Mykel: King's Descendants MC #3 Page 2

  She’s wrong.

  It’s not.

  It’s really, really not.

  2

  WAVERLY

  The big house looms in front of Briella and me. She gives me a smile, and then assures me with a soothing voice, “I promise you, it’ll be fine. He’s not a bad guy. He’s really kind.”

  “You and I know a different man, sister,” I mutter. “That man is not kind. He hates me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just going through something.”

  “And I’m going to be shoved in his house while he’s going through it. I can’t bloody wait.”

  Briella giggles as we walk up the front steps to the patio. I try not to admire the place, but I have to admit it’s damned beautiful. It is huge, with well-manicured lawns that I know he doesn’t do himself because he’s always at the club. It is two stories high, with beautiful big verandahs and a warmth that I can feel even before walking inside. I can’t help but wonder how he got this place. Did he inherit it? Work for it? Maybe some of the nice drug money from the club got it for him.

  “Are you ready?” Briella asks, raising her hand to knock.

  The door swings open.

  I guess that’s my answer then, isn’t it?

  Mykel stands in the doorway, with a scowl on his face that makes me want to retreat and run back to the car. He’s not happy with this plan, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m not happy about it either.

  “There are rules,” he growls before either of us can speak. “You stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours.”

  I stare at him. “Is that it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s a rule, then. No other rules,” I point out.

  “Second rule,” he mutters, his voice rough and pissed, “no smart mouthing me.”

  “Well, that won’t be a problem, considering we’re not going to get in each other’s way, so you can take that off the list.”

  “Rule three,” he snaps. “Don’t talk.”

  I snort. “Wow, you’re really stepping it up, aren’t you? Last time I checked it was a free country, so yeah . . .”

  He gives me a look that Briella clearly notices because she quickly jumps in between us and says, “Why don’t we look around, settle Waverly in, and stop going at each other’s throats? How does that sound?”

  “Fine by me.” I smile sweetly before Mykel moves out of the way and I step inside the house.

  It’s a gorgeous home, just as I suspected. It’s filled with beautiful pieces of furniture, warm colors and beautiful old paintings. It’s definitely not a biker’s house, but I think that’s the whole point. Alarick wanted me as far away from that world as possible, and he couldn’t have done a better job at choosing a home that contradicts the biker lifestyle.

  “You have a lovely home,” I say, and I mean it.

  “Thanks,” Mykel mutters.

  That’s the nicest conversation we’ve ever had.

  “So, where do I sleep?”

  Without a word, Mykel walks to a set of stairs, and we follow him up. We go past a few rooms until finally we reach a door that he pushes open. I step inside after him to see the beautiful space. I mean, wow. I knew this place would have gorgeous rooms but I wasn’t expecting it to look so damned homely and warm.

  A huge queen bed sits below a gorgeous big window, with a timber frame. The carpet is a warm brown and there is a bathroom off to the left. To the right there is a sitting area, with a plush sofa and a bookshelf full of books. In the right-hand corner there is a desk, with a gorgeous lamp placed neatly on it.

  I seriously cannot believe this house belongs to a biker.

  Maybe that’s not a nice judgement, but seriously.

  It’s luxury at its finest, and not at all what I would have expected from him.

  “This . . . this is my room?” I gasp.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Briella smiles, looking around fondly. “When I was younger, and the guys would all hang out here, I used to love this area. To be fair it was the only one I was allowed in, but it was the best.”

  “My parents had the house then,” Mykel says, his voice so much kinder when he talks to Briella. “None of us were allowed to touch anything.”

  “That’s true.” Briella laughs. “I remember when I knocked your dad’s old lamp off the desk in the study and he lost it, but the second I started to cry, he felt so bad that he made me cupcakes and told me stories about when he was a kid living in this house. I really liked your dad.”

  Mykel smiles at her, and my heart does a strange little flip-flop. He adores her—I can see it so damned clearly now. In fact, I didn’t realize just how obvious it was until this very second. The way his eyes are warm when he looks at her, the way his whole face lights up and softens, the way his big body relaxes.

  Mykel is in love with Briella.

  Oh my god.

  I swallow and quickly try to think of something else to talk about, because this revelation is huge. Massive, even. I had no idea he felt that way about her. Does she know? I’m going to ask her the moment he’s out of this room.

  “Where are your parents?” I ask, looking to Mykel.

  Immediately, his face hardens again.

  What an absolute jerk.

  He’s not going to get anywhere with any woman with that attitude.

  “None of your business.”

  “Mykel,” Briella scoffs. “Don’t be such a dick to her. She’s done nothing wrong to you. You’re better than that.”

  He stares at Briella a second, and then he goes quiet and walks out of the room.

  Well then, that was enjoyable.

  The moment he’s gone, Briella looks to me. “He doesn’t like talking about his parents. Don’t take is personally.”

  “Did they die?”

  Briella shrugs. “No, but he doesn’t talk much about it. It’s a bit of a mystery, really.”

  Very strange, indeed.

  “Well, he’s certainly sensitive about it,” I mutter. “You know he’s in love with you, right?”

  Briella’s head whips around and her eyes widen, then she puts a finger to her lips and whisper-hisses shhhh.

