Blood (Kings if Sin MC #1)

14. Devil/King

CHAPTER 14

DEVIL/KING

T he ringer cuts off. My hands are shaking. A pit opens in my chest. Why the hell would Tyler be calling a King ? And not just any King.

I need to get out of here. My eyes dart around the room, looking for my boots. I don’t see them. The bathroom door opens and Callan joins me, rubbing a towel through his hair. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and it’s oddly sexy. His serene features are such a paradox to who he is. “Do you know what happened with my clothes and boots?” I try to remain casual but a hive of bees buzzes under my skin.

“Diamond came for them. They were incinerated.” Tossing the towel, he scrutinizes me, his eyes narrowing. “You trying to run, Rogue?”

Pounding roars in my ears. My heart gallops. “I need to get something to drink.” His gaze drops to my lips. His tongue swipes along his bottom lip as he closes the space between us, inhaling me like a wolf learning a new scent. He slides his hand up my chest until his fingers brush my collarbone, the pad of his thumb caressing my raging pulse.

“I want to fuck your throat. Fill your stomach with my cum. Make those stunning eyes water.” My thighs clench, my mind fighting my libido. “Did you like watching me, tasting me?” he asks, his hand creeping around my neck, hovering. The light, salty twang of his cum still coats my mouth.

“Yes,” I exhale. My brain is telling me to run, but my body wants to submit.

Silence hangs heavy between us. He lowers his head to mine. “Let me own you.” There’s so much need in his tone that it physically weakens me.

“I can’t.” It’s a strangled whimper. I pull away and head to the door, praying he allows me to leave. I linger there for a few silent beats. When he doesn’t move—doesn’t say anything else—a tear burns a path down my cheek. Why does this feel like goodbye ?

* * *

Walking through the clubhouse, I try to be as quiet as possible. Most of the lights are out, and I don’t want to disturb anyone. I find Tim in the kitchen, eating a bowl of pasta. “Hey. Do you think you could give me a ride back to the motel?” I wince, feeling bad for interrupting his meal.

“Everything okay? I heard what you did.” He places his bowl in the sink and digs into his pocket for his keys.

“I’m just glad Cutter’s going to be okay.” I shake it off like it’s nothing.

“I was talking about Georgina.” He throws a set of keys in the air, and I catch them, confused. “Take the Jeep. Kitty won’t mind.” I grimace when he notices I’m shoeless.

“It belongs to Kitty?” I say, trying to move his focus.

“You think I’d drive that if it was a choice?” He pulls a cigarette from his pack and jerks his chin toward the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

As we pass the foyer closet, he stops me with a tug on my arm. “There’s leftover shit from women who have partied here. Find a pair of shoes.” I want to hug him, but I don’t.

We step outside as daylight creeps over the horizon, wanting to reclaim the sky. Holding the keys up, I ask, “Will you get in trouble?”

“Not if you bring it back.” He lights his cigarette and blows a toxic cloud into the air.

“What happened to your vape?” I ask, nodding to the cancer stick.

He talks with it hanging out of his mouth. “Cutter threatened to ram it up my ass.”

A small smile lifts the side of my mouth, I hold the keys out and say, “Thanks, Tim. You’re a good one.”

“So are you.”

Climbing into the Jeep, I fiddle with the seat to bring it forward. I glance up, checking my mirror, and find Tim waving me off. I shift into drive and pull up to the gates, my shoulders tense and my back tight. They open straight away, and I breathe out in relief as I sail through the gates without incident.

Once I’m back at the motel, I run into the room, kicking off the heels that were one size too small, and grab my phone, hitting Tyler’s number. It’s five in the morning, but he answers on the fourth ring, his sleepy voice creeping down the line.

“Finally missing me?”

“I need to see you.”

“Good, I need to see you too.” There’s a voice in the background. A woman whispering. “Out,” he barks. I cringe for whoever is being discarded, no doubt without getting her own release.

“Turn your tracker on and I’ll come to you.” I want to tell him no. That I’ll come to him, but if I go back there, he’ll make sure I never leave again.

“Fine.” Ending the call, I turn my tracker on and wait. Once he sees where I am, he’ll call and ream me out, demanding I return home. I round the bed and tug open the dresser drawer pulling out the top rocker patch found on Harley. Sighing, I throw myself back on the bed and close my eyes.

* * *

The sun beams through the window, heating the small room. The familiar rumble of a bike jerks me upright. I must have fallen asleep. Grabbing my phone, I check for missed calls and realize I’ve been out for more than a few hours. There are no missed calls. Shoving the patch into my pocket, I jump up. Rushing to the door, Tyler comes into view as he parks his bike across the lot.

I open my door and hiss, “Tyler! Over here!”

He takes his time dismounting and strolls over to me. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Get in here,” I groan, dragging him by the arm, not wanting anyone to see a Devil here.

“You seem pretty comfortable driving into King’s territory with your cut,” I snap, slamming the door behind him.

“You seem pretty fucking comfortable with your set up here.” He walks around the room, tossing clothes onto the bed. “Get your shit together. You’ve played brat long enough.”

“Excuse you?” I grit my teeth. Being in his presence for the first time in weeks only confirms what I already knew: I’ve never really loved Tyler.

He prowls toward me, his eyes menacing as he backs me up against the wall. His hands slam against the plaster on either side of my head, knocking a picture to the carpet with the force.

