Free Devil's Kiss by Celia Loren

What does that mean?” I ask.
    He pulls a duffle out of his closet and starts throwing clothes into it. “I can’t give you specifics,” he says, “There’s just this other club, the Devils, that’s acting up, and we have to take care of it.”
    “Well, why do you have to go?” I ask, unease clenching my stomach.
    “Because I’m part of the club,” he says firmly, “Because we all have to do our part, Olive.”
    “Is it dangerous?” I ask quietly. He finally stops moving and looks at me.
    “I’ll be careful,” he promises.
    “So it is dangerous?”
    Stick sighs. “Just check in on Stacy, will you? She gets worried when I’m out of town.” He zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder as he heads back down the hallway. I hustle to keep up with him.
    “Yeah, of course,” I mutter.
    “And West is staying here, so you’ll be safe,” he adds.
    “So I’ll be safe? You’re the one who’s got a handgun tucked into the back of his jeans. Don’t think I didn’t notice that!” I protest. Stick turns to face me, one hand on the doorway. West leans on the back of the couch, watching us.
    “Olive, I have to go,” Stick says, “They’re waiting for me back at the clubhouse. We have to move quick. We can talk about it when I get back,” he says, opening the door.
    “And when will that be?” I ask, fear causing my throat to close up.
    “I don’t know, maybe a couple weeks,” he says. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.” And with that, he shuts the door. I hear his bike start up and drive away, then I turn slowly to face West. I’m just able to keep my eyes from overflowing with tears.
    West walks around to the other side of the couch and then nods to the seat next to him. I eye him warily, and he moves one seat farther away. I smile weakly and walk over to join him, sinking down onto the old sofa.
    “He really will be OK,” West says softly.
    “You were always the one who protected him,” I reply.
    “If you haven’t noticed, your brother’s gotten a little bigger and stronger since we were kids,” West says. “It’s nice, the way you two care about each other.”
    “I guess,” I reply grumpily.
    West just shrugs with a smile, then turns to eye the TV. He watches it for a moment, then turns to face me again.
    “You’re being such a Samantha right now,” he says.
    It’s absolutely the last thing I expected to hear come out of his mouth. I throw my head back and lose myself in laughter.
    “West, what?!” I exclaim, “I mean, that’s not even accurate! How the hell am I being a Samantha?”
    “I don’t know,” he grins sheepishly. “It’s just something I hear women say to each other in bars a lot.” I throw a pillow at his head and he catches it easily. “So this spaghetti you’re eating...Is there any more of it?” he asks, eyebrows raised hopefully.
    “Yes, you vulture,” I say, “There’s plenty on the stove.”
    We sit next to each other, finishing our dinners. West lets me keep watching the Sex and the City marathon, I think because he knows I’m worried about Stick. But he does keep interjecting his own thoughts on all the women’s behavior, which is equal parts interesting and annoying. In a good way. I can tell he’s trying to keep my mood light. Eventually the channel switches over to infomercials, and I stand up and stretch.
    “Well, I’m off to bed,” I announce, picking up my plate and glass.
    “You gonna be OK?” West asks.
    “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I reply, “Stick’s a big boy, right?”
    I head into the kitchen and run my plate under the faucet before putting it into the dishwasher. I think I can see West watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t want to look. I head into my bedroom and shut the door, pulling on my oversized cotton t-shirt that I like to wear to bed. I slide in between my worn cotton sheets, their familiar touch soothing my anxiety about my brother, though West helped a lot, too.
    He was really