Chapter Twelve
Firestride
“How long are you planning to punish the girl?” Cerberus asked as I watched Kyllian move about the common room, serving drinks, food, or whatever my brothers wanted.
I could see the trepidation in her eyes, the defiant fury she kept tightly concealed, waiting for the right moment to strike.
She was a stunning woman, that was for sure, and the costume she wore highlighted every fucking delicious curve of her banging body.
But it didn’t matter how much I wanted to sink my dick into her cunt; she wasn’t mine.
She belonged to the club until I found Jessup, and he paid his debt, even if it aggravated every nerve in my body.
“Wanderer sent me a text last night. He found a lead on Jessup. If it pans out, the bitch is free to go. If not, she will continue to work off her old man’s debt.”
“Nano looked into her, brother. She’s not who she says she is.”
“And what exactly did Nano find?” I asked, my gaze still fixed on Kyllian. A part of me was already dreading the answer. Nano was our intel guy, and anything he dug up usually meant trouble.
“She’s got a history, brother,” Cerberus said, his voice grave.
“Nothing major, and certainly nothing that screams ‘wanted criminal.’ But she’s got secrets.
Things she’s running from. Makes you wonder what else she’s not telling us, doesn’t it?
” He took a long swig of his whiskey, his eyes narrowed in thought.
“Especially considering how Jessup, a known dirtbag and dealer for the Death Dogs, managed to snag her.”
“So, what? She’s just some poor, helpless victim caught in the crossfire?
” I scoffed; the very idea rankled me. “She’s got claws, Cerberus.
I saw them. She’s not as innocent as she plays.
” My own words were a confession, a reluctant admission of the unsettling respect I was beginning to feel for her.
She was a survivor, like me, and that was a dangerous thing in this world.
It meant she knew how to fight, how to endure. It meant she wouldn’t break easily.
And that in itself was a threat.
“Maybe,” Cerberus conceded, his gaze following mine.
“Or maybe she’s exactly what she seems—a woman trying to survive in a fucked-up world.
And Jessup just happened to be the one who dragged her down with him.
Either way, she’s your collateral, Firestride.
And collateral can be... unpredictable.” He finished his drink, setting the glass down with a thud.
“You play with fire; you’re bound to get burned.
Just make sure you don’t let her burn you too.
” He stood, clapping me on the shoulder.
“I’m heading out. Got business to take care of. ”
As he left, his words echoed in my mind, a grim warning I couldn’t afford to ignore.
I continued to watch Kyllian, her movements fluid despite the humiliation of her costume.
She was a paradox, a fragile porcelain doll shattered by a brutal fist, yet still possessing a core of defiance that burned hotter than any wildfire.
She was trouble, alright. But she was also the key.
The key to Jessup. The key to a debt long overdue.
And right now, she was all I had. The thought sent a familiar jolt of something akin to.
.. concern through me. It was a dangerous feeling; one I’d long since buried.
But as I watched her navigate the rough waters of the clubhouse, her spirit unbroken, I couldn’t help but wonder if the fire in her was exactly what we needed to bring down the bastards who had wronged us.
My gaze remained fixed on Kyllian, the raw fury radiating from her a stark contrast to the calculated composure she tried to maintain.
The spit that had flown from her lips, the defiant glint in her eyes—it was all fuel to the fire she’d ignited within me.
She was a force of nature, a wild thing tethered by circumstance, and the sight of her battling the primal urges of the club, the predatory stares of my brothers, was both unnerving and exhilarating.
Cerberus’ words about playing with fire echoed in my mind, a chilling reminder of the tightrope I was walking.
Then it happened. A sickening crack, followed by Kyllian’s ragged cry, ripped through the raucous din of the common room.
My head snapped up, my eyes locking onto the unfolding scene near the bar.
Harem, one of my brothers, had his arm around her, his grin predatory as she fought him.
And then, the sickening thud as she smashed a bottle over his head.
A beat of stunned silence, and then Harem retaliated, a brutal backhand that split her lip open.
Instantly, I was on my feet, the cold steel of my pistol pressed against Harem’s forehead before my mind could even process the sequence of events.
