The Devil's Ride

Inevitable

Scar’s POV

It took some fighting, but I eventually got Rachel on the back of my bike. She didn’t go willingly. She resisted until the last second, stiff and angry when she finally climbed on. Once the engine started and I pulled out into the street, though, her arms came around me. At first it was hesitant, like she was forcing herself to do it, but as we picked up speed, she held on tighter.

I had never been the kind of man who believed in love or relationships. I didn’t care for emotional attachments or the things people told themselves to feel better about their lives. This marriage wasn’t about affection. It was about having a child to carry my name and keep my family line going after I was gone. That was the only reason I wanted to do any of this. What she chose to do with her life afterward didn’t matter to me, as long as that part was done.

That way of thinking didn’t come out of nowhere. I grew up with an alcoholic mother and a father who spent most of his life at the club instead of at home. There wasn’t much warmth in my upbringing, and I learned early not to expect it. I’d lived thirty-six years with the same rules and the same mindset, and it had kept me standing. I didn’t see any reason it wouldn’t carry me through to the end.

As I took a sharp curve, Rachel tightened her grip without thinking. I reached back, caught her hands, and guided them to my waist so she wouldn’t slip. I felt my c**k harden. She tensed for a moment, then held on more firmly as we picked up speed again. Ace rode nearby, keeping a safe distance as we moved through Southie. The streets were familiar, the ride routine, and it didn’t take long before I turned into my driveway and brought the bike to a stop in front of my house.

I cut the engine and sat there for a second before moving. Rachel climbed off the bike seconds later I brought it to a stop, like she already knew she needed to move fast. Instead of bolting for the street, she started circling the house, slow and wide-eyed, taking it in like she’d just stepped onto the grounds of a mansion. The lights, the size, the quiet of the property all seemed to hit her at once.

“This is your house?” she asked, disbelief clear in her voice.

Ace and I pushed our bikes toward the open garage, and I grabbed Rachel by the arm, pulling her along with us. She stumbled once but followed, still staring around as we went. Once all three bikes were inside, I reached up and shut the soundproof doors, sealing us in.

“Yes,” I said. “The whole place is soundproof. The garage too.”

Her attention drifted immediately, landing on the rows of bikes lined up against the walls. She moved closer without realizing she was doing it, eyes lighting up as she took in every detail. For a moment, she looked almost peaceful, like she’d forgotten where she was and how she got here. Watching her react like that stirred something low and unwanted in my gut. The fact that she was drawn to my bikes the same way I was didn’t help.

Ace caught my eye and gave me a brief nod before heading for the door that led into the house. A second later, he was gone, leaving me and her alone.

She looked at me as soon as the door closed, and I watched her take a long, slow swallow as she undressed me with her eyes. I could tell she hated me, but I could also tell she wanted me. The contradiction sat plainly on her face, sharp and undeniable. Poor little Spitfire was turned on right then, and she knew it.

As I moved closer, I held myself steady and watched her react. She started to back away, slow and cautious, retreating toward the steps that led inside. I let her move just enough to feel like she had space before I reached out and grabbed her hip. I pulled her into me, fitting her small body against mine and pressing close. The scent of vanilla, probably from a lotion or perfume she wore, hit my nose and made my blood rush instantly. My fingers dug into her hip, and I took a moment to enjoy the heat of her skin against mine. She did not push me away.

“Do you ride, Spitfire?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, but it came out uneven, almost a stutter. She sounded nervous, and her voice dropped into a whisper.

I lowered my head toward her face, keeping my lips just inches from hers. She cleared her throat before speaking again, straightening as if she was reclaiming control.

“Yes, I ride,” she said, her voice steadier now. “My dad used to take me everywhere on the back of his bike. He even let me drive it before he died.”

“That’s sexy, Spitfire,” I said, still holding her hip. “No wonder you were so comfortable on my bike.”

I brought my other hand up and ran it over the frame beside us, stepping closer and closing the remaining distance between our bodies. She had nowhere left to move.

“Wait until I bend you over it,” I said.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at me like she thought I was joking.

“That will never happen,” she said.

I did not care what she said. I leaned in, bringing my lips close to hers, and smirked at the innocence I could see slipping through her expression. The kind I knew I was capable of corrupting. Her eyes dropped to my mouth, and she licked her lips without thinking. That was enough to tell me she was lying to both of us.

“You can keep saying that if it makes you feel better,” I said quietly. “But whatever I want, I f*****g get, Rachel.”

I grabbed the back of her neck and forced her to meet my eyes, my grip firm and deliberate. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to do far more than that. I wanted to bend her over, blow her back out, eat her out until she cums hard on my face and then f**k her to oblivion, but then, I stopped myself before I crossed the line. I let go and stepped back, choosing restraint over impulse.

She let out a deep breath, clearly trying to steady herself, and I realized I was doing the same.

“Come on, Spitfire,” I said. “It’s time to go inside.”

I turned, forcing down the urge to grab her and bend her over my bike, and opened the door to my house. I waited there for her, controlled on the outside, fully aware of how close I had come to losing it.

She walked past me with her head held high, deliberately avoiding my gaze as she stepped into the house. I locked the door behind us. Music drifted from Ace’s room as I led Rachel through the house, starting with the laundry room.

“This is the laundry room,” I said. “Feel free to use it whenever the f**k you need to.”

She stopped and looked at me then. “I don’t know if you remember,” she said, “but you forced me here. I don’t have any of my s**t to wash.”

There it was. That sharp mouth of hers.

“Calm down, princess,” I said. “When we were at your place, I packed a bag for you. It’s upstairs in your room.”

Her expression shifted instantly. “You packed a bag for me?” she asked. “I’m f****d then. Can we at least go back and get my stuff? The stuff I actually want.”

“No,” I said. “We’re not going back there. I’ll send someone for the rest of your clothes or we will go shop for new clothes.”

She did not roll her eyes this time. Instead, she lowered her gaze, and for a brief second, she looked younger than she wanted to appear. Smaller. Something about it hit me wrong, and I felt an unfamiliar twist in my chest.

I did not have feelings. I never had, not for anyone. That realization only made the moment more unsettling. I had no idea what was happening to me, and I did not like it.

As I stepped out of the laundry room, the pressure started behind my eyes. The familiar warning came too fast. I lifted a hand and bowed my head, pain blooming sharply as the migraine began to settle in.