My Dark Knight (Kings of Hell MC 2)

“Yeah, but he is only now learning about technology. Just let him, you know, explore. You’re my best friend, brother, and my advice is, don’t use your strength to undermine his independence, or else that ring could soon be gone from your finger.”

Beast scowled and hid more tightly in his hoodie, but he didn’t try to argue. Instead, he moved so that they faced one another and looked around to make sure no one overheard their conversation. The other patches still needed to be updated on the events of last night, but with an important guest coming, this had to wait.

“How are you coping? New moon is only days away.”

Knight frowned. “Really?”

Beast rubbed his face. “Yes, I checked it online. That’s how little time you have to bury those damn rocks, so make sure you do it.”

Knight chewed on his lip. In exchange for the devil’s help, he needed to bury several smooth black stones around Brecon. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal, even if he was to infuse them with his blood beforehand. Then there was the matter of having to perform further services every new moon, which essentially forced him to be in Brecon at least once a month to get the blood of an opponent on his fists on that specific night of each lunar cycle. In practice, it meant that Knight needed to get into fights—organized or not—and win. But that too wasn’t that big of a deal, even if he needed to plan any trips around those dates from now on until pretty much forever. If he didn’t do as he was required though, the blood would be taken from his body, and he wasn’t about to sacrifice anything more to the demon.

They stood in silence and listened to the far-off hum of engines.

Rev raised his arms into the air and approached them. “Fucking hell! Finally! I’m freezing my balls off.”

Jake had waited for Mr. Magpie at the entrance to the property and was now leading the way for another motorbike and a huge beast of a car. Knight frowned when he saw it glint, but it was only when the short cavalcade left the shadow of the trees that the golden bodywork of Mr. Magpie’s Hummer caught light and showed itself in all its nouveau riche glory. In Knight’s mind, the color made the already flashy vehicle look as if it were covered in plastic—an oversized toy car that a spoiled little girl might want for her Ken.

But he expected nothing less from a man who couldn’t bear to remain unnoticed.

Jake rushed up to them, unusually pale-faced for this weather, but it might have been the food poisoning still bothering him. “We need extra space for a motorcycle in the garage.”

Knight raised his eyebrows, but Beast was quick to wave his hand dismissively.

“Get on that, Prospect,” he said to Jake, but then turned to Knight. “Magpie has a new accountant for us. Vetted, experienced, and a biker.”

Knight blinked. “What? He’s staying?” he asked, discreetly swiping his gaze over the bulky form of the new ‘accountant’, who was already dismounting his machine. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold, but as he lowered a thick black scarf that covered the half of his face, a roguish smile appeared in the frame of a salt-and-pepper beard.

Beast watched Jake rush off toward the garages. “We’ll get him prospecting for a month or two so that he and Jake can be patched in at the same time, but if all goes well, he’s staying.” Beast raised his hand to greet the guy.

Knight frowned. “Wait, do you even know him? He’s Magpie’s man, not ours.” He wanted to add a few more things that sprouted in his mind at all that unexpected information, but a tall man left the driver’s seat and opened the back of the Hummer.

Knight might have inhaled too much of the cold air when he saw Magpie’s shoes—a dusky purple that went surprisingly well with the man’s dark gray suit. What appeared next though had Knight forcing himself not to drop his jaw like a sex doll. A red fur cape was attached to Magpie’s shoulders as if by magic, because it didn’t slide any lower when he moved. Its epaulettes widened Magpie’s already impressive stature, and a golden chain linked the two sides of the fur over Magpie’s chest. The coat underneath was a monstrosity of velvet, rouge brocade and fuck-only-knew what, because Knight had no idea what names the fabrics had.

Magpie got out of the Hummer with the majesty of a king arriving at his far-off outpost and graced his subjects with a smile that revealed a grill of gold and diamonds, which sparkled in the light reflecting off snow.

A fucking grill. Knight worked hard not to flinch.

And the worst—or best—thing about all this was that with his catlike grace and flawless looks, Magpie managed to pull off his ridiculous ensemble. With black, wavy hair, dusky skin and eyes blue as sapphires he was the most racially ambiguous person Knight had ever met. He could have been southern European. Or Middle Eastern. Or Indian. Or Pacific-Islander. Or part African American. Probably a little bit in between, but the way he seemed to embody so many features that usually didn’t go together was making Knight slightly uneasy. As if he were a mix of attractive characteristics from all over the world, glued together carelessly yet creating the perfect human specimen.