“Well, if you’re no use to me, I’ll just kill you now.” He reaches behind him and pulls his gun out, pulling back the chamber.
My eyes widen, and I immediately freeze. My bladder threatens to spill from the sudden fear racing through my body.
“What am I supposed to do?” I hate how weak I sound. He now knows how scared of him I am, my act of being strong and independent fading quickly.
He lowers his gun but keeps it in his hand firmly.
“You’re going to tell me everything I want to know about that club—”
“It’s your support club, don’t you already know everything?” I interrupt, earning a raised brow. Damian knows me. I can’t go there and do anything without him suspecting something. He’ll kill me before I set foot on the property.
“Manners,” he mutters, and my mouth parts in surprise. A murderer with etiquette. I’ve seen it all.
“My uncle isn’t exactly the club’s biggest fan and obviously wants me dead, so I need to make sure I have all the details before going in there with my men.” He wants to take the president patch but he wants to do it with his men by his side and safe. The selfless act is more than I can say for any man I’ve known lately. I nod. That makes sense. It looks like the Titans have gone rogue under Damian’s leadership, no longer wanting to be the sidekick so they’re going to take out the leader and take over the club. God, I’d hate to see this city under the eye of Damian.
Sitting on the bed, a little more relaxed without a gun pointed at me, I cross my legs and loll my head to the side.
“Okay, what do you want to know?”
He flicks his chin once, then twice before pushing off the dresser.
“Nah, I’m too tired for this tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
I abruptly stand. Is he fucking serious?
“What? No. Just ask me what you want to know so we can get this over with,” I demand, anger charging my emotions to the edge.
Opening the door, he looks over his shoulder with a grimace.
“I have two weeks to find out whatever I need, Monet. That means you’re mine for a whole fourteen days and nights, and let’s just say I like to take my time, do things thoroughly.” His eyes sweep down my body, and my nipples harden from the sudden charge in the air. Are we still talking about the tasks and gavel or is he talking about having sex with me?
“In your dreams, tough guy.” Crossing my arms, I lick my bottom lip for affect, and the corner of his mouth raises. He was talking about sex for sure.
“Oh, I’ll be there.” He winks and shuts the door. He’ll be there? What the hell does that mean? Like, he’ll be in my dreams tonight? Jesus, what a narcissist.
Grabbing the knob to the door, I pull to open it, but it doesn’t budge. I flip the lock, but still nothing. That motherfucker trapped me in here.
Banging my fist on the door, I yell. “Let me the fuck out of here!”
Nobody responds, not even the sound of someone standing guard just outside the door.
“Godric!” I slam my fist against the wooden door over and over until my wrist hurts.
“Motherfucker!” I kick the door, my hair in my face, and slide to my ass, hugging my legs to my chest.
Two weeks with Godric, kidnapped by the most sought out motorcycle gang in the world. I better hope I have the answers he wants or I’m not walking out of here.
I’d pray to god to help me, but he’s never listened before, and I don’t think he’s going to start now. Maybe I should start talking to the devil and see how that goes.
* * *
Godric
Standing outside the door, it shakes and vibrates with every punch and kick Monet throws at it.
“Godric!” she shouts again, and I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from unlatching the lock I had Hollywood install and sweep her into my arms. I want to hear her cry my name just so I can rescue her. Why? She tried to fucking kill me for Christ’s sake.
“You good, man?” Hollywood asks, standing behind me.
Tearing my gaze from doorway, I pat him on the shoulder. “Thanks for getting that lock on there.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he says, concern heavy in his voice.
Heading down the corridor, a smooth smokey voice that belongs to none other than—
“Godric, what have you done?” My mom stares back at me, one hand on her hip.
“Hello, mother.” My tone is deadpan, expressing how excited I am that she’s here looking over how I’m running things.
“I have it handled.” I brush her off, sitting at the bar.
“You kidnapped a girl, how is that handling it?”
Lifting my hand, I rub the tension behind my left eye. Of course she would freak out with me around a woman, especially with my track record.