Chapter 2 Hellsing #2
Bringing him back was the best decision we made.
Under Jameson’s control, things were tighter, more organized.
He’s a good man, hardened by too much loss and too many years of carrying burdens that never should have been his.
He quickly gained our respect, just like his father had done.
Only a few of us who had been brought up within the MC understood the type of responsibility he now owned.
It was hard for him to trust anyone, and none of us could blame him for it.
Upon his return he slowly started putting his own trusted men in positions where he knew we would back him up.
When the role of Chaplain came up, Sinnerman had been voted in.
But soon after that, he’d suffered a tragic loss and left the MC without a word.
Jameson had put out a BP on him, but he was nowhere to be found.
At that point, he needed someone to fill the Chaplain spot, and I was the one who voted in.
Not that I’d ever imagined myself as Chaplain, I was happy just being a member, but if it meant doing right by my brothers, I’d take the mantle.
I knew Sinnerman would eventually return, and when he did, we’d see what fate had in store for me.
My hand rested on the keypad for a second before I punched in the number and pushed the door open.
The lull of whispered voices filled the room as I stepped inside.
Jameson sat at the head of a long table with the RBMC crest carved deep into it.
The room itself had a dark aura to it, yet it held remnants of the past. A pool table sat near the back, the green felt faded from use.
Neon signs buzzed faintly in the corners, and the signature Royal Bastards MC skull emblem glowing in the blood-red light.
The bar was now located upstairs but the old jukebox had been moved down here.
It actually still worked when someone bothered to feed it quarters.
The music, when it played, was always a mix of Aerosmith, Ozzy, and ACDC, with the occasional sounds of Chris Cornell or Eddie Vedder’s voices making the walls vibrate and the heart settle into a rhythm filled with nostalgia.
On the right, behind Jameson, our Code hung above the door in black paint. The phrase Club is Family was bolded.
Jameson’s gaze was hard, a scar tracing across his brow from some long-forgotten fight.
He nodded to me as I took my seat, and the others did the same.
Leaning back in my chair, I folded my arms and smirked as I eyed the lineup at the table.
Scorn, our current Sergeant at Arms, just glared at us like he was trying to find our tells and making sure he addressed them later.
Which he always did. Powertrain, our numbers guy with a brain like a damn calculator, was slouched across from me, eyeing me with that deadpan face he’d mastered throughout the years.
Tick Tock, our Road Captain, nodded as he tapped his fingers on the table like a metronome, always antsy and ready for a fight.
Bullet, our club’s Secretary, looked impatient, his foot tapping while Macabre and Riddick traded insults like they were back in high school.
Snare, one of our Enforcer’s, just smirked, his eyes bouncing between everyone as if he were watching some reality show.
I leaned forward, banging on the table. “You boys done measuring dicks, or should I get a ruler?”
Macabre scoffed, shaking his head. “Please, Hellsing, we all know you’d come up short.”
“Short enough to still kick your ass,” I shot back, flashing a grin.
Powertrain snorted, “You’ve got a death wish, Hellsing? Or did that Superman t-shirt shrink your IQ?”
“Man, don’t diss the suit.” I tugged at my faded Superman T-shirt, emblazoned with a giant ‘S’ symbol. "If you clowns could rock half the hero vibes I do, maybe we’d get a discount on bail bonds.”
Scorn rolled his eyes, cracking a knuckle. “You and your superhero bullshit. What you are is a forty-seven-year-old man-child.”
“I may be a child, but at least I’m not as bitter as some of you assholes,” I said, unbothered, flicking my gaze over to Tick Tock. “Plus, I keep us entertained, unlike Mr. Time Bomb here.”
Tick Tock grunted, “Just keep up on the road, old man. I don’t slow down for grandpas.”
“Oh, bite me,” I muttered while they all chuckled, knowing damn well Tick Tock was a full decade older than me. Even Bullet laughed, although he looked like he’d rather be somewhere else.
