Princess (22 page)

“This isn’t the way to get you a fuckin’ cake.” He shakes his head, trying to figure out what to say.

“Jekyll doesn’t want to celebrate; he wants to give me the gavel. I’ll get her back; if not, they’ll kill her. She’ll fucking hate me for what I’m going to have to do, but at least I’ll know she’s still breathing.”

Spider interrupts, “What the hell, this isn’t old England; you’re not born into shit, you vote, especially on patches.”

“True, but in the Widow Makers, you have to be a son to be the President, and if you live long enough for your first born to reach a certain age, then you inherit the gavel and the previous gets to hang his leathers, just ride free the rest of his days.”

“So fucked up,” he mutters.

“Yep. Now I gotta go save my bitch, ‘cause I have a good idea of what they’re doing to her and I have a plan.”

“What is it?” Exterminator questions.

“I’m going to kill my father, and then I’ll kill any other dumb motherfucker who steps in my way of saving my woman.”

He steps aside, and I storm out the door, striding purposefully toward the bar.

“We’re coming!” he calls from behind me.

“Give me twenty first and keep a look out for her,” I yell back as I see the first Widow posted up by the front door.

A young member slouching against the building jumps to his feet quickly as I near. He must be a recent patch since I’m not familiar with him. I know all the lifers and members dating five years back. Most could be dead by now, but I doubt it—shady fuckers.

The punk steps to the top of the stairs, crossing his arms like he’s king ding-a-ling. “Who are you?”

My steps don’t miss a beat as I hop up the few steps and shoulder check his ass, causing him to fly back a few feet, landing harshly against the old wooden porch.

“I’m your new fucking President.” Muttering, I pass him by and head inside the bar.

The sight I’m met with is sickening. My girl’s on the floor against the bar, hair in every direction, halfway undressed sobbing as my father and cousin, Blaze, taunt her. She’s got blood smeared over her tits and Butters’ greasy ass is smashing her phone under his boot.

My father’s in the middle of telling her how he’s about to tie her to the bar and fuck her in front of everyone when the men quiet with me storming inside like a freight train.

“Son!” Jekyll shouts jovially.

Such a fucked-up man.

My entire life was lived on the edge, because when you have a father like Jekyll, you never know what’s going to happen. One minute he’s laughing and the next he’s driving a knife into your stomach. Psycho is too tame of a word to fit him. He got his road name after Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. His father was proud of the fact he had a son that was off his fucking rocker.

I never use guns—ever. I’m strong enough of a man to kill with my two hands, but when I see Smokey’s Glock out on the table, I don’t hesitate and pick it up immediately, shooting my father in the head. Brain matter sprays behind him, and he falls like the dead weight he is.

One thing I’m learning about my woman is that I can’t handle shit when it comes to her. My normal way of thinking goes out the window, and I become obsessed with her.

Obsessed with being inside her. Obsessed with keeping her safe. Obsessed with making her mine. Just fucking obsessed.

“Cinderella!” I demand, loudly.

Her tearstained face finds mine, and she lights up.
I love her. I will forever.

“Get the fuck outta here. We don’t have space for filthy fuckin’ sluts.” Nodding toward the door, I turn away to give her my back.

My younger brother stares at me in shock while my cousin Blaze comes toward me angrily. “You shot the Prez!” he accuses, and I cock my eyebrow at him, my nostrils flaring.

“Last I checked, yesterday was the fourth. That means this club belongs to me now.”

Glancing around, the brother’s nod, keeping their mouths shut. This is how it works. I’m in charge now, and they know that. I could have let my father live out a peaceful old life, but he would never have changed and seeing a drop of blood on my girl, he’s lucky his death was swift.

Her grief-stricken voice rings out, causing me to spin back. “You bastard!” she practically wails, heartbroken.

Her palm stings as she slaps me with everything she’s got. I don’t get an odd punch from her somewhere; I get her ‘in your face’ disappointment launched at me, and I’ll have to live with that moment for the rest of my life. If she only knew it was done because I want her to be happy and alive. I’ll make these men believe I want her gone if it means it’ll keep her safe.

