by J, Bella
Excitement and uncertainty.
My mind was a vortex of thoughts that made absolutely no sense.
Placing his hands on his knees, he was about to stand, but I moved to the edge of the bed. “Who are you?”
He stilled, eyes narrowed, then lightly tapped at the rank displayed on his cut, silently answering my question.
“I know you’re the president. I meant,” I sucked on my bottom lip, “what is your name?”
For a few seconds, his eyes found mine. Cold. Hard. Undeniably mesmerizing. It elicited a kind of fear I fought hard to control, yet my skin heated under his gaze.
He licked his lips, the movement drawing my attention to his mouth framed with an unruly black beard. “You’re here in a room, with a stranger, no idea where you are or what’s going to happen. Yet the question you demand an answer to is what’s my name?”
I shrugged, putting on the bravest face possible. “I want to know the man who saved me from being kidnapped only to kidnap me himself.” One good thing my mother taught me was to never show weakness. Show weakness, and you exposed your greatest vulnerability.
His hand reached out to touch a strand of my blonde hair, and I closed my eyes, holding my breath. Anticipating. Fearing.
The gentlest touch of his hand brushed against the side of my face right where it ached from the blow I was dealt. I could have sworn I heard a groan as he pulled back, and I exhaled.
As he straightened, making his way to the door, I jumped up. “My father will find me.”
A wicked grin laced with secrets and sin spread across his face. “Not when I’m the one helping him look for you.”
5
Granite
It took every ounce of self-control a man like me could have to be able to walk out of that room without taking her. I was pretty sure if it wasn’t for the bruise on her face turning my lust into anger, I probably would have.
No one needed to tell me what a bad motherfucker I was. I already knew. But when I crouched down in front of her, witnessing the fear in her eyes as she watched me, I wanted to rip through those goddamn tights she wore and fist her hair while shoving my dick so far up her pussy she would taste the head of my cock on her tongue.
There was something about the scent of fear on a woman. Sweet, yet thrilling. Innocent, yet so fucking forbidden. It turned me the fuck on. Always had. But smelling it on her, seeing it in her eyes, it was different. It wasn’t just something I had to have. It was something I needed. Something I craved more than just the pleasure of a release. It was stronger than that. It fucking possessed my soul ever since I knew of her existence—which was why I had to get the fuck out of that room before I lost myself to the craving. She wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
I rounded the corner and saw Ink, our sergeant-at-arms, waiting for me by the stairs. “Have someone here at all times. Understood?”
“Already on it.” He leaned over the rail. “Yo, Manic. Get your Hispanic ass up here, pronto.” Then he turned back to face me. “So, the prospect ain’t giving us anything we don’t already know.”
“Of course, he ain’t. Where’s the fucker now?”
“Waiting in the back. Fucker pissed himself…twice.”
I stomped down the stairs and lit a cigarette while Ink hauled his tattooed ass behind me. His name was pretty much self-explanatory. “I’ll take care of him.”
I inhaled a big breath of smoke before pulling out the knife I had hidden beneath my cut. “I got this.”
“Wait. What?”
I was down those stairs and across the bar to the other side of the building within seconds. My fury was fueling me, and every goddamn member I passed could see I no longer saw any other color but red.
“Yo, Granite. Wait, man. What the fuck is up?”
When I reached the door, I kicked it down instead of turning the lock. God, I was a savage, one with psychopathic tendencies. Basically, I was one giant shit-storm.
The door fell to the ground, breaking in half. I didn’t slow down when I spotted the son of a bitch across the room tied to a chair. There wasn’t a single goddamn person in this entire universe who would have been able to stop me.
I rushed forward, and without pause swung the knife, jabbing it right into his motherfucking skull, blood instantly pouring down his face.
“Granite! What the fuck, man?”
I pushed the blade deeper for good measure, feeling bone crack. The fucker’s mouth was still open as he tried to say something two seconds before I sliced through his tiny fuck-wit brain.
“Jesus.” I heard Dutch behind me. “What the fuck is going on?”
I snarled then pulled the knife out of the dead man’s skull. “Just taking care of loose ends.”
“By leaving a mess?”
I turned to face him. “By spilling blood.”
“Well, fuck,” Ink commented behind me. “Who’s going to clean all this?”
Dutch placed his hands on his sides. “Really, Ink? That’s the only thing you’re worried about?”
“Well…yeah.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
“What the fuck happened here?”
I glanced over Dutch’s shoulder at Onyx standing by the door. “The Python prospect got acquainted with my knife.”
Onyx glanced at the corpse in the chair. “Yeah, no shit.”
My priorities shifted, the dead Python behind me easing the initial reason for my anger. “Tell me, brother. What does your tag say on your cut?”
The look in his eyes told me he knew where I was going with this.
“Vice president.”
“And what does mine say?”
“Don’t patronize me, brother.”
“What. Does. Mine. Say?” My jaw was clenched, and I was fucking grinding my teeth.
Onyx glowered at me, nostrils flaring and eyebrows arched inward. “President.”
“So next time when I tell you to do, or not to do something, you fucking listen.”
“I made the shot.”
