Chapter 3

The Devil's Rejects clubhouse sat at the edge of town, a sprawling compound of brick and steel that looked more like a fortress than a home. Maya arrived at 5:45 AM with everything she owned crammed into a duffel bag and her stomach twisted in knots.

A man with a scarred face and a "Sergeant at Arms" patch stood guard at the gate. He looked her up and down with cold assessment.

"You the accountant?"

"That's me." She tried for confidence and landed somewhere near terrified.

He grunted and waved her through. "Shop's around back. Devil's already there."

Of course he was.

The auto shop was a converted warehouse, all high ceilings and industrial lighting. The smell of motor oil and metal filled the air, familiar and oddly comforting. Maya's father had been a mechanic before cancer took him. She'd spent childhood summers in shops just like this.

Devil stood bent over the engine of a vintage Harley, his cut draped over a nearby chair, leaving him in just a black t-shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the muscles beneath. Tattoos covered his arms—she could make out more details now. Flames, yes, but also wings, scripture in Latin, and what looked like a woman's name half-covered by other ink.

He looked up when she entered, his pale eyes tracking over her worn jeans and plain black t-shirt. "You're early."

"You said six. It's not six yet."

A slight smile played at his lips. "Punctuality. I like that." He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. "Let me show you around."

The tour was efficient and surprisingly professional. He showed her the office—a glass-enclosed space overlooking the shop floor—explained their system for tracking jobs, parts orders, and billing. The books were a mess, but not suspiciously so. Just the chaos of mechanics who were better with wrenches than spreadsheets.

"Previous bookkeeper quit two months ago," Devil explained, pulling out file boxes. "Said we needed 'a real accountant,' not just someone who could balance a checkbook."

Maya flipped through a folder, her trained eye already catching discrepancies. "She wasn't wrong. You've got duplicate orders here, missing invoices, and I'm pretty sure you're overpaying for parts."

"Can you fix it?"

"Yeah. It'll take a few weeks to get everything organized, but it's not impossible." She set down the folder. "This is legitimate work. The shop, I mean."

"Told you it was." Devil leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "Club's been going straight for five years now. Well, mostly straight."

"Mostly?"

"We're not saints, Maya. But we're not criminals either. Not anymore."

She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe someone in this world could be trusted. But belief was expensive, and she'd spent all her currency on the marshals who'd betrayed her.

"Where do I sleep?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I'll show you after we're done here." He checked his watch—an expensive piece that seemed out of place on a biker's wrist. "Club meeting's at eight. You'll be introduced. Some of the guys are gonna test you, see if you're tough enough to be here."

"Test me how?"

"Words, mostly. Maybe some harmless flirting. Nothing physical—that's against club rules." His expression hardened. "But if anyone crosses that line, you tell me immediately. Nobody touches what's mine."

The possessive words sent an unwanted thrill through her. "I'm not yours."

"To them, you are." He pushed off the desk, moving closer. "That's the only thing keeping you safe. You're Devil's girl, which means you're protected. Untouchable. But you have to play the part, at least in public."

"What does playing the part involve?"

Devil reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was casual, intimate, and Maya's breath hitched despite herself. "Little things. You stand close to me. Let me touch you—nothing inappropriate, just... familiar. At club parties, you're by my side."

"And in private?" Her voice came out breathier than intended.

His eyes darkened, dropping to her lips before snapping back up. "In private, we set boundaries. Clear ones. This is protection, not prostitution."

"I wasn't suggesting—"

"I know." His thumb brushed her cheekbone, feather-light. "But I need you to understand something, Maya. I'm attracted to you. Have been since the first time you served me coffee and looked at me like I was the devil himself."

"You're called Devil," she pointed out weakly.

"Yeah, but you meant it literally." He dropped his hand but didn't step back. "So we need rules. No blurred lines. No late-night mistakes. Because once we cross that boundary, there's no going back, and you need to trust me more than you need to fuck me."

The crude word should have offended her. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in her belly. "You're very confident I want to."

"You do." Not arrogant, just factual. "But you're smart enough to know it's a bad idea. So am I, most days."

"And the other days?"

Devil's smile was pure sin. "Other days, I think about bending you over my bike and making you forget your name. But I don't act on it, because I gave you my word."

Maya should have been shocked. Should have slapped him or walked out. Instead, she found herself leaning in, drawn by the dark promise in his voice. "What if I wanted you to?"

For a moment, tension crackled between them, thick and electric. Devil's jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides like he was physically restraining himself.

Then he stepped back, putting safe distance between them.

"Don't play games with me, angel. You're not ready for what I'd do to you."

"Maybe I'm tougher than you think."

"Maybe." He grabbed his cut and shrugged it on, the leather settling across his shoulders like armor. "But we're gonna find out the hard way if you keep looking at me like that."

A throat cleared from the doorway. Maya jumped, spinning to find three men watching them with varying degrees of amusement.

"We interrupting?" one asked, a man with graying hair and a VP patch.

"Yeah," Devil said, his casual tone betraying none of the heated moment they'd just shared. "But come in anyway. Maya needs to meet the officers."

As the men filed in—Vice President, Road Captain, Treasurer—Maya tried to focus on their names and faces. But she was hyperaware of Devil beside her, could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, could still hear his dark promise echoing in her mind.

This was supposed to be protection. A business arrangement.

So why did it already feel like so much more?