Page 6

FIVE

DASH

Riot hates Blade. He hides it well, but I’ve known the guy since we were eighteen years old and I can read him. It’s nothing obvious he does, but the little sarcastic grenades he throws into the barely-there conversation mixed with the way his mouth pulls into tight lines is a tell.

I keep my lips pressed together, holding back a hundred things I wish I could say. Since finding out members of our club are moving against Crank, it feels as if my nerve endings are on fire.

Not because it’s happening. Crank and his leadership need to go, even if unseating a sitting president feels dirty. No, it’s the fact this was happening under my nose.

Riot, Mace, and Nicky have been working with our mother chapter in London and alongside our Manchester brothers to make shit right.

Not that it can ever be fixed. Crank’s indecision and poor management caused blood to spill in our club.

Even with support, this is dangerous ground we’re walking on. One wrong move and the entirety of the club implodes. Loyalties will be split. Brothers bleeding brothers.

And so, I listen to Blade’s bullshit, ignoring the urge to wrap my fingers around his scrawny fucking neck.

I know I should stay, keep up the illusion of being one big happy club family, but tonight, I’m struggling to hold the facade.

“I’m heading off,” I say, standing.

Riot does the same. “Yeah, me too.”

“Him, I understand,” Blade says. “He’s got warm, willing pussy to get home to?—”

That’s all he gets out before Riot has him by the front of his kutte, his eyes blazing.

I don’t intervene. This is justifiable. Blade disrespecting his old lady ain’t going to win him any favours.

“Talk about my woman like that again and I’ll rearrange your fucking face,” he growls.

I can see his reaction has surprised Blade. Everyone here sees Riot as the joker, the guy who never takes shit seriously, but if they knew him, they understand how deep his passion for people he cares about runs.

Besides, Ivy isn’t just ‘some girl’. She’s going to be his wife.

Blade holds his hands up. He doesn’t fight back, but the grin on his face makes me want to punch him. “I don’t mean any disrespect.”

Of course, he does. He wouldn’t have fucking said it if he didn’t.

Riot let him go with a shove. He shoots me a look before he storms off. Blade rearranges his kutte.

“Shit, I had no idea he was so fuckin’ sensitive these days.”

“See you tomorrow,” I mutter, following after Riot. There’s nothing I want to say to Blade, and I sure as fuck don’t want to explain to him the reasons why he just got a face full of pissed-off.

He isn’t stupid. He knows what he did.

When I step outside, Riot is at his bike. His helmet is in his hands, but even with his back to me I can tell by the tension radiating across his shoulders that he is hanging on by a thread.

I keep a little distance, just in case he decides to swing. “He only did that to get a reaction,” I tell him, something he probably already knows.

“Mission achieved,” he mutters. “I fuckin’ hate him.”

“I know, but you need to keep it together. You start throwing punches and it’s going to draw attention in the wrong way.”

He tears his fingers through his hair. “I don’t need you to tell me how to run this, Dash. I’ve been team takedown way longer than you have.”

I let him get his anger out. He needs it. “I know.”

He screws his face up, his fingers curling into fists at his side. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m scared what we’re doing is gonna blow back on Ivy and Seren.”

I understand his concern. I don’t have anyone to be worried about, but if I was building the life he is… yeah, I’d be on edge, too.

For some reason, Dayna’s face suddenly dances through my mind.

It’s been five, almost six weeks since the party and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.

She was unexpected.

The way she talked to me, the way she looked at me… I felt excitement pitch through my chest in a way I haven’t experienced since…

Since Kendall.

Nope. I shove her back into the vault.

“We’ll protect them.” I give him that look, the one I hope he knows means no matter what happens, even if I’m the last loyal brother standing, his girls will be safe.

“This shit needs to be done sooner rather than fucking later,” he mutters. “You heading home?”

It’s just after eleven, but my mind is too frantic to sleep. “Maybe,” I say softly.

For the first time, I feel a hint of jealousy that he has a girl waiting at home for him who looks at him as if he hangs the fucking moon.

Fuck, don’t go there.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I clap a hand on his shoulder and walk over to my bike.

The ride into the city centre is not enough time to clear my head, and by the time I park up outside a bar owned by the club, I’m twitchy.

I want to drown in something strong that’ll make me forget my name after three sips.

I’m attaching my helmet to the back of the bike when I hear it.

A sound I will never forget.

Her laugh. It’s the same as it was at the engagement party. Too light. Too easy. Too fucking fake.

I scan the street, searching until my eyes lock on her.

