Page 206 of Claimed By a King

A few years later.

I stand on the wrap-around porch of the place we now call home as my club brothers wait at the bottom of the stairs, beers in hand. There are so many Kings now. My men tripling in size over the last few years meant we could no longer stay at the clubhouse in Santa Cruz, and short of some of the married men, I prefer to keep my brothers close, giving them a home and a purpose.

I’d already been scoping out a new place for us when Zoe insisted on using some of her trust fund to help. It was fucking hard for me to say yes. There’s still a part of me that doesn’t want a cent of her money, given how she was traded for it in the beginning, but she pointed out that there’s just so much, and her portfolio is continually making income, so she simply didn’t know what else to do with it.

She has been putting that income to good use, though, and Santa Cruz is thriving because of her and our contribution to the community. The detectives that once chased us just tend to steer clear these days for the simple fact that we’ve made their lives easier as well.

A yell from inside the large ranch style house reaches my ears, and I’m not the only one to chuckle at the sound as the Cunts and Sweet Butts do my bidding inside.

“She’s gonna fucking kill you.” Slasher smirks, his smoke hanging out of his mouth as he shakes his head.

“Probably. But fuck, she’ll make it hurtso good.”

My brothers laugh, even as something crashes inside the house.

“Are you sure she won’t kill us, too?” Munroe asks. “Maybe we should go and hide in the clubhouse.” He juts his thumb over his shoulder to the large farming shed that we gutted and renovated into our new clubhouse. There are some bedrooms off the back, plus the old farm hand quarters that’ve been renovated to hold twenty of our men, while others shack up in small cabins spread throughout the back of the property.

This house though, I glance at the ranch style farmhouse behind me, and light up a cigarette. This house is a real fucking home. Not a shitty apartment with basic appliances. This house is filled with welcoming warmth, partly because of the design thanks to the previous owners, but also thanks to my princess and the decorative touches she’s added.

I wonder if it will still seem as warm after this is over. It sounds like my princess is trashing the inside of our home that we share with Alana and Slasher. Maybe I should have insisted the Cunts take Zoe to their quarters behind the house for this part.

“Grayson Black!”

My men ‘oooooh’ behind me while I fucking smirk as Zoe bursts out the front door, her long blonde hair flowing behind her as her feet stomp on the timber of the porch, heading straight for me.

“What is this?” She sneers, gripping the skirt of the black dress and shaking it like I can’t fucking see what she’s wearing.

“You look fucking beautiful,” I say honestly, and her rage falls from her face for a beat.

Then it returns. “I fucking know I do. I chose this fucking dress, Grayson. So why the hell didmyCunts hold me down and force it on me?!”

“You know why.”

Her eyes turn to slits. “Let’s fucking pretend I don’t, and you spell it out for me,hey?”

My brothers chuckle behind me again as the Cunts and Sweet Butts quietly move past their Mama and join my gathered men.

“Come here,” I mutter, taking a deep drag of my smoke, and by the time I’m blowing it up over her head, she’s closing the distance.

“Start talking,” she sneers, her hands on her hips.

With my cigarette gripped in my fingers, I gesture to her dress.

“You chose that dress to marry me in.” I remind her as I take a step forward, using my free hand to brush back her hair over her ear, making sure I graze my fingers slowly over the ink hidden there. “And you wrote your answer here for me.”

“So?” she snaps. “You still haven’t fucking asked.”

Shaking my head, I sigh and drop my hand away. “You would think after all this time, you would know better.” I drop my smoke on the porch and use the toe of my boot to stub it out. “I don’t need to ask for what’s already mine.”

The rage that contorts her face falls away as I quickly dart forward and tug her flush against my front, fisting my hand in the back of her hair.

“No more fucking around, Princess. We are getting married now, and youwilltake my name.”

“You know, King-Jack-High is in my name. I could just move into the studio above it.” She shrugs, like her threat will deter me.

I fist my hand tighter in her hair.

That little fucking brat.

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