring at me, weighing my words, they’re also jury and judge.

  And executioners. I gulp. Just tell the truth. “Sex.”

  There’s muttering and nodding. Zig takes a long drag from his cigarette and crushes it in a plastic ashtray shaped like a skull. “How were you hurt?”

  Not just were you hurt but how. They’ve already discussed this. Determined I’d been hurt. I’m not here to tell my story, I’m here to corroborate or clarify. I’m here to protect Noah. Or damn him.

  Are these the type of men who go soft inside at the first trickle of a woman’s tears—or are they the kind who get angry? I have no way of knowing so I mimic the men at the table, the prospect beside me, and make my voice as flat as possible. Make my face stony. These are facts. Hard and true. Unemotional. “Dev made Noah beat me—torture me—to get information from my cousin. I’m certain if Noah had refused, he would’ve killed him. And me.”

  “Bullshit.” A weathered man with wild dark hair and full beard slams his fist on the table. “There were five other men in that room. Two of them full members. And not one of them spoke up? You’re a lying little whore.”

  Noah is up and out of his seat before I can blink, his palms flat on the table and his eyes flashing fire as he leans over, yelling. “You should apologize for that, Dale.”r />
  Dale sneers. “You brought her here to whore for a debt and you want me to apologize for calling her one?”

  “I want you to apologize for calling her a liar. Whore is a fucking compliment. The whores bring more money into this club than anything you do. Now can we get this over with because in case you bastards have forgotten, my sister is missing. So vote to kill me and Stone and go look for her. Or vote not to kill us so I can go look for her.”

  Terror rips the words from my throat. “Kill you?” It’s more of a shriek than a question. I hadn’t thought they’d kill him. Me, maybe. But I thought the ones who’d wanted him dead were already taken care of. That’s what he’d told me, they’d destroyed the cancer. God, what had I thought they were going to do? Give him detention? How could I still be so naïve—so stupid—given everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done, and everything I’ve had done to me?

  Nobody pays attention to my question.

  Zig bangs his ashtray. “We haven’t forgotten your sister. She’s the reason we’re having this meeting now instead of tonight at our normal time. Half the guys here are voting proxies for Devils who are still on the road. I’m sure they’d like to vote their own piece, but this is an emergency. We’re not monsters.”

  Dale spits into a soda bottle filled with a brown liquid. My stomach lurches as I remember that sickly sweet smell. The buzz of a fly thumping inside a bottle, trapped, poisoned, dying. The foul taste of tobacco juice left behind on my lips no matter how furiously I rubbed away the unwanted goodnight kisses.

  The awful memory is so distracting I have to struggle to pay attention when Dale speaks. “You assassinated our fucking president, Noah. You and your boy murdered two other members—one of them my goddamn blood brother—and three friends of the club. There’s a pile of fucking bodies with your names on them and there will be hell to pay. I don’t care who your daddy is, who took your sister.” Dale spits again and stares right at me. “Or who made any fucking promises to some lying truck stop skank.”

  I shrug out of the prospect’s hold and draw my shoulders back. “I am not a liar.”

  Stone pulls Noah back before he can launch himself completely across the table at Dale. “Now is not the time, brother.” He keeps a hand on Noah’s shoulder and looks to the man who’s been questioning me. “Zig, are you done with her?”

  Zig lights another cigarette, pulling so hard the cherry glows bright red even in the daylight, and blows out a billowing cloud of smoke. His eyes are bloodshot, and for one second I see exhaustion flicker across his face. “Yeah, you two take her and go wait in the bar. We’ll let you know when we’ve made our decision.”

  Chapter Two

  Noah paces the length of the bar like a caged panther. I watch him in the cracked mirror that hangs on the wall behind the assorted bottles. He doesn’t look worried or afraid. He looks like a predator, barely restrained. Deadly and silent. He hasn’t said a word since he and Stone hustled me out of the club meeting. I can’t blame him. Not with his fate undecided and his sister missing. Likely abducted by the same MC that got Harry in trouble—that got him killed.

  A nervous giggle bubbles up and I choke it back. I don’t know if I’m a captive or a guest. A victim or an ally. I was beaten and my cousin was killed. This is all so absurd.

  I can’t just sit here and wait for something to happen.

  The scent of cooking bacon cuts through the beer-soaked ashtray smell clinging to every nearby surface. It practically pulls me out of my seat and lures me toward the kitchenette just off the side of the bar. I don’t even realize I’m moving until Noah’s hand is wrapped around my arm, pulling me back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Someone’s cooking breakfast. I don’t know anything about what you do here, but I know how to crack eggs and deliver plates. I’ll help.” My stomach growls and the thin hard line of Noah’s mouth quirks into a smile for half a second.

  “And because you’re hungry.”

  Embarrassed, I drop my gaze to study the tops of his boots. “I could eat.”

  His touch is gentle against my cheek, coaxing me with a crooked finger to look up at him. “I haven’t been doing a very good job of taking care of you.”

