Page 59 of Demon
“Because that’s his name?”
“Why not Dad?”
“I used to. But not now.”
“You fell out, huh?”
Ciara probed, her eyes searching mine, and I knew this conversation would not go away easily.
“Yeah. As I got older, I realised Indie would always be his favourite and so I stopped trying. I still do his bidding. Just don’t do it because I want to please him. I just don’t think I care anymore.”
She cocked her head to the side, analysing me. Some social work bullshit.
“And what was thatbidding?”
Fuck. This girl was relentless. There was no hiding from her. Not even if I wanted to. But I didn’t. Somehow, I wanted her to see all of me. To see if she could accept me for who I really was.
“I was brought up to fight. My dad saw the temper in me from a young age and he cashed in on it. Now, when something, someone, needs sorting, it’s normally me who does it. Suppose I’m the best man for the job. Had to be good at something, I guess.”
Shrugging, pretending that revelation did nothing to me, that it didn’t matter, I turned away, but her palm cupped my face, gently pulling it back to her. Her eyes were darker now, a sadness, an understanding of sorts, although I doubted she really could understand it all.
“What job was that?” she whispered, the hint of uncertainty in her voice, a fear of hearing the answer to that question.
“I dish out the punishments. I beat the people my Da wants me to beat. And I do it well. I can’t help it. It’s like a mist descends after the first punch. A blood lust, almost.”
Ciara nodded, understanding across her face.
“I’ve seen it.” Her voice was a whisper of caution, of fear and acknowledgement. “I’ve seen you lose that control. I’ve seen the blood fever come over you. I get why he would send you. But that’s cruel. Really cruel to do that to your own flesh and blood. I could half see why Andy did that to me. I wasn’t his. So, what did it matter?” She paused when I looked at her, not understanding at first. “Andy. My step-dad?”
Fuck! I should have known who she’d meant. She’d trusted me with that information. Ciara smiled faintly.
From a little way in front, a low rumble of deep chuckles filled the air. The Vandals were at ease again. It had always been a risk coming here without our President, and there was still a risk that it would kick off later, that they’d sense weakness in us without my father here. And, whilst we had the manpower and muscle to deal with any shit that came our way, I wasn’t sure we had his cruel temperament, the one everyone feared. The one that had kept the MCs at peace for these last few years because the consequences otherwise were dire for all of us. While he was temporarily incapacitated, no-one would make a move, but the longer he was out, the more the chancers would get twitchy.
Indie turned then, beckoning for me to join the Kings’ officers, talking to the Vandals officers. It wasn’t to be included in the conversation, but to be placed in it. That dull threat, sitting there on the periphery, waiting to be deployed. Sliding my hand around the small of her back, I guided Ciara towards the group in the middle of Alnwick’s market square, not missing the tension filling her body, her spine straightening under my palm. And she should be tense because all eyes focussed on her, not me. The woman clad in black leather which sculpted around the beautiful bulge of her tits, cinching in at her waist and then hugging her hips. Her hair fell windswept around her shoulders, tousled tresses falling down her back. No one’s focus was on me.
Tomahawk, the Vandal’s president, smiled, his grin lopsided, half smirk, half elation. And his dark eyes never left her, not even for a cursory glance at me, the man that shared her body. The man with no real claim over her because would she fuck let me call her my old lady. He reached a hand towards her, like a gentleman might. Yet Tomahawk was no gentleman. Nor did he look like it. Dressed like a leather warrior, his long dark hair braided down the back of his head, and shaved up the sides. A thick, dark goatee beard surrounding his lips and covering his chin.
His hand loitered for a moment, poised, expecting Ciara to take it. But she stared down at it and the criss-cross of tattoos encircling his wrist and fingers, before lifting her face and fixing him a cold, silent stare. And now it was my turn to smirk.
“Ciara,” Indie’s voice cut the thick atmosphere, “this is Tomahawk, President of Valhalla’s Vandals. Tomahawk, my boy’s lass.”
Ciara nodded, and Tomahawk’s smile straightened. Beside us, Indie shifted uncomfortably.
“Lass?” the Vandal’s president repeated. “Not your old lady, then Demon. Maybe she’s waiting for someone better to come along?”
“I’m no one’s old woman.”
“’Old lady,” Tomahawk corrected.
“Whatever. I’m not one of those.”
“Then you’re free to share around, Princess.”
Indie moved forward towards me, Fury on the other side, closing in but not quick enough. Stepping in front of Ciara, I took the space between us and the Vandal’s president. We were both the same height, but he dwarfed me in muscle, and now, as we stood nose to nose, he smiled.
“Want to call your dog off, Indie? I’m happy to go head-to-head right here, but don’t think you lot would like the consequences.”
“Nah, mate,” my brother’s voice rumbled behind me, “reckon you’d better apologise. Then I’ll bring him to heel. He got that look in his eye. If he latches on, there’s gonna be no getting him off. I’m pretty sure you won’t wanna mess up your reputation with the good townsfolk now.”