Page 29 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
“The hell?” he asks, but I lift my eyes up to meet his, fully confident in the words I’m saying.
Like I said, I know too much. Cat isn’t just going to let me waltz off to college. He won’t like the idea of me getting too far away from the club. To be honest, this is an inevitability. If I’m married to one of the guys in the club—in particular, one of his officers—then that seals me in, makes me family in more ways than one.
My mind makes rapid-fire calculations.
Sin is too young. Even though the thought of a man trying to control me is hilarious, Cat will think he isn’t mature enough to keep me in line.
Crown is his favorite, the man he relies on for everything. He’s also the vice president which means that, if I were to marry him, I’d have far too much power for Cat’s liking.
Grainger is a possibility—if he’d even have me—but he’s also the sergeant-at-arms. Again, a very important and powerful position in the club. Guys like him aren’t exactly the marrying type anyway.
My best chance here is Beast. First off, he beat the crap out of Gaz for me which Cat knows. Last I had heard, they sent him away to spend time in Southern California with the Los Gatos chapter of Death by Daybreak. Likely, he’s only back because I went missing. If Cat sends him away again, I lose the most important ally I have. Every asshole in the club is afraid of Beast—including Cat. They also need him because nobody can do the job he does the way he does it.
I look up and meet his eyes, the soft blue of a robin’s eggs.
“Give me to Beast.”
The words come out like a whip, one that strikes every man in that room in a different way. The nobodies in the back, my dad’s buddies, they all exchange looks. Cat turns around to stare at me like I’m an alien creature.
“I want to be his old lady.”
Never in my life did I—or anyone else—ever expect to hear those words leave my lips.
Sin looks devastated; Grainger is furious. Crown is … I don’t even have words to describe that man right now.
“You think Beast wants your ass?” Cat chokes out with a laugh, turning to look at his enforcer. Catcher Coffey, the ex-MMA fighter, and complete and total badass, lifts his gaze from mine to look at his president. “How about it, Beast? You want this wily little bitch?”
Beast adjusts his gaze back to mine, and oh boy. If I were standing, I might be staggered. As such, I’m left breathless and wondering if this is either the greatest decision I’ve ever made in my life … or the worst mistake.
Several of the guys in the room—the nameless ones that I don’t give a shit about—chuckle, as if anything about this is funny. If they understood the look on Beast’s face, they’d know that it wasn’t.
“I want her,” he says, his Southern accent dripping like honey from those perfect lips. He swipes a hand over the lower half of his face. “It’d be my honor.”
“Well, fuck me,” Cat murmurs, giving me an almost sympathetic sort of look, like he’s actually worried about marrying his daughter off to a man named Beast who kills people for a living. I might understand the sentiment if, for several years at least, I haven’t wondered if it wouldn’t be Cat himself who might orchestrate my last and final breath. “Alright then. You want the girl, you can have her. Saves me a load of trouble.”
“Give her to me,” Crown says, and I go completely still. Every man in that room goes still.
What … what is happening right now?
I lift my eyes up to look at him. His mouth is pursed tight, his expression murderous in a way I’ve never seen before. He’s staring right at me, hands squeezed tight. His muscles are so tense that the police car tattooed onto his left arm is distorted.
“Excuse me?” Cat asks as Crown redirects his attention to his president and then rises to his feet.
“I’ll take her off your hands,” he offers, which is insulting as hell.
Cat looks from his vice president to me, and then back again. I really don’t like the way he’s studying Crown, like he doesn’t fully trust him. That’s pretty much the last thing any of us needs right now. I might have four officers on my side, but that doesn’t mean shit in contrast to the club’s might. There are thirty-three chapters in as many states. Thousands of soldiers in leather ready to hunt down dissenters.
“Don’t fuck around,” I blurt with a choking laugh, one with absolutely zero mirth in it. “Aren’t you already dating one of the club-whores?” I make the words sound mocking, even if all I’m trying to do is help. Damn you, Crown. Damn you for dumping emotional baggage in my lap today of all days.
