Page 11 of King

Gone was the bitch with a backbone that handed me my ass from earlier. Now stood a woman scared to death. Something was very wrong with this picture. One minute she was ready to shoot my head off. Now she was cowering in a corner? And what the fuck did she mean by saying she’s kept quiet? Quiet about what? Then it hit me. She knew something she shouldn’t, and she was running. Whatever she had in her head was enough to make her fear for her life. That was the information she was hiding and the information I needed. Standing my ground, I crossed my arms over my chest and asked, “Told anyone what?”

She shook her head, closed her eyes tight and said, “Just get it over with.”

“Open your eyes.”

She vehemently shook her head, refusing to obey. “I can’t. I don’t want to see you kill me.”

I cocked my head, taking a better look at the young, scared woman before me. She was nothing like the ball-buster I met earlier today. In fact, she looked timid and shy. Hell, even her clothes were different. Gone was the black tank and leather pants. In their place was a clean white top with fluffy green pajama pants. Her hair, slick and straight this morning, was now wound up haphazardly on top of her head. Her face, now void of make-up, made her look much younger than the woman I met this morning. But what really captured my attention was that for a tattoo artist, I couldn’t find one single drop of ink on her milky white skin.

That itself was interesting.

Whatever was scaring her, I needed to know.

Trying a different tactic, I moved till I was standing before her. I tilted her head up towards mine as she slowly opened her eyes. “Sweetheart, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I came to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I said I wouldn’t say anything, and I haven’t. I kept my promise.”

“Yes, you have, but that doesn’t mean we don’t need to have a conversation.”

I was playing a tricky game. One wrong word and she would clam up tighter than a nun’s ass at Sunday mass. I needed to tread carefully to get the information out of her. From what I learned about the woman, she kept everything close to the vest. She didn’t make friends and she rarely, if ever, let anyone get close to her.

“Your club President was crystal clear with me. I kept my end of the bargain. I left and said nothing.”

“My club President?”

What the fuck was she talking about? What the hell was going on?

“Yes. Czar. The President of the Sons of Hell.”

Excuse me?

I was the motherfucking president of the Sons of Hell.

Me. King. Not some fucking pussy ass wannabe named Czar.

Oh, this shit was getting interesting by the minute. I didn’t know anyone named Czar and didn’t want to. We only had one chapter, mine. I was the law. I was the motherfucking judge and jury. Which meant that there was someone out there posing as my club’s President. Which, once I got my hands on the motherfucker, was an instant death sentence.

“What exactly did this Czar say to you?”

“If I said anything, he was going to slit my throat. I swear I didn’t know there was a chapter here. If I’d known, I would have steered clear. Please, I can leave. He doesn’t need to know,” she said, as a lone tear slid slowly down her cheek and just like that, I fucking lost it.

I fucking hated seeing women cry.

But seeing this tough as nails woman who had no problem busting my balls, break down before me was my breaking point.

Enough of this shit. I don’t know what possessed me or why it even popped into my head, but there was something about this woman that just rubbed me in all the wrong places. The need to protect her was overwhelming, but seeing her cry, well, that I wouldn’t stand for.

Grabbing her hand, I pulled her towards her door.

She tried to stop me by planting her feet firm on the floor, and I groaned. Yanking her arm hard, I pulled her close, dropping my shoulder, wrapping my arms behind her legs, and stood. I wanted this mess cleared up fast. I didn’t enjoy knowing there was someone out there pretending to be someone they weren’t. A lot of shit could go wrong if the wrong people heard about this shit. Shit, that I would have to clean up. Best to cut this crap off fast. I already had enough shit to worry about.

“Oh God. I said I was sorry!” she yelled, pounding on my back, begging me to let go of her. Her tiny fist felt like little wisps of air tickling my back. It didn’t hurt. In fact, it made me smile. I couldn’t remember the last time someone tickled me. Maybe when Mom was alive. She was always trying to make me laugh.

My mom was a good woman. Total heart, but on those rare occasions she cried, she gutted me. I always felt the need to fix it for her. Almost like a compulsion.

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