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If I didn’t have access to her twenty-four seven, I knew I’d flip my shit. Placing her under my protection meant she was mine to keep safe. I took that literally. No one was touching her, seeing, or disturbing her without my permission. They could all fuck off if they wanted to challenge me on it.
If she decided something else, then I’d back off, but not without her voicing it.
When Blair said she was in danger, and the asshole who beat her was coming back to finish the job, I didn’t hesitate to find Phyllis. She helped me without asking for too many details, processing Blair’s discharge and promptly leading us out of the hospital. She even promised to check on Blair and her injuries until she recovered. That woman was a blessing.
Who knew we would become friends after the way we met?
Two smokin’ hot brunettes talked and laughed as they dusted and cleaned the kitchen. They spotted me as I walked by the door. Normally, I would have checked them out, but since meeting Blair, my dick only seemed to swell when she was near. I didn’t feel that surge of lust or attraction that would get my cock throbbing in the past. These women did nothing for me. But that was also because they were already happily taken by Maddog and Manic.
“Oh, no,” Lark gasped.
Bianca rushed out after Lark. “Is she okay?”
“No,” I growled, already beginning to hate that question. If I did, Blair probably felt the same way. “I need water. I’m taking her up to my room.”
“I’ll fix a tray with soup, hot tea, and a couple of water bottles.”
“Thanks,” I answered over my shoulder as I headed toward the stairs.
The old elevator didn’t work correctly, and I wasn’t risking Blair’s safety by riding in it. Besides, she wasn’t heavy, so it wasn’t much of a burden to carry her.
The awesome thing about remodeling an old casino? We had four floors and nearly fifty rooms. When the demolition finished, there would be fewer rooms and more space since Maddog decided to open it up and create a massive chapel, multiple recreation rooms, and a central bar on the first floor. This casino was rumored to be nearly as old as the Golden Gate, with roots as one of the pioneer casinos in Las Vegas after Prohibition.
Maddog designated the third floor as the private rooms for the club members. Since the president took an apartment on the top floor as his right, that left Manic and me to choose whatever we wanted before the others arrived. Only Skeletor, the V.P., would get a room on the top floor with Maddog.
I had chosen a room on the corner of the building with a balcony overlooking the mountains instead of the Strip. City lights still shimmered below, but the stars and moon felt close enough to reach out and touch them. I bet Blair would think it was pretty.
The first rooms in the hotel to be cleaned, laundered, and prepped were the ones we stayed in, so my room smelled fresh with a lemony scent, and the wood was all polished to a clear shine.
I didn’t hesitate to lower Blair onto my bed, turn down the blanket, and cover her. She sighed softly in her sleep and rolled onto her side. Her small hand rested on the pillow beside her head as I watched her sleep.
Creepy? Maybe. I didn’t care.
You want her. I want her.
Great. So now he wanted to fucking talk?
She’s ours.
Yeah, we already established that.
We need to protect her.
I knew that. I’d have to deal with Mateo soon.
He needs to die.
In the past, those violent, dark, murderous thoughts had scared me. I knew what I was capable of, or at least what my other personality was capable of doing. His bloodlust and need for carnage had freaked me out after I killed the man who murdered my mother. The hit on our family had backfired when the rival of my father’s motorcycle club went after him. At the time, he was the V.P. I had been thirteen.
My eyes closed, and I could still feel the warmth leaving my mother’s skin, the fading light in her eyes, and the grip on my hand that loosened as she struggled to breathe. Four shots had struck her heart in quick succession, throwing her body across the dining room to crash into the table where I had eaten every meal since my birth. It broke beneath her weight with the impact, shattering into wooden splinters that dug into my knees as I fell beside her.
That was when the second personality, Drake, had risen. He took control so fast that all I remembered were the screams and the blood. I didn’t know what my hands did or what I said. I blinked. . .and I stood over the intruder’s bloody, battered body and stared at the butcher knife in my hand.
He’d been stabbed almost twenty times, his chest and torso a mangled mess of fluid and viscera. Blood bubbled from his lips before his chest rose and fell one final time. I didn’t feel remorse or guilt as I watched his soul leave his body. When the shell remained, I kicked it, hating him for stealing my mother away from us.
My father was never the same after that. He stepped down as V.P. and retired from the club.
Before that day, his entire life revolved around his duties as V.P., his Harley, his wife and ol’ lady, and fatherhood, in that order. Afterward, only fatherhood seemed to matter. Even his bike took a backseat when the diagnosis came through, and the reality of muscular dystrophy entered into our lives.
