Page 129 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
With a sigh, I slide off of Grainger’s lap—and his suddenly tight-in-the-crotch jeans—and flop my ass onto the blue chair with the peeling paint.
“The most important rule in this club,” Sin starts, reaching out to take my chin in his fingers. He makes me look at him, and I narrow my eyes because I know I’m not going to like this. “Is to follow orders. When you’re in there, Gidge, you do what you’re told.” Sin tightens his fingers on my face, and I frown at him.
“Can you do that for me, Gidge? Fucking please.”
“I can do that,” I reply with a long sigh. If these guys can learn to share, then surely I can learn to follow orders like a proper Daybreaker.
Right?
The level of planning required for this job is insane. And it’s condensed and rushed due to the nature and immediacy of the situation. I see now why it took three fucking months to rescue the club princess from the big, bad mafia castle.
As things stand, we have four days.
On Friday, I’ve come up with a plan that, surprisingly enough, passes Cat’s scrutiny.
My men hate it. Oh, they fucking despise it, but it actually makes my father laugh. Granted, it’s not a mirthful laugh. I’m not sure that I’ve ever heard him laugh for real, and now that his only son is dead? Not sure he’ll ever really laugh again.
“A college party, huh?” he asks, and I nod. I turn my phone around—the one the boys bought me that Cat can’t say shit about now that I’m married to Beast—so he can see the social media post in question.
“Yep.” The post is from Johnny R., the kid from my school who has a DJ for a father that lets him use all of his equipment. He’s going to be DJing tonight, and he’s advertised as much all over the internet. “I’ll go and pick up a guy or even a group of people to take with me.”
A bunch of random college kids, that’s the perfect cover for me to waltz in those doors without being recognized. I mean, besides the wig and the cherry red dress that I picked out. Guess who’s going as a blonde tonight? I even got myself some blue contacts, just to make myself even less recognizable.
Somehow, it feels like a tribute to my sisters.
I can already feel the violence in my blood thrumming and singing, begging me to join the dark side. Little do those dark whisperings know: I’m already in it. I intend to wear it, rule it, own it. Even if I can never actually be president of this club, you know who can? Crown.
I’m going to use him—all of them—to get what I want.
They know it, too. They’ve always known it. Even when they decided to give me space for those few years, it was done with this exact situation in mind. I had to want to be here. If I’d been caged—like Cat tried to do by making me shoot Grey—then I’d have paced like an animal in a zoo.
This is different.
“Mm.” Cat shrugs and shoves the phone back at me. “You think this is better than taking a prospect in on your arm?”
I nod and collect my phone, slipping it into the pocket of Beast’s leather jacket.
“This is better cover. I want to get in there, get a location on Giulia and her team, and I want to do it without rousing the wolves from their den.” I stare Cat down, and he looks right back at me, still suspicious, still certain that I’m about to fuck him and the club both.
“You think you can pick someone up quick and get to the casino on time?” he continues, like he’s challenging me with the semantics of my own idea.
“Have you seen me?” I ask, cocking my head to one side and flashing a dangerous smile.
“Use what you got, girl,” he says, waving me away with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Get dressed. We’ll leave in two hours.”
I nod and retreat before he can think up anything else that I might not like.
I take off, weaving between several men, including my boys, and then heading back to the farmhouse to get ready.
Tonight, I can’t look like Gidge; I have to be somebody else. I have to embody somebody else.
So, Posey’s dress. Posey’s makeup. I even pull up a picture of my sister on her long-forgotten Instagram account and mimic the look in the mirror. I remember that day. She went to the clubhouse to party and didn’t come home for two days. Queenie was furious; Posey reveled in being bad.
I absorb that wild energy into me as I study her picture and trace my eyes with red liner, as I color my lips a brilliant vermillion. The dress is tight, but not too short, falling to my knees and hiding most of my scars. Paired with black gladiator sandals that lace up past my calf, some of my sister’s silver bangle collection, and a glittery clutch that holds both Queenie’s knife as well as my Magnum, I’m ready.
