Page 14

Dante

Arriving back at the club was as awful as I expected it to be. Doc was grumbling about having to stitch up another member - despite it being his fucking job and the one thing he was good at. Crash was asking a million questions, and Mama was yelling at a decibel only the dogs could understand.

“I know everyone is happy to see him, but I think Dante would appreciate being able to go to his room,” Rachel said, loud enough to interrupt everyone, and surprising me for the second time tonight.

It wasn't like her to show me any sort of concern – in fact, experience told me she would only want to make things worse. Yet here she was, placing her arm around my waist and pushing through the crowd of people, guiding me into the clubhouse.

She was a confusing woman. The last conversation I had with her she was accusing me of being no better than Alex and implying I would allow the lowlife scum he associated with to be proxy members of my club.

And now she was worried about me. She had spent the entire car journey throwing concerned glances my way when she thought I wasn’t looking and had even lashed out at Vienna for his driving.

“Doc!” she snapped over her shoulder. “You're to follow us! Crash… well, Vienna will tell you about the boot situation. That’ll need handling.”

“You're being incredibly bossy tonight,” I murmured into the top of her head, noticing how her hair smelled of coconut.

“Yeah, well, I've been around here long enough to know these people won't give you a second's peace if you don't put your foot down. Give them an inch. They take a mile.”

“It wouldn't hurt you to admit you were worried about me – that you're still worried about me, in fact.”

“When I'm worried about you, I'll admit it. Until then, don't go assuming you know what will hurt me and what won't,” she came right back at me, but I heard the note of humour in her voice.

I allowed her to lead the way as she guided me upstairs to my bedroom. “Ooh, Rachel, the bedroom already! Are you trying to have your wicked way with me?”

“Keep talking like that, and I'll be the one to stitch you up instead of Doc. Is that what you want? Although, I’ve seen his handiwork, and quite frankly, Frankenstein’s Monster was put together better than he can do.”

“Damn. If I'd have known that putting the club tattoo on you would instil a club attitude in you, I might have thought twice about it.”

Fire flashed in her eyes. “First of all, I already had this attitude.

Don't act like you pressed a magic switch.

Secondly, don't bring up that disgusting thing. It still stings like a bitch. And third of all,” she huffed, taking me by surprise as she shoved me onto the bed.

“I was going to clean the sheets before you got into bed, but now you can lay in Shark's blood, and you can do it without muttering a word of complaint.”

“I've laid in worse.”

“You've lain with worse,” she snapped. “I'm going to go see Bee. I'll be back when Doc is finished.”

“You're not going to stay and play nurse for me?”

“I already did that for Shark,” she said with a smirk. “I'm all nursed out, I'm afraid.”

And with that, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and walked out of the door without a backwards glance.

I shook my head at her, ignoring the fire that flew through my veins at the thought of her tending to another man and nursing him back to health.

It was ridiculous, and my brothers would never betray me in such a way.

You didn't think Macbeth would betray you like this either.

That much was true.

I knew he was a jealous, spiteful cunt, but I didn't think he had it in him to take things this far.

His hatred for me grew every day, but he loved our mother, and he had always shown the utmost respect for our father. And then there were his brothers. He had been raised alongside some of these men since birth.

By betraying me, he was betraying the entire club, and all he had ever known, and if I was being honest, I was struggling to figure out what could possibly be worth it.

There was no coming back from this.

The club would kill him.

Things like this were not taken lightly, and his status as the president's son wouldn't stretch to offer him the level of protection, he needed to get out of this.

Church would be held, and it would be put to a vote. But we all knew what the outcome was going to be.

Macbeth would be off to meet Mister Maker.

You didn’t get to betray the club and live to survive the tale.

Church would only decide whose hand would be the one to deliver the killing blow.