Chapter Four
A Hero’s Return
M alichai
I have been back in the Capitol for all of an hour, and already I want to rip my hair out by the roots. My father is working on my last God-given nerve, and I have to leave before I punch him. Or maybe I’ll let my dragon out so he can rip his head off. It’s a fun thought, but not something I would ever do.
“Where are you going, Malichai?” he questions as I grab my keys off the table in the foyer.
“Out.” I make my way to the front door, fighting to hide my limp, my weakness, from his gaze.
“What do you mean out ?” He sounds surprised. “We need to finish our conversation.”
“I mean, I am leaving this house. Probably to find a bar where I can have a drink without the judgmental stare of my father drilling into the side of my fucking head,” I snap at him.
“You can’t keep running away from this,” he replies following me. “It is time for you to take your place as the head of the Black family. I won’t be around forever.”
“I told you then and I will tell you now, I have no fucking interest in being the head of this godforsaken family.”
My dragon pushes at the corners of my mind, and I fight to keep the shift at bay. He is angry and frustrated with not just my father but my injured form. He wants to rage and burn the world to the fucking ground but we both know it won’t change a damn thing.
I don’t wait for my father to say another word before slamming the door behind me. Since I can remember, all he has ever done is criticize and judge me. My grades were never good enough, I didn’t score the winning touchdown in the football game, and I didn’t want to be the perfect little Elite asshole like all his friends’ sons.
I chose to serve my fucking realm. Something that would make any other parent proud. Except my father. I’m not an entitled prick who bows to his every whim, and that grates on his nerves. I have a conscience and a moral compass, something he doesn’t possess. There isn’t a single fucking thing we have in common.
Nothing I have done in my life has ever satisfied him. And now that I have been medically discharged from the Fighting Forces, he only has another thing to lord over me. He sees it as another in a lengthy line of failures. Another sign of my weakness.
I can’t stand being in that godforsaken house for another fucking minute.
Jumping into the driver’s seat of my mat black pickup truck, I headed toward the only bar in town I ever frequented—Dixie’s.
It’s a biker bar, run by Arch Fiends MC, an outlaw biker club, and somewhere, someone like me was always welcomed. It may have been almost ten years since I stepped foot in this godforsaken city, but I still know how to find the damn bar.
Stopping on the packed dirt, I stare at the building that has remained the same since I can remember. The red brick building has been tagged with graffiti repeatedly over the years, and the windows have been painted over to keep prying eyes out, but it is just as I remember it.
Chromed-out motorcycles and a few cars line the side of the building, and I know the crowd that has always frequented Dixie’s is still the same, more or less. The faces may have changed, but I would bet anything the vibe is still the same.
“No weapons,” the meathead at the door says when I step closer, once more trying not to show my limp to the outside world. But the man doesn’t even bother to look at me. He is wearing a leather cut proclaiming him to be a prospect.
“No problem.”
His gaze snaps up, and I can’t help but chuckle. I know I’m a big bastard. I always have been. But judging from the size of this guy, few people he has met are bigger than him. Until now. I idly wonder how our dragons would match up, but I’m not inclined to find out. Since the accident, my dragon has become unstable and even harder to control.
“I’m not looking for any problems,” I say when the bouncer looks unsure whether he should let me in.
“What a boring way to live,” a female voice says from behind me.
Turning, I take in the petite frame of a pixie-like woman with fire-engine-red hair and tattoos covering almost every inch of her exposed arms. She pats me on the shoulder with a smile.
“You can let him in, Leo. This is Malichai,” she explains. “He’s been gone for a while, but he is one of us. Living in the underbelly and making it look easy.”
“I’m a law-abiding citizen.” I counter quickly.
“And I’m the tooth fairy. We can’t choose what we’re born into.”
“I’m not sure we have met before,” I say with a frown, not happy to be judged by some strange woman.
“We actually have,” she says as she walks away. “Name’s Amy McIntire. We used to go to school together.”
“Damn, woman,” I say with a quick smile. “Seems things have changed while I was away.”
“Not everyone is heir to a criminal empire,” she says with a wink. “Some of us have to make our own way. And stop flirting with me, I’m not interested.”
And then she is gone, and I am left staring after her. Well, shit. The little nerdy girl that sat in front of every class, as far as I can remember, became kind of a knockout. Who would have guessed?
The bouncer begrudgingly allows me entrance with a mumbled, “Don’t start any shit. We don’t want any problems with the damn Blacks.”
I want to tell him to fuck off, that I have nothing to do with my family’s business, but I don’t. No matter how many times I say it, no one will believe me. In this part of the Capitol, I will always be the son of a monster, the heir to the Black legacy.
Walking in, memories assault me. The interior is loud, old-school rock music blaring overhead. People milling about, bodies packed close together in the smallish space. People are drinking and dancing, grinding their bodies on the dance floor. The smell of smoke and sex hangs in the air. It’s busy for a Tuesday night.
The crowd splits for a moment as I look for a way to make it to the bar and the shot of bourbon I have been craving, but instead I lock eyes with a woman. She is fucking stunning. Curvy as fuck with a hint of cleavage on display, her blonde hair up in the same customary ponytail it always has been. I don’t have to be close enough to know her eyes are stormy blue-grey.
My cock is already hardening in my jeans at the sight of her. I should be embarrassed, disgusted, angry, anything but happy to see the object of my years’ long obsession. I close my eyes as my dragon roars deep in my mind, rattling my brain. He fights me, trying to get out and I almost lose the battle. What a situation that would be, my ornery dragon on a rampage in this enclosed space.
I may not have laid eyes on her in ten years, but I know every damn thing there is to know about the woman across the bar.
Lyrik.
My angel.
My own personal hell.
My mate, my dragon adds, communicating with me for the first time in his or my existence.