Page 1 of Satan
PROLOGUE
William
There wasn’t much in the world that I gave a fuck about. But the one thing I would burn the entire world down to the ground to keep?
Chet Wang.
He was five years younger than me, and when I found him, he was nothing more than an eighteen-year-old boy who was desperate to escape an abusive, shithead father. His mother had disappeared when he was a mere kid without a word to Chet or his father. And when she left that house, she disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving Chet alone to deal with his asshole of a father.
Chet had been damn near starving when I came across him. He was dehydrated as fuck, and he’d been on his knees for some sick son of a bitch in the back of a seedy club on the east side of San Antonio, where I’d been doing a drop for Rico Martinez, one of the wealthiest and most dangerous men in the country.I’d watched Chet from the shadows, intrigued by the boy, but my intrigue turned to rage when Chet tried to come up for air and the asshole pinned him to the wall and forced him to choke on his cock.
I’d ripped the overweight bastard off Chet, pummeled his face in for not respecting Chet’s boundaries, then dragged Chet out of that club and to my bike.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Chet snapped, slapping at my arm. “Let me go! He owes me money!”
I stopped and spun around to face him. Chet, whose name I’d learned while in the club, had not been expecting the abrupt stop and crashed into me. My hand latched onto his bony hip, holding him against me as I ran my eyes over his face. He had a black eye and a bruise on his cheek that hadn’t been visible in the dark hallway of the club. Dirt was smeared across his forehead, and his hair was too long and greasy, like he hadn’t been able to wash it in a few days.
“How much did he owe you?” I asked, my voice low. I wasn’t all that used to talking.
Chet glared at me. Most people were afraid of me. Trauma had put a dead look in my eyes. Some people thought I was a psychopath, but truth was, I was just a monster born of a shitty past. Foster home after foster home had neglected me, but long before I got put in those homes, my father had done a damn good number on me—raping me, beating me, starving me.
“A hundred dollars,” Chet muttered.
I released him, then pointed a stiff finger in his face. “Stay,” I commanded.
He bared his teeth at me, enraged. Andfuck, it was a beautiful sight. “I’m not a dog.”
I shook my head and sighed before heading back for the club. The man who’d assaulted Chet was still unconscious on the floor. Reaching into his pocket, I grabbed his wallet and snatched out all his cash, which was damn near five hundred dollars, then dropped the wallet on his face.
When I emerged back outside, Chet was right where I’d left him, still glaring at me. But when I handed him his cash, he blinked, the anger bleeding away. He slowly counted out the twenties and tens, blowing out a soft breath. “I…”He trailed off, like he wasn’t sure what to say.
“You’re coming with me.” Gripping his wrist, I tugged him closer to my bike.
“What?” He shook his head when I held out my helmet to him. “I can’t go with you. I have to go home. My dad?—”
“If your dad lets you do shit like this, lets you walk around with those bruises on your face without doing a fucking thing to protect you, then he’s not very much of a father,” I growled, growing impatient. “Put the helmet on, and get on the fucking bike.”
“I don’t even know your name!” he spluttered.
I straddled my bike. “Satan,” I told him. “But you can call me William.”
I’d taken him back to my hotel that night. After he’d washed up and dressed in the clothes I’d bought him while he was showering, he promptly passed out on the bed, snoring so loud, I was surprised I didn’t get a noise complaint from the people staying in the rooms next to us. And the next morning, I brought him back to Washington with me, where I’d been living at thetime, and it was there that he proceeded to live with me in my studio apartment.
Where he eventually became my husband and my submissive.
Where he became the one fucking thing in this world I gave a fuck about.
Which was why I was sitting in Hyram’s office five years later with a Ghost Born MC cut on my back, no longer working for Rico Martinez.
The Savage Dreams MC, who we’d been having problems with for a while, had reappeared afterweeksof silence, and they were targetingmy fucking husband. The man I’d vowed toalwaysprotect. The man I’d sworn wouldneverface the shit he did as a teenager again.
And not only were the SDMC targeting Chet, they were threatening to blasteverythinghe’d done as a teen. Threatening to tell Chet’s father where he was.
He was the only person in this world Chet feared, and the only reason I hadn’t gone after him was because he was a fucking cop. Classic, really.
Hyram frowned at the encrypted file on my phone. I hadn’t closed it out because I knew it would disappear once I did. I figured Rurik, Malik’s significant other, could probably find it if I needed him to, but I wasn’t ready to bring the rest of the club into this yet. Icertainlywasn’t ready to bring the Bratva into this, and telling Rurik, the Washington Bratva’s second in command, about it would do just that.
Rurik and Chet got along well—like brothers, almost. Both of them were smart asses, and Rurik found Chet’s bratty behavior absolutely hilarious, much to my dismay.
