Chapter 4
Wrath
Tank's face tells me it's bad news before he opens his mouth.
"Three Iron Serpents in our territory this afternoon." He keeps his voice low, but every man at the table hears him. "At the diner where Cami worked. Asking questions."
The pen in my hand snaps. Ink bleeds across the page.
"What kind of questions?"
"The specific kind. Where she went, who she knew, what shifts she worked, how long she's been gone." Tank's jaw tightens. "Left the waitress a fifty and said they'd be back if she remembered anything useful."
My vision narrows to a pinpoint. The bar noise fades to white static.
Steel's hand lands on my shoulder. "Breathe, brother."
I'm already moving. Chair hits the floor behind me.
"When?"
"Two hours ago."
Two hours. While I sat here shuffling papers like some corporate fuck, a rival club was building a file on her.
Why? What the fuck do the Iron Serpents want with her?
While we’ve never been allies, we haven’t been enemies either.
We’re supposed to meet with them to negotiate trade routes through their territory in a few days.
Are they doing homework? Looking for possible weaknesses? Seems unlikely.
"Do they know she’s here?” My throat's raw, like I've been screaming.
"Not yet."
Yet.
The word hangs in the air like gun smoke.
Have I painted a target on her back just by keeping her here? But when I think of sending her away—I’d sooner cut off my own hand.
"Round-the-clock surveillance when she leaves the compound." My voice comes out flat. Cold. The tone that makes prospects nervous. "And I want those three assholes identified. Names, addresses, where they drink, where they fuck, where they shit. Everything."
Steel watches me for a long moment. “We’re gonna need to take this to a vote." Steel's voice carries the weight of his twenty years as president of this club. "Can't commit club resources without making it official. She needs to be recognized."
I know what he’s saying. He’s telling me I need to claim her—make her my old lady.
My ol’ lady.
“You sure about this brother?” Steel doesn’t blink as he studies me with a focused intensity. “You sure it’s what you want?”
Is it what I want?
Once she’s voted in, she's blood.
I turn to scan the room, looking for her.
She's behind the bar right now laughing at something Trix said.
Her shoulders have started to relax, the constant tension slowly easing as she realizes no one here is going to hurt her.
Damn. Three days she's been here. Three days, and she's already under my skin in a way I can't shake.
I want my patch on her back and my ring on her finger so every man who walks through that door knows she's claimed. I want to wake up with her wrapped around me and fall asleep knowing she's safe because the Hellbound Devils have her back.
“Hell, yeah," I say aloud. “She belongs here. With me.”
Diesel grins. "About damn time you wised up. Been watching you moon over her for three days like a lovesick bitch."
"Fuck you."
"Yeah, yeah. Save it for your ol’ lady.”
When I glance back at the bar, Cami’s not there. Where the fuck did she go? I’m about the raise holy hell when she steps in through the side door. Everything about her is wrong.
Her face is bone-white. Her hands are trembling so bad she can't work the deadbolt. Her breathing is too fast, too shallow.
I'm across the room in seconds. “Hey.”
She jumps like I've shot her. When her eyes finally focus on me, they're blown wide with fear.
"What happened?" I grip her shoulders, gently, despite the fury building in my skull.
"Someone—" She swallows. Tries again. "There was someone by the dumpster. In the shadows. Just standing there. Watching me."
Every cell in my body goes to war—half wanting to hunt whoever scared her, half needing to keep her close, keep her safe.
"Tank, Diesel,” My voice cracks like a whip. "Perimeter. Someone’s out back by the dumpster.”
They move fast, taking a couple prospects with them. The rest of the club shifts into alert mode without needing orders.
I pull Cami against my chest. Her heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to break free.
"You're okay. I've got you."
"I'm sorry. I know you said be careful, but I was just taking out the garbage. I didn't think—"
"Stop." I tip her chin up, make her look at me. "This isn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."
Diesel and Tank thoroughly scout the perimeter but don’t find anything, not surprising since there’s no way whoever was out would have stuck around long enough to be caught.
“Listen, Trix can handle the bar for a while without you,” I tell her. “We need to talk.”
She searches my face for a long moment, and I see fear in her eyes. Shit. I’m probably fucking this up.
I don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I've never been good with words, and women have always only been a good time—pleasant, temporary, gone in the morning. I've never wanted to keep one before.
I guide her through the compound to my room.
The second the door closes, she turns to face me. “Did I do something wrong? Are you angry with me?”
“Angry? Naw, baby. I ain’t angry with you.” I pull her against my chest.
"Then why do we need to talk?"
I lean back enough to look down at her. Fuck, where do I even start?
I raise her chin with my index finger, forcing her to keep looking at me. "I need you to understand something about this life. About how the club works.”
"Okay."
"Enemies come with the patch. We've made our share, and those enemies don't fight fair. They look for weak spots. Pressure points." My thumb traces her cheekbone. "You became my weak spot the second I offered you shelter.”
"I don't want to be a liability to you."
"I don't give a fuck about that." My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. "What I give a fuck about is keeping you safe. And the best way to do that—to get the full protection of this club—is to make it official."
"Make what official?"
"Us."
Her eyes go wide. "Us?”
“Yeah, us.” Christ, I'm fucking this up. “I, um…I’m asking you to be my ol’ lady. Steel's calling a vote in a few days when we gather for church. If you say yes, if you agree, the club votes you in.”
She swallows hard. “Your...old lady? What exactly does that mean?"
Right, dumbass. She has no idea what you’re talking about. This is your world not hers.
“Being my ol’ lady…” I scratch the back of my neck. “It’ll mean you're mine. Officially. That I claim you in front of the whole club, that you wear my patch, that you're under Hellbound Devils protection, and that anyone who fucks with you fucks with all of us."
She's quiet for a long moment, and I can see her mind working. Processing. “Is that all? Protection, I mean. Is it only for protection?”
“No.” I take a breath. "It also means you're my woman.
That you sleep in my bed and sit on the back of my bike and everyone knows you're spoken for.
" A growl rumbles in my chest, my fingers dig into her hips, tugging her closer.
"It means I get to touch you whenever I want. Kiss you whenever I want. Fuck you every night. It means no other man puts his hands on you. Only me. You're mine and I’m yours.”
Her breath catches.
“Then, yes." The words come out barely a whisper. Then stronger, "Yes. I want to be your old lady."