Throne of Scars (Lost Kings MC 20)

I blink rapidly, trying to force my tears away. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

He blows out a quick breath. “Good. You had me worried for a second.”

I swipe the tears from under my eyes.

“Why are you crying, buttercup?”

I rest my hand on my stomach. “Hormones. I’m so emotional about everything lately.” Forgive me, Baby Lock, but you’ve given me the best excuse.

My gaze lands on the vest again. I’m afraid to stare at it for too long. Like it might disappear if I get too attached. Bright colors on the sides snag my attention. “Did the brothers…I’m sorry, I don’t know what the actual process is. I’ve heard they vote on an ol’ lady and that’s how they get the patches on the sides?”

“Usually, a brother asks for votes from the officers when he wants to patch an ol’ lady.” He coughs and glances toward the dresser. “Z knew I had…plans and went ahead and had it made for me. Guys must’ve voted on their own.”

“Really?” I rasp. “They did that for me?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in an apologetic way. “I think as a sign of respect for me, buttercup. Everything revolves around the brotherhood.”

I laugh softly. “Right.”

His expression turns more serious. “But it’s a sign they trust you. A lot. Rock and Wrath wouldn’t give their patches to a woman they didn’t trust. Not even for me.” He turns the vest to the side and runs his finger over each brother’s patch. “Neither would Z.”

I study each embroidered symbol—crown, star, the letter Z, four-leaf clover, dollar sign, and compass. “Dex gave me his too?” I ask.

“Yup. Rooster and Jiggy said they’d add theirs as well. Guess the two clubs do that?”

His question sounds more like pondering than directed at me, but I answer anyway. “I don’t think they used to.” I certainly never saw Rock’s crown on Tawny’s cut. Or any of the other upstate officers’ patches. Then again, it’s not like anyone discussed the inner workings of the club’s patch system with me, either. The Lost Kings hold many, many secrets.

“I’m proud of you.” He squeezes the leather. “This means a lot to me. I know it might seem like an outdated tradition but—”

“No. I’m honored to wear it.” Oh my God, I’m going to cry again. What’s wrong with me?

“Stand up,” he says, voice rough but still gentle.

I slide off the bed and stand in front of him. My fingers nervously twist into the hem of my shirt while I wait for his next instruction.

He runs his gaze over me for a few seconds, then stands. So close, his body heat radiates over me. My heart flutters.

“Will you be my ol’ lady, Serena?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He holds out the vest. “This means everyone will know you’re mine. That I’ll kill to protect you—and those aren’t just words, Serena. If you’re with me, you need to understand that’s who I am. You’re that precious to me. I’d sacrifice my freedom for your safety. That also means I trust you to behave around our club and other clubs.”

My skin prickles at behave and it must show in the slight turn down of my mouth.

He sighs. “I understand how that sounds. But you must’ve seen girls misbehave before, thinking because they’re with a biker, they can mouth off and start trouble.”

One or two scenes like that come to mind. “I’ve always been the one being picked on, not the one starting the fights,” I admit with a pitiful note tainting my voice that I hate.

His jaw tightens. “Well, that’s never happening again. If anyone ever disrespects you in any way, you tell me. Immediately.”

I can’t picture myself tattling to my boyfriend every time someone hurts my feelings, and if I do that, none of the other old ladies will ever respect me, but that’s not the answer he wants. So, I nod instead.

“The need to protect each other goes both ways,” he says. “Maybe you won’t use your fists or a weapon but there are other ways to protect your man and the club.”

“I’d never talk about club business with outsiders,” I whisper. “Never have. Never will.”

“I know that.” He touches the other brothers’ patches on the side. “These mean that they trust you too. And they’ll always have your back.” He hesitates. “The club will take care of you if I’m not around for some reason.”

Cold fear stabs through my chest. “Please don’t say that.”

“Not just death, Serena. Prison’s always a possibility too.”

“You’re full of cheer, aren’t you?”

He chuckles. “I really love you.”

“I love you too. That’s why I don’t want to talk about death or prison.”

“That’s reality, though, sweetheart. We’re both adults.” He drops his gaze to my stomach. “Soon, parents.”

“That’s why you need to take care of yourself.”

“I will. I promise.” He holds the vest up. “Now, turn around for me. I’m dying to see this on you.”