hurt. Like if it had happened to Jazz or Siren, it wouldn’t have sparked nearly as strong of a reaction. Which was incredibly confusing, because that type of reaction seemed more like the type of reaction someone would have about a… lover, than a friends-with-benefits hookup.
And it had given me a little bit of hope that maybe, despite everything, he did feel something more for me.
Why had it manifested like that though? He and Blade had talked about my security detail like I wasn’t even fucking there, like I was a child that needed to be babysat. When Blade had asked me to be Dante’s chaperone, I’d thought that was proof that he saw me as just as capable as everyone else in the club. But apparently I was just a weakling who needed constant protection as soon as I got roughed up. They wouldn’t have treated Gunnar or Jazz like this, if they’d been the one jumped. All the hard work I’d done to prove to the club—and to myself—that I was worthy of the Hell’s Ankhor patch was apparently just a fantasy.
Dante wasn’t even a Hell’s Ankhor member. And even he got a say in how the club should respond, and nobody listened to me. It was beyond frustrating, and demoralizing.
But at the same time… maybe he was right. There were three of them, and one of me.
Still, I wanted Dante to want to protect me—not to feel like he needed to. I wasn’t helpless. I wasn’t going to accept a security detail offered out of pity for the sad, weak kid, or because Dante felt like he’d slipped in his responsibilities.
I kicked the door to my room closed behind me and chucked the frozen peas onto my bed with a little more force than was necessary.
I wasn’t his fucking project. Just because I was younger, and smaller didn’t mean that I didn’t know what I was signing up for when I patched into Hell’s Ankhor. I didn’t need someone to fucking hold my hand.
The door opened without even a knock. “Heath. We need to talk about this.”
I started, jerking away from the sound. Dante stepped into my room and closed the door behind him, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. My frustration bubbled up in me again—hadn’t I made it clear I didn’t exactly want to talk about this, what with the walking away?
“What’s there to talk about? I’m fine.”
“Fine?” Dante asked, shocked and scoffing. “Like hell you’re fine. I’m your security now. Twenty-four-seven. I’m not going to risk those guys finding you again without anyone there as backup.”
I whirled around to glare at him. Dante winced like the sight of my face hurt him. Well, too bad. It hurt me a lot worse. “I can take care of myself—and if I needed help, if I wanted help, I’ve got my club behind me. I don’t need you to babysit me.”
“Don’t care if you think it’s babysitting,” Dante shot back. “It was Liberty Crew’s fuck-up—my fuck-up—that caused this, and we’re gonna be the ones to settle the score. You don’t have to like it, but this is how it’s gonna be.”
Of-fucking-course. He was just another big guy not listening to a single word I was saying. My brothers had been like this: barging into my space, ignoring any boundaries I set. Bulldozing me at every turn. I was always in the way, or causing trouble, or simply not good enough—someone to be ordered around and humiliated and not given an ounce of free choice.
Dante had acted like he respected me until the minute I didn’t want to go along with his plans. Once I had a mind of my own? Boom, all the respect went out the window. I was fucking tired of being treated like that, and I wasn’t going to fucking do it again.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “How come you get to decide how it’s going to be, when I’m the one that just got punched in the face?”
Dante’s blue eyes blazed. “They used to be my guys, and they’re trying to get back at me, which makes it my responsibility. If they’re coming for you, I need to be here to stop them. End of story. Got it?”
I threw my hands up, at the very end of my rope. “How about you fucking listen to me for a second?”
Dante snapped his mouth closed like he was surprised by my outburst, and then tilted his head like he was almost curious.