Tyrant (Kings of Carnage MC: Alabama #1)

Chapter 13

Blair

T yrant says it with such finality it partially terrifies me, as it should. Did I just leave one dictating control freak and now I’ve met another?

No, Tyrant is different. I can feel it in my soul. He wants me on a baser level, the way a man desires to possess a woman, not in a controlling cult sort of way. It’s hard to explain, but one is about power over another person, while the other is about needing another so badly you offer them your power, no matter if you’re the stronger one in the relationship or not. You allow them the means to completely destroy you if they wanted.

Tyrant is giving me his power. He’s saying, “Wield me however you need, and I will do it, no matter the consequences, because you are mine, and I will do anything to show it.” Josef, on the other hand, wants to control me and take my power. Make me give him everything and blindly follow him while he abuses and neglects.

But most of all…Tyrant is offering me the one thing I want the most. My daughter.

“I can see why they call you Tyrant.”

He smirks, appearing devilishly handsome, as he always does. His dimple pops out from the tilt of his lips and I find myself going a bit goo-goo over it. “ Cute,” he grumbles. “Yes, I’m a bit of a fucking Tyrant, so what?”

I shrug, feeling a touch lighter than I have in a very long time. It was cathartic getting everything off my chest to someone else, let alone him saying they have a lawyer who can help and he’ll protect me while we file everything. I thought I wanted to kiss him before, but it’s nowhere near the urge I have in this moment. “Just saying, maybe if you want a different name, don’t own up to this one.”

He quietly chuckles. “Nah, Sugar. I am who I am. However, if it makes you more comfortable, you can call me Chris.”

“I like that name.”

“Christopher Knight,” he states, like I haven’t already memorized it from the moment I read it on our marriage license. “Which makes you Blair Knight.” He grabs my arm and pulls me to him once again. His finger moves under my chin, tipping my face up. I’ve finally stopped crying. “How about you go make yourself comfortable in my bathroom? Take a hot shower and then find something of mine you can wear if you want. My hoodies and boxers would swallow you up enough you could chill in them if you want. Then tell me what you’re hungry for so we can have it for dinner.”

“That’s it? You want to have dinner with me? I figured if you help me, you’ll want sex.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely want sex with you. You have the best goddamn pussy I’ve ever had wrapped around my cock before. But your comfort is important to me. I’m a real man, I can wait a few hours while you get in some much-deserved self-care.”

“Why are you so thoughtful? So kind to me? I don’t understand it.”

He shrugs. “I haven’t the faintest fucking idea if I’m being real with you. I wasn’t planning on getting married or shacking up with a chick, but the thought of letting you go right now makes me want to break shit. So, it’s safe to say, I should hold on to you. I figure if I treat you how you ought to be, then maybe you’ll stick around without me having to tie you to my bed.”

I laugh, but something in the back of my mind screams in warning, telling me he’s not kidding about any of it. Rather than say anything about possible red flags, I ask instead, “Is there a towel I can use in the bathroom?”

“The one hanging on the rack is clean. The other on the back of the door is mine. “You want anything specific to eat?”

“Surprise me, I’m not picky.”

“You’re cool with sloppy joes, popcorn, and beer, then?”

My face screws up in disgust before I have a chance to control my reaction. Rather than be offended, he just grins, shooting me a look that basically says, “See, told you so.” I shake my head and whisper, “So, maybe not that.”

He barks out a quick laugh. “Alright. I’ll see if there’s anything planned for food and if not, we’ll figure it out. Seriously, you’re not too picky?” We mostly ate sandwiches when we traveled together, so he wouldn’t know much about what I prefer to eat. I haven’t had a choice to be fussy over anything food-wise in a long time.

“Onions are pretty gross and make me sick sometimes.”

“No onions, got it. Anything else?”

My mouth salivates as I admit, “I haven’t had a piece of pizza in years.”

“Sugar, that’s fuckin’ tragic. We’ll have pizza this week, I promise you.” As soon as the words leave him, I’m nearly charging him, needing to feel him against me once more. He opens his arms and I fit myself to his massive frame, wrapping my arms around his waist. I hug him tightly, breathing in his manly scent of detergent, deodorant, and leather from his cut.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“No thanks needed, Blair. I got you,” he promises easily. Tyrant may be a big, bossy biker, but he’s one of the kindest men I’ve ever met. I don’t think he’s the same way to everyone, as they all seem fearful when we’re together, but to me, he’s different.

He swats me on my butt as I turn away and head for the bathroom. The ache in my shoulders I’ve been carrying with me since leaving Las Vegas finally eases to the point my bag nearly falls off my shoulder. I set it on the bathroom floor and close the door behind me, then lock it and lean on the counter, staring into the mirror. I look exhausted, and Lord knows my body feels like I’ve been run over. No wonder Tyrant told me to shower and take it easy. It’s not as if I had a choice of a luxury shower or anything while traveling on the bus. Plus, I don’t have extra money to stay in hotels to shower, rest, and eat a decent meal. I took as little money as possible, feeling incredibly guilty I’d helped myself to any of Tyrant’s cash at all.

