Page 5 of Slayin Villain (Royal Bastards MC: Nashville, TN #11)

Villain

Ember was still in my bed when the knock came.

Sheets twisted around her thighs, one bare shoulder peeking out, soft breathing that should’ve calmed me, but didn’t. She looked too fucking perfect lying there like she belonged.

She didn’t.

Neither did I.

I perched on the edge of the mattress, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my Glock still tucked under the mattress. I hadn’t slept much. Couldn’t. Not with guilt pressing down like a damn vice. Ember had passed out right after round two, curled against me like I was more than a distraction.

Like I was hers.

Another knock. This one louder. Harder.

Shit.

I yanked on my jeans and opened the door.

Thorn stood there, massive arms crossed. “Church. Now.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Ember.

He followed my gaze. “She staying?”

“She’s asleep.”

Thorn raised a brow. “That ain’t what I asked, brother.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“You better.” He turned and walked off, already pissed.

“Is this because she’s…?”

“She’s what?” Thorn stopped and turned to me, nostrils flaring.

“She’s related to Sweet Tea, I hear,” I tried, rubbing my hand through my hair.

My brother only gave me an evil stare that screamed I shouldn’t even go there.

I grabbed my cut and threw it on without bothering to button it. My shirt stuck to my chest, still damp with sweat from the night before. I looked like I’d just crawled out of someone’s bed.

Because I had.

And not the one who’d been mine for months.

Church was held in the soundproof conference room attached to Royal Road. Had an orgy pit right out of the seventies, and a round table from medieval times. Our officers sat around it, chain-smoking and stirring shit.

Kingpin sat at the head in his goddamn throne. Literally. He was the only one who didn’t wear his cut. His silk black robe was open, but thankfully he had on matching pajama pants underneath. No shoes. The biker was born in a barn.

Flame headed, Irish his Enforcer waited on one side, drinking Guinness for breakfast. Pagan our Vice Prez on the other, stroked his wild beard. Blonde hair slicked back under a black and white bandana, and a joint between her teeth, Memphis sat on Prez’s right side, too, like his right-hand woman.

Being a woman, she wasn’t a patched member but had been Prez’s guard before he got hitched.

More than his guard. One of two, but her bookend was six feet under.

Memphis had a man now, or she did before Big bolted.

She still attended church sometimes like she belonged. Kingpin allowed it. No one argued.

My chair waited on the other side, important for now, at least where the bylaws were concerned. Opry tipped his cowboy hat as Thorn and I took our seats.

Prez didn’t wait for me to sit.

“You got a death wish, blondie?”

I blinked. “Morning to you too, Prez.”

“You show up to church smelling like pussy and sweat, twenty minutes late, while I’m trying to pull off the biggest goddamn patch-over this club has ever seen.” His voice cracked through the room like thunder.

Pagan snorted. “Here we go.”

I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We’ve got the bylaws drafted, and I got support from the chapters in Charleston and Knoxville. They're good with the merge. So, unless you want me to wipe down with sage and holy water before every fuckin’ meeting, I suggest you let me work the way I work.”

Kingpin slammed a hand on the table.

“I want a show, Villain. Not just papers and promises. I want the patch-over to be the kind of shit that gets people talking from Nashville to goddamn Mexico.”

Opry leaned in. “Prez wants something unforgettable to mark the occasion. Like Halloween.”

I rolled my eyes. “You want to be King of the Circus again? Look how well that worked out last time.”

“No,” Kingpin growled. “This is Nashville. My town. I want fire. I want fury. I want to throw a party that people can’t crawl away from.”

Opry exhaled hard. “I can work with that. But I need more time to finalize the lineup. And timing sucks. It’s when your brother Beau returns to Nashville from his world tour.”

“You mean, Bubba,” Kingpin said, gritting his teeth.

“I thought they buried the hatchet,” I whispered to Horror.

He scowled, but he was always making that ugly face. “Prez hates to be upstaged.”

“We’ve got politics to play with three more chapters,” I reminded the table. “Could postpone it.”

“I don’t care if they’re bleeding tears into their beards,” Prez spat. “You make it happen on schedule. You’re the one who wanted to step up. You wear that patch? Earn it.”

“I’ve been earning it,” I snapped. “I’ve been writing bylaws until my fingers bleed, playing peacemaker between clubs who’d rather shoot each other than shake hands. Meanwhile, I got a target on my back and a secret that…”

I stopped. Bit it back.

Too close.

Too fucking close.

Kingpin narrowed his eyes. “A secret that what?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Thorn cleared his throat. “He’s good for it. You know it Prez, Villain always gets shit done. He’s just... under pressure... relationship trouble.”

My brothers grumbled then laughed, one by one like dominos.

Kingpin leaned back in his chair, eyeing me like I was a rusted chain about to snap. “You better be good for it. Because if this patch-over goes sideways, it won’t be me who takes the fall. It’ll be you.”

"Uh-huh," I said, my jaw locked. “I figured.” Prez wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout the party. He was talkin’ ‘bout security.

He stood. Church dismissed.

But as I headed for the door, Prez grabbed my arm.

“Get your house in order, Villain.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know which one he meant, Royal Road or my bed.

I found Ember still asleep when I got back. Her long legs stretched out, lips parted in a soft moan that made my cock twitch even though I was still riding the edge of fury. She stirred as I stepped inside, eyes blinking open slow like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Church?” she asked, voice raspy.

“Yeah.”

“How bad?”

I dropped my cut on the chair. “Worse than usual.”

She sat up, the sheet slipping down, giving me a full view of soft skin, petite frame and everything in between.

“You okay?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I walked to the bed, leaned down, and kissed her hard.

She gasped into my mouth, hands reaching for my waistband. “Again?”

I growled against her lips. “Yeah. Again.”

I needed to forget. Needed to lose myself in her pussy and the way she moaned my name like I was something more than just a shield with a patch.

She let me take what I needed. Let me fuck the stress out of me until I was panting, gripping her hips like she was the only thing anchoring me to the world.

But afterward, when she curled into me again, soft and sweet, I didn’t hold her.

I stared at the ceiling and thought of Rachel.

How she’d smile when I brought her coffee. The way she traced the ink on my chest like she was learning it. How she hadn’t called or texted since the last time she was in my bed.

I thought about how she didn’t know Ember was in my bed.

I told myself she didn’t need to.

This thing with Ember? Just scratching an itch. Just pretending. Just a cover.

But the lies I was telling?

They were getting harder to keep straight.

And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pretend that nothing about this was real.