Page 34 of Theirs to Rule

Dante

After I dropped Camille off at her place, my restlessness took me to the Devil’s Outcast’s compound.

Who the fuck was I kidding?

It wasn’t my restlessness, it was what was causing it—jealousy.

Any moron would have been able to figure out that when I left Camille and Kage alone at my place, Kage had done more than talk to her. He’d fucked her. He’s made it clear that despite her finding out that he was engaged, she was still his. In turn, she still wanted him. And he wasn’t letting her go.

I couldn’t blame the guy. If it was me, I'd have done the same thing, not caring that Kage stood just outside. But when I’d walked back in the house and seen them, the fact I would have done exactly what Kage had done didn’t stop me from wanting to punch Kage until Camille wouldn’t even be able to recognize him. Then fuck Camille until she was screaming my name, not his.

At that moment, I wasn’t the evolved Dante I’d been trying to become. I wasn’t the school counselor or the guy able totell Camille that I was willing to share her. No, I was the old Dante—the one I tried to bury under layers of self-control and redemption.

ButthatDante, the one who had roared down highways on a Harley with nothing but rage and a death wish fueling him, was never really gone. He was just biding his time, waiting for moments like this, when jealousy and anger cracked open the lid I’d nailed shut, letting him claw his way back to the surface.

I parked my bike and strolled into the compound. Despite the money the MC had put into making this place high-end, at least as far as MC compounds went, it reeked of stale beer, sweat, and desperation—the kind that clings to you when you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to prove. I’d been that guy once, and I felt myself slipping back into that skin like it was second nature. Here, the only rules that mattered were the ones you could enforce with your fists, and I was ready to lay down the law.

Some of the guys nodded at me while others gave me wary glances. They could probably see the storm brewing inside me. The bartender slid a shot of whiskey my way without a word. I downed it in one gulp, savoring the burn as it seared its way down my throat. All it did was stoke the darkness of my jealousy.

I slammed the glass down on the counter. I wanted a fight. I wanted to smash something, break someone—anything to get rid of the image of Kage’s lips on Camille. It gnawed at me, making my blood boil.

And just like that, I spotted him—Slade, a cocky son of a bitch who’d always pushed my buttons. He was sitting at a table in the corner, dealing cards with a few other Outcasts, a cigarette hanging from his lips. The moment he saw me looking at him, that smug grin of his widened.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Dante the Saint,” Slade drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Finally got sick of hanging around, playing Daddy to a bunch of richy-rich kids?"

My fists were curled, the desire to feel bone crunch under my knuckles overwhelming.

Slade’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it got bigger. He was itching for a fight too, and he knew exactly how to push my buttons. “Looks like someone’s got his panties in a twist. What happened, Dante? Did that blond bitch you've been panting for throw you aside for someone else?”

I flew out of my seat and lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him up out of his chair. The table flipped over, cards and beer flying everywhere. I didn’t care. I just wanted to smash his face in, to feel the release that only violence could bring.

My fist connected with his jaw, the impact sending a jolt of satisfaction through me. The room erupted into chaos as the other guys scrambled to get out of the way. Slade swung back, catching me in the ribs, but I barely felt it. Pain was just fuel for the fire burning inside me.

I hit him again, sending him crashing to the floor. I was on him in an instant, ready to finish what I’d started. Suddenly, I felt rough hands grab me and pull me off Slade. I growled and fought back, stopping when Razor, the MC president, roared in my face. “Knock it off. You want to beat the hell out of someone? Fight the guys who decided to peddle heroin to some of your precious students tonight.”

I felt my body go rigid at Razor’s words, my blood running cold. I glanced at Slade, who had picked himself off the floor and was glaring at me. “That’s right, counselor,” he sneered. “You’ve got competition.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Razor snapped. “Dante’s competition isourfucking competition, you idiot.”

“Did you catch these guys?” I bit out, Slade forgotten. My entire focus was now on the bastards who were probably selling poison to CU students.

“We tracked them. They’re at Devil’s Engine. Now, you gonna go with us, show them they can’t cut into our territory, or are you gonna stay here and fight Slade like two clueless kids in high school?”

“I’m going with you to Devil’s Engine.”

Razor grinned. “That’s what I thought you’d say.” The men holding me released me with a shove. “Alright, fuckers!” Razor shouted. “I already assigned the six guys who are coming with us. Let’s ride.”

We geared up, the air thick with anticipation and the smell of leather and gasoline. When we were ready, we all revved up our bikes and tore out of the compound, the roar of engines drowning out the voice in my head that was screaming at me not to do this. I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. I needed to defend my territory and make sure the only drugs CU students got their hands on were the drugs I supplied the MC. Drugs that I knew weren’t laced with fentanyl or any other shit.

When we got to Devil’s Engine, we dismounted, the sound of our boots hitting the pavement like a warning shot. Along with Razor, Vance, Talon, Slasher, Mad Dog, Hop, and Rusty, I walked into Devil’s Engine. My gaze immediately went to Raye, the owner of the bar, who had eyes on a group of bikers sporting long beards and Black Serpent vests at the pool tables.

It happened fast. As we strode toward the bearded bikers, the usual crowd parted like the sea, a mix of fear and excitement on their faces. The Black Serpents stood, smirks on their ugly mugs.

Razor led, his voice calm but carrying, "You’ve been dropping drugs in our territory.”

A broad-shouldered brute with a scar running down his face stepped closer, locking eyes with Razor. It was a silent standoff, a moment charged with the kind of tension that precedes chaos. “You have the wrong guys.”

Razor smirked. “You really going to deny it? One of my own men saw you selling.”

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