  Then I see it—the anxiety in his eyes, the fear. The emotions he can’t let anyone else see. It’s exhausting keeping all that contained. I know firsthand. “You’ve had a lot going on.”

  “Don’t make excuses for me, Star. I promised I’d do my best to keep you safe, to take care of you, and I’ve done nothing but fail you so far. I promised my sister I’d keep her safe too. Shit.” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “If you’re hungry, I will fucking feed you.”

  He guides me to my stool, and moments later he’s back with a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, thick slices of bacon, and dark toasted bread. A pat of butter melts into the mountain of toast and I nearly weep at the sight. “This looks delicious. Thank you.”

  “It’ll get the job done.” He holds out a fork but when I reach for it he pulls it back, plunges it into the buttery eggs that have my mouth watering. My tummy rumbles again. Impatient. Painfully empty. But he doesn’t steal my food, he lifts the loaded fork to my mouth and gently nudges my lips until they open.

  Oh God. He’s actually feeding me. Out here. In front of everyone. I swallow the bite and hardly taste it. My cheeks are on fire.

  He spears some bacon. Delicious, smoky, salty, crisp. All the adjectives run through my mind as I moan my pleasure. I’m glad he’s feeding me because if I had the fork I’d be gobbling it all down without taking a second to breathe. Noah forces me to go slow. To savor.

  Sunlight washes into the room through the swinging front door, and Noah sets the fork down. An older man strides toward the bar. Two guys peel out of the shadows as if summoned by the invasion. Noah waves them off and meets the man halfway with a one-armed hug. “Pop.”

  His father stiffens and then melts into the embrace. “She didn’t make a sound. I’d have heard her, she’s a fighter. You know that.”

  “I know, Pop. Sit down. Eat something. I’ve got some calls out. We need information before we do anything.” Noah settles him in the seat beside me and snaps at the girl with her head poked out of the kitchen. “Drew, bring another plate.”

  Drew bobs her dark ponytail at us and darts back to the grill. When she turns around I see she’s wearing the same short-shorts under her apron as the shot girls were wearing at the club party the other night. My denim skirt hits the middle of my thigh and feels almost puritanical compared to the butt-bearing hem-line currently on display.

  Noah’s father has his arm slung over Noah’s shoulders, taking comfort and support. It’s almost strange to see the easy affection between them. I know they’re family, but that closeness is so far outside my experience as to seem alien. The older man clears his throat. “Drugged. It’s the only thing that makes sense. They came into my home and drugged my little girl. I want to paint the walls with their blood.”

  “We’ll find her and we’ll make them pay, but let’s not talk business out here.” They both look at me and it’s startling how similar their features are. Noah’s jawline is stronger, his nose sharper. But their eyes are almost exactly the same. It’s like looking into Noah’s future and seeing what he’ll look like at 60. Or maybe it’s like looking into Pop’s past. “This is my…”

  I want him to finish the sentence. I’m his what? His prisoner? His conquest? His?

  He starts again. “My—”

  “Pussy got your tongue? Jesus, son. Now isn’t the time. I’m sure you’re a real sweet”—Pop looks me up and down and his efficient inspection leaves me feeling stripped naked. Not in the good way—“girl, but we’ve got family matters to attend to right now.”

  Stone snorts and mutters something under his breath.

  Drew sets a plate in front of Pop and picks mine up. She touches my arm and urges me along. “Come on back and help me with some dishes.”

  We stand
side by side at the sink. I’m up to my elbows in soapy water and she’s working a bar towel over a pint glass. I’m not surprised they sent me away or that Noah’s father thought the worst of me. And I’m glad to have something to do, even if it is just washing dishes. I rinse another cup and hand it to Drew.

  I’m not hurt that Noah didn’t finish introducing me.

  Not hurt much, anyway. But I keep my chin up and my spine straight. I rinse a handful of forks and pass them to Drew too. I’m alive. I’ve survived this long and I’m not about to stop now. I need to be thankful for that.

  A stray curl escapes Drew’s ponytail, and she tucks it behind her ear the way some people swat flies—a quick, unconscious movement. With the dart of her hand, order is restored. “For what it’s worth, if you were just a piece of ass they wouldn’t have acknowledged you at all. Don’t feel sorry for yourself.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Sure you weren’t.” She shakes her head. Her tone is wry and almost wistful. And she doesn’t look at me when she speaks. “I’m just like you, baby girl. Trying to find my way. My place. A word of advice? Never forget there’s always someone coming up behind you. There’s always someone who wants what you have, even when you think you’ve got nothing.”

  I’d never forget that. I’ve been the one coming up from behind my whole life.

  It’s hard to imagine I’m suddenly the one with something anyone wants, until I see Noah staring at me from the bar.

  I have him. For now.

  Chapter Three

  Zig and the other men from the meeting file out into the bar and I freeze. They were in that room alone, deciding Noah’s fate, for a long time. Long enough for me to have breakfast and to wash possibly every single glass in the whole club. Long enough to come to terms with killing two men. My mind spins with possibilities I can barely imagine. At least they didn’t come out with guns drawn, at least—