His eyes darken with a lethal intensity, a promise of violence aimed at anyone who would dare threaten the people under the umbrella of his protection. He doesn’t offer empty platitudes or shallow reassurances, instead, he offers the full, crushing weight of the Kings. “I’ll fight for the both of us,” he vows, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. “They’ll regret the day they ever decided to use you as some sort of bargaining chip. No one touches what belongs to me, Jersey. Certainly not the people who were supposed to love you.”
“I’m sorry I kept this from you, Slayer. It’s just with the stuff going on with Boston and the war with the Dragons, I didn’t want to place another burden at your feet.”
He reaches out and lifts my chin, forcing me to meet a gaze that is both unyielding and surprisingly tender, stating, “You never have been and never will be a burden, Jersey.” In this moment, with his rough, calloused thumb tracing the outline of my jaw, something he tends to do when he’s trying to settle my frayednerves or make a point, I realize that the safe rooms and iron gates of the compound are only part of the refuge he’s built for me. The real shelter is right here, moored by a man who refuses to look away from the ruins of my past and sees a woman worth fighting for. “You need to find another word other than burden to represent yourself with, darlin’.”
Teasing him, I ask, “What words would you use to define me, Slayer?”
He doesn’t hesitate, his eyes searching mine with a terrifying honesty that makes me feel seen. “Beautiful, smart, caring, artistic, are ones I’d start off with, gorgeous,” he suggests.
“You’re biased, Slayer,” I whisper, a shy smile tugging at my lips as I try to deflect the intensity of his praise. I’m still learning how to accept them.
“Wasn’t when I first met you, Jersey girl,” he explains, his expression softening with a memory that seems to ground him. “Those were the first things that entered my mind when I saw you.” He leans down, his forehead resting against mine as the stillness of the compound swirls around us. “I didn't need to know your history to know your worth, Jersey. I saw it the moment you walked onto this land.”
“One day I’ll get there and be comfortable saying those things about myself,” I muse.
I let the words hang in the balance, a fragile promise to the girl I used to be. It’s a long road from hiding in the shadows of a house full of liars to standing tall in the light of his devotion, but with his hand clutched in mine, the journey feels possible.
“And until you get there, I’ll remind you every single damn day,” he states.
The low rumble of motorcycles revving in the distance has us both turning our heads toward the compound’s entrance. The vibration of the engines resonates through the gravel beneath our feet. “They’re back,” I say, sighing in relief as the tension that has been coiling in my chest for hours finally begins to unfurl.
“Yeah, they are,” he replies. He doesn’t shift his gaze from the approaching lights, his profile a hard figure of the Vice President who just found his own brand of tranquility. “Let me talk to Riptide and then I’ll be home.” The wordhomecarries a weight it never did before, a promise. He reaches out, his calloused thumb tracing a soothing path over the back of my hand, a silent vow that the club’s business is nearly done for the night.
“I’ll be waiting on you to crawl into bed with me,” I remark, a smirk accompanying the words.
“In the morning, I want to see those emails and text messages, Jersey. No more keeping shit from me, you hear?”
“I hear you, loud and clear, Slayer.”
“Good. I’ll see you in a bit,” he says, squeezing my hand and turning me around, patting my ass, and pushing me toward the path home.
“Alright, alright, I’m going,” I cheekily say over my shoulder. I don’t look back but I feel his eyes stuck on me until I open the door and walk through the threshold. “Damn, I’m one lucky girl.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Slayer
I followRip into his office and sit in the chair in front of his desk, waiting for him to finish pouring two fingers full of scotch into his glass before he sits in his own chair. The heavy scent of the liquor fills the small, wood-paneled room, a sharp contrast to the humid night air we just left behind at the gates. Rip doesn’t say a word at first, his focus entirely on the amber liquid as he swigs it around in the glass, his mind likely still replaying the meeting with the feds.
He finally looks up, his stare level and piercing. I wait for him to drop the down low on Jerome, Patrick, and the evidence that’s going to finally dismantle the Dragons. I’m desperate for the news that will ensure the safety of the unit I’ve built with Jersey, Boston, and Carolina. I need to know that the wall I’ve erected around them is finally backed by the full, crushing weight of the law, making us truly untouchable.
“Something wrong? Did the meet not go well, Rip?”
“Somewhat,” he growls. “They already have the information on the councilwoman, she’s going down so we won’t have to lift a finger on that front.”
“But—” I leave hanging out there because I’ve come to expect that there’s always a but when dealing with law officials.
Rip sets his glass down on the scarred mahogany of his desk, the heavy crystal making a sharp, final sound. “But the Dragons aren’t as isolated as we thought. The agent I met with confirmed that Jerome and Patrick have been funneling some of their profits into a higher-tier syndicate out of Dallas. If we hit the Dragons too hard before the feds are ready to roll on the whole operation, we might just be kicking a hornet’s nest that’s bigger than this entire town.”
I feel a cold weight settle in my gut. The prospect of an even larger threat looming over the compound is enough to make my battered ribs throb in sympathy. I’ve worked too damn hard to carve out this safe harbor for Jersey and the kids. “So what’s the play? Do we sit on our hands while the feds take their sweet time building a RICO case, or do we handle our business before Jerome decides to make another move on us?”
“We wait for the signal,” Riptide rumbles, his eyes fixed on mine. “The fucker promised they’d keep us in the loop, but until they give the green light, we keep the lockdown tight. I won’t risk the club’s future on a premature strike.”
“I don’t like it, not one motherfucking bit, but I agree,” I admit, forcing myself to use my head instead of my raw need to just go out and eliminate the target.
If the feds can actually dismantle the whole rotten operation, from that bitch councilwoman all the way to the Dallas syndicateand finally those Dragon fuckers, then we’ll finally be clear of this cloud over the club. I have to trust the process, even if it feels like we’re just handing Jerome a silver platter of more time to find another way to reach through our gates and snatch what belongs to us. I’ll head back to the trailer, hold Jersey a little tighter tonight, and wait for shit to hit the fan. But when that signal comes, I’m gonna be the first one out that gate to finish this shit once and for all.
