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ELDEN
“Someone has to take care of Violet.”
I looked around the table as multiple brothers sat up a little straighter, their eyes lighting up.
It was a good thing that Swiss wasn’t here or else there would be some men missing their eyes for looking like that at the mention of his stepdaughter.
“She left for college earlier than Swiss and her mom expected,” Hansen explained.
I gripped my fists underneath the table as I remembered the way she’d looked at me. Remembered her crashing into my room then watching her crumble as I broke her down.
And she’d left. That day.
It was for the best, I told myself.
“Got the Rhode Island charter keeepin’ an eye on her,” Hansen continued. “They’re close, which is good, but if shit ever goes down with her, want someone from this chapter willing to drop everything to make sure she’s a’ight.” Hansen let out a sigh. “And I have a feeling, from what I’ve come to know of Violet, there is a high probably of shit goin’ down.”
There were smirks around the table. She’d already made quite an impression on everyone.
I fucking hated that.
“I’ll do it,” Javier, one of the newer patches, volunteered. Young. Handsome. A fucking player. He’d make sure no harm would come to her—fucker may’ve been handsome, but he was also a Son. That meant he would not hesitate to kill a man or woman if they threatened this club or those connected to it.
He was also twenty fucking five, fucked anything that moved and was a Son …therefore he liked to fuck women. And he did not want them on the back of his bike. He wanted them in his bed, wanted to brand them—the fucker actually did that—then sent them packing once the sun rose.
Now, most men in the club operated in a fashion similar to this, without the branding portion of it, but they swapped that out with whatever depravity had been born out of their fucked-up lives.
We were all fucked-up in one way or another. You didn’t patch into the Sons of Templar MC because you were well adjusted and came from a happy home.
My eyes drifted to one of the few men whose eyes had not lit up at the suggestion
… blond haired, square jawed, all-American Anderson. He had come from a happy home. White picket fence and that kinda shit. And he was married to a nice girl, had a kid, another on the way.
Yet here he was, sitting at the table with outlaws and murderers.
He was the exception. Not the rule.
The rule was, you put this cut on because a piece of you was missing. A vital piece that made it impossible for you to operate in society. A piece that thirsted for blood, violence and pussy. Or dick if you were inclined that way.
Javier was one of our youngest patches. And most recent. Which meant Javier did not have enough self-preservation to know that he was essentially signing his own death warrant by even thinking about fucking Violet.
Swiss, her stepfather, considered that girl to be his blood, and he was the most fucked-up, ruthless and vengeful of us all …which was really saying something.
Just the thought of Violet’s creamy skin being marked by Javier—even with her consent, especially with her consent—had me grinding my teeth tightly, red slowly creeping over my vision.
Fuck.
I took in a see breath.
“No, you fuckin’ won’t,” I clipped out, taking great pains to keep from growling. I didn’t look at Javier, didn’t trust myself to. Instead, I focused on my president, Hansen, whose eyes were on me. I didn’t like the small uptick of his mouth, the knowing glint in his eye. He saw too fucking much.
“I’ll take care of it,” I grumbled.
The uptick grew, and I clenched my fists harder.
Colby was also smiling. He was Violet’s best friend in the club. I hated that friendship too. But he didn’t look at her like he wanted to fuck her. Hadn’t made a move. So he was breathing.
“It’s settled,” Hansen declared. “You’re on deck for Violet if needed.”