  “So you know?” I say, a little more quietly this time.

  “Yes, I know. I’ve known for a while. He told me . . .” She pauses and takes a breath. “. . . the night he was shot.”

  “Oh, oh god. I’m so sorry; that must have been horrible.”

  “It was. All I could think about was him dying and not being able to tell him how sorry I was that I couldn’t offer the same feelings in return.”

  “Did you suspect it?” I ask her.

  “I honestly just thought we were great friends. I never realized he wanted more. I feel bad, I couldn’t imagine loving someone that you know is never going to love you back.”

  “You’re in love with Alarick; you’ve always been in love with Alarick. You don’t have to feel bad for that. Sometimes life doesn’t offer up what you want.” I should know.

  I’ve been in the exact same boat as Mykel. I’ve loved someone who didn’t return that love. Even worse—he used me for it.

  I shake the memory away and redirect my mind back to the here and now.

  “He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “One day, he’ll move on.”

  “Yeah, I know. I just feel so bad that he’s suffering now.”

  I give her a sympathetic smile and then turn and glance at the large room. “This place—it’s incredible.”

  “Yeah, he’s super lucky.”

  Perhaps.

  Or maybe living here haunts him more than anyone knows.

  I guess I’ll find out.

  “HI,” I SAY, PICKING up the phone and glancing around to make sure Mykel isn’t going to just barge into the room and ruin the fact that I’m talking to the one man they want dead, possibly more than anything in the world.

  “How are you, sweetheart?”

  Dax’s voice is smooth and masculine, and I can und
erstand how women fall for his charms. He makes you feel safe and secure. Unlike most human traffickers, who use, abuse and beat the women they sell, Dax traffics in a way that’s smart and calculated, and keeps him flying under the radar.

  He’s smarter than most people give him credit for.

  “I’m not doing so well,” I lie, putting on my soft, innocent, broken voice. Gone is all the sass, and the smart attitude, and the strong woman.

  When Dax is around, I put on my show. I act like a broken, damaged girl who needs him to fix all her broken pieces, just like the club ordered.

  The only way I can bring information back to them, and help bring this man down, is to put on the best damned show of my life.

  “What’s happened?” he asks.

  “Well, my ex came around and he . . . he begged for me to come back. He had drugs, and I thought . . . I thought maybe we could make it work, but then I remembered what you said about having a better life, so I told him no and he lost it. He hit me.”

  “He hit you?” Dax asks, sounding so genuinely pissed that it makes me angry, so damned angry, because he’s extremely good at what he’s doing.

  “Yeah,” I say softly, my voice hoarse. “Only once. I kicked him out, but I think he’ll probably keep trying.”

  “I think it’s best if you come and spend the night here, then. We don’t want you around if he does come back later. I’ve got a few people I want you to meet, and we’re having a nice dinner. What do you say?”

  I hesitate, even though I know damn well I’m going to go. “I don’t know . . .”

  “C’mon, honey. It’ll be great.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I guess. What time?”

  “Anytime you’re ready.”

  “I’ll see you soon then.”

  I hang up and put the phone down, exhaling. Even though it’s just an act, and I know what kind of monster lurks deep in Dax’s soul, talking to him is strangely . . . confusing. Just for a moment, I think he’s actually a nice man. I can see how easily he would manipulate someone who really was damaged.

  I glance out the window, and then curse loudly when I realize what I’ve just done. I just told Dax I’d been hit. If I don’t go over there with a black eye, he’s going to get suspicious. I didn’t even think—I honestly didn’t even realize what I was saying until this moment. It made sense, and it was a good story but now I realize it was a damned stupid one.

  God dammit.

  You idiot, Waverly.

  With a growl, I turn and walk out of the room and make my way down to the living area where Mykel is sitting with Samson. The two of them are discussing something, both wearing full colors, so no doubt they’re only here for a moment.

  “I need one of you to hit me.”

  Both of them turn and stare at me, heads tilted in confusion.

  “I told Dax my ex-boyfriend hit me. I didn’t even think that I’d have to have evidence of that until he invited me over. If I go over and I don’t have a black eye, it’s going to look really, really bad and he’s going to catch on. So, I need one of you to hit me.”

  “Yeah, that’s never goin’ to fuckin’ happen,” Samson mutters. “I do not hit women.”

  “Neither do I,” Mykel murmurs.

  “Though I’m sure you’ve thought about hitting me a few times,” I point out.

  Mykel glares at me.

  “Come on, if I don’t go over there with a bruise, they’re going to know I lied. It’ll blow the whole cover.”

  “It’s dangerous—a man my size hittin’ a small woman like you. Could fuckin’ kill you. No way is it worth it.”

  Frustrated, I throw my hands in the air. “Someone has to take the risk.”

  “I’m not hitting you,” Samson tells me, his voice stern.

  “Neither,” Mykel mutters.

  “Jesus, fine. I’ll go pick a fight in the street and risk my own damn life then . . .” I spin around.

  Mykel yells out, “Stop.”

  I look back at him.

  “I know someone who will give you a black eye without second thought . . .”

  “Who?” Samson and I both say at the same time.

