Hero (The VII Knights MC)

“I can go further into the city. Find another motel maybe. I don’t know.”

She’s stuck and has nowhere to hide.

“That wasn’t an option.” Turning away from her, I notice her duffle bag on the floor with clothes spilling out of it. Bending down, I pick it up and toss it to her.

“What does that mean?”

“Means you’re staying at the clubhouse.”

She catches the bag with both arms, her mouth parted with surprise.

“W-What?”

“You heard me. You went from being owned by a Titan to me. Pack your shit.”

* * *

Monet

I stare at Godric, waiting for him to say he’s joking. All I get is that stone cold look of steel staring back.

“Before I change my mind.”

I cannot believe this. I’m going from the devil to someone worse!

“You called your uncle the devil, but I think you’re the one who needs Jesus.”

Glaring at him, I walk to the dresser and jerk the drawer open, shoving my clothes into the bag carelessly. He grabs my arm, and I stiffen, our eyes locking.

“You know the devil was a god…until he pissed off the one true God and was kicked to hell.” I jerk my arm away from him. “You’re not God.”

He silently laughs, looking down. “We will see about that.”

I want to hit him where it hurts. Since I can’t physically do that, I’ll use my words.

“So, if I don’t go with you, are you going to kill me like your girlfriend?”

He doesn’t even flinch at the accusation. His eyes seem to glisten in fact.

“Someone has done their homework.” His voice is even, emotionless, scaring me even more. I’m starting to think Damian would be safer. Shaking my head, I go to the bathroom and grab my toiletries, sliding them into the bag. He stands behind me the whole time, his stance wide and face bare of any emotion. It reminds me of Michael Myers.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, I say, “Done.”

“This is all you have? This one bag?” He pulls at the strap, pity lacing his face. “That and my car.”

“Yeah, you won’t be needing that anymore,” he says, matter of fact. Grabbing my upper arm, he pulls me up beside him, tugging me along as if I’m a puppy and he’s my master.

“I can’t just leave my car behind!” I protest, trying to pull from his grip. “It’s the only thing I have to my name!” I lost everything but that fucking car. I’m not leaving it. My statement is greeted with silence. I dig my heels into the concrete just outside the broken door he kicked in.

He stops, his head snapping in my direction, his eyes sharp and jaw clenched. My heart jumps in my chest but I’m not backing down.

“I said I’m not leaving my car, Godric.”

Staring down at me, he doesn’t say a word for few seconds, his vast glare making me shrivel up inside and want to hide behind my broken heart. I don’t let him see that side of me. Instead, I lift my chin higher and scowl at him.

“Nobody is going to touch that piece of shit. Now, move your ass,” he growls, his face inches from mine. He’s about to snap, losing patience at my defiance. I bet he’s used to getting his way, people jumping to his every command. Especially now that he has a murder story under his belt. Taking in a shaky breath, I force myself to walk forward.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and my nails dig into the pads of my hands. I hate this motherfucker. He’s smooth and slick. He’s an asshole like Richard and Damian, but he’s at the top of the food chain and knows it. His quick wit and sharp tongue make him the fucking alpha this side of the United States. I get on the back of his motorcycle, my bag strapped across my chest, hanging heavily on my back

16

Godric

Sitting at the bar, I have some angry brothers staring back at me, wondering why the fuck I have a female in our club—one who got one of us shot at, at that. I hate that they underestimate me, but they’re used to the way my father did things. I need to remind myself that taking over this kingdom is a process. I inhale a small breath, the smell of leather keeping me calm and collected. I grew up with this scent. It reminds me of family, safety, being home.

“We can’t trust her in here,” Pegs informs the obvious, but I’m not convinced Monet is fully rotten. Besides, my father once said those who are your friends are your biggest worry because their intentions are unclear, at least with your enemies you know what you’re getting up front.

“I’d rather have loyal enemies than fake friends,” I say to nobody in particular. Grabbing a shot glass from under the counter, I reach for the whiskey and pour it until it dribbles over onto my fingers. Slamming the liquid in my mouth, I place it down, thinking about my father now. I almost got Bellamy killed today. The first thing on the fucking list, and I already managed to screw that up. Am I the right man for the gavel? Yes, I am. I was born to be a leader. I can feel it in my marrow. This club is the bones to my house.