Chapter 4
Zeus
I can't take my eyes off her.
She’s in the center of the room with Rowan, Sarah, and Kayla. They’re all smiling, laughing, and dancing. I watch as her head tips back. Strands of hair have fallen loose from her ponytail, and she’s…lovely.
She’s Fiend's daughter, you fuck.
The words stop my thoughts like a scratched record.
I killed her father.
I should send her away. Tell her the truth and watch her walk out that gate before this whole situation gets more complicated than it already is. Yeah, that’s what I should do. That’s what I will do.
But I don't.
The bandage on her cheek makes my hands curl into fists. Whiskey sits heavy in my gut, mixing with something darker, something I haven't felt in months—a protective instinct.
Who did that to her? I want to know. The urge to hunt them down and make them regret every breath they've ever taken is strong.
She spins, and her eyes find mine across the room. Just for a second. Her smile falters, then returns, smaller and more uncertain. She looks away.
Christ. I'm staring at her like some goddamn creep.
I drag my gaze away and reach for my glass, only to find it empty. Again. The prospect behind the bar moves to refill it, but I wave him off. I've had enough for now.
Why the fuck did I insist she be let in?
What the hell was I thinking? I'm barely holding my own shit together most days. I drink too much. I pick fights over nothing. I’m pissed off at the whole fucked up world.
The last thing the girl needs is me watching over her. She needs someone stable. Someone who isn't drowning.
But she's here now, and I'm the one who vouched for her. That makes her my responsibility, whether I like it or not.
And the fucked-up truth? I do like it. More than I should.
She's beautiful. Even with the bruise and the bandage and the exhaustion written into every line of her body, she's the most beautiful thing I've laid eyes on in months.
Years. Maybe ever. And that alone should make me walk away, because what kind of sick bastard looks at his dead best friend's daughter and feels—
"Zeus, baby.”
I don't turn at the sultry voice. I know who it is.
Kandi sidles up beside me, her tits pressing against my arm, her perfume thick and cloying. "You've been avoiding me."
"Not avoiding. Just not interested."
Her laugh is sharp. "That's not what you said last week."
"Last week I was drunk off my ass.” I shift away from her touch. "Tonight I'm not."
“We could fix that." Her hand slides up my arm, fingers trailing toward my shoulder. "I'll make you forget whatever's bothering you."
I catch her wrist and remove her hand. "Not happening."
Too late, I realize I’m still staring at London and, of course, Kandi notices and follows my gaze. "The homeless bitch?”
"Call her that again and see what happens."
Kandi's eyes widen, but she recovers quickly, forcing a smile. "I'm just saying, Zeus, she's not even club."
"She's under my protection. That makes her club enough."
"Your protection." Kandi's voice turns bitter. "Since when do you protect street rats?"
"We're done here, Kandi. Go find someone else to fuck."
"You can't be serious."
"Dead serious." I meet her eyes, making sure she understands.
Her face flushes red. For a moment, I think she might say something she’ll come to regret, but she doesn’t. Instead, she spins on her heel and stomps away, her hips swaying in an exaggerated way that used to work on me when I was too drunk to care.
I knew I was spending too much time with Kandi. Using her to numb the pain, to forget for a few hours that I killed my best friend. That my best friend was not the man I thought he was. But she was never anything more than a distraction. Not for me. And I should have shut it down sooner.
"Zeus."
I turn to find all three ol' ladies standing in front of me—Rowan, Sarah, and Kayla—wearing matching expressions of determination.
“Where’s London?”
“Ladies’ room. We need to talk," Rowan says.
I cross my arms. "About?"
"About London," Sarah says quietly. "And what you're planning to tell her about Fiend.”
"Or not tell her," Kayla adds.
"She keeps asking about her father," Rowan continues. "We're running out of ways to deflect."
"So brainstorm, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
"Zeus." Sarah's voice hardens. "She came here to meet him. We can only put her off for so long. Plus, she deserves to know the truth."
"I'll tell her when I'm ready."
“Any idea when that will be?" Kayla challenges. "Next week? Next month?"
I grind my teeth. "I said I'll handle it."
"Then handle it," Rowan says firmly. “By tomorrow. Or we will."
They wait. All three of them are staring me down like I'm some prospect who needs setting straight.
"Fine," I bite out. “Tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow."
Rowan nods, satisfied. "Good talk.”
They walk away, just as London emerges from the hallway. She fits with them. I can see it. The ol’ ladies have folded her into their group like she belongs. And she's starting to relax around them.
For a few minutes, I imagine London is an ol’ lady too—mine. I never actually had the urge to take an ol’ lady before. Why do I suddenly feel the urge so strongly now, when I’m more fucked up than I’ve ever been?
Yeah, me and an ol’ lady is really not a good idea.
I push off the bar and head for the door. The party's still going strong, but I need air. And space. A place where I'm not watching a woman way too young for me like some creepy stalker and fantasizing about fucked up shit I have no business even considering.
The garage is dark and quiet when I slip inside.
I flip on the overhead lights and survey the half-dozen bikes in various states of repair.
This is where I've spent most of my time lately.
Working with my hands. Losing myself in engines and chrome and the simple, mechanical problems I can actually solve.
I grab a wrench and move to the nearest bike—Prophet's Harley, which needs a new carburetor. I work until my shoulders ache and my hands are covered in grease and the sky outside the windows starts to lighten with dawn.
I know I should get a couple hours of sleep. But sleep means nightmares. The same fucked up nightmares where I’m staring into Fiend's face moments before I…
London's in my room.
Probably asleep in my bed right now.
I set down the wrench and wipe my hands on a rag. The compound is quiet now. A few party stragglers are sprawled out on couches, chatting quietly, but most have drifted to their rooms or crashed wherever they landed.
I take the stairs to the second floor and stand outside my door for a long moment, hand on the knob, trying to decide if maybe I should grab a blanket and sleep on the floor in the shop. I’ve slept in worse places.
After a brief hesitation, I turn the knob slowly, easing the door open just enough to slip through. The room is dark except for the faint glow of parking lot security lights through the window. London's asleep on top of the covers, still fully dressed, one arm tucked under her cheek.
She didn't get under the blankets. Didn't take off her shoes. That’s telling. She's ready to run at any moment.
I close the door quietly, cross to the armchair in the corner, and sink into it. Stretching my legs out, I watch her sleep.
Cause you’re not a creepy stalker. Not at all.