Chapter 2
Maya's first instinct was to lie. Her second was to run. But something about the way Devil watched her—patient, knowing—told her both options were pointless.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she tried anyway.
He pulled out his phone, swiped a few times, then turned the screen toward her. Maya's stomach dropped.
It was a news article. Three months old. "Key Witness Missing in Valentino Crime Family Trial." Beneath it was a photo—her photo, the one from her driver's license. Dark hair, brown eyes, hopeful smile. A girl who'd believed the world was basically good and that bad things only happened to other people.
That girl was dead. Maya had buried her somewhere between Chicago and here.
"Sophia Martinez," Devil read. "Accountant for Valentino Construction. Witnessed three members of the Valentino family execute her boss when she worked late one night. Agreed to testify. Vanished from protective custody six weeks before trial."
"That's not me," Maya whispered, but her voice shook.
"Yeah, it is. Your hair's different, you've lost weight, and I'm betting those brown contacts are irritating as hell, but it's you." He pocketed his phone. "Question is, did you run because you got cold feet, or because someone on the inside was dirty?"
Maya wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the Oklahoma heat. "Why do you care?"
"Because Redemption Falls is my town. My club keeps it safe, keeps it clean. And you just brought a shit-storm of mob trouble right to my doorstep."
"I didn't mean to—"
"Doesn't matter what you meant." He straightened, stepping closer. Not threatening, exactly, but definitely intimidating. "Those guys don't forget. They don't forgive. And they sure as hell don't stop looking."
"Then I'll leave." The words tasted like ash. "Tonight. You'll never see me again."
"Yeah?" He tilted his head. "Where you gonna go? You got money? Fake ID? A car that won't break down in fifty miles?"
Maya said nothing because they both knew the answer.
"That's what I thought." Devil sighed, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. "Look, I'm not trying to scare you more than you already are. But running blind is gonna get you caught or killed. Probably both."
"So what do you suggest?" She hated how small her voice sounded. "Turn myself in?"
"Hell no. Witnesses who disappear don't usually live long enough to make it back to court, even with federal protection." He paused. "But I might have another option."
Hope flared in Maya's chest, dangerous and desperate. "What?"
"The club runs a legitimate auto shop on the edge of town. Custom bikes, restoration work, that kind of thing. We're always short-handed, and Dotty mentioned you're good with numbers."
"You want to give me a job?"
"I want to hide you in plain sight. You work for the club, you're under club protection. Anyone asks, you're Devil's girl."
Maya's breath caught. "Your... girl?"
"In name only," he clarified, but something hot flickered in those pale eyes. "For now. The Valentinos won't be looking for you shacked up with an MC president in the middle of nowhere. They'll be checking bus stations, cheap motels, women's shelters."
"And what do you get out of this?"
Devil's smile was sharp. "You keep the books for the shop. Clean, legal, above board. The Feds have been sniffing around, looking for any excuse to bring us down. Having a legitimate accountant—even one with a fake name—keeps them off our backs."
It made a twisted kind of sense. But Maya had learned the hard way that deals with dangerous men always came with hidden costs.
"What's the catch?" she asked.
"Catch is, you do what I say, when I say it. You don't leave town without permission. You don't contact anyone from your old life. And if trouble comes..." He met her eyes. "You trust me to handle it."
Trust. The word felt foreign on her tongue. Maya hadn't trusted anyone since the night she'd fled Chicago in the back of a marshal's sedan, only to realize halfway to the safe house that her handler was making calls he shouldn't be making.
She'd jumped out at a red light and never looked back.
"How do I know you won't turn me in?" she asked. "There's probably a reward."
"There is. Fifty grand." Devil shrugged. "But blood money's bad luck. Besides, I hate the Feds more than I like money."
"That's not very reassuring."
"It's the truth." He pushed off the wall, standing close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "You got two choices, Sophia. Run and take your chances, or stay and let me keep you safe."
"It's Maya now," she corrected automatically. "I'm not Sophia anymore."
Something shifted in his expression—understanding, maybe, or respect. "Alright, Maya. What's it gonna be?"
She should run. Every survival instinct screamed at her to get as far from this man, this club, this situation as possible. Devil was dangerous—the kind of dangerous that wore a handsome face and made you forget why you were scared in the first place.
But she was so tired. Tired of running, tired of looking over her shoulder, tired of being alone with only fear for company.
Maybe it was time to try a different kind of dangerous.
"Okay," she heard herself say. "I'll take the job."
Devil's smile was slow and satisfied. "Good girl. We start tomorrow, six AM. Wear something you don't mind getting dirty."
"Tomorrow? But I need to give Dotty notice—"
"Already handled. I'll tell her you're transitioning to the shop." He started walking toward his bike. "Oh, and Maya?"
She turned. "Yeah?"
"Pack light tonight. You're moving into the clubhouse. Can't protect you if you're sleeping in that rat-trap motel on Highway 9."
"Wait, I'm supposed to live with you?"
Devil threw one leg over his motorcycle, the engine roaring to life. "With the club. My room's separate." He paused, revving the throttle. "Unless you'd prefer otherwise."
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she hated that he saw it, hated the knowing smirk that curved his lips.
"Six AM," she managed.
"Don't be late, angel." He pulled on his helmet. "Devil hates waiting."
Then he was gone in a rumble of chrome and exhaust, leaving Maya standing in the parking lot, wondering what the hell she'd just agreed to—and why part of her was almost looking forward to finding out.