Dante (Hell's Ankhor #6) - Aiden Bates Page 0,22

could do this. I wanted him to show the rest of them—especially Joker—that a guy of Heath’s size could, with the right move, easily take down a guy as big as me. That Heath could do it.

But Heath just shot me a dark look as he exhaled hard. He shook his head roughly and stormed up the stairs to the clubhouse living room. Joker was still chuckling to himself.

“Nice job, Dante,” Tex said with an exasperated sigh.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Jazz offered.

“No, no,” I said, waving Jazz off. “I’ll go apologize. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have sprung that on him like that. Can you take over for a few minutes, Jazz?”

The grimaces I received in response made it clear the members—other than Joker—obviously agreed that I’d fucked up. I’d wanted to give Heath an opportunity to show everyone what he was capable of. And I’d ended up humiliating him instead.

Fuck. I hurried up the stairs. I could only hope he’d give me a chance to explain, and that this wouldn’t set us back to square one.

Embarrassing a patched member in front of his brothers and sister was not exactly a great way to start improving the relationship between Hell’s Ankhor and the Liberty Crew. But for some reason, I wasn’t as worried about club relations as I should’ve been. I was only worried about the sharp look of betrayal and hurt in Heath’s eyes when he’d landed flat on his back.

9

Heath

I shouldered the door to my bedroom open and stormed inside, shutting it firmly behind me. In the privacy of my bedroom, I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. I was embarrassed, and angry, and I felt like such an idiot. I’d thought Dante was a good guy—that he’d liked me, even. Not like I had been starting to think I maybe liked him, but like we could have been friends. And I was beginning to feel a little better about this chaperone role. Thought maybe it might not be so hard. Priest trusted Dante, and so I had, too.

But apparently he was only nice when it was just the two of us. Once we were in front of the rest of the members, he was more than happy to humiliate me in order to make himself look better. Had Jazz been too good of a sparring partner? Did Dante want someone he could easily demonstrate his skills on?

Or was it—Joker. Oh. He must’ve wanted to impress Joker. I’d clearly interrupted something when I’d busted into the locker room.

The way they’d been looking at each other, it was obvious they were both interested. Maybe calling on me to volunteer was Dante’s way of getting back at me for ruining whatever he and Joker had been about to do. And why wouldn’t Dante choose Joker? Joker was muscular, tall, had those sharp keen green eyes. He was handsome. He was bold and confident and forward. Just because I was Dante’s chaperone didn’t mean I belonged to him.

Or—not that way. That was backwards. Even if that was what jumped to mind immediately.

I stepped into my bathroom and splashed cold water on my face to clear my thoughts.

I met my own eyes in the mirror. When I’d gotten stabbed by a Viper, riding with Tex last year, I’d started to realize that Hell’s Ankhor had my back just the way I was. I didn’t have to try to be someone else for them to care about me, or accept me. That’s when I’d stopped dyeing my naturally blond hair darker, and stopped trying to act more standoffish or tougher than I was. I stopped trying to play the part of the machismo guy that had been drilled into me when I was younger, and tried just being myself. To my surprise, once I started doing that, I only grew closer with the other members.

And sure, maybe I was liked. But was I respected?

I’d thought Dante was starting to respect me—that I was earning his respect. But I guess he was just another bully looking for an easy target. Just like my brothers. I wasn’t exactly sure why that disappointed me so much.

I was nearly twenty-one, but my reflection didn’t look much different than my sixteen-year-old self. That was part of the reason I’d started dyeing my hair in the first place—I hated seeing that hurt, desperate kid every time I looked in the mirror. I’d thought I’d come so far over the past year or so, that I’d

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