Hero (The VII Knights MC)

“What?” Damian’s sneers, glaring at me with squinted eyes.

“I don’t know. I mean, I met a Godric, and if he’s your Godric…good luck with trying to take him out.” Leaving the bottle on the side of the table, I decide to get the hell away from them. My wrist is caught, making me stop, and Damian glowers up at me.

“When the fuck did you meet Godric?”

Jerking my hand from his, I shake my head.

“It’s probably not the same guy. I was just…” I clear my throat, not sure how to make this right. I give an innocent shrug, but his face doesn’t change. He’s not buying it.

Snatching his phone off the table, he clicks on it, then shoves it in my face.

“Did you meet this guy?”

There he is, the man from last night. His cheekbones are even sharper in the picture, his hair falling into his gorgeous sad eyes.

“Nope. Not him,” I lie, pulling from his grip.

Damian shoots to his feet, his chair knocking over and his hand on my throat, shoving me over the bar, my back digging into the sharp edge. My nostrils flare. My heart hammers. I’ve never been a good liar. Even someone as dumb as Damian saw right through me.

“You have about two seconds to explain how you know my nephew before I choke the life from you,” he seethes through gritted teeth, his fingers tightening around my throat.

“Last night,” I strain to speak, his grip tightening. “I went to Father Crowley Lookout. Some guys attacked me and Godric stopped them. That’s all I know,” I wheeze out.

Hovering over me, he stares at me for a second longer, taking in what I said.

“He just…appeared?”

I nod, and he looks off toward the bar, deep in thought. Slowly, his hand releases my throat, and he begins to caress my cheek with his knuckle. “So, my nephew saved you. Is that what you’re telling me, Monet?”

Closing my eyes to fight back the tears, I decide not to reply, fearing he might strangle me again. He steps back. Using both his hands, he slicks his hair back and takes a deep breath before looking at me with a completely different gaze. “Oh, here, sorry about that. Let me help you up.” He slides a hand behind my back and pushes me up on my feet. I stand there, trying not to tremble, watching him flip from furious to gentleman. He’s fucking psychotic. I can’t figure out what game he’s playing.

“Panic, why don’t you give Monet that drink? I think she needs it more,” he chuckles, looking at me with smiling eyes. Panic holds the cup out toward me. Reaching for it, my hand shakes, my eyes keeping a close watch on Damian as I toss it back. The artic burn slips down my throat with ease, and I cringe.

Damian takes a seat at the bar, rubbing his chin as he stares off at the bottles lining the back of the wall.

“So, he was friendly when he was with you?” His eyes snap to mine, waiting for me to reply.

I nod, not sure what he’s getting at or what he’s wanting from me.

“Was he attracted to you?”

My mouth parts. How could I begin to know that? He saved me, he didn’t ask me out.

“Monet, did he want to fuck you?” his voice rises, his eyes taking on that deranged look.

“I don’t know. I left,” I say, wanting this conversation to end.

His smile is full of menace.

“Yeah, he let you leave alive. That’s something.” He gives a slight tilt to his head.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I can’t help the puzzled expression on my face. He let me leave? Does he kill a lot, or have something against women? This family is fucked up more than I imagined.

Damian reaches for the glass I was just drinking from and slides it in front of him. Picking it up with his fingers, he looks at it as if it’s a magic crystal ball telling him how to get what he most desires.

“Monet, I might have an idea of how you can pay off that debt you owe me a lot faster.”

This gets my attention. Sitting down on the stool next to Damian, I ask, “How?”

9

Godric

Sitting on a stool at the bar, I watch the club as they celebrate my father’s life…or death. Whichever way you want to look at it. Brothers from clubs all over are here partying. The music is loud, and naked women prance around like they’re eighteen again.

The crowd splits, and a prospect named Pax comes walking through with Phil on leash. The man isn’t hard to miss, with his long black hair, pale skin, and fucking eyeliner.

“Hey, man, he took a shit. What do you want me to do with him?”

“Take him to my room for now.” Pax nods, and walks Phil down the hall toward the room I’m staying in. Phil’s already putting weight back on, and aside from him trying to fucking snuggle with me at night, it’s not so bad having him as a roommate. I guess you can say I missed the fucker.