Did he watch me kill Bella?
“I’ll have a prospect wash him when we get to the club.” I turn back around in my seat, kick my foot up on the dash, and stare out the window. As much as I cussed Bella when she brought Phil home, he’s the only one I can trust right now.
Maybe because I spared an animal, I have a soul after all.
6
Godric
One Week Later
Bringing the flame of the lighter to the end of my cigarette, warmth heats my palm as I inhale a gust of toxic smoke. I don’t always smoke—seeing Noel would make anyone want to quit—but when shit is on edge, I find myself bumming a smoke off my younger brother, Bellamy. He looks good today. Hair brushed back, blue jeans, a black dress shirt.
Dressed in black myself, I eye the caskets in front of me. I never thought I’d be standing here. Not so soon anyway.
“You okay?”
I shrug, not really sure how to answer. I’m not okay. My fucking fifty-seven-year-old father just died and now I’m set up with the fucking role of being the president to a club I have no business leading. There are other men much more qualified, but if I don’t take the gavel, it would be a kick to my dad’s legacy.
The grave workers begin to put the casket into a metal box to protect it from grave robbers and other shit, and I force myself to turn around. I can’t watch. The idea of decay and bugs and never seeing him again makes me want to lash out. My mother stands beside my black truck back on the pavement that zigzags through the large cemetery, a cigarette in her hand, dressed in black, mascara running down her face. She held it together while everyone was here for the funeral and to pay their respect, but now that it’s just us, she’s broken down.
Flicking my cigarette, I head over to her, my black boots thudding against the soft ground. Sensing my nearness, she looks up, a sad smile lifting her face.
I smirk back even though neither of us are happy and pull her into my arms.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry you had to go to that place. I’m sorry your father died. I’m sorry—”
“Stop. None of it is your fault.” I’ve never seen her so undone and riddled with insecurity. It makes me angry I can’t fix it. I look over my shoulder, finding Bellamy still at the grave, watching them fill it with dirt.
Mom sniffles, and I look back to her. A warm wind blows between us, shifting the tension from sullen to something unbalanced. Her head tilts down, and she kicks around at the loose gravel on the ground.
“So, um…are you going to do the tasks? The things he asked in the letter?”
My mouth parts in shock. This the first of me hearing of anybody knowing about the letter. Reaching inside my jacket, I pull out the black envelope and unfold it, looking over the tasks—the fucking things my father wants done before the gavel is fully mine, making me work to prove I belong amongst the biggest outlaws on the west coast.
“He wants me to be president, and it comes with a price.” A kaleidoscope of brutality fills my vision. My heart thumps in my chest. I’m made for this. It’s exactly why my father gave me the tasks. Each one is a duty of heroism, proving I’m stable and the brothers can trust me. He wants me to show there’s some good in me, but there’s not. The hospital taught me how to control the beast and pretend to be normal to others. I’d turn down the tasks if I could, but then I’ll lose the club and my mother will lose her place as queen. The club is all we know. It’s all we have.
“Do you want to be president?” She flips her hair out of her face, her gaze coming back up to meet mine.
Folding the letter closed, I peer up at her. A menace expression pulls my face into a smug smile as I shove the paper inside my jacket.
“Oh, I intend to take the fucking gavel, it just might not be done the holy way my father wants.” The club will be mine, and I will not have mercy on anyone who tries to step in my way.
7
Monet
I shove a rag into a clean glass to wipe out the streaks, looking over the bar at the brothers drinking, talking. Half-naked chicks laugh and drape themselves over them, thinking tonight is their lucky night because a Titan brother chose them. I can’t help but scoff. For one, this club isn’t even on the map of motorcycle clubs, it just happens to be the only one on this side of civilization in Arizona. I used to be that naive girl who thought Titans were the finest thing to walk God’s green earth. That they were powerful and could do anything they wanted. I came here six months ago in desperate need of help. A lot of good that did. All I managed to do was sign my soul to the fucking devil and realize how pitiful this place really is. They’re a freaking support club to the Seven Knights you hear about in the news all the time.