My Dark Knight (Kings of Hell MC 2)

Knight gathered the jacket around himself when the biting November cold finally got to him. “Yeah, you’re right. I know this. I will step up.”

Beast patted Knight on the back. “Thanks. And next time this clown intrudes on our territory, you will deal with him, right?”

“It’s a promise,” Knight said, squeezing his hand on The Count’s wig.

Chapter 4

Elliot could hear the loud music and drunken screaming from a mile away. Literally, because that was how far away he’d parked his car to keep a low profile. Just last month he’d been running away from the abandoned asylum. He’d been offended and shot at, yet here he was again, unable to resist the pull of William Fane’s home. Though he had to admit to himself that it was also his curiosity about Tr_Knight that brought him here.

Sure, they’d fought, things had gotten out of hand, but there had also been intellectual passion—something Elliot lacked in most of his interactions with people. Wouldn’t it be worth taking a closer look at the differences in opinion?

During many of his lonely, cold nights at home, Elliot had imagined Tr_Knight hunting him down, breaking into his home, and taking revenge all night long. He’d even imagined that maybe Tr_Knight was so ferociously opposed to William Fane to hide his own homicidal tendencies. After all, that kind of attitude should wipe any suspicion off Tr_Knight himself, let him lay low about his killer instincts. Then again, if he truly wished to be invisible to the police, he shouldn’t have become a biker.

Elliot had never been a big fan of pain itself but whenever he came across a man as tall and handsome, oozing masculinity and power, he craved his attention so much he’d paint a target on his chest without a second thought.

And so, Elliot was here despite the threats.

Most biker parties were strictly for club members, their friends, families, hangarounds, but tonight, the asylum would be the venue of a concert, and was open to anyone who paid for a ticket.

Elliot made sure that his makeup was impeccable, took special care to iron his suit consisting of the stylized jacket, a silver waistcoat, and a white shirt with lace at the sleeve. He could only afford to own a single costume, so he made sure it looked its best.

The booming music thumped under his feet and inside his chest as he approached the building with the most expensive ticket he’d ever bought. He’d have to survive on the cheapest toast and coffee for the next two weeks, but desperate not to be outright banned from the premises, he decided to put his money where his heart was.

By the time he reached the improvised guest parking packed with all sorts of cars, he realized that the party was taking place far away from the oldest part of the structure, in a huge auditorium on the other end of the building owned by the motorcycle club. But he would not let that discourage him. The entire building was humongous, too vast for its security to be foolproof, and once he was inside, he would use the crowds and chaos to his advantage.

With the music booming so loudly the ground was shaking under Elliot’s feet, many guests were gathered outside, chatting or smoking, and out to be entertained. Gazes slid over Elliot like fat snails, becoming more intrusive by the second. He stood taller, ignoring the laughter that seemed universally at his expense. He had the right to be here just like anyone else. He’d paid for a ticket.

He’d considered coming over without his Count getup, but that idea terrified him even more than facing a crowd of menacing strangers in an outfit that provoked attention. As The Count, Elliot had confidence. He could ignore mocking stares and hold his head high. He could even ignore the November chill seeping through his thin clothes right into his bones.

The building was an imposing presence as he approached—grim and vast on the background of the sky dotted by stars. Elliot couldn’t wait to get in and explore its innards. Researchers and historians had penetrated the house for clues in the past, but none of them shared the kind of connection with William that Elliot had. They resented him for things they couldn’t understand, but Elliot didn’t, and he was positive that given the chance he would discover something everyone else missed, too focused on hard evidence to see the truth behind the legend.

On a more down-to-earth note, Elliot couldn’t wait to escape what seemed to be like the beginning of a drizzle. He’d applied a thick layer of his white foundation and set it with powder, but in his experience cheap cosmetics didn’t last long where moisture was involved, and so he sped up, practically jogging up the steps to the entrance where a pretty young woman stood with a stamp in hand. Her clothes—practically a bikini—were so revealing he couldn’t believe it was he who all those dumbasses targeted with their silly laughter and mockery.