Chapter Ten
King sat astride his bike, the engine growling beneath him like a caged beast. Around him, the Devil’s Crown MC lined up in formation, headlights piercing the night, the roar of twenty Harleys filling the empty highway.
The air reeked of exhaust and gun oil, heavy with the promise of blood. King rolled his shoulders, leather creaking, the weight of his pistol snug at his side. A combat knife was strapped to his thigh, steel glinting faintly in the moonlight.
He’d come prepared to kill. At the head of the line, Viper pulled his helmet down, eyes hard as flint. Rage tightened his gloves, jaw clenched, eager to redeem himself. Every brother wore the same expression. They were grim and ready.
King gunned his throttle, signaling the charge.
“Let’s go,’ he said.
The pack surged forward, engines screaming into the night.
The Serpents’ clubhouse squatted on the edge of town, a sagging warehouse dressed up with neon lights and boarded windows.
The parking lot was littered with rusting cars and half a dozen bikes marked with the coiled snake patch. Loud music throbbed from inside, the bass vibrating through the cracked asphalt.
King raised his fist. The bikes cut off one by one, leaving the night eerily still. The sudden silence was louder than any engine roar.
He turned to his men. “No mercy. Take down anyone who gets in the way,” King ordered.
They nodded, weapons ready.
Viper and Rage flanked King as they moved in, boots crunching gravel. Two Serpents lounged at the front door, smoking, half-drunk. They barely had time to blink before King’s men were on them.
One went down with a blade in his gut, the other’s skull cracked against the brick wall. No hesitation and no wasted time.
King shoved the door open. The smell of beer, sweat, and smoke hit him first. Then the shouts, laughter, pool balls clacking. The Serpents hadn’t noticed yet, too busy drowning in their own filth.
King stepped inside, pistol raised. “Devil’s Crown.”
The room froze. For one long heartbeat, silence hung heavy. Then chaos erupted. A chair flew. A bottle shattered. A gunshot rang out, the bullet whining past King’s ear.
“Get down!” Viper barked, diving behind a pool table.
King’s MC brothers spread out, unleashing hell. King moved like a storm, every motion precise, fueled by rage. A Serpent lunged at him with a broken bottle.
King slammed his elbow into the man’s face, sending teeth flying, then drove his knife into his ribs. Another came at him with a bat.
King blocked the swing with his forearm, pain sparking, then put a bullet between the man’s eyes. The clubhouse exploded into carnage. Fists, blades, gunfire.
Men screamed, bodies crashed against tables, beer and blood slicking the floor. King only saw one face. Riker.
The bastard was across the room, dragging Lena by the arm. Her hair was mussed, her face bruised, eyes wide with terror, but she was alive.
“King!” she cried, her voice hoarse.
Riker yanked her closer, pressing a pistol to her temple.
“Back the fuck off!” he bellowed over the chaos. “Or I’ll blow her head off right here!”
King’s blood turned molten. Every instinct screamed to rush forward, to tear the bastard apart, but he forced himself still. His gun stayed leveled, steady as stone.
“Let her go,” King said, voice flat and dangerous.
Riker sneered, spit flying. “You think you run this town? You think you can take what’s mine?” He dug the gun harder against Lena’s skin.
She winced, but her eyes locked on King’s, desperate and trusting.
“She’s not yours,” King growled. “She was never yours. And if you hurt her—”
“What?” Riker cut him off with a laugh. “You’ll kill me? You’ll do it anyway.” He jerked Lena toward the back door, trying to shield himself with her. “You want her back? Come and take her.”
King’s patience snapped. He surged forward, faster than Riker expected. Riker moved his gun towards King. Riker fired, the bullet grazing King’s shoulder, but King didn’t stop.
He slammed into Riker with bone-crunching force, knocking Lena free. She stumbled aside, collapsing against a table as Rage dragged her to cover.
Riker and King hit the floor hard. The pistol skittered away, lost under the chaos. They grappled, fists flying, raw hatred spilling out in every blow.
Riker slammed a punch into King’s jaw, splitting his lip. King answered with a headbutt, blood spraying. They rolled, trading hits, neither giving ground.
“You’re nothing!” Riker spat, shoving King’s face into the floorboards. “A washed-up old man hiding behind his patch!”
