Page 113 of Theirs to Ruin

“Can’t a girl have some secrets?” I said, trying to sound sassy even though it felt so odd, talking to Dante about another guy touching me.

His grin widened. “That good, huh?”

I rolled my eyes, but my heated cheeks betrayed me.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “It was good.”

I coughed, trying to think of something witty to say, but before our banter could continue, a shadow passed over Dante’s face. The teasing glint in his eyes was replaced by a steely hardness. Without warning, he shifted, placing himself subtly between me and whatever had caught his attention.

Following Dante’s gaze, I locked onto two men who seemed to have been ripped straight out of a gritty biker movie. The first was a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered and tall, with a beard that reached his chest, matted and interspersed with streaks of gray. His bald head gleamed under the dim light, and his nose had clearly been broken and not set properly. Tattoos crawled up his neck, disappearing under the collar of his worn-out leather jacket, which was peppered with various patches.

The second man was leaner, but not by much. With long, unkempt hair that almost reached his shoulders, it was evident he hadn’t shaved in days. A deep scar ran across his cheek, pulling down the corner of his eye. He also wore a leather jacket.

“Who are they?”

“Walk away from me, Peaches,” Dante said.

“But—”

“Please.”

Despite using that word, his expression commanded me to do as he said.

“Can we talk later?”

“Yes.”

I took one last glance at the bikers. The leaner man’s mouth quirked up in a smirk before he blew me a kiss. The larger man with the wild beard slowly lifted his hand in a mocking salute.

I bit my lip then turned and left. I walked about ten feet before I looked back to see Dante striding toward the two men. Each step was measured and deliberate. Instead of stopping to talk to the two men, however, he walked right by them without saying a word.

His swift exit left me rattled and suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable. It didn’t help that the two bikers ignored Dante, their gazes once again on me. Then they both turned and followed Dante.

On the back of their jackets was a skull with angel wings—the Devil’s Outcasts symbol.

A surge of unease crawled up my spine. Devil’s Outcasts members had already beaten Dante once for what he’d done to Serpent. Dante said he wasn’t a member of the club, so why did he hang out with them?

Dante

Anger was a wild, thrumming pulse in my veins as I left Camille. The fucking nerve of these assholes, strutting around campus like they owned the place. Fury and Tommy were treading on dangerous ground, and they knew it.

I shot past them and strode to where I’d parked my bike. I climbed on and started it, the engine roaring to life, vibrating beneath me, mirroring my seething rage. The gravel crunched under the tires as I sped off, the wind a fleeting balm to my heated face.

Behind me, the guttural growl of Tommy and Fury’s bikes followed. Instinctively, I headed to the outlook where I’d taken Camille, hoping it would calm me somehow. As soon as I got there, I realized it was a mistake. Thoughts of her usually brought me peace but now, with Fury and Tommy dismounting their bikes, their presence staining this place, all it did was twist my gut. The thought of Camille anywhere near this world, linked to a guy like me, was a bitter pill, making me sick of myself, sick of the path I’d chosen. She saw me as a good man, but no matter how much I learned about Buddhism, mindfulness, enlightenment or philanthropy—a good man I’d never be.

As Tommy and Fury walked toward me, the gravel crunching under their boots, I clenched my fists. “What couldn’t wait that you had to come onto campus instead of waiting until our next meet?”

Fury, his grin a grotesque twist on his scarred face, said, "After what happened with you and Serpent, we wanted to catch you in your element. See whether the students were bowing down to you and if that's why you had the goddamn nerve to attack one of us."

“I already paid for that,” I shot back, the memories of fists and blows, and the bitter taste of blood, a vivid flash in my mind.

“You got off easy,” Tommy chimed in, his voice a gravelly echo of disdain.

I cocked a brow. “Should I tell Vance and Talon that, considering they're the ones I was fighting at the time? You want your shot with them since it’s so easy?”

Tommy hesitated, his bravado faltering, but then he puffed up his chest, his voice a defiant snarl. “Tell them whatever the fuck you want. I’m not afraid of them.”

“Right,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll feel free to do that. What else do you want?” I knew damn well they wouldn’t drag their lazy asses to me unless they wanted something specific.

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