Page 42 of Hero: Claimed

“Get gone, Destini. Even if we had broken up, which we haven’t, she’d still be one of my friends and you don’t talk about my friends.” As I push her from my lap, Elise walks over to us. Apparently, she was listening to us because she grabs Destini by a rough handful of hair and yanks her toward the door.

“She’s my friend, too, bitch,” Elise yells over the music. “Get your skank-ass gone.”

Destini honestly tries to fight Elise. “Get your bitch hands off me,” she protests. “Who do you think you are?” At least a dozen men jump and go running to her aid. No need, though. Elise is tough.

“Destini, you have to be one stupid bitch. So stupid you give women everywhere a bad name. You know exactly who my husband is. I’m the VP’s old lady. I say I want you gone, you’re gone—poof!”—she snaps her fingers.—“just like that.”

Elise pushes open the door, shoving Destini out into the cold. Then she turns to address the room, shouting again over the music. “Let that be a lesson to all you pieces. Know your place.”

“Christ,” says Boss. “That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He stalks over to his wife, lifting her in his arms to plant a mother of a kiss on her lips. She wraps her legs around his hips and still joined at the mouth, he walks them toward the back hallway.

Blood slides in to the seat next to me. “I was out of line, brother,” he says. He was. But so was I.

“Butch, two beers,” I order. The kid pops the top off of two icy cold Buds, sliding them over. I hand one off to Blood. “Here,” I tell him, shoving it in his hand. Then I take a long pull before ponying up my apology. “I was an ass, too, brother.”

“I never admitted to being an ass, just out of line,” he says back and we both laugh, clink our bottles together, and drink. “Seriously… Brin’s the best thing to happen to you. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Says the man who can’t commit,” I joke. “There a reason she has her own room instead of staying in yours?”

“She won’t go there. It ain’t me. Trust me. I’ve all but begged. But that’s a story for another night.”

We hear a cheer coming from across the room and look over in time to see two eager pieces inaugurating Dutchy into the joys of being a patched-in member.

17.

Brinley

I wake to the sound of pounding on my window and I jump from the bed. When I pull back the drapes, Blaze is standing there yelling at me. “Go to the door!” he yells.

Shoot.I glance at the clock by the bed. 3:30a.m.Something has to be wrong for him to show up here at this time. I rub at my eyes and run to the front door, throwing it open.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s Hero,” he says. “He got so worked up after you left that he took off like a bat out of hell. He was in an accident. We have to go—now. He’s in the emergency and it’s bad, Brin. They’re talking airlifting him to Lexington.”

Oh my god. I don’t even think about the fact that I’m only in my robe and slippers. I grab my purse and run out the door, slamming it shut behind me. Blaze steers me to his beat-up old Blazer. I hop in the front seat and wait for him to climb in. Since tonight was Dutchy’s patch-in party and they had Butch on the bar, they moved another new prospect—Griff, I think his name is—up to the gate. That’s a big step. I wonder why not Butch. I like Butch. Anyway, the new guy waves us through and we set off down the mountain.

My stomach is in my throat. I told him I didn’t want to see him and now he’s in the hospital. Blaze has to look into new shocks because every bump or pothole he hits, my head hits the ceiling or the window. I’ve cracked it like four times now and it hurts. I rub the spot vigorously. Blaze gains speed the closer we get to the bottom of the mountain. Only when we reach Tobacco Road, we’re supposed to turn right to head toward the hospital.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“They’re airlifting him.”

“What? How do you know?” Something isn’t right. Like at all. Blaze merges onto the highway and it says north toward Ashland. North? “Blaze, we’re going the wrong way. Lexington is west of here.”

“Northwest,” he points out, which is true, but we aren’t heading northwest.

“The sign said we’re headingnorth, north toward Ashland. Why are we heading toward Ashland?”

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you, Brinley?” he says in a scarily bizarre statement. “Telling the president’s wife? She’s gonna turn me in and then where will I go? I got nothing. Nothing but the club. I gave everything for them. I got shot for them and they’re just gonna toss me to the side like I don’t mean shit.”

What? “Blaze, we didn’t tell him. That’s why we came to you first. We want to help you so the brothers never even have to know.”

Quicker than a blink, I watch his hand leave the steering wheel and shoot out like a coiled snake to land a strike to my cheek, leaving me no time to move out of the way. The impact knocks me back into the window where I hit my head hard.

I gasp and even though I try not to cry out, it hurts enough that the sound pops out with me unable to stop it.

“You fucking opened your trap to Hero!” he screams. “He confronted me about it tonight after you left—so don’t tell me about not telling the brothers—you’re a fucking liar.” He strikes out a second time, but I’m able to outmaneuver his fist to avoid the blow, pressing my back against the door and window.

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