King roared, twisting, driving his knee into Riker’s gut. He flipped them, straddling the bastard, and slammed his fist into his face again and again until bone cracked under his knuckles.
“Die, you bastard,” King snarled, each word punctuated with another blow.
Riker spat blood in his face, laughing even through broken teeth. “She’ll never look at you like anything but a monster.”
King’s rage burned white-hot. He drew his knife and plunged it into Riker’s chest. The Serpent’s laugh turned into a choking gasp. His eyes went wide, then glassy, his body sagging lifeless beneath King.
Silence pressed in for a moment, the sounds of battle fading as the Serpents realized their leader was gone. Those still standing faltered, some dropping weapons, others bolting for the doors. King’s MC brothers pressed the advantage, driving them out like rats scattering from fire.
King staggered to his feet, chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles. His shoulder burned where the bullet had grazed him, but he barely felt it. His gaze found Lena.
****
The Serpents’ clubhouse reeked of smoke, spilled beer, and blood. King’s men moved through the wreckage, checking bodies, gathering weapons, making sure no one was left alive who could crawl back and bite later.
Boots thudded over broken glass. The sound of men cursing and low, grim laughter echoed against the battered walls. Lena didn’t hear much of it.
Her ears still rang with gunfire, her throat still ached where Riker’s grip had dragged her, and her pulse hadn’t slowed since King ripped him away.
Every blink brought flashes of it back. The cold press of the gun against her temple, the stink of Riker’s breath, the way he’d laughed when she screamed for King.
Her stomach lurched. She curled forward, pressing her hands to her face.
It was over. She was free, and yet her body hadn’t caught up to the truth. The room tilted when she lifted her head, but then he was there.
King filled her vision, broad shoulders blocking out the chaos behind him. His face was smeared with blood, some his, some not. His jaw was set hard, his eyes burning with a wildness that hadn’t left him since the moment he crashed into Riker.
“Lena,” King said, voice rough.
Her breath broke. A sob tore through her, raw and ugly, and she didn’t care. She surged forward, grabbing fistfuls of his cut, burying her face against his chest. His arms closed around her instantly, like steel, like salvation.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she choked out, voice muffled against him. “I thought... God, I thought he was going to—”
King pressed his mouth to her hair, tightening his hold until she almost couldn’t breathe. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. He’ll never touch you again. No one will.”
The dam inside her burst. She sobbed harder, every ounce of fear spilling out in violent tremors. Her whole body shook against him, nails digging into his back like she needed to anchor herself to his solidity or else dissolve into nothing.
“I was so scared,” she whispered. “I kept thinking, if you didn’t come, if he—”
“I’d burn this whole fucking world to the ground before I let that happen.” King said, using his hand to cradle the back of her head. “You hear me? You’re mine, Lena. And I’m never letting you go again.”
She stilled, her breath catching. She pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was brutal in the dim light. He had a cut lip, swelling bruises, blood at his temple, but his eyes burned with something she hadn’t let herself hope for.
Love. It wasn’t soft or gentle. It was fierce, possessive, a declaration carved into bone.
“You mean that?” Lena asked, voice shaking.
“More than I’ve ever meant anything.” King brushed away the tears on her cheek. “I was a fool to push you away. A coward. But losing you, Lena, it damn near killed me. I love you. And if you’ll have me, you’re mine from here on out. No excuses. No walking away.”
Her heart stopped, then lurched forward in a rush that left her dizzy. For so long she’d tried to guard herself, to keep him at arm’s length because she’d known what it meant to fall for him.
Now, after nearly losing everything, there was no room for walls left. She surged up and kissed him.
It wasn’t careful. It was desperate, bruising, a clash of teeth and lips that tasted of blood and salt and something sweeter underneath. He growled low in his chest, hauling her tighter, as if he wanted to devour her whole.
The rest of the room faded. She didn’t hear the shouts of his men, didn’t see the wreckage. There was only King, solid and burning, his mouth hot and demanding against hers.
When King pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead pressed to hers.
“Say it,” he rasped.
Her chest heaved. “I love you.” The truth came out raw, unguarded, undeniable. “I tried not to. I thought it would destroy me. But I love you, King.”
