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Chapter Eleven
Devil
I'minhell.I know this because Jessie isn't here, but women keep trying to throw their tits in my face. As if I'd ever pay to touch theirs when hers fit my hands just right. Everything about her fits me just right. Christ, I miss her.
Risk and his girl are in Vegas. They ran off and got hitched. My girl didn't go with them. I feel like that's my fucking fault. She's miserable because of me, missing the important things in life because of me. It's intolerable.
"Move," I growl at the heavily made-up brunette standing in my way in a cheap thong and nothing else. "I don't want whatever the fuck you're offering."
"Dick," she snaps, stomping around me in her stiletto heels. Her bare ass jiggles as she goes.
I roll my eyes and keep walking. I'm not here for the show, a lap dance, company, or any of that bullshit. I'm here for Hawk. It's been five days since I last saw Jessie. Five days of making plans. Five days of getting my shit together. Five days of making things happen.
Yesterday, a couple of Hawk's people damn near destroyed everything. The motherfuckers shot Sin in a drive-by. He's in intensive care. And I'm done waiting. Hawk's had more than enough time to get me everything I need. He's handing it over today. It didn't take much arm-twisting to convince him to stop dragging his fucking feet. I think he knows it's either me or war. And if he chooses war, he's choosing death for every single fucking one of his people.
They never should have come for Sin.
I make my way into the back of the club, hoping the camera on my glasses can pick this shit up over the music. It's loud and crowded in here. Forsythe wanted me wired up, but I refused. We did things his way. People died. Now, we're doing it mine. He can eat shit if he doesn't like it. I don't really give a fuck. As soon as I'm done, I'm out. My choice was made a long time ago. Hell, I think I made it the day I met Jessie. My choice is her. Over everything.
It kills me that she's hurting. It kills me that I hurt her. That was never my intention, but I did it anyway. I fucked up because I'm weak for her. I couldn't keep my hands to myself. I couldn't stay away. I couldn't keep from falling for her. I claimed her well ahead of schedule, but I never readjusted my plans. I just kept on like nothing had changed when everything had changed. She deserved the truth. I knew she had doubts and worries. But I bulldozed my ass right over them, convincing myself that it'd be fine.
I'm a goddamn idiot. My girl is fierce and stubborn and willful and fiery. But she's not invincible. I'm her armor. I'm her defense. I'm the thing that stands between her and the world, the thing guarding her heart. I'm not ever supposed to be the asshole who breaks it or the one who makes her cry. I'm the one who annihilates the things that cause her pain. That's my job.
I didn't get it right this time. I thought if I never spoke my secrets aloud, they couldn't hurt her. That was wrong. They hurt her anyway. I hurt her anyway. It won't happen again. She'll never cry over me again. She'll never feel torn in two over me again. I'll fight however long I have to fight to show her that she can have both. I'll prove whatever I need to prove to her, to Risk, and to the Kings to ensure everything in her world is exactly right. That's my job, too.
She's mine.
I'll crawl through hell for her and unmake it brick by brick.
Hawk's in the back alley, chain-smoking menthols. Doesn't look like leadership is treating him well. Or maybe it's the subterfuge that's doing a number on him.
"Took you long enough," he mutters, tossing a butt and grinding it out with his heel.
"What do you have for me?"
"Names, addresses, client info." He scratches his beard. "Before I hand it over, I have conditions."
Of course he does.
"Like what?"
"I want your word that only the men on this list are going down," he says. "If this is going to turn into a free-for-all, all you're getting is victim and client info, and we'll handle our own business."
"Is everyone involved on your list?"
"Every last one of them."
"What about the motherfuckers who shot Sin?"
He hesitates for a moment.
"Are they on the fucking list or not, Hawk?"
"They're on the list," he mutters. "But good luck finding them."
Huh. So, they're dead.
"And the members who staged the coup that killed Roach?" I ask, intentionally breaking the law for the first time in my career. We both know there was no coup. We both know exactly who killed Roach and why. But if Forsythe wants a scapegoat for his own failure, it won't be the Diamond Kings. It'll be the trash he failed to take out when he should have.
