Page 1 of Devil’s Torture

PROLOGUE

TEN YEARS AGO

BEXLEY

As much as I wanted to go to the clubhouse tonight with Miller, there was no way it was going to happen. I’m exhausted. I have been for weeks.

That’s not the only thing I’ve been doing for weeks. My stepfather has been calling me nonstop, but I’ve been avoiding him. He’s the last person I want to see.

The moment I turned 18, I moved out of the house I shared with him and into a place with Miller. Not only did Miller, the boy I loved from the moment I met him, insist, but I knew it was safer for me to get out as soon as possible.

It’s been quiet since then. But it hasn’t been exactly peaceful.

I’ve been waiting for him to pop up and wasn’t surprised when the calls started. The only surprising thing is how long it took him to turn up, considering it’s been over a year now. He was bound to crawl out of the shadows eventually.

Miller noticed almost immediately. He knew without me needing to say anything. My shifting mood is something he’s always been able to anticipate.

He hasn’t insisted on dealing with it, at least not yet. I’m sure he’s talked to the club about it. That’s the kind of people they are and the kind of man he is.

He’s always been this way.

Protective.

Steady in a way that he shouldn’t be, since he’s so young, but is just part of who he is. It’s never been performative, just there.

Watchful.

Loyal.

I wasn’t surprised when he followed a few friends into the club right out of high school. He wanted more backing and resources. Because of me. He wanted to protect me.

The Devil’s Saints MC has welcomed me too. It was never just him.

Sometimes I’m not entirely sure what to do with it all. It’s almost too nice. I’m not entirely sure I can trust it all the time because I know what it means to miss people.

I’ve missed my mom for the past three years and survived two years in the house with my stepfather because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. There were days when I was held together by Miller’s will alone. And his love.

My lips tip up in a small smile as my eyes slide closed and sleep takes me like I knew it would. There’s no way I could have lasted at the party tonight. Miller would have carried me off to his room in the clubhouse before everyone even arrived.

As I drift, I can almost feel his arms around me. Strong. Sure. Steady.

Which is why the loud knock on the door, three sharp raps designed to wake you up, have me shooting up in bed. For a moment, I think I might be sick, but then the room comes into better focus, and I take a few deep breaths. A second round of three knocks has me swinging my legs over the bed and heading toward the door.

Not before grabbing the bat from where it rests near the door for just this purpose. You can never be too careful, and my biker is very strict about access to the bat.

When I peer through the peephole, I have to blink a few times. Two uniformed police officers are standing at my door.

My heart drops. Did something happen to Miller?

I swing the door open without even thinking about the bat still clutched in my fist at my side. One of the officer’s eyes flick down to it and then up at me.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I look like a mess. I sleep hard now. My hair goes in a million different directions, and my face is prone to pillow creases. I always look flushed right after I get up because I like to become a burrito in my blankets.

Miller complains about it, but I think he secretly loves that about me.

My lips part, about to ask if Miller’s okay, when the offer suggests, kindly, “Would you mind putting the bat down, ma’am?”

The sound of it hitting the ground is loud in the hallway, but I don’t care. It feels like my heart is trying to climb up my throat.