Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Dev was nude and sat casually with his back against the wall, a tablet balancing on one thigh. His biker was safe and warm even with a Texas Norther raging outside, blanketing Dallas in a thick layer of ice.
Somehow, the frigid air hadn’t reached Dev’s small bedroom. Quite remarkable for a drafty old home that had been haphazardly refurbished into four small apartment units.
In sleep, Cash had snuggled around one of Dev’s legs. Not abnormal. They slept huddled up together every night, but for the last week, he’d been more possessive and needy than usual. He was crazed with all these inner protective urges making him act like a caveman at any given time.
Concern replaced the startled expression on Dev’s face.
This was the fourth night in a row he’d dreamed of Dev being shot. Just like every other time, the realness of the nightmare had his heart pounding fearfully. The foreboding images were too real to shake.
Dev’s expression as blood seeped from his chest wound, the excruciating loss as he watched his lover’s life slip away… Anguish and helplessness made Cash frantic inside. He couldn’t let go of the unseen evil intent on taking what he cherished the most in the blink of an eye.
“What the fuck, secret agent man?” Dev asked.
He couldn’t hold Dev’s stare. The image of the man in his dream didn’t hold weight to the naked one staring at him as if he’d grown two heads. Whatever Dev tried to convey with his expression, his cock told the real story. Cash couldn’t remember ever being in the bedroom at a time when Dev was both naked and flaccid.
He must be freaking Dev out.
Hell, he was freaking himself out.
“Another bad dream?” Dev asked.
With an exhausted huff, Cash dropped to his back, sprawling out on the king-sized mattress, glancing over at the alarm clock on the floor. A blinking three forty-five in the morning mocked him. He was tired, but sleep was pointless.
His hand went to his heart, rubbing absently in a futile attempt to relieve the burden.
It was only a dream.
“Yeah,” Cash finally answered. A tray sat on the floor by Dev, a dimmed lamp on top providing the only light in the room.
They weren’t too far into their latest truce. Another renewed commitment for Dev to turn federal informant. His heart, which was seriously an untrustworthy organ, wanted to believe Dev was truly on his side this time.
But too much had gone wrong in getting them to this point. Dev’s security was at risk. If he wasn’t with his guy, he watched him from a close distance. Dev was also finally following all the rules imposed on him. Even with Cash stuck to him like glue, Dev still contacted him at every scheduled check-in. Dev carried his cell phone and other surveillance equipment everywhere he went, which consisted of two places—the ink parlor in South Dallas and to visit his children in north Fort Worth.
This afternoon, Dev had been excited as hell to see the wheels of justice finally work in his favor when his best friend, and probably, by now, former fellow club brother, Keyes Dixon, had been cleared of all charges. His record wiped clean. A condition Dev had given when agreeing to work as a federal informant.
How would Keyes feel if he ever found out Dev was behind his forced removal from the Disciples of Havoc motorcycle club?
The weird bond those men had to their one-percenter motorcycle club had a tight hold over all of them.
Was that the meaning behind the nightmares?
No. They felt like a premonition. A glimpse into a future he couldn’t control.
The truth settled on Cash like a stone in a lake. The overwhelming love he had for Dev made him too vulnerable. And Dev was going to get himself killed if he continued to play both sides against the other. Cash rolled away from Dev and pushed off the mattress.
“Where’re you goin’?” Dev asked, sounding confused and fed up with whatever had Cash putting space between them. “It’s the middle of the night in an ice storm. I figured we’d be here for a while.”
He’d love nothing more than to stay tucked away inside this room, far away from the evils of the world, but that would have to wait. He needed to find a better way to ensure Dev’s safety.
He reached for his pants. His attitude plunged deeper into something dark and nefarious.
With furrowed brows, he shoved a leg inside his bespoke slacks. He was usually careful with his clothes. He spent a lot of money to get them custom made. Well, the government spent the money, but he took care of them as if he had made the purchases himself, knowing he’d never be able to replace any of them on the pittance he was paid.
“It was a dream, Cashin.” Dev’s use of his real name sent a shiver racing down his spine. His downward spiraling thoughts sent him straight back to when they were children. To the weird kid with a mean reputation and clever personality. As a young boy, Dev had already earned the nickname Devilman.