“You could have killed her.” My blood simmered.
“I made the fucking shot!” Onyx spat out the words, and I rushed forward, stopping inches from him.
“I told you not to shoot. You didn’t listen. I don’t care whether you made the shot or not, next time you disobey me, your ass is out. Brother or not.”
Onyx took a step forward, a silent way of showing me I didn’t intimidate him. If he knew how close I was to beating the shit out of him, he wouldn’t have made such a bold statement. If Onyx wasn’t my little brother, and I hadn’t made a promise to our dad that I’d take care of his stubborn ass, I would have beaten the shit out of him right now.
“Next time, do as you’re told,” I warned with a snarl.
“I wouldn’t have taken the shot if I thought there was a chance I’d miss.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you have x-ray vision. The next time I tell you to not shoot…you don’t motherfucking shoot!” Anger reverberated as I spat out the words, and I kept my glare pinned on his. It was about the only physical trait we shared, our height. We had the same dad, but not the same womb. His hair was lighter than mine. Shoulder length. His eyes were a sky-blue, the kind of blue that could charm the panties off any woman. But his arrogant attitude pissed me off more than half the time.
I stared him down while I stood a mere foot away from him. “Do not ever disobey my direct order again. Understood?”
“You know I’m the best—”
“Understood!” My voice boomed through the room, my rage echoing off the walls. The animosity between us was toxic, and judging by the silence around us, the other guys felt it as well.
Onyx’s face was hard, one corner of his mouth turned up. Those motherfucking blue eyes were currently shooting bullets at my skull.
“Understood,” he gritted out in disdain.
“Good. And just so you know, someone called the cops reporting they heard gunfire. Not only did you risk her life, but you risk
ed exposing all of us. So before you decide to get your brooding ass in a twist over being chewed out by your big brother, think about the rest of the guys.”
“We were on the back roads, Granite. No one saw.”
“Well, someone heard.”
“Yet nothing came of it.”
I clenched my jaw. “Because, lucky for you, we have guys at the precinct currently on our fucking payroll.”
Onyx lifted a brow and shrugged. “Well, then. Why the worried face, brother? It all turned out great.”
“Dude has a point,” Ink commented behind me, and I clutched the blade tighter in my hand.
“Get the prospects to clean this shit up.” I turned and walked out.
There was no doubt I loved my brother. But did I think he was ready to be vice president of the club? No. But our dad did, and there was no one’s judgement I trusted more than our old man’s. I just fucking hoped Onyx would grow up—and soon.
“So,” I heard Ink say behind me, “we got the girl. Two bodies, thanks to all our local psychos. What do we do now?”
I rubbed my forehead, pinching my eyes closed. “We wait.”
“For what?”
“For the police commissioner’s call.”
“Right. After that, we need to make sure we have enough evidence to go to war against the Pythons.”
“We’ll have the evidence.”
“Someone is going to have to hurt her, you know? The girl.”
I bit my lip then cursed. “The dead prospects left enough evidence on her face.”
“Holy shit, is that why—”
I turned and glared at him before he could end his sentence. He saw the promises of pain by just staring at my face, so he shut his mouth.
Neon, one of the waitresses, came walking past carrying a few beers. Ink grabbed two and held one out to me. “Well, we’re officially on the right track toward destroying the fuckers. The Pythons are going down once and for all, and I don’t care who we have to cross, fuck, or disembowel in order to get it done.”
I stopped, took the beer, and chugged almost half of it down my throat. The throbbing ache I had in my dick earlier moved to my goddamn temples because of Ink’s incapability of shutting up. “Ink, are you on meth?”
“What?” His pierced eyebrows slanted. “No. Of course not. You know I hate that shit.”
“Then why the fuck are you acting like a goddamn rodent with a battery up his ass?”
Manic passed us on his way up the stairs. “I’m starting to think it’s the sight of blood that gets him going like a whore on crack.”
Ink showed him the finger, and Manic laughed as he took two stairs at a time all the way to the top.
I relaxed slightly knowing Manic was standing guard. Manic was one huge motherfucker, and he had no issue with dishing out pain. He had no issue with being on the receiving end either. The beast didn’t seem to feel pain. The grotesque scar on his face that stretched from the top of his right eye all the way down across his face to the left corner of his mouth was self-inflicted, according to Ink. Said he overheard Manic tell this to one of his many victims before slicing the fucker’s throat, burying his confession with the corpse. Whether it was just a scare tactic he used, we didn’t know, and we didn’t ask. Everyone had their own demons to live with, and around here you didn’t poke around in other people’s pasts.
But Manic was the most observant fucker I had ever come across. Nothing got past him, and that alone made him the best goddamn road captain any club could have. He might seem all chilled and relaxed while gripping those ape hangers, but give him a gun and real good motivation, he’d pull the trigger faster than you could fucking blink. Manic’s incapability of feeling pain made him one mean-ass motherfucker to deal with when shit got real. Since he joined the club, he had been shot three times—his arm, his back, and his chest. Fucking bullets were mere millimeters from being fatal. Apparently, the psycho had nine lives too.