A few of the brothers stride toward her, and I throw my hand up, halting them.

“Get the fuck out.” Growling down at her, I point toward the door.

Her eyes refill with tears; sorrow swimming in them so deep that I feel like my heart’s being cut out. In some ways I wish it were, I know it would hurt less than this moment. As she turns away, a noise close to thunder gets closer, and immediately I think of Widow Maker’s reinforcers showing up.

“Princess, get back behind the bar,” I demand, and sheactually listens right away.

“Who’s that?” Butters, the dirty motherfucker, asks.

“You scared? Shut the fuck up.”

“Maybe your poppa should’ve stayed longer,” he utters, and I shoot him next.

“Shit, man!” Blaze yells as Butters hit the floor.

“I never liked him. Anyone else in here wishing Jekyll was still around?”

The room stays silent as the powerful rumble comes to a stop outside.

“Good.”

“You’ve grown hard,” Blaze notes.

“No. I’ve always been hard,” I respond and point to my dead father on the floor. “He’s gone. This club runs my way now. Anyone have a problem with that; there’s the fuckin’ door, and best believe shit’s fucking changing.”

My gaze lands on Odin, sitting quietly at a table. “Why’d he bring you?”

“Why do you think?” he questions back, standing and coming near. It’s like looking in a mirror; only I had more bruises back then.

He’s a big kid now. When I left, he was about to turn eleven. Now he’s riding around with a group of outlaws at the age of fifteen. I can only imagine what kind of man he’ll turn into if I’m unable to get him away from the bad.

“’Cause he was going to use you to get me home.”

He nods.

“What’d he do to you?”

“Not me. He promised to hurt a friend of mine.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Ex and my Nomad brothers storm in, guns drawn, ready to fuck some shit up. The resident Oath Keepers, including Princess’ father, pours in behind them, and the Widows get to their feet, prepared for a fight.

“Stand down,” I order. “These are my brothers, the Nomads, and this is the local Chapter of the Oath Keepers. They have my six and being your President, I’m telling you, we’re cool with them.”

Charlie stands up, his nine out in front as he grumbles, “Fuck this, we ain’t friendly with nobody.” He raises the weapon toward me, but my old best friend, Torch, steps out of the hall and shoots Charlie dead.

I didn’t even know Torch was here.

“He brought you too?”

“Yep.” He puts his gun back in his holster.

“What’d he do to you?”

“Threatened to rape my ex-wife and sister.”

“Meggie?” I name his sister who’s the probably the sweetest woman alive.

“Yep.”

“That shit’s fuckin’ done. You won’t be living like that anymore. We’ll figure this shit out later, but your friends and families are safe, you have my word.”

Odin scoffs, “Like that means anything.”

“The fuck you just say?”

“You promised to protect me too. Next thing I know, you’re leaving me in your exhaust. Whatever, I’m over it.”

“We’ll talk; that’s not how it went down.”

Prez comes over with Ares and Exterminator. “Everything okay, son?”

“We’ll get it figured out. We need to have a meeting though to discuss the clubs.”

“You’re family; my door’s always open for you,” Prez answers, and we shake. I’m going to need his help with turning this club around, and he’s one hell of a President when it comes to running a semi-clean MC.

The bartender and Princess stand slowly, looking around to make sure it’s clear. My woman has a bar towel covering her naked chest, and being the overprotective fucker that I am; I want to gouge everyone’s eyes out. Shedding my shirt, I swiftly help her into it and place my cut back on.

She doesn’t look at me, but I can feel her physically move her body closer to mine.

Glancing around at everyone, I declare sternly, “This is my Ol’ Lady. None of you better have touched her or ever touch her in the future. If I find out otherwise, my boy Saint will gladly hold you down so I can chop your fucking head off.”

Blaze stares at the ground guiltily.

“Blaze?”

“I was keeping her quiet,” he replies honestly.