At some point, I need to find a job. I wonder if the bikers here know anyone who would pay me under the table? I need to fly under Josef’s radar as much as possible. I know he’ll be incredibly embarrassed with me leaving and having to make up an excuse for my absence that he’ll continue to look for me. Even after months, he has my face splashed all over the television. If he catches wind of me working anywhere, he’ll show up in a heartbeat and force me to leave with him. Don’t ask me how, I just know it’ll happen.

The shower is hot, the water pressure strong enough to bring more tears. I’ve opened the floodgates and I can’t seem to stop the tears now that they’ve been allowed to escape. As I use Tyrant’s body wash to scrub my skin, my sobs wrack my body. My hands shake with every swipe of the soap, every squeeze of my hair, my teeth chattering even though the water’s hot, the room full of steam.

I turn the water all the way to cold and rinse. I need it to shock me enough to get me to pull it together. Josef wouldn’t stand for a display of emotion like this, he’d call it a tantrum and speak on how it was ungraceful. One thing the Profit’s wife is, is graceful. Pure, untainted, holy…

I shudder with what he’d do to me if given the chance.

The shower runs for far too long, as I stand there, zoned out and soaking in every chilly drop. Being homeless has taught me to never take water for granted ever again. Having nothing will humble you and show you what is truly necessary in a heartbeat. Water. Food. Air conditioning in the dead of summer. Heat on the coldest night. Clothing. Some sort of shelter. It’s about all you need in this life aside from your loved ones.

Once I’ve dried off, I peek out of the bathroom door finding a stack of clothes beside it. There’s a woman’s T-shirt, stretchy cotton shorts, and a hoodie that’s much too big. It’s Tyrant’s size, so I know it’ll swallow me up to my knees most likely. I tug the clean, soft clothing on, exhaling a sigh of relief. My clothes aren’t in tatters or anything, but they aren’t this soft or clean and it’s like being hugged by fabric softener. I haven’t had the luxury of such soft clothes since before I went to the community. There we’d wash the clothing with homemade soap, which I did love, but we always hung everything out. It was never the fresh heat from the dryer with the glorious toxic smell of fragrance. I missed it. I toss on Tyrant’s hoodie last. It’s like wearing a solid black fleece blanket. I can’t help myself from tugging it up over my nose and deeply inhaling. Gah. It smells just like he does and makes my eyes roll heavenward.

I want that man something fierce.

I find a pair of his tube socks in the top drawer of his dresser and cover my cold feet. They come up to my knees and I know I must look absolutely ridiculous, but I can’t find it in me to care in the least bit. I’m blissfully warm, in clean, comfortable clothes, and he’s promised me pizza this week. I need my daughter, and then my life will be happier than it’s been in far too long.

Finishing off my bottled sweet tea, I leave the sanctuary of his room. I’ve never been very outgoing, but I’m also not a recluse. This isn’t Josef’s cult, I don’t have to worry about being punished for not dressing a certain way, or being tossed in the hole for reflection if I speak to the Profit in any way that doesn’t agree with him completely. Tyrant won’t strip me and allow his commune to taunt me and throw things at me.

No, if anything, the one impression I’ve gotten from Tyrant is he will protect me and care for me. His love language must be acts of service because he’s determined to make sure I have what I need and help. No wonder he’s the vice president of their motorcycle club, if he’s this way with me, I can only imagine what he’d be willing to do for the members of their club.

Leaving the safety of the room and the dark hallway, I find myself in an open, shared space. It’s large with pool tables, televisions, couches, a bar, dart boards, and more. It reminds me of some of the places my friends would hang out at when I was in college. Only here the men are covered in leather vests and tattoos. They’re also big, and a few seemingly broody. One notices me with a mohawk, and releases a sharp whistle. My cheeks heat instantly.

“Damn,” another calls, making me jump. My gaze scans the men and a few scantily dressed women, my eyes wide and alarmed. I wasn’t expecting to be under everyone’s scrutiny all at once and it has me wanting to tuck tail, turn around, and run back to the room.

“Sugar,” Tyrant’s warm voice puts me at ease. He’s stepping around one of the guys, heading for me. “You got pants on under there?”

Glancing down, I realize why they are all staring and whistling. His hoodie is so long it looks like I have on his shirt and socks and nothing else. “Oh, God,” I whisper.

His mouth hikes up into a sexy smirk as he runs his heated stare over me from top to bottom. “Mm, trying to make me punch my brothers?” he asks, as his finger tips my chin up so I’ll meet his gaze again. “Cause it’s working, baby. You looking like this has me all tied up in knots over the brothers picturing you naked, in their hoodie.”

“I thought it was yours.”

“Oh it is, or I’d have ripped it off you already. Doesn’t mean they aren’t picturing otherwise.”

I can’t help myself; I smile.

“You ready to eat?”

“Here, with everyone staring?”