A groan tore from his throat, and then he was kissing her again, even rougher.
One moment, they were pressed together in the Serpents’ clubhouse. The next, King was hauling her to her feet, tugging her out through the chaos of men still clearing bodies and broken glass. His hand never left hers, fingers locked tight like he didn’t trust the universe not to rip her away again.
The ride back to the Devil’s Crown MC compound blurred past her in a haze of roaring engines and wind whipping her hair. She clung to him, pressed against his broad back, the heat of him grounding her against the storm still raging in her chest.
When they pulled into the Devil’s Crown MC clubhouse yard, men were waiting. Brothers with blood still on their knuckles, congratulating King, but King didn’t pause.
He cut the engine, swung off the bike, and hauled her with him, ignoring the calls and questions. Inside, the clubhouse was buzzing, the air thick with adrenaline and booze, but King moved through it like a storm parting the sea.
He didn’t stop until he reached the back hall, past the rooms that belonged to his men, past the noise and the smoke. At the very end stood a heavy door, plain but solid. This must be his room, Lena thought.
King shoved it open, pulling her in, and slammed it shut behind them. His quarters were nothing like the chaos outside. The room was dark, spare, and lived-in. A massive bed took up most of the space, sheets dark and rumpled from nights he rarely bothered to smooth them.
A bottle of whiskey sat on the desk beside scattered papers, his cut thrown over a chair. The air smelled faintly of leather, smoke, and him. Before she could take it in, King slammed the door shut, pushed her against it, and captured her mouth again.
Her back hit the wood hard, but she moaned into him, gripping his shoulders as he kissed her like he’d been starving for her his whole damn life. He roamed his hands all over her body, sliding his rough palms down her sides, gripping her hips, tugging her closer.
Lena arched into him, every nerve alight. Fear still pulsed faintly in her veins, but it was drowned under something stronger. Need. Relief. Love so sharp it was almost pain.
“God, Lena,” King groaned against her throat, teeth scraping. “I need you. I need to feel you, right now, before I lose my mind.”
“Yes,” she whispered, tugging at his cut, then his shirt, frantic to get to his skin. “Please.”
He stripped her top over her head, baring her to the chill air. His gaze raked over her, hungry, reverent, a mix of awe and desperation. His hands followed, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing hard over her nipples until she gasped.
“Beautiful,” King muttered, half to himself. “Mine.”
Her jeans were shoved down next, his fingers working quickly, rough, until she was bare against the door.
He dropped to his knees without hesitation, mouth claiming her, tongue and teeth making her cry out.
Lena tangled her fingers in his hair, nails biting into his scalp, her legs trembling as he drove her higher and higher.
She shattered against him, gasping his name, the sound echoing off the walls. But King wasn’t done.
He stood, blood and sweat slick on his skin, eyes black with need. He shoved his own clothes aside, taking off his belt, jeans, and boxers. Lena saw his cock was thick and ready and she could feel her nipples tightening. She was wet between her legs.
Then he lifted her, strong hands under her thighs, and she wrapped around him instinctively. He slammed into her with a groan, burying himself deep, and she cried out, clinging to him.
The world narrowed to the brutal rhythm of his thrusts, the scrape of his stubble against her neck, the way his hands held her like she was the only thing tethering him to this earth. It was rough, yes, but there was reverence in every motion, every kiss he pressed to her skin between growls.
“You’re mine,” King gritted out, driving into her. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she gasped, nails raking down his back. “Always.”
He groaned, mouth claiming hers again, their kiss a mess of heat and need and something so much deeper it made her chest ache.
She came again, shuddering around him, and the sound of her breaking apart sent him over the edge. He drove into her hard one last time and spilled, his groan muffled against her shoulder.
For a long moment, they just clung to each other, panting, bodies trembling, sweat slick between them.
Finally, he eased her down, keeping his arms wrapped around her, as if afraid she’d vanish if he let go. He rested his forehead against hers, breath uneven.
“I meant what I said,” King murmured. “I love you. I’ll never let you go again. Not after this.”
Tears burned her eyes, but this time they weren’t born of fear. She cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the cut at his lip. “Then don’t. Don’t ever let me go.”
His lips curved into the faintest, fiercest smile. “Never.”