Glancing at Princess, I ask her loud and clear, so everyone can hear me and know exactly where I stand. “He’s my cousin, but I will kill him for putting his hands on my woman. You want him dead, Cinderella?”

She looks over at him, her backbone a little straighter with me beside her.

“I swear I will protect you with my life.” Blaze meets her gaze, pledging his loyalty.

She glances up to me. “No, as long as he doesn’t touch me, we’ll be okay.”

Smokey grumbles, “So bitches are choosing our fates now? You told her to get the fuck out earlier.”

“Yeah, I sure the fuck did. I didn’t know who the hell was here or if anyone had hurt her. I wanted her to get out so I’d know she was safe, with my brothers.” I nod to the Nomads standing closer to the door.

“As for being a fate-maker, best believe you decide your own. You touch my property; I take your fucking head. Don’t test me when it comes to her. You need to realize right here, that this is your President’s Ol’ Lady. You call her Princess or Cinderella. Anything else, derogatory or sweet, will get you fucked up.”

Prez speaks up, “We’ll be gettin’ outta the way now that you have it under control and I know they’re safe.”

“Appreciate it,” I nod, genuinely. I’m humbled by the support and respect he’s shown me, knowing that I’m his daughter’s Ol’ Man.

He steps over to the bartender, and I feel Princess’ body grow stiff, the anger still radiating off of her as I try to eavesdrop.

My father glances over
at the bartender. “Thanks for the heads-up, Nancy.”

She smiles through her discomfort, peering up at him with respect, “Anytime, Prez.” She has a towel wrapped around her arm where the bullet grazed her. She’s lucky she fell to the floor crying when she was hit; it probably saved her life and also gave her the chance to call my dad.

A gasp escapes me as the knowledge comes to light that she knew who I am and called my dad to tell him I was here. He turns toward me, his eyes soft as he takes me in and begins to speak, but I cut him off.

“How long has she known who I am? Was she calling you every time I was in here?” I fume, with the thought of being watched the entire time. She saw Viking claiming me for heaven’s sake. What I do is none of my father’s business; he gave up that right many years ago.

“Princess,” he starts and I interrupt what I know is about to be some sugarcoated bullshit answer. They always are.

“No. Tell me the truth, damn it. I have a right to know; it’s my life.”

“I mean, what do you think? You’re right down the road from the club, sugar. You’re my daughter, and I’m the President of the Oath Keepers. Every bar in the county has had a picture of you and known who you are since you were seventeen years old.”

“So…What? You’ve had people there to spy on me? And what would you have done if I messed up anyhow? You’ve always been too busy to be a father, so why even care to let them know? Does my privacy mean absolutely nothing to you?”

His eyes become a little glossy as his expression falls flat. “You want the truth, fine. I told them to memorize your face, if you ever showed up, to make sure no one messed with you and if you had any problems ever, to call the club. I paid them well for the favor, but I also threatened to rip their fuckin’ guts out if they didn’t comply. Like it or not, Princess, you’re my kid, and I protect my family.”

His words hit my heart like an arrow finding its target. I want to scream and cry, lash out at him with ‘why’ questions: Why wasn’t he there? Why didn’t he want us? Why did he hurt everyone? Why weren’t we good enough? Why didn’t he ever come for us, or actually fucking stay and love us?

I’ve wondered those things my entire life, but he doesn’t deserve my questions, and he hasn’t earned my respect to listen to his answers. So, I revert to the only thing that’s ever guarded my heart against being completely shattered by him—my words.

Standing a little straighter, I stare down the man standing in front of me. In so many ways we resemble each other. If he had a female version of himself, it would be me; only I don’t abandon people that I love.

Many men in this area fear him, never being able to figure out what digs deep, they call him the ‘rational’ President. He’s supposedly the one who thinks everything through and never lets a thing get to him. Well, newsflash, I’ve had years to perfect just what to say, so it hits home for him. He doesn’t get off scot-free ripping our family apart with no repercussions.