Satan (Ghost Born MC #10)

Prologue

William

T here wasn’t much in the world that I gave a fuck about. But the one thing I would burn the entire world down to the ground to keep?

Chet Wang.

He was five years younger than me, and when I found him, he was nothing more than an eighteen-year-old boy who was desperate to escape an abusive, shithead father.

His mother had disappeared when he was a mere kid without a word to Chet or his father.

And when she left that house, she disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving Chet alone to deal with his asshole of a father.

Chet had been damn near starving when I came across him.

He was dehydrated as fuck, and he’d been on his knees for some sick son of a bitch in the back of a seedy club on the east side of San Antonio, where I’d been doing a drop for Rico Martinez, one of the wealthiest and most dangerous men in the country.

I’d watched Chet from the shadows, intrigued by the boy, but my intrigue turned to rage when Chet tried to come up for air and the asshole pinned him to the wall and forced him to choke on his cock.

I’d ripped the overweight bastard off Chet, pummeled his face in for not respecting Chet’s boundaries, then dragged Chet out of that club and to my bike.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Chet snapped, slapping at my arm. “Let me go! He owes me money!”

I stopped and spun around to face him. Chet, whose name I’d learned while in the club, had not been expecting the abrupt stop and crashed into me.

My hand latched onto his bony hip, holding him against me as I ran my eyes over his face.

He had a black eye and a bruise on his cheek that hadn’t been visible in the dark hallway of the club.

Dirt was smeared across his forehead, and his hair was too long and greasy, like he hadn’t been able to wash it in a few days.

“How much did he owe you?” I asked, my voice low. I wasn’t all that used to talking.

Chet glared at me. Most people were afraid of me.

Trauma had put a dead look in my eyes. Some people thought I was a psychopath, but truth was, I was just a monster born of a shitty past. Foster home after foster home had neglected me, but long before I got put in those homes, my father had done a damn good number on me—raping me, beating me, starving me.

“A hundred dollars,” Chet muttered.

I released him, then pointed a stiff finger in his face. “Stay,” I commanded.

He bared his teeth at me, enraged. And fuck , it was a beautiful sight. “I’m not a dog.”

I shook my head and sighed before heading back for the club. The man who’d assaulted Chet was still unconscious on the floor. Reaching into his pocket, I grabbed his wallet and snatched out all his cash, which was damn near five hundred dollars, then dropped the wallet on his face.

When I emerged back outside, Chet was right where I’d left him, still glaring at me. But when I handed him his cash, he blinked, the anger bleeding away. He slowly counted out the twenties and tens, blowing out a soft breath. “I…” He trailed off, like he wasn’t sure what to say.

“You’re coming with me.” Gripping his wrist, I tugged him closer to my bike.

“What?” He shook his head when I held out my helmet to him. “I can’t go with you. I have to go home. My dad ? —”

“If your dad lets you do shit like this, lets you walk around with those bruises on your face without doing a fucking thing to protect you, then he’s not very much of a father,” I growled, growing impatient. “Put the helmet on, and get on the fucking bike.”

“I don’t even know your name!” he spluttered.

I straddled my bike. “Satan,” I told him. “But you can call me William.”

I’d taken him back to my hotel that night.

After he’d washed up and dressed in the clothes I’d bought him while he was showering, he promptly passed out on the bed, snoring so loud, I was surprised I didn’t get a noise complaint from the people staying in the rooms next to us.

And the next morning, I brought him back to Washington with me, where I’d been living at the time, and it was there that he proceeded to live with me in my studio apartment.

Where he eventually became my husband and my submissive.

Where he became the one fucking thing in this world I gave a fuck about.

Which was why I was sitting in Hyram’s office five years later with a Ghost Born MC cut on my back, no longer working for Rico Martinez.

The Savage Dreams MC, who we’d been having problems with for a while, had reappeared after weeks of silence, and they were targeting my fucking husband . The man I’d vowed to always protect. The man I’d sworn would never face the shit he did as a teenager again.

And not only were the SDMC targeting Chet, they were threatening to blast everything he’d done as a teen. Threatening to tell Chet’s father where he was.

He was the only person in this world Chet feared, and the only reason I hadn’t gone after him was because he was a fucking cop. Classic, really.

