Page 8 of Prince Charming

Against all the warnings from his boys, he was involved in her life.

He’d carried her out of a den of fucking iniquity. What kind of monster would he be to turn his back on her after that?

The Russian mobsters had used her up, it was only a stroke of luck his MC stepped in and shut down Grigori’s porn empire.

Call it what you will. But the moment he watched her so tiny in that hospital bed, he’d felt responsible for her.

She needed someone in her corner even if she couldn’t admit it.

He suspected she’d rather chew her leg off, bear-claw style, before confessing to emotional weakness.

Tag knew a shit ton of prideful women going right back to his mother.

God rest her drunken soul.

Prowling out of his office, Marianna wasn’t around.

Not a surprise, she kept to herself. He spent a few minutes with a boxing trainer and then walked around back to his motorcycle, slinging a leg over his Harley V-rod. The burgundy and brushed steel beauty was a thing to look at. She was a discounted model now. Fortunately for Tag, he knew the best bodywork man. And whenever she needed a makeover, he got in touch with their Nomad, Red Light.

Cold as fuck for November. He throttled the engine and got to the club not long after, leaving her under the parking covering to keep the bike clear of snow. Tag pulled the collar up around his ears and prowled toward the club entryway.

He had a plan.

He wasalwaysa man with a plan.

Not as in depth as Lawless. The club enforcer, with several psycho screws loose, always went to extreme fucking levels with his ideas. Hello, the lunatic was doing jail time for his latest mastermind caper.

“Look alive, the Champ is in the house,” Yelled out Grinder. “Bet I can guess your absence lately. How isyourlittle Russian doll?” Goaded the bearded bastard.

Tag altered his route and headed over to the Tracker, kicking it back with a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other. SportsCenter on the flatscreen. Grinder only just got back into town recently after chasing a guy to Arizona for a skipped payment.

Tag retorted. “I don’t know, pal, how’s your little Mexican spitfire feel about your thumb sized dick?”

Either the guy was too tired to bite, or he was so chilled out with the love of his old lady and their son on the way. A smirk kicked up one side of Grinder’s mouth as he raised the bottle to it. “My woman has no complaints, brother.”

“Ah, fuck. You’re no fun to mess with when you’re this sappy.”

The pair fist bumped.

“How was the skipper?”

“Cowering like a stinking piece of shit in a flophouse. His own cousin let me in the front door.”

Tag laughed. “Loyal of him.”

“Might have something to do with me threatening to shoot off his kneecaps and sending Hawk to visit every one of his family if he didn’t.”

Whistling through his teeth, impressed. “That’s stone cold. No one wants to find the VP looming over them when they wake.”

“Fucking A.” Agreed Grinder.

“Say that tonight when I’m in your bedroom.” A sinister voice that sounded like corrosion and death said behind them.

The man himself appeared like a phantom.

Hawk rarely smiled, unless it was for his wife or daughter.

The first time Tag and the boys saw him laughing with her, it was as though they were airlifted to the twilight zone. Hawk was difficult to mess with. He enjoyed being under his wife’s thumb. He loved telling stories to his baby girl. Or sitting his ass down so his dog could crawl up his chest. The VP loved that shit and couldn’t give any fucks if someone ribbed him.

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