Jameson’s stern voice cut through the noise. “Alright, listen up. We’ve got a situation going on in the French Quarter.”
“Ah hell, can’t we just catch a break, Prez?” Scorn leaned forward.
Powertrain chimed in. “Don’t you think we’ve been put through the ringer lately?”
Jameson nodded in acknowledgment, then hung his head in silent thought. His next words were deathly quiet. “Midnight Wytch got hit last night.”
Everyone went still, and you could feel the tension thickening.
Powertrain smirked, cutting his gaze over to me. “Ain't that where your girlfriend works, Hellsing?”
I can’t stop the frown that tugs at my mouth. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
A silence falls, and I feel them all watching me, Powertrain grinned like he was the goddamn Joker. But they knew better than to poke further. They knew all about Grace Desdemone and what a thorn in my side she’s been since the day she was born.
Grace was a witchy spitfire who had driven me insane since the day she turned eighteen.
With that long, dark brown hair flowing down her back, ending right at the curve of that fine ass of hers, she could drive any man crazy, and she did just that with me.
I stayed away as much as I could, and I could tell she resented me for it.
But what else could I do, she was Virgil’s daughter, and I respected him too much to go after his most precious property.
Now, Grace was twenty-eight and lethal, both in looks and spirit.
She’d grown dangerous with her magic, and even more so with that mouth of hers, which she didn’t hold back on me for one damn second.
I either want to drag her into the nearest dark corner and show her what I really wanted to do to that fine ass, or strangle her, and she’d be more than happy to return the favor.
To her, I was nothing but the leather-clad bastard who’d “babysat” her all these years.
But she hadn’t known the half of it. How I’d been watching over her all these years for Virgil.
I kept her out of trouble when I could, which was a lot more often than I needed it to be.
She’d been a magnet for trouble her whole damn life, and lately, it had gotten bad enough to put her six feet under if someone didn’t step in.
Especially with the kind of men she liked, those inked up, fast-talking pretty boys with nothing going for them except what they could do between the sheets.
Grace didn’t do relationships. She didn’t want the mess that came with ‘em. She wanted heat, distraction, maybe a little danger, and then she’d move on like it never happened. And by the way she burned through them, there wasn’t much there to begin with.
Not that I was jealous. Hell no. I’d seen what those losers brought to the table, and it wasn’t worth my time worrying over.
I wasn’t one of her little conquests. I’d made damn sure of that.
Still, watching her keep diving headfirst into chaos stirred something ugly in me, not envy, not possessiveness, just frustration.
The kind you feel when you see someone lighting matches in a room full of gasoline and pretending, they won’t get burned.
And Grace? She was made of fire.
I always kept a prospect stationed at her shop, that was non-negotiable. The French Quarter’s a damn maze of charm and danger, and the Midnight Wytch sat right in the thick of it. Drunks, junkies, wannabe warlocks, you name it, they wandered by. Usually my guys kept the riffraff off her doorstep.
But last night? We were out on a run, and for the first time in months, there wasn’t anyone watching her six. Should’ve known that was a mistake. Should’ve known she’d find herself dead center in whatever chaos decided to crawl out of the shadows.
Trouble had a scent, and Grace wore it like perfume. Maybe it found her. Maybe she went looking for it. Hell, if I knew. What I did know is that it was part of her nature, wild, reckless, beautiful, and just dangerous enough to make me forget every good decision I’d ever made.
Jameson cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the low murmur in the room. My attention snapped forward.
“Bloody Scorpions hit the place,” he said, voice flat but sharp. “Grace wasn’t there, but they broke in, tore it up pretty bad. She’s damn lucky she wasn’t around.”
A cold fist twisted in my gut, but I swallowed it down hard. She’s fine, I told myself. Just a scare. She’s fine.
Jameson’s gaze locked on me, that steady blue stare that said he’d already made up his mind. “We need someone on watch there, twenty-four-seven, until this shit’s handled.” His lips pulled into a grim line. “Hellsing, you’re up.”
