Page 45 of Devil's Due: Sarge

“Not your place to think,” Vlad says, cutting in. “Call the house. I’m the president of the Bedlam Horde, Kentucky chapter… and we” – he gestures between himself and me – “need to speak with him.”

The guard ducks back inside the booth to make the call. After a few minutes, the gate rolls open and he waves us through, looking confused. I knew Broadchurch wouldn’t turn us away. Not with what he does and us showing up in such a public manner. He wouldn’t want us to make a scene.

We roll down the street, making the turns we were told to take, until we come up on a huge property. Circle drive surrounding a large fountain. What do they call those things—topiaries, yeah, potted topiaries flanking each side of the front door. Manicured landscaping and lawn. Huge. Plaster siding tanned by years in the Florida sun. The place appears to be more of a chateau than a regular mansion. I guess I never really stopped to consider the money her people come from.

“Shit,” Vlad whispers.

“Shit,” I agree. “Is it fair to take her from all this?”

Sometimes he acts as my president, but right now, it’s as my best friend. “She could’ve gone back to this at any time. She didn’t. She chose the club. She chose you.”

“But I can’t give her this—I’ll never be able to give her this.”

“Your choice,” he says. “But do you love her?”

“You know I do.”

“Do you think she loves you back?”

“Yes.” That answer comes easy.

“Right. Then do you want to force her to live a life with a man she doesn’t love, taking his cock—which I’m sure she doesn’t want, that he feels like it’s his right to force on her—for the rest of her life or until he gets tired of her and tosses her aside?”

“Let’s get this done.”

He chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”

We ride up to the front of the house, cutting the engines, kicking the stands. Then we stomp up to the door and knock.

I’m here for you, baby.

17

Greer

Mitzi, the housekeeper, the one I actually like, the one I’ve started rekindling a friendship with since yesterday, opens my door after knocking once. “Miss Durning—” she starts and I cut her off.

“You know I’ve told you to call me ‘Greer.’”

“Yes,Greer, you need to come see this—likeneedto.” She stresses the wordneed.

“Why?” I ask conspiratorially.

“There are two men downstairs… at the door. And they’re gorgeous in that gritty, badass sort of way.” Then she lowers her voice. “I think they might be bikers.”

Bikers?

Bikers.

Hot bikers.

I race from my room with Mitzi right at my side. We stop at the top of the stairs to listen, yet doing our best to keep from being seen.

“I’m here for Greer,” rumbles the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. Sexy even when angry, as he clearly is now and I’m so happy to hear it. I suck in a breath, fighting back tears.

“Why would I hand you over my dear stepdaughter?” Drew asks flippantly.

Dear stepdaughter? What a joke.

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