He barks out a laugh and then his big paw is finding my hand, his long fingers wrapping around mine to lead me towards the back of the group. There are a few guys sitting around a low table, talking and ribbing each other. Their vests are covered in patches, making me believe they must be like Tyrant and higher up in the club hierarchy. “Nobody will be staring with you at my side. Havoc may glare a little, but it’s only ‘cause he’s trying to figure out why I like you when I hate everyone else.”

My mouth drops at his admission.

“Hey babe,” a man to the left greets.

Another sits stoically across from us, eyeing me. He must be Havoc, the man Tyrant was talking about.

“Sit down, cutey,” a member wearing an easy smile says and Tyrant literally growls at everyone in return. They don’t skip a beat at his aggression. The one on the left grins in return while the one across remains silent, watching.

Tyrant plops down on the couch, bringing me with him. He tugs me close enough, I’m tucked into his side with his arm laying across the back of the couch behind me. “Hi, I’m Blair, and I’m pretty pissed you let your friend here kidnap me.” My blunt honesty has all three men grinning, even the one who was staring us down.

“Creed,” the guy to the left nods.

“Rogue,” the cute smiling one says next.

Tyrant gestures, “This is Havoc, he’s our prez. And the rest are prospects.” The guy raises his brows, telling me he’s not putting in effort just yet. I get it, he’s the top dog around here and probably has people trying to butter him up regularly. I’d probably be leery of newcomers if I was him as well.

“They don’t have names? The prospects? Or I should say, the men who stuffed me in a truck and then tossed me in your room.”

He grumbles, “No names you need to remember, and they were acting on my order.”

“He’s the prez, shouldn’t he be giving the orders?”

This makes Havoc smirk, his eyes twinkling with unsaid words. By Tyrant’s grumbling beside me, I’m guessing Havoc doesn’t need to say anything aloud because the broody biker beside me can read him without them.

“Sugar, you need to eat and not worry about my brothers.” He shoots them a look while leaning forward. He grabs a paper plate and starts piling it with food. He hands it to me and I glance around, then at the over-full plate.

“Uh, are you not going to eat?” Why does my voice sound squeaky? Surely, he can’t expect me to eat while everyone is looking at us. I’m not generally a shy person, especially with food, but these dudes are big and intimidating. They’re not like normal men; take a physically fit guy and multiply him, then add about a foot in height and you have only one of these guys. They’re like mountain men, or at least that’s who they remind me of.

“We’re gonna eat, babe. We were waiting on you,” Rogue says, leaning forward to pile his own plate.

“Fuckers, her name’s Blair.”

Havoc chuckles under his breath. “We know, why do you think they’re not using it?” he clarifies and Tyrant quietly sulks at their teasing. It’s entirely too entertaining, and I love it how they must be so close that they don’t hesitate to give the massive man at my side a bit of good-natured grief even if he is super-sized.

The others load their paper plates with a ton of food, but unlike me, I think they’ll actually be able to eat it all. Tyrant leans back, and I have no choice but to tuck back into his side as his presence is so big, he makes my body tip toward him regardless. I was too distracted riding his motorcycle for the first time on our trip to Las Vegas and then toss in the concert with the sweet way he was acting to realize just how truly tiny I am compared to him. I’m average-sized, I always have been nothing special, but being here, I understand why he says I’m tiny.

He pulls some of the white meat from his fried chicken and instead of eating it, he presses it to my lips. My gaze finds his, my cheeks warm all over again. His serious expression conveys that he expects me to comply and let his big manly fingers into my mouth. I want them there, but not for eating…to suck.

He wants to feed me.

In front of his brothers.

Not willing to cause a scene at being an independent woman and making a point of being capable of feeding myself, I open my mouth, allowing his fingers to slip the juicy meat past my lips. I chew slowly, taking in the flavors and the new boundary I’ve allowed him to cross with me. Should I enjoy it so much? Especially when I was just silently warring with myself over telling him how I’m more than capable of taking care of myself?

He continues, feeding me from his plate, leaving mine untouched. I’m so flustered, turned on, embarrassed, and every other emotion under the sun, I can’t seem to look away from him. His expression is full of desire, his nostrils flair, aptly watching me with every bite and chew. Each time I swallow the food, I swear I see joy in his features. Me allowing him this power pleases him, but is it truly me giving up my power, or is it me taking away his by being cared for first? He continues, bite after bite, until I protest, promising I’m full. Only then does he take my plate from me, placing it on top of his and then quickly eats my cold food.

I’ve never had a man treat me this way. Put my needs above his and in front of the people he’s no doubt closest with. I watch him eat a few bites, then glance at the others, finding them all staring at us. They gape at Tyrant like they’re absolutely stunned with what they just witnessed and I can’t help but wonder if it’s the first time they’ve ever observed him feed a woman before.

The last time we were together, Tyrant was sweet, quiet, and protective, but now I’m discovering he’s extremely possessive and the sweetness from before was merely scratching the surface. And if he gave the order for the prospects to take me…

He warned me he was a monster.

I just didn’t believe him, and now I’m trying to figure out if he’s exactly the kind of monster I need to save my daughter.