Dayna fucking Harrington.

She looks incredible. Her hair is curled in bouncy, sexy waves, and her dress is short, showing the length of her legs.

Seeing her again unlocks something primal within me. That night, the sex had been incredible. The way she felt when I was inside her, the sounds she made—it’s played on a loop since.

But she’s not alone tonight.

There’s a scrawny-looking bastard draped over her shoulder like a fucking jacket. He’s drooling over her like a desperate fucking teenager rather than a grown man.

She pushes his chest slightly, her smile forced at whatever he says in her ear. Her nod is uneasy, her stance taut, and my stomach tightens when he presses a sloppy kiss to her mouth.

She turns away, or tries to, but when she ducks her head, he grabs her face and forces another kiss that she can’t avoid.

Motherfucker.

Red films my vision, anger vibrating through me when she slips out from under his arm but he pulls her into his chest. His arms band around her, stopping her retreat.

It’s fucking crystal clear that she doesn’t want him to touch her, but he’s either not taking that hint or he’s choosing to ignore it.

I can’t hear what she’s saying to him, but I don’t need to. Her hands on his chest, keeping him back, and her tense smile speaks louder than her words.

And he’s got hold of her wrist, holding her where he wants her.

I’m going to knock his teeth down his throat, or maybe I’ll rip his fucking head off.

She sees me before he does, and her breath hitches. Relief floods her wild eyes, drowning the fear.

“Dash.” My name is barely a whisper, but it detonates through my skull like an explosion.

“You good?” I ask, even though I can see she’s not.

She opens her mouth, but scrawny pulls her into his side. “She’s fine. Piss off.”

I ignore him, focusing on Dayna. “You want to stay with this prick?”

The guy splutters, squaring up to me like he’d stand a chance if punches were thrown.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” he snaps. I glare at him, and he wilts under my glacial glare, but he’s still drunk enough to be reckless. “She’s mine, dickhead.”

Those words are a match to oil, but I lock my fury behind my ribs. We have an audience, and I’m wearing my colours. Too easily identifiable.

He also doesn’t fucking matter right now.

Just her.

“Dayna.” I say her name softly, braced, ready to protect her with my body if he attacks.

Her lashes lift. “I don’t want to stay.” She’s quiet, scared.

It’s all I need to hear. I step up to scrawny, and he stumbles back even though I haven’t touched him.

Then his gaze drops to my kutte, and his mouth clamps shut, like he realises he just picked a fight with death.

Good. Be fucking scared. At least now he knows how she feels.

I sneer at him then turn to Dayna, holding my hand out. Without missing a beat, she slips her palm into mine.

She’s so cold, but her trembling isn’t because of that.

She’s freaked.

I want to smack this bastard, but the people queueing outside the club are pointing phones in our direction, waiting for the fight to break out.

I don’t fucking give them a show.

I walk past the line, my grip on Dayna’s hand firm, and I don’t stop moving until we’re on the next street.

As soon as we’re out of sight and the noise from the crowd is behind us, I turn to her.

I want to touch her, to cup her face in my hands, but I dip my head close instead. “You okay?”

Her arms wrap around her belly like a protective shield, and she’s dragging in frantic breaths. “I was two seconds from screaming in his face like a banshee.”

“I can go back and break his nose,” I say, which gets me a choked laugh. I’m not joking.

I might do it even if she doesn’t want me to.

I drop my attention to her mouth as she smiles. It’s radiant. Real… for a change.

“I think you scared him enough just by existing.”

If I’d been alone, I would have done more than fucking scare him.

She shivers, goosebumps rising on her arms. Without a thought, I shrug out of my kutte and tear my hoodie over my head, then I slide it over hers.

Her protest is muffled beneath the fabric, and I realise my mistake immediately. Dayna in my clothes ignites a fire I didn’t know was burning so hot.

Fuck.

I tear my gaze away and pull on my kutte over my tee so I don’t have to look at her standing there wearing me.

“Won’t you get cold?” she asks, already snuggling into the warmth I left on it.

I clear my throat. “I’m good.”

I want to ask her what the hell she was doing with that soggy fucking noodle of a guy. She’s so far out of his league, he shouldn’t be breathing the same air as her. Dayna is fucking fire that burns brighter than that sad, limp-dicked bastard ever could.

I want to push, but she’s in my hoodie and she’s still shaking, so I swallow my question.

“I’ll take you home.”

I expect her to argue, but she nods, which tells me exactly how rattled she is by what happened.