Hyram frowned at the encrypted file on my phone.

I hadn’t closed it out because I knew it would disappear once I did.

I figured Rurik, Malik’s significant other, could probably find it if I needed him to, but I wasn’t ready to bring the rest of the club into this yet.

I certainly wasn’t ready to bring the Bratva into this, and telling Rurik, the Washington Bratva’s second in command, about it would do just that.

Rurik and Chet got along well—like brothers, almost. Both of them were smart asses, and Rurik found Chet’s bratty behavior absolutely hilarious, much to my dismay.

If Rurik found out the SDMC was threatening Chet, he’d be ready for war. And while I was definitely ready to wipe out the Savage Dreams, I wouldn’t do so yet. Not when they had this information. Not when Chet’s fucking safety was at stake.

If they were threatening to notify Chet’s father of Chet’s whereabouts, then that meant Chet’s father was still looking for him.

And that was bad fucking news. A cop had resources and would bring heat on the Ghost Born MC.

On the place we’d been given to belong. And while I mostly tolerated these guys for Chet’s sake, they were Chet’s family.

Chet had a place to belong here, and he needed that.

“This is fucking great,” Hyram sighed, setting my phone down on his desk. “Does Chet know?”

I shook my head. Hyram was the only person besides me and Chet that knew what Chet had gone through and who his father was.

It was necessary that Hyram knew as the president of the Oregon charter of the GBMC.

But no one else knew. Chet had asked for it to remain that way so he could leave his past behind.

This was going to fuck up everything.

“The smart thing to do would be to let Rurik in. See if he can wipe this from their databases. But if they have physical proof, that makes this more difficult.”

“The problem right now isn’t the SDMC,” I reminded him.

“The problem is Chet’s fucking father.” I could call in Rico, who had given me my in with the GBMC to begin with since I’d worked for Rico, but I didn’t want to owe Rico a favor.

Besides, that would be just another person who knew what happened to Chet.

I couldn’t break Chet’s trust like that.

“You got a plan then?” Hyram asked, arching a brow at me.

“The best option right now is to take out his father.”

Hyram grunted. “He’s a fucking cop , William.”

I shrugged. “This club has taken out cops before, remember? Your brother-in-law took out one. The same fucking cop you were behind bars for assaulting, might I add.”

Hyram rolled his eyes. “He was also trying to traffic my little sister and my fucking niece, William.”

“And this mother fucker may take Chet from me,” I growled, jabbing my index finger so hard against his desk, pain pulsed through my hand.

“Chet is a smart ass with a spine of steel. And I know he worked his way into being a patched member, to being the fucking secretary, but he still gets flashbacks that leave him in fucking panic attacks, Hyram,” I confessed.

“I know that mother fucker will melt Chet’s spine of steel into liquid metal.

I promised him I’d never let anyone hurt him again, least of all his shithead sperm donor. Don’t make me go back on my word, Hy.”

Hyram pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you want to take him out, it’d be best to let the Bratva handle it.”

I shook my head. “This is my fucking kill. Deny me, and I’ll do what the fuck I want anyway, Hyram. Don’t test me.”

He glowered at me. “I’m your fucking president, William. You repeated that same oath everyone else did. Remember your place.”

I jerked to my feet and jabbed my finger against his polished wood desk for the second time.

“No, you remember your fucking place. Chet is mine ,” I growled.

“Would you let a cop live if he was a threat to Thyrie?” Thyrie was Hyram’s old lady.

She was an incredible woman with balls bigger than most men I’d met.

And she dragged Hyram around by the dick.

Still, Hyram knew I had him right where I wanted him.

If someone was a threat to Thyrie’s safety, he’d take them out. Cop or not. Just as he’d attempted to do for his sister.

“Fuck you, William,” Hyram finally growled. “You want to do this? Fine. But you take Malachi with you, you hear me? He’ll have your back. And when you leave this clubhouse, you have twenty-four-fucking-hours to get your ass back here, understand?”

I nodded once. “Understood. And you do not let Chet out of this clubhouse, clear?”

Hyram sighed. “You deal with Chet, William. You’re the only person he truly listens to anyway.”

I nodded once and turned from the room, heading for my apartment, where I’d left Chet napping after fucking his brains out not even thirty minutes earlier.