Shafted (Devil's Blaze MC Book 4)(5)

By: Jordan Marie

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I mutter, slamming my car door shut.

“Problems?” a deep voice asks.

I look up and it’s him. The man from yesterday. The one who made every feminine part in me stand up and take notice, even from a distance. The man I dreamed of last night. His voice is deeper than I imagined—huskier. I can feel shivers of awareness run all through me.

“Uh…yeah,” I say stupidly. I’m having trouble thinking, all I can do is stare at him. He’s taller than I noticed last night. I stand 5’7” and he makes me feel small. He towers over me. A fact that is clearer when he walks closer to me, and I have to keep looking up to find those dark brown eyes. Brown. His eyes are chocolate brown, dark and mysterious. His dark hair has touches of silver peppered throughout and somehow that makes him even sexier. It gives him an edge. His hair is cut short on the neck, but the top is shaggy with waves appearing unkempt…like someone has been running their fingers through it. I wish it had been me. Is it as soft as it looks? He’s got a beard that’s trimmed and neat, but looks sexy. I’ve never liked men with hair on their face, but he could make me change my mind. He’s broad, and big, but somehow skinny at the same time. He has an air of danger about him, but yet I don’t sense darkness in him. Believe me, after living with my sperm donor I’ve seen darkness and evil.

“You okay?”


His lips move into a smile, and I catch a glimpse of perfect white teeth before he shakes his head. He moves around me and goes to my car, getting in and popping the hood. I don’t do anything to stop him. I’m too busy concentrating on the way those jeans stretch over his ass. How that faded gray t-shirt gives me just a peek of his skin under it, and how said skin is tanned a beautiful golden bronze color, just like the rest of his body. That quiver in my lower belly just got more intense.

“Get in and try to start your car,” he says, and I shake myself out of the mini-trance he has me in. I do as he says. It doesn’t even enter my mind to argue with him. There’s something about him that makes me want to obey everything he tells me. Dangerous, for sure. I turn the key and the motor turns and cranks, but nothing happens. I get out disappointed.

“It’s okay. I’ll see if I can get Katie or Beth to take me. I’ll just have to have Pops look at it later.”

“Pops? He asks, walking around me and getting inside my car. “Is that your old man?”

“My grandfather. I don’t have an old man,” I tell him, my face heating for some unexplainable reason. His being close to me seems to warm me up.

“Figured,” he says and gets out of the car, with an almost disgusted look on his face.

I frown. “What does that mean?”

“Two things,” he says, slipping his sunglasses back on. They’re mirrored and reflect back at me, and I instantly hate them. I want to see his eyes again. So bad that it’s all I can do not to physically reach over and rip them off his face.

“Which are?”

“One you’re too damn young to have an old man,” he starts and that bothers me. Mostly because I don’t want him to view me as young—and definitely not off limits.

Sticking my chest out, I tell him, “I’m old enough.”

“You’re jailbait.”

“I haven’t been that for a while,” I tell him stretching the truth. “Besides, if that’s how you felt, why did you ask who Pops was?”


“Curiosity killed the cat,” I mutter, annoyed with him. He’s making me feel bad, and I don’t like it. I’m used to boys trying to compliment me and throwing themselves at me. For the first time in my life, I actually want one to, and he’s making me feel…stupid.

“So did messing with the wrong girl. Especially the wrong underage girl,” he stresses.

“I’m not underage,” I tell him, wondering what exactly messing with means.

“How old are you?” he asks, and even though his eyes are hidden, I get the feeling they’re boring into me. I can feel the heat from them.


“Fuck,” he rumbles rubbing his fingers through his hair, and I’m instantly jealous of those fingers.

“What? I didn’t lie. That’s the legal age of consent. Anyways, I gotta go. I’m already late. I’ll just try and get one of my…”

He cuts me off asking, “Where are you going?”

“I have a test.”

“A test?”


“It’s Saturday,” he states as if I don’t know what day it is.

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