Well, as a greeting, that couldn’t have sucked any harder, but I’d expected it. Even if it hurt.
These sons of bitches had been my family, and then I’d been tossed out of Hell’s gates themselves. It was a good thing I didn’t hold a grudge.
Much.
I jerked my chin up as the biker on training wheels carried on chewing his tobacco, and hissed, “I’m here for what’s mine.”
The prospect spat on the floor, his saliva pooling in a gross brown globule that made me want to throat punch him for his disrespect—sure, I was an exile, but fuck, that was just disgusting. “Ain’t nothing around here that’s yours,” he declared like the cocksure little shit he was.
I could almost hear Ry whispering in my ear to be nice to the little prospect, but he wasn’t here to hold me back anymore.
None of my men were.
They’d left me.
All of them.
My mouth tightened as my throat closed. Everything inside me felt like it was rattling from the pressure of containing my emotions. I felt like I could explode, rage and grief intertwining until there was nothing left but a bitterness so prevalent I could swim in it.
My fingers itched as I dragged them along the top of the car’s door. I hated cars, I saw them as cages and preferred to ride everywhere, but that preference was currently in hiatus thanks to the cast on my arm. No way could I steer a bike one-handed and yeah, I’d have tried if I hadn’t sold my baby for the move. For the interim, I’d sit bitch… if the guys I was back to claim would let me.
The heat of the Texas sun made the roof of the sedan burn, and my skin prickled at the sensation as I rubbed my fingers down it. The pain felt good, too good. I’d stopped that self-harm shit a long time ago, but old habits died hard sometimes.
Pain was a control mechanism of mine.
Fucked up?
Yup.
But what did you expect from an MC princess who’d gotten her own way from birth until she was eighteen and two days old?
On the third day of my eighteenth year, that was when things had gone to shit but, though I’d been exiled, I’d still never been corralled. Ryan liked me as I was—wild.
Narrowing my eyes at the prospect, I told him calmly, “You wanna apologize for spitting in front of a lady?”
“I don’t see no lady around these here parts,” he sneered, looking so proud of himself that I wasn’t surprised when he cupped his cock and jacked himself.
Patience.
Ryan’s voice was in my head, that was the only place it could be nowadays, but I could hear it like he was standing right beside me.
I blew out a breath, seriously trying for calm, because this fucker didn’t know me, couldn’t because he was too new to the club, but then he sealed his fate by doing it again. Jacking his cock, spitting more chewing tobacco on the ground, and declaring, “Ain’t no ladies and ain’t no princesses.”
That was it.
I was done.
I strode around the door, and when he didn’t flinch, didn’t react, I knew the stories about me had either died or my daddy had made everyone stop mentioning my name. It was probably a combination of the two, but it worked in my favor.
See, I wasn’t a prissy princess, no Rapunzel or Cinderella shit for me. I’d grown up with five best friends who were boys. All but one of them were sons of brothers in the MC. I’d been raised with them, had learned their ways, had learned their talk, and had been taught how to protect myself against fuck-ups like this prick whose eyes were spaced out from some chemical. Things were going to shit if the VP put a fuckwit like this on the gates.
He deserves it, Lucie. Ry’s voice was amused now. Remember? Instep, flat hand, nose, knee, junk.
As if I could forget the move he’d taught me to pull if a guy ever got handsy with me.
With a smile, one that would make butter melt it was so warm and loaded with such promise that few could deny it, I strolled toward him. All loose-legged and limber. When I moved closer, I dropped my gaze to his limp dick and, after licking my lips, whispered, “Give me some of that.”
His pupils were tinier than pinpricks, and he gulped, all bravado gone as lust replaced his disdain. He stepped forward the same