CHAPTER 2 - Blood and Promises

"Damien's pets usually know better than to wander without a leash."

The man was too close. His breath reeked of beer and violence. Two others flanked him, blocking my path to the back where Damien had disappeared.

"I'm not his pet." I tried to sound confident. My voice barely held steady.

"Even better." His hand reached for my arm. "Fresh meat."

I jerked back, but my heel caught on the barstool. I would have fallen if Jake had not materialized beside me, his massive frame a wall between us.

"Back off, Creed. She's under protection."

Creed laughed. "Damien's protection does not mean shit anymore. Or did you not hear? The Kings are moving in. Your club is dead, old man."

The temperature in the bar dropped twenty degrees. Every head turned our direction.

"What did you just say?" Jake's voice was deadly quiet.

"You heard me. Victor sends his regards. This territory belongs to the Savage Kings now. Starting tonight." Creed's smile was all teeth. "And I think I will start by taking Damien's toy."

Everything happened at once.

Jake moved. Creed ducked. Glass shattered. Someone screamed.

Then Damien was there.

I had thought he looked dangerous before. I was wrong. The man who appeared from the shadows was not just dangerous—he was death itself. His fist connected with Creed's jaw with a sickening crack. Blood sprayed across the floor.

"You made a mistake touching what is mine." Damien's voice was ice and fury.

Creed spat blood. "She is not yours. Nothing is yours anymore. Victor is taking everything—your territory, your club, your brothers. You are finished."

Damien's hand wrapped around Creed's throat, lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing. "Tell Victor if he wants a war, he has got one. But you will not be around to see it."

"Damien." Jake's warning came too late.

Creed's friends rushed forward. The bar exploded into chaos. Bodies collided. Furniture splintered. I pressed against the bar, frozen in terror as the violence unfolded.

A hand grabbed my wrist.

I screamed, but it was Jake. "Come on. You need to leave. Now."

He pulled me toward a back door, but one of Creed's men blocked our path. The knife in his hand gleamed under the dim lights.

"The girl stays. Boss's orders."

Jake shoved me behind him. "Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged."

The knife flashed forward. Jake caught his wrist, twisted, and the sickening sound of breaking bone filled my ears. The man screamed.

"GO!" Jake roared at me.

I ran.

Through the back door, into an alley that stank of garbage and rain. My heels clicked against pavement as I stumbled forward, not knowing where I was going, just knowing I had to move.

Footsteps pounded behind me.

"Flora!"

Damien's voice. I turned as he caught up, his knuckles bloody, his face a mask of controlled rage.

"Are you hurt?" His hands ran over my arms, checking for injuries with surprising gentleness.

"No. I am fine. What is happening? Who were those men?"

"People who made a very stupid decision tonight." He pulled out his phone, typed something fast. "I need to get you somewhere safe."

"Safe from what? Damien, what are you involved in?"

His jaw clenched. "Things you should not be anywhere near. This was a mistake. I should not have brought you here."

"Then why did you?"

He looked at me, really looked at me, and something raw flickered in those dark eyes. "Because you looked like I felt. Trapped. Desperate. Ready to break."

Sirens wailed in the distance.

"We have to move." He grabbed my hand. "My bike is two blocks over. Can you run in those?"

I kicked off my heels. "Lead the way."

We ran through back alleys, my bare feet slapping against cold concrete. Behind us, the sounds of fighting continued. More sirens approached.

His motorcycle waited where he had left it. He threw his leg over, started the engine. I climbed on behind him without hesitation this time.

"Hold on."

We tore through the city at speeds that should have terrified me. Instead, I pressed against his back and felt strangely safe despite everything. Despite the violence. Despite not knowing who he really was.

He took me to a hotel on the outskirts—nice enough to be clean, anonymous enough to avoid questions. The room was simple. One bed. A chair by the window.

"You will stay here tonight." He pulled out a wad of cash, dropped it on the dresser. "In the morning, go home. Forget you ever met me."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." But he did not move toward the door.

I stepped closer. "What if I do not want to forget?"

"Flora." My name was a warning. "You do not understand what you are asking."

"Then explain it to me."

He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair. Blood still stained his knuckles. "I'm not a good man. The people after me tonight? They are just the beginning. Anyone connected to me becomes a target."

"Who are you really?"

He looked at me over his shoulder, and the weight of secrets pressed heavy in the space between us.

"Someone you should be running from."

But I did not run. I crossed the room and kissed him instead.

His control shattered.