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Without breaking eye contact, I bent down, unzipped my boot, and pulled out the blade. His eyes darkened, the temperature in the room rising as he watched me handle the knife then gently ease it on the bedside table. “You think you know me.”

“Oh, I know I don’t.” He reached behind his neck, pulling his shirt over his head. “But I also know that I don’t really care who or what you are, as long as you’re naked and in my bed within the next twenty seconds.”

Confidence oozed out of him as he stood there bundling up his shirt in his fists before tossing it in the corner. During our little fuck-fest earlier, there was no time for me to admire his body. But while I stood there now, staring at him, drinking him in, I had no choice but to let my gaze travel across his naked chest, taking my time to appreciate his body for what it was. Fucking perfect.

Both arms were sleeved with tattoos. Crosses, roses, skulls, intricate lines of inked words all spread from his wrist, up his arms, and across his biceps. The way the ink curved over his shoulders, I knew there had to be more art on his back. The images called me. It made my fingers itch to trace along the black ink, to see where it would lead me.

“Turn around,” I said in a soft voice, wanting to see what secrets he had engraved on his back.

He cocked a brow, lips curved slightly at the edges.

He turned, revealing the American Street Kings skull covering almost his entire back. My gaze drifted down to the cross below it, the word STONE appearing below it.

“My father,” he said as if he had heard my thoughts. “My father’s club name was Stone.”

He turned back to face me, his eyes iridescent, giving me a glimpse of vulnerability and grief. It wasn’t something I was familiar with, feeling grief when it came to the loss of a parent. But simply by looking at Onyx, I knew it was something he had been struggling with for a long time.

“He died.” I stated the obvious, and Onyx nodded.

I had to look away this time. The topic of dead parents wasn’t something I felt comfortable with. In fact, it made my skin crawl and my stomach ache.

His leather cut was on the bed, and I noticed the loose tag next to it. “President.” I looked up at him. “Why do you have the president tag?”

Briefly, his confidence faltered, his expression that of a man who carried the entire world on his shoulders.

I walked closer. “You’re the VP, aren’t you? Why is there a president tag on your bed?”

He rubbed his fists together, and I got the impression he wasn’t comfortable about the topic. But I didn’t care.

“You are the VP, right?”

He pulled his hand down his face, reaching to the back of his neck. “Yeah. Not anymore.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“It’s club business, okay?”

“Are you the new president, Onyx?” I had to keep pushing.

He grabbed the edges of the table behind him and leaned his head back as he looked up to the ceiling. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“How?”

“Listen, Wraith,” he pushed away from the table, “I can’t discuss club business with you. That’s not how we do things around here.”

“But Granite is the president. And it’s not like he’s dead or anything. Is he leaving the Kings?” What the fuck was going on?

Onyx brushed past me and picked up his cut and the tag, placing it on the chair. “I really don’t want to sound like a dick, but it’s none of your business, okay?”

My mind reeled, trying to figure out why Onyx would be voted as the new president. The VP could only act as president if the president wasn’t around. The VP could only take the place of the president if the current president died or got voted out.

Oh, my God.

I slanted my head to the side. “Granite got voted out.” It wasn’t a question.

“Wraith—”

“Why? Why would the crew vote Granite out? What did he do?”


Tags: Bella J. American Street Kings Dark