I shoved my empty bottle against Ink’s chest. “Make sure the prospects clean up the back room real good.”
“Oh, you mean the corpse you left behind.”
I glowered at him, unamused by his sarcasm.
Onyx and Dutch were now sitting at the bar, and by the way Dutch leaned close, I knew the man was probably giving my brother a pep talk. He had always been better at handling my brother than I was.
Brushing past Ink, I took my seat at my usual spot—a table in the corner where I could look out over the entire bar.
The Hanged Man was owned by the club for fuck knew how long. Everyone who walked through those doors was either a member, an ally, or a friend. Basically, if you didn’t have any ties to the American Street Kings, there was no way you’d be able to get your ass past the first fucking table.
The place smelled like cigars and liquor, sweat and testosterone, with only three waitresses working the floor. They were the only women I trusted so close to our business. Neon, Trick, and Tanit.
Neon had joined us way before I took my father’s place as president. We found her out on the streets, shooting up cocaine while enduring her sad-ass life.
Trick and her sister, Tanit, joined us when Trick became Nix’s old lady, a few years back. But unfortunately, Nix—the club’s secretary back then—was one of our men who fell alongside my father, ending up with Python blades in their guts, slaughtered like animals. That was the day I decided I’d bring an end to the anarchy the Pythons caused on these streets, even if it was the last thing I fucking did. Since then, Trick was part of the family, and that was one thing we knew how to do…take care of family. Tanit was a different story. A wild child, the kind who needed her reins pulled in a little every now and then.
Neon placed another beer on the table, and I thanked her with a simple nod. She knew me well enough not to hover, not to ask questions. Another reason I didn’t have a problem keeping her around. Plus, the guys loved her. Of course, everyone tried to get into her pants, but she refused to become the club slut. Not even Ink, the club manwhore, managed to get between her legs. How did he put it? Her pussy had been welded shut.
Fucking douche. Gotta love him.
I leaned back, my mind drifting to the girl upstairs with a bruise on her face the size of Texas. Soon the fun would start, and our plan would become my plan. But first, the war needed to begin.
6
Alyx
From the second I heard the click of the lock, there was this giant hole in my gut, and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to cry or vomit. Maybe both.
I had never been this scared in my entire life. Suddenly, all those fights I had with my father, hating that he always had security around me, seemed selfish and stupid.
What I wouldn’t give for that kind of protection right now.
I glanced down at the rope on the floor, then at the red marks it left around my wrists.
His face. His eyes. After so long, I had finally looked into his eyes, seen his face, been so close to him I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. But this wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to be the bad guy who wanted to hurt me. He was supposed to be the bad guy who would want to change because of me.
Oh, my God. Thinking about it that way made me realize what a fucking cliché it was. For years, I bullshitted myself into believing a goddamn fairy tale could come my way. Dark prince falls in love with the beautiful princess.
What a naïve and stupid princess.
I took a deep breath. His earthy scent still lingered around me, and the fact that I liked it made the disappointment even worse.
I stood and scanned the room. It sure didn’t look like a hostage chamber. It was easy to see the wooden-framed bed was new, the sheets crisp and clean. The sun peeked inside, lighting a little more of the room with every passing minute.
Cautiously, I started to move around. A white chest of drawers stood by the wall, a dressing table next to it. As I moved closer, seeing what was placed on top of it, my heart slow
ly crept up my throat, choking me. My hairbrush, my pale pink make-up bag, three hairbands, and a bottle of the exact brand of perfume I used—Armani Code. It was there. It was all there.
Jesus. What the fuck was this?
I reached out, wanting to touch it, inspect it, wondering if it really was mine, or just exact replicas. But my hand couldn’t stop shaking, so I pulled back. This was too surreal. Fucking insane.
The door unlocked, and my gaze cut across the room. I recognized him the minute he appeared. It was the man who held the gun. The man who shot the guy who’d had his weapon against my head. The man who could have killed me if he had missed the shot. It made my stomach turn to think how easily he had taken a life—even if it was to save mine.
“How you feeling?”
In the light, I immediately saw the similarities between him and my stranger in the dark. Only he looked slightly different, with light, shoulder-length hair and a well-groomed beard. But he was in no way less threatening.
“Who are you?” The words just slipped out.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him with his foot. “I’m Onyx.”
I glanced down at his cut. Vice president. The tag beneath, Blood Brothers.
“My brother said to bring you something to eat.” He tossed a paper bag on the bed. “So…eat.”
Frozen on the spot, I looked from the paper bag to him. “Is your brother the man who was here earlier?”
“Well, that depends.” He sat on the chair in the corner, leaning back, legs spread. “Was this man about as tall as me, broad shoulders, messy hair, shitty attitude?”
I remained silent, giving a slight nod.
He raised an eyebrow. “Then, yes, that would be my brother.”
Staring at him warily, I kept seeing this image in my head of him with the gun in his hand, determined to shoot while I was in the crossfire. I remembered thinking his bullet would surely end up in my chest. Fear didn’t spread like an icy chill down my spine. It didn’t cause my heartrate to spike or make it difficult to breathe. It was numbing, deadening, making me feel…nothing.
