“Your dad used to say that. The stuff about enemies,” Pegs mutters, snatching my shot glass and filling it himself. I nod in knowing. “I remember the first time I met him. I was piss drunk at an ACDC concert and tried to get through security to get on stage to see Malcom Young. I was thrown backwards, of course, and I elbowed your father in the face in the process. He wasn’t too pissed about it, but I took my drunk anger out on him. I punched him right in the face and he didn’t have a second thought before pummeling me to the ground.” Sounds like my father, always forgiving until he’s not. “God, I remember thinking how massive he was.” He shakes his head, as if he’s replaying the whole thing in his mind. “After the concert, we ran into each other in the parking lot and kinda just laughed at each other and went to a Denny’s to sober up. Been friends ever since. Well…were friends.” His smile fades. It’s hard to believe he’s really gone. This place seems smaller without his broad self strutting around. He was tall, had wide shoulders and muscles everywhere. I like to think I’m as tough as my old man, but I’m more on the slender side. Piss me off, though, and I have the strength of a thousand men.
We all stand there for a second, remembering my father and the way he was a father figure to the whole club.
“So, what do we do with her now?” Hollywood asks, sliding onto a stool, joining the conversation.
I shrug my left shoulder, not really sure what the fuck I want to do with her. I need to keep her close. She’s the only one of us who has been in the Titans’ clubhouse. She can get us in.
“We use her,” I state. “She knows that club. She knows Damian. She’s the key to me earning the gavel.” My brothers nod, and I can’t help but think about breaking Monet into spilling every secret she knows about the Titans. They were supposed to be our supporters, but God knows how long they’ve been working against us. Twisting the empty glass in my hand, my eyes staring at the dartboard across the room, I say, “Give me two weeks with her and we’ll be ready to charge that double crossing sideshow of a club.”
“They turned on us, we need to make an example,” Hollywood clips out, and I agree. How would it look if our own fucking support system screwed us over? We’d lose all respect and partnerships in the area. It’d be a major loss in the bank.
“So, what are you going to do with this girl in a two-week timeframe, brother?” Pegs scoffs, doubting my skills. Raising a brow, my elbow resting on the counter with my chin in the palm of my hand, I reply, “I’ll break her.”
17
Monet
Standing in an unfamiliar room, I look at my surroundings. Wood paneling walls. Hardwood floors that look like they were put in by hand. One window. Rushing to it, I shove back the black curtain and blinds, finding black bars on the other side. I slap the glass in defeat. “Fuck!” Turning around to the room, my hands on my hips, I take a breath, trying to ease my anxiety. At least it smells good in here. It reminds me of leather and Irish Spring soap. I begin to pace back and forth, nerves getting the best of me. I chew on my thumbnail, passing the queen size bed over and over. I think about sitting in the wooden chair in the corner but decide against it and stop in front of a dresser. I’ve been nosy all my life. Being locked in a clubhouse with dangerous men isn’t going to stop that. I pull open the first drawer, finding boxers, socks, and extra ammunition. No gun, though. Boring. I open the second drawer and sigh. More clothes.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m disappointed. Huffing with irritation, my hands fall at my sides. I look at the chair again. Maybe I should sit in it. I’ll look relaxed and unfazed when he comes in here. I don’t want him to know how scared I really am. I want to look as if him kidnapping me and locking me in a room is of no concern.
Striding across the room, I sit in the hard cold chair, crossing my legs and resting the back of my head on the headrest. My eyes focused on the door, I wait.
I guess I can say my life isn’t boring. Every day, there’s some unexpected surprise that nearly gives me a heart attack. Today’s being kidnapped.
The door opens, and I tense. Shit. Here we go.
The door ajar about three feet, all I see is an arm and hand on the doorknob. It doesn’t look to be Godric’s, though.