Hellraiser (The Devil's Own #2) Read Online Free Page B

arms, placing her hand on her forehead. “It’s okay, I’m alright. Shit. Shit ,” she whispers, her eyes darting around the room with her eyebrows drawn together.
    “Are you okay? What was that about?” I ask, pulling out a stool for her at the bar.
    “That was a huge throwback right there, in my face,” Meadow answers, rubbing her temples. She takes a seat on the stool.
    “ Huge he is. My God, he’s beautiful and large. So was the guy next to him… I wonder if he’s that big every—”
    “—Melissa!” Meadow snorts, reaching for a bottle of vodka from behind the bar. The sound of the front bar door slamming shut vibrates the glasses. I look to Meadow for silent approval. She nods her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you guys in a bit.”
    “Are you sure?” Nettie asks, her light turquoise hair falling over her shoulders.
    Meadow nods again with a small smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
    Nettie and I both walk back out of the bar, now with a fresh bottle of rum in my hand. I take a sip before offering Nettie some. She laughs, shaking her head. “No, thanks.”
    “Oh, come on…” I tease.
    “I’m at a biker party. There’s no way I’m getting shitfaced.”
    “Hey, Judge Judy.” I tsk at her comment. “These bikers are a lot of things, but trust me when I say, you’re safe from rapists here.”
    “Don’t be so quick to say that,” a low voice growls, walking past me. My eyes slant. He looks over his massive shoulder, smirking at me, displaying a dimple. I recognize him as the other guy who was standing beside Beast. He’s wearing a black and white NY flat baseball cap turned backwards, a white t-shirt underneath his cut that reads “The Devil’s Own” on the top and then “Nevada” curved on the bottom, and he’s deliciously wrapped up in big tight muscles and tattoos that should be on the cover of Skin Deep magazine. He walks back to the table where there are a few other guys from his crew sitting and laughing. His eyes find mine as he brings the rim of his bottle of whiskey to his lips, a smile curving around it.
    “I want one,” I declare, dropping back onto the table where Phoebe is sitting all while keeping my eyes locked on the table of bikers.
    “One what?” she asks, turning her head to follow my line of sight. She laughs, shaking her head. “Nope, definitely not, Melissa.”
    “You don’t even know who I was referring to!” I semi-slur, taking another drink.
    “I don’t have to!” she declares. “It won’t be Hannibal. You don’t do beards. It won’t be Ripper, since he looks too boyish for you—though I can assure you, there’s nothing boyish about him. There’s a reason he’s called Ripper, and it has a lot to do with his namesake, organ removal and all. Frost isn’t your type. You like men with at least a bit of hair, and Nyx is a little too friendly for you; you’d friend-zone him faster than I could count to three, so that leaves Hella.” She picks up her drink, taking a long pull and watching me closely. My mouth falls open before I snap it shut. She laughs, pointing to me. “Your face! I wish I had my phone.”
    “We’ve been friends too long.”
    A few hours later, I push off the table. The trees that were scattered around the property start spinning, and I hold down a laugh before making my way toward the garage where all the bikes go when they’re broken. I’m rounding the corner when I walk into a back of muscle.
    “Shit, sorry,” I slur. He turns, zipping up his jeans. “Were you just taking a piss?”
    He laughs before turning around to face me. Fuck all men who wear MC cuts and are covered in tattoos. This man was the delicious package that I should stay away from because, no doubt, it has a bomb wrapped up inside it. From a distance, he was hot, but up close, he looks lethal.
    “Yeah, so?” he slurs, flipping his cap backwards again and taking a long pull of his whiskey. “What’s your name?” He nudges his head at me with a