The room went dead quiet. I felt every pair of eyes turn my way, waiting for my reaction. My jaw tightened, and I could already feel the headache coming on.
“Ah, fuck me,” I muttered under my breath, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “Look, I’ve done my share of babysitting. You want someone to do it, get a prospect. I’ve earned my time away from that witch.”
Jameson’s face didn’t soften one bit. “A prospect isn’t enough. This is the Bloody Scorpions we’re talkin’ about, Hellsing. They’re targeting Bastard property. If they get to her, it won’t end there. They’ll take her, rape her, who knows what the hell else.”
Jameson didn’t flinch. “Already did the math, brother. You’re the only one who knows how to handle her, and you sure as hell owe Virgil that much.”
I pressed my lips together, clenching a fist under the table. I knew he was right, and hell if I wanted anything to happen to her, but that didn’t mean I wanted the gig. Not even a little.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But if I wind up dead, that blood’s on your hands, Prez. That little witch has been gunning for me for years.”
Powertrain chuckled low. “You’re not fooling anyone, Hellsing. You’ve got it bad for her, and don’t even try to deny it.”
I threw him a murderous glare, which only made him grin wider. “Shut your mouth, Train.”
Jameson stepped in again, his gaze locked on me. “Hellsing, I’m not asking, I’m giving an order. This is important, and Virgil would want his daughter protected. Try to keep her alive and, you know, avoid strangling her if you can.”
“Like she’d ever let me get close enough to lay a finger on her,” I muttered, but I damn well knew that was a lie. Everyone in the room knew that it was only a matter of time before Grace and I combusted. Hell, maybe we already did, and I just haven’t figured out which part of me is still burning.
Jameson’s gaze shifted, cold and calculating as he looked over the table, his finger tapped steadily against the worn wood.
“Macabre,” he said, voice steady as a blade.
“I want every damn angle on this. Find out which Scorpion ordered the hit on the Midnight Wytch. Don’t stop until you’ve got a name. ”
Macabre gave a sharp nod, already thumbing through his phone. ““I’ll dig ‘em out, Prez. Someone always talks when I ask the right way.”
Jameson’s attention shifted to Hoax, who already had that tech-focused glint in his eye. “You’re on surveillance. I want every camera within five blocks scrubbed. If a bug crawled past that shop last night, I wanna see it.”
Hoax smirked, that cocky tilt to his grin lighting up his face. “You got it, Prez. I’ll have their faces, plates, and the color of their goddamn socks before midnight.”
Jameson leaned back in his chair, scanning the room one last time. “Good. No one hits Bastard property and walks away breathing. Not the Scorpions. Not anyone. Make that known.”
That was the final word. Church was done.
The room filled with the familiar scrape of chairs and the low rumble of engines outside starting up again.
I sat there a second longer, feeling the weight of it all settle over me.
I was still getting used to being Chaplain, a title that felt both too heavy and too damn fitting.
Virgil’s old role, passed down to me like a ghost I hadn’t quite learned how to live with.
But Jameson, he trusted me. And trust in this world meant more than blood.
Family was sacred among the Royal Bastards. You touch one of ours, you’re signing your death warrant.
As I stepped out into the fading light, the low hum of bikes rattling in the distance, my mind drifted to the Midnight Wytch, and the witch herself. Grace Desdemone.
She was fire and venom, chaos in a leather skirt. Probably losing her damn mind right now, especially when she found out I was the one Jameson sent to watch over her? Yeah, she was gonna lose a lot more than that.
Hell, she might even come after me with one of those pretty little witch knives she kept stashed behind the counter. But Jameson had made up his mind, and I didn’t argue with my President. She’d just have to deal with me being around whether she liked it or not.
And if I was honest with myself… a small, dangerous part of me didn’t mind the idea of being close to her again.
That dark spark between us was the kind that burned slow and deep, it had never really died. Maybe it was time to see just how much damage it could still do.