Page 3 of Loving Lucian

Chapter 3

Haylee

I didn’t die easy, never had, nor will I. I didn’t die when my parents locked me in that basement for a week, and I had survived more since then. So right now, as I stared down the man with a gun, I could count on my hand that this whole darn army thought they could take me out. But I had something they didn’t have, a lack of fear. Fear held those back from acting.

When I was stabbed nearly to death in Lucian’s club, the fact that he didn’t even give me a fighting chance flooded my mind again. Frustration flared through me as my hand twitched for my gun. Pure boiling rage was spreading through my body. I needed to let the rage out and I looked at my prey. Within a one fluid, fast movement, I cocked the gun that was pointed at me up into his face. The man’s blood sprayed over my face and then I dropped to the ground, pulling my gun from my holster while also missing the bullets that were automatically being fired after I reacted.

They thought they had won by out-numbering me, but they were wrong. With a Glock, I aimed, fired, and ended the life of four men; well, five if you include the first kill, who was my warm-up.

The doors to the large industrial shed burst open, and in came my brother, late as usual.

“When a meeting starts at eleven, it starts at eleven.” I wiped a spray of blood of my cheek. “Not at ten past, or at half past.” I walked calmly towards my brother. “Once again, I am left to do the deeds for this empire.”

He was frustrated, perhaps a pinch annoyed that I had showed him up, but what really got under his skin was when his eyes dropped to the tattoo that I refused to cover. Because each wound, each tattoo, every scar, told a story. It makes me the person I am, it frames the person I am. I would not or will ever be ashamed of things that happened to me that turned me into the person I am today.

Cold. Heartless and hatred, it would show on my skin. Every battle. Win or lose—it would be reflected.

“I’ve been dealing with ya husband,” Harley hissed at me. “He wants to see you and until he does, he has cut our meth trade.”

I kept control over my reaction, but even I knew that would hit us hard. It was a cost we couldn’t afford to pay. Meth was our major earner.

“I’ll handle it,” I muttered, and Harley scoffed.

“By what, going back to him?” Harley was looking for a fight, and he pointed his finger at me. “I told you to fucking lay low. But instead, you go after him, stab him nearly to death! But you couldn’t do the job fully because now I’ve got to fucking handle it.”

“This isn’t you concern.”

“When you gonna see it, Haylee!” he roared at me. “We aren’t a team! We aren’t anything but brother and sister. We, our empire,” he pointed to the men behind him, “is a machine, and you, my dearlittlesister, are nothing but just a part in that machine.”

Harley always had a power over me. The ability to cut sharper with words than a knife in my life. He had the ability to shut down my ego and my willpower to think that I knew better. Harley had all this power, until the day I married Lucian and then that power went to him.

So right now, Harley thought he could put me back in place, which was under him. To never let me think I could do this on my own. For the first time ever, I wasn’t ready to obey. I wasn’t ready to fall to my knees and accept the fact that he knew better.

“Times are changing, Harley,” I said with confidence. I never had confidence when I spoke directly to him about the cause, our empire, or anything to do with business. For some unknown reason to me, I felt like I had this inner raging strength that could take him on. For the first time ever, I felt equal to Harley.

“I’m not part of the machine, I’m the fucking driver of it. The owner and the controller.” I stepped towards him, daring him, baiting him to take me on. “Don’t forget that they fear our names, not your name,bigbrother,” I added, mocking him. “Now I’ve got to see a man about a dog, and I am referring to that bitch you brought into our house, who did everything but fucking drain my personal bank account.”

“Don’t bring up Imogen.”

“Don’t bring up Imogen,” I mocked. “How about you don’t bring leeches into the family?”

He gritted his teeth. “How about you learn your place!” he roared, and his hand whipped across my cheek, blood swelling in my mouth. “Which is under me, Haylee!”

Most girls would cry, some may even say sorry for causing him to snap, and others would internally blame themselves. Me? I punched him right in that big fucking mouth of his.

“Fuck!” he cursed, holding his mouth while blood leaked from his lips.

A few of the boys smirked—for some reason they always hated it when Harley hit me. I, however, should think Harley should know by now that I never take a hit laying down.

“At least it wasn’t in the balls, I guess.” He spat some blood and looked back at me. His black hair was tied in a small bun, his eyes ran over me. I did look like a murder victim but then his eyes were back on my hand.

“How about we agree to disagree?” I made an attempt towards peace.

“Or . . ..” Harley paused and gestured with his head for the men to leave. If only he had done that earlier, then perhaps, we wouldn’t have had such a showdown. “We go get ice cream,” he said to me.

I couldn’t stop the smile, even though it bloody hurt. “You really think you fucked up that badly?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Then in that case, ice cream it is.” I shrugged and looked at myself, I was a mess. “Meet you at home.”

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