“Mother, I respect you and love you, but inside these walls is another thing.”
“What are you saying?”
I look at her, seeing the same mothering eyes I did when I was a teenager getting brought home by the police for the first time for vandalism. Concern and adoration. She sees me as her little boy even after everything I’ve done. And always will. She’s going to have to realize I’m going to have to do things a mother doesn’t want to know about to lead this club. Dangerous things. Illegal things. Shit she can never know about.
“I need you to back the fuck off and let me do what I need to do to get the gavel.” I close my eyes, knowing I just did a horrible job at explaining what I’m thinking. It came out cold and uncaring instead of me just telling her I gotta do some things to get this club back on its feet.
She lifts her chin, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her eyes look behind me to the men watching. My men. She knows what I’m saying. She’s always going to be my mother but she’s going to have to stop seeing me as a son when it comes to the club. She cannot protect me anymore.
“And you all have his back on this?” she asks, needing to know they will take her place where she cannot.
I don’t need to turn to know they’re all nodding. They’re my brothers, my lifeline. I trust them just as much as they trust me. They want me to have the gavel and know whatever I’m doing with Monet is for a good reason.
Mother grabs her purse off the counter, leans over, and kisses my forehead as if she’s kissing away the outlaw she can’t stand by and watch.
“All right, baby. Just…be careful.” She thumbs the spot she just kissed, probably rubbing the lipstick off my face. Giving my men one more look, she turns and leaves the club.
“She’s always going to see you as a little boy,” Pegs states. I close my eyes.
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter, needing a fucking drink. Actually, I could use some rest. Sleep would be great, but that’s in my room where a damsel in distress is locked away.
Which brings me to my next roadblock: where the fuck am I going to sleep tonight? I just got my goddamn bed back after sleeping in a terrible place for what seemed like forever.
It’s either sleep on the pool table or have one of my men lock me in the room with Monet.
“Hey, Pegs?”
“Yeah?” Glancing over my shoulder, he turns his head, slightly nervous of what I’m about to ask.
“I need you to do me a favor.” I can’t help the grin that pulls at my face. “I need you to lock me in my room.”
The room goes silent.
“Godric, you sure that’s a good idea?” Hollywood gives me an unreadable look, and my nostrils flare. He doesn’t have to say it, I can read it in his eyes. “I mean, what if something happens again?”
“Then we clean it up. That’s what we do, isn’t it?” Bellamy states, making an entrance from the hallway, his arm bandaged up.
The brothers look at him, nodding.
“Nothing is going to happen,” I whisper, interlocking my fingers and staring at them as if I can still see the blood of my ex-girlfriend all over them.
18
Monet
Sitting on the bed, my head leaning against the wall, I wrap my arms around my chest, my eyes heavy and almost impossible to keep open. I’m exhausted and need to rest but I don’t want to sleep here. Who knows who can come in while I’m out? My stomach growls, followed by a light cramp, and I squeeze myself tighter. When was the last time I ate?
The more I try to get myself out of messes, the deeper I dig my hole. The way I’m going, I’ll be six feet under in no time.
The door opens, and I snap upright. Godric steps in and shuts the door behind him, the sound of a lock clicking in place from the other side of the door. One of his men just locked us both in this tiny room. My heart beats like a drum before a sacrifice, my breathing labored. I’m in here with a murderer and have no way out.
Side-eyeing me, he walks to the dresser. He tugs off his cut and lays it on top neatly. Reaching over his shoulders, he pulls up his shirt, revealing golden skin covered in tattoos. Muscles bunch and shift as he moves, undressing right in front of me. My toes curl with excitement and fear. I feel a feverish obsession, making me sweat. He’s sex on legs. I cannot have him in here.
“What are you doing?” I finally ask, still balled up in a corner on the bed.