  “Sissy.”

  “Who is Sissy?”

  “Alarick’s evil sister,” Samson mutters, and then grins. “But she’d love to do something like this for us.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she would,” I say, grinning. “But we need to get it done soon. How quickly can we get her here?”

  “I’ll call her,” Samson says, pulling out his phone and walking out of the room.

  “Does Alarick know you’re goin’ to see Dax?” Mykel asks, studying me in a way that almost makes me uncomfortable, it’s so intense.

  Almost.

  “Not yet. I’m about to call him.”

  “You better do it soon.”

  “Yes, boss,” I mutter.

  Samson walks back into the room. “She’ll be here in five. She’s happy to do it.”

  “I’m a little alarmed at the fact that she’s so excited to come over and hit a stranger in the face, but right now, I’ll take it. Which side do you think she should go for?” I say, turning my head left and then right.

  Mykel mutters something and walks out of the room.

  Samson chuckles, and tells me, “Honey, you’re pretty no matter which side she picks.”

  I smile at him. “Well, I think I like you.”

  He grins and winks at me.

  Five minutes later, the most gorgeous woman I’ve seen in quite some time comes strolling through the front door. She’s tall and spectacular, and there’s no doubt about the fact that she’s Alarick’s sister. The two of them are scarily alike. Sissy has long, thick dark hair and eyes that are such a pretty green, they’re almost unbelievable. They’re not complex in color like Mykel’s—they’re more a dirty green, but it only adds to her incredible beauty.

  “Damn, you never told me Alarick’s sister was smoking!” I say, and grin at her. “Hi, I’m Waverly, the woman you’re about to hit.”

  Sissy stares at me, and I can see she’s full of all kinds of attitude. She’s the sort of woman who would be incredibly hard to get along with. I don’t mind a strong woman, though. I don’t even mind a bitchy one. I can be all of the above if needed, so it really doesn’t bother me.

  “You’re not what I expected,” Sissy mutters, crossing her arms. “I figured you’d be just like the rest of them, all weak and emotional.”

  Yep, she’s definitely a piece of work, this one.

  “You’re not what I expected either. You’re far bitchier and way, way taller. I mean, what are you? Six foot?”

  Sissy grins. “I think I might just like you.”

  “We’ll see after you hit me.”

  “Well, let’s not waste any time.” Sissy rubs her hands together just as Mykel walks back into the room. He smiles at her, which kind of pisses me off because he will not smile at me, and then he crosses his arms to enjoy the show. No doubt he’s loving every damned second of this. Why wouldn’t he? I’m literally sitting back, about to be punched in the face, and he’s going to watch with complete satisfaction.

  I clench my eyes shut and prepare for the punch. I have no idea if it’s going to hurt, or if it’ll even work, but I have to do it.

  “I can’t,” Sissy suddenly says.

  I open my eyes and stare at her. She can’t? What does she mean she can’t? She’s supposed to be this badass bitch, or so I’m told.

  “You have to,” I tell her. “If you don’t, this whole club is going to suffer because of a stupid thing I said. I need you to do this.”

  “I’m fully aware of that,” Sissy mutters. “But I don’t think I can hit you. I actually kind of like you.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Mykel growls. “This is doing my head in.”

  “Just give her a good whack, Sissy,” Samson urges. “It’ll take no more than a second.”

  “If that’s the case, why don’t you hit her?” Sissy growls.

&
nbsp; “I don’t hit girls.”

  “I don’t want to hit her.”

  “Can you just hit me already?” I cry.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Just fuckin’ hit her, Sissy,” Mykel barks.

  “Do it,” Samson growls.

  “C’mon, Sissy!” I cry.

  She turns around quickly, her fist lashing out, and she hits me hard. I didn’t expect for her to have such a good right hook, but damn, the girl is stronger than she looks. I stumble backwards, yelling out a few profanities as I try to catch my balance. My head spins, and it takes me a moment to gather myself.

  “Damn,” I groan, my hand covering my aching eye. “You know how to throw a punch.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sissy cries. Her face falls in defeat. “I seriously didn’t like that at all.”

  I smile at her, even though my eye is aching. “You did me and the entire club a favor.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  I groan again and glance at Mykel, who is staring at me with a rather strange expression on his face. It’s the first time he’s looked at me without a frown. I’m not sure what exactly he’s thinking right now, but I’m certain that it’s not all that bad.

  “You need ice?” he asks, his voice low and a little gravelly.

  “No, better to let it puff up as much as it can. I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “Well then.” Samson claps. “That was my entertainment for the day. Let’s get you to the club so you can fill Alarick in on what’s happening tonight.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll grab my things.”

  With that, I walk into my room with an aching eye.

  Damn, I hope it’ll be worth it.

  3

  WAVERLY

  “He really did do a good job,” Dax says, reaching out and carefully running a finger over my sore eye.

  I shudder, and it’s not because it feels nice—it’s because I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want him anywhere near me. Luckily for me, he takes the shudder as a good sign and smiles. I stare up at him, and honestly, if I were any less informed, I would say I had struck gold with a man like him.

  He’s gorgeous.

  In the most monstrous kind of way, I suppose.