Page 20 of Devils Cut

"Deal," Corvus agreed, a ghost of a smile flickering across his chiselled features. "Now grab your jacket and let's go. We've got work to do."

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"Get on the fuckin' bike, Tempest," Corvus barks at me, his eyes daring me to defy him. But I've had enough of bowing down to his demands.

"Fuck you, Corvus. I'll drive my own damn car," I snap back, glaring into those cold, dark eyes. This bastard thinks he can control everything and everyone around him, but there's only so much a person can take.

"Suit yourself, princess." He smirks, swinging his leg over his Harley, revving the engine loudly as if to assert his dominance. I roll my eyes and march toward my car, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

As I drive behind Corvus, I can't help but feel overwhelmed by the concessions I've made in the last 24 hours. It's like I've lost control of my life, and it's all because of that goddamn motorcycle-riding son of a bitch.

The wind whips through his hair as he rides ahead of me, taunting me with his freedom. I grip the steering wheel tightly, nails digging into the leather.

The neon sign, attached to the bar is switched off, making the bar look sad and empty.

I park the car and watch Corvus dismount his Harley with a predatory grace, I envy him, how fucking carefree he seems.

"Come on," he calls over his shoulder, impatience lacing his voice like venom. "We ain't got all day."

"Fuck off," I mutter, slamming my door shut with a smirk.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open, revealing the dark interior.

The moment the door shuts behind us, shadows swallow the room and the familiar scent of leather and whiskey fills my nostrils. I stand there for a second, getting my bearings, feeling the weight of the darkness pressing against me.

"Fuckin' hell," Corvus grumbles as he fumbles around for the light switch. A sudden burst of fluorescent light washes over us, harsh and unforgiving in its intensity. I squint against it, my eyes struggling to adjust after being plunged into the gloom.

"Right," he says, hands on his hips as he surveys the bar. "Got a shipment of booze waitin' for ya in the storeroom. Needs to be put away."

“Okie Dokie,” I say as I give him the 3-finger salute, which makes him raise a brow at me, as I stalk off the storeroom.

The air in the storeroom hangs heavy, thick with the scent of stale booze and cardboard. I glance around, taking in the rows of shelves lined with bottles and cans – a testament to the seedy underbelly of the Dirty Devils. My gaze lands on the boxes scattered across the floor, waiting to be unpacked and sorted.

"Fuckin' fantastic," I mutter under my breath, already dreading the hours of work ahead of me.

"Tempest," Corvus calls out from the doorway. I turn to face him, my jaw set and my eyes hard. "I have some work I gotta do in the office. Come find me when you're done." His voice drips with authority as if he needs to remind me who's boss around here.

"Sure thing, VP," I reply, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. "Also you can take some money out of my wages for the use of your spare room ok?”

Corvus throws his head back and laughs, a deep, guttural sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Not happening," he says, shaking his head. "Just do your job." With that, he turns on his heels and leaves the room, leaving me to seethe in silence.

"Asshole," I mutter under my breath, turning my attention to the boxes cluttering the storeroom floor. I rip one open and find it filled with vodka bottles, their labels glinting beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. I grab a bottle and start stacking the shelves, each clink echoing through the empty room.

"Eight more days," I think as I work, my fingers growing numb from the cold glass. Just eight fuckin' days, and I'll have the keys to my house. Finally, a place to call my own, without Greg's goddamn memory haunting every corner.

I pause, staring at the rows of bottles before me, and try to imagine what my new life will look like. A small, shabby house on the outskirts of town – nothing fancy, but a far cry from the prison I ran away from.

"Eight days," I whisper.

Chapter 10

Corvus King

My boots thudded against the wooden floor as I made my way down the narrow hall, flipping switches and illuminating the path ahead. The familiar scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke filled my nostrils, a comforting reminder of where I belonged. It wasn't long before I reached the door labelled "Office" at the right of the corridor.

"Blah," I grumbled, making my way inside. I slumped down into the worn leather chair behind the desk.

"Let's get this shit over with," I sighed, flipping open the laptop and grabbing the first unopened envelope from the stack on my desk. One by one, I tore through the papers, my focus solely on the task at hand. Bills, invoices, and notes from meetings with other MCs.

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