“Apologize to her. Now,” I snarled, the words ripped from my gut, laced with a fury I rarely unleashed.
“What the fuck, brother?!”
Harem’s defiant glare met mine, his challenge clear, but Morpheus’ booming voice cut through the tension, his authority undeniable.
“Since when do you give a fuck about some club bitch?”
Ignoring Morpheus, I cocked my gun and pressed it harder against Harem’s forehead. “Not asking again.”
“ENOUGH!” Morpheus’ roared command echoed in the silence as I refused to back down. “Harem, apologize now!”
Harem growled but ceded. “Sorry.” His grudged apology, clipped and seething, was a small victory, but the sight of Kyllian, battered and defiant, ignited a fire in me that Cerberus had warned about.
My attention, my focus—it was all on her now.
“Cage your pussy,” Morpheus demanded, his gaze sweeping over me, “then meet me in my office.”
Twenty minutes later, I walked into Morpheus’ office to find him standing in front of the window, staring into the Black Hills that surrounded our clubhouse.
“Close the door, Firestride.”
Doing so, I waited for him to continue. I didn’t have to wait long.
“What is this club’s motto?”
“Bastards by blood, brothers by choice.”
“Remember that because if you ever choose a bitch over a brother again, I will kill you myself. I warned you, brother. I told you not to play with fire, because that bitch just cost you.”
Morpheus’ voice, a low rumble that vibrated with authority, was like the lash of a whip against my already frayed nerves. His words, “That bitch just cost you,” hung in the air, heavy with accusation and the grim certainty of consequence.
I met his gaze, my own a mirror of his staunch resolve, the image of Kyllian’s defiance, her bleeding lip, her undaunted spirit, a burning brand in my mind.
Cerberus’ warning echoed in my ears. “Play with fire, you’re bound to get burned.
” I hadn’t just played with fire; I’d become the inferno, and now, the embers of my recklessness were threatening to consume me.
“She didn’t cost me, Morpheus,” I growled defiantly.
“She’s nothing more than a loose end. And loose ends get tied up, one way or another.
” My gaze shifted to the window, to the stark, unforgiving beauty of the Black Hills stretching out beyond—a landscape as brutal and untamed as the life we led.
Kyllian Ward was a fucking problem, a volatile variable in a dangerous equation.
One I hadn’t counted on.
Morpheus turned from the window, his eyes, hard and unyielding, locked onto mine.
“You want to tie her up, Firestride; you do it discreetly. No more public displays, no more drawing attention to yourself. You’ve painted a target on her back, and now the brothers know she means something to you.
Remember the motto. Bastards by blood, brothers by choice, because right now, she’s just a bitch caught in your orbit, and when she leaves, and she will. .. you won’t be able to protect her.”
His words hung in the air, a stark pronouncement of my compromised position. Morpheus’ decree was absolute, a death knell to any lingering illusions of control. He saw my concern for Kyllian as a weakness, a liability that jeopardized the Brotherhood’s reputation.
And in this world, reputation was everything.
To my brothers, I was a fool, a man who had allowed a woman, a captive, to infiltrate the walls of my carefully guarded heart. The fact that she was collateral, a means to an end, was a truth I couldn’t afford to forget, and one Morpheus ensured I wouldn’t.
The image of Kyllian, her lip split and bleeding, her defiance a beacon in the chaos, warred with Morpheus’ stark warning.
He was right. I had let my guard down. I had allowed a flicker of something real to ignite, something that went beyond the calculated machinations of the Brotherhood.
And now, that spark, that undeniable connection, was a threat.
A threat to my own carefully constructed world, and to the fragile peace I’d maintained for so long.
The Brotherhood was a savage beast, and any perceived weakness was an invitation to be devoured.
“I’ll handle it, Morpheus,” I gritted out, my voice a low growl that mirrored the storm brewing within me.
The weight of his words settled heavily, a grim reminder of the path I was on.
Kyllian was a loose end, and loose ends, in my world, were always tied up.
Discreetly or not, that was a task I would fulfill.
But the thought of her, of the fire that burned within her, and the danger that now surrounded her, ignited a different kind of rage, a possessive fury that promised a reckoning for anyone who dared harm one more hair on her head.