Page 6 of Carver (Satan’s Angels MC #8)

The big metal door clicks open, and clangs closed.

I don’t leap up, but I do turn my head to see a tall, broad man come striding down the sidewalk.

He’s the type of man that people could easily mistake for a god.

His mane of ashy hair shot through with golden highlights, striking green eyes, chiseled jawline and high cheekbones give him that Hollywood, model-like air, but it’s definitely spoiled by his faded jeans, heavy black boots, and the black leather biker jacket.

He wouldn’t be modelling anything unless it was some kind of badass streetwear brand.

He’s older than me, but not that old.

The guys who run this place probably sent him out here to chase me off.

If I could physically sit down any harder in this chair, I would.

I don’t stand because it would be easier to grab me around the arm and kindly drag me off the property.

Then again, this guy is muscular and so broad that he could probably easily lift me and the chair and set me right into the box of my truck without even taking a hard inhale.

I’m prepared to explain myself, but he knows exactly why I’m here.

“We were told a woman matching your description might come here and sit out on our lawn until we gave her the answers she was looking for. I’m afraid I can’t do that.

” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks almost…

sorry. Honestly, he doesn’t look much like a biker at all.

He has a kind face, and his eyes are soft. He seems to radiate goodness.

I tilt my face up like I’m physically a match for him. He’ll find that my stubbornness could outlast the end of the world. “I guess we’re at a bit of an impasse then. I’m not leaving until you tell me where Dominic Hale is.”

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm, and shakes his head. “He said that you’d say that. Told us not to, under any circumstances, let you know where he’s staying.”

Why does that fill me with both elation and rage? It’s such a classic Dom thing to do. He thought of me, even when he was slamming up walls.

“I can’t give you the address,” he reiterates. “That would be a breach of privacy and trust.”

Honestly? While this is extremely annoying, I’m also glad that the man I love finally has people like this in his corner.

He has the purest heart, the softest soul, the spirit of an artist. He’s so loyal.

He always should have had friends who have his back.

It was such a tragedy that he only ever had me and my family.

Are they friends? Even if they’re not, they’re looking after him, giving him this opportunity, and for that, I’d fall forward and kiss this man’s boots if he demanded it.

He doesn’t.

He drops down to a crouch beside my chair. “My name’s Tyrant,” he tells me conversationally. “I’m the Prez here.”

Okay, I didn’t see that one coming.

Prez? As in, the guy who runs this whole thing?

He certainly doesn’t seem old enough for that.

Looking at him now, I do see that he has a quiet authority.

He’s not the kind of man who has to go around barking orders.

He’s the kind that men would want to follow simply because they’re smart, wise, and kind.

It makes sense. Everything I’ve heard about the Satan’s Angels—and granted, it’s not much—says that they’re a different kind of biker club than most. The way they arranged for Dominic to come here and get the surgery he needed speaks directly to a strong bond of brotherhood.

I’ve heard that they truly care about their community as well, and now that I’m here, I can believe it.

I keep my face tilted. Even though he’s crouched down, I still have to look up. I make eye contact, unyielding and unafraid. I let him see everything in mine, giving him a direct line down to my desperation, hope, and pain. “Do you have a family, Tyrant?”

He blows out a breath, then tucks his hand in his hair and runs it through. “I do.” He smiles wryly. He can track where I’m heading. “My club brothers and my old lady and a daughter.”

“You’d do anything for them?”

He nods, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenches it like he’s physically trying to stop himself from giving me the words I need to hear.

“Then you’d double understand that I’m the only family Dominic has left. I love him. My parents and my sister and brother—we all love him. I love him. More than anything in this world or the next. If I have to knock on every door in this city, I’ll do it.”

Tyrant shoots up. He paces a few steps towards the clubhouse, then sighs loudly again and whips back around. He can see that I’m dead serious. He saves me from having to go out and accomplish what would probably amount to a whole lot of nothing. “I’ll go get Viking.”

I have no idea what that means, but my heart leaps into my throat, racing out of control.

I don’t know who Viking is, but from the way Tyrant just spoke, I know that if I can make him understand, then I have a good shot at finding Dom.

I don’t know what I can say. I only have the truth.

If it’s not enough, I don’t know what I’ll do.

This isn’t just surgery and healing. This is our lives.

I just have this feeling that if I’m not beside Dom now, I’ll never get another chance.

He’ll pull away from me for good. He’ll listen to that shit inside of him that tells him that he’s never going to be good enough.

He’ll fall into that black hole and I won’t be able to reach him, even if I spend a lifetime trying.

I’m prepared to grovel if I have to, but when the door opens and a man with dark hair, dark eyes, and scars on one side of his face, I know I won’t have to.

This is the man Dom first trusted. Dravin .

He’s scarred on the inside and outside, just like my Dom.

This man, he understands. He’s been where Dom’s been, and he’s more than likely felt what Dom’s felt.

He gets it .

That’s how I know he’ll hear me out.