“I allowed you time. Harley’s death was hard.”

“Murder,” I growl.

“What?” His spittle sprays my face.

“Harley’s murder—or am I still the only one who gives a shit about the circumstances?”

“Is that what you’re doing in this town? Investigating?” His lips press into a white slash across his face.

“Someone has to.” I’m bitter. So fucking bitter.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” He pushes off the wall and runs his hands through his hair, then points a finger at my suitcase. “Pack your fucking shit or we’re leaving without it.”

“I’m staying.”

“The hell you are. You belong with me. You belong at home.”

“No.” I shake my head, folding my arms, my shoulders pulling back. “I don’t.” Air whooshes out of me as the back of his hand makes contact with my cheek, knocking me to the dirty carpet. Metallic liquid fills my mouth.

Tears spring to my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. Fuck him . “Feel like a man now?” I spit the blood, swiping my hand across my lips. I push myself up from the floor, my legs a little shaky. Rearing back, I attempt to punch him, but he grabs my wrist and turns me in his hold, wrapping me against his body, his front to my back.

“As much as I love to dance with you, baby, time is of the essence.” His hot breath puffs over my ear as I thrash to break his hold. “You know I like it when you struggle,” he taunts.

“Fuck you,” I snap.

“We don’t have time. As soon as we get home, though, it’s all we’ll be doing.” Shoving me off him, I collide with the wall, my shoulder smarting from the impact on the already bruised bone.

“Why were you calling Callan Cox?” I wheeze, the air knocked out of me.

He freezes, fists clenched. “How the fuck would you know that?” The room shrinks around him. Wide, furious eyes burn through my face. He rushes me, his fist punching a hole in the wall beside me. “You been cozying up to him?” he sneers.

“No,” I bellow, my heart racing and gums stinging.

“How would you know that I called him?” He grabs my shoulders, turning me to face him. “Princess, how the fuck do you know that?”

“Just tell me!” I yell.

Blowing out a waft of air, he paces, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. “We have business with them over a shipment delivered to the wrong dock.”

I look for a lie, but Tyler’s face softens. “Baby, this is insanity. I fucking hate us being at odds like this. Come home, and I promise we’ll get everyone looking into Harley’s death.”

They should have been doing that anyway. “I’m not coming back.” My lip is swelling, and it hurts to talk. “Yet,” I add.

Rage radiates from him. Breathing deep like a dragon ready to flay his enemy, he grits his teeth, pointing a finger at me.

“If you don’t come home, I’ll tell everyone where I found you. Who you’re mingling with. Do you want to risk impeachment?”

“I’ll come back when I’m ready.”

Tutting, he opens the motel door. “What would your father say?” Then slams it behind him.

Anger, grief, and disgust boil inside me. Charging after him, I scream, “You know what he’d say—why aren’t my brothers hellbent on finding my kid’s killer!”

Silence. Still and deadly.

He marches over to where I am standing in the middle of the parking lot, barefoot and fucking crazy, and grips my jaw, planting a rough kiss on my lips. “See you real soon, baby.” My blood stains his mouth, but he doesn’t wipe it away as he mounts his bike. “One week, Princess. Don’t make me come back here.” He revs his bike and rides away. Bastard .

Whirling around, my gaze lifts to the balcony above my room—to the silhouette watching our exchange. My stomach drops to my feet. My skin turns cold, clammy.

Fucking Georgina.

I take a step forward, and she darts down the stairs. She’s gone by the time I make it over there.

Shit. Shit. Shit .

I need to go to the club before she can. Talk to Callan. Make something up. Would he even believe her? Would she risk telling him and him thinking she’s playing games?

Fuck .

Racing back to my room, I grab my sneakers and pull them on. My chest pounds as I check my face in the mirror. My cheek is swelling. My lip is fat. I wash my mouth out, scrubbing the blood from the cracks, then drop to my knees and yank the gun from my bag beneath the bed. Sliding the barrel, I make sure it’s loaded, then shove it into the back of my sweats and throw on a light jacket to cover it. Just in case .

I jump in the Jeep and drive back to the compound, my leg bouncing and chewing my nails as I drive. This could be suicide.

Thud.

The gate opens, allowing me entry. A few people are milling around outside when I pull up. “Gorgeous.” Dodger nods his head in greeting.

I wave a hand and point to the door. “Can you let me in?”

“Sure thing.” He keys in the number, and the door buzzes, the latch releasing. Fear lifts the hairs on the back of my neck as I enter. I’m trying to think but can’t over the sound of rushing blood in my head.

“Hey, darlin’. You want some food? I just cooked breakfast,” Diamond greets me as I walk into the foyer, her hands curled around a mug of coffee.

“No, thank you. Have you seen Callan?”

Thud.

“Office, usually, by this time.” She gestures down the hallway.

“Thanks.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and swallow. Maybe Georgina will be too scared of what I’ll do to her if she tells anyone what she saw. Maybe she didn’t even see anything. Maybe she came out at the last second.

The door is cracked open. Callan sits at his desk. A relieved sigh exits my lungs. Pushing the door open, my knees threaten to buckle. Callan looks over at me, pain etched into his features. Cold, dead eyes narrow on me.

“Speak of the Devil.”

Devil.

Thud .

No .