Page 133 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
Just in case.
The guys—along with Cat and the dozen or so other Daybreakers with him—aren’t far behind us. Unfortunately, Dena’s pink convertible—the car she named the Baby—is right on our ass. She’s with Amiya and Chardou, but that’s unsurprising. The three of them are probably a harem of their own.
God, the look on Dena’s face when she saw me with Tre … It occurs to me that I threatened to kill her the last time we met. Oh well. It was for her own good. Gaz probably would’ve strangled her and left her for dead eventually.
Fuck.
I play with a strand of blond hair and shrug.
“She’s becoming a nun,” I offer up, looking over at Tre, his handsome face bathed in the lights from the dashboard. It turns his brown skin an eerie green color, like he’s as much a specter in the night as I am.
Only, there’s nobody tonight who has a spirit as thirsty as I do.
Nobody.
“A nun?” Tre asks, and I hear Johnny K. snicker in the backseat. He leans over the front seat, crossing his arms on the back of the long bench seat. He’s still looking at me like he wants to fuck me, as if he doesn’t care that I poisoned him with fentanyl and a sprinkle of whatever that strange drug is that the mafia produces.
Crown really must’ve pushed to keep these kids alive; Cat wouldn’t have cared if he’d killed the entire senior class of ASHS. Fuck. The dose these guys got was so low that they survived, even without that strange silver antidote.
It’s a miracle.
“Yep. Her parents left for some missionary thing, and she decided to convert.” I tap my nails against the dark screen of my phone, looking out the window as the blackness of night rolls by.
“Convert? Wasn’t she already Christian?” Johnny asks, looking between me and Tre as Kellen sulks and sits slumped in the back seat. He doesn’t want me here. The girls weren’t happy about it either, even though they knew better than to say anything aloud. The way they look at me though, it’s not much different than they looked at me before save for one key factor.
Fear.
They never feared me the way they do now.
Is it terrible that I like it? Do I care? I never asked to be the fucking heroine in an epic love story. I’m an anti-hero at best, maybe even a villainess. And so are my men. I’m fucking done apologizing for my life or the choices I make. That’s what makes me and these men work so well. We’re messy, flawed, fucked-up, fallible human beings.
Perfection is boring.
Give me broken, give me shattered, let me embrace demons in the darkness. I’ll take it. I’ll take the hot scorch of hellfire and the heavy weight of damnation, just so that I can keep feeling with the intensity that I do. I’m like … the princess and the pea, but instead of being some spoiled bitch who should probably see a sleep specialist and also reassess her disturbing rage toward errant legumes, I feel every small moment like a knife to the back.
A smile from Beast, a compliment from Crown, a peck from Grainger, a wink from Sin. Those are the small, seemingly insignificant peas that I can feel even with twenty layers of bullshit between me and them.
That’s it.
The club princess and the knife in the back, a love story. A dark fairy tale. A harsh truth with so many wrongs that it all turns out just right.
At least … I hope so.
Now that I’ve allowed myself to taste that bitter tonic, I’m determined to chase it with something sweet, even saccharine. So, a baby. Four men who consider me their old lady. A yellow farmhouse. Motorcycles and grease and Grey running the mafia, so I don’t have to fight every second of every day.
“There are all sorts of ways to be spiritual,” I say, chewing on my waxy lower lip and thinking how it feels to have my men sheathed inside of me, how sinful yet how holy, all at the same time. If there really is a god, that’s where I’d find him, in the bedroom, stretched out underneath my men. “Reba’s changed her flavor. She had chocolate before; it’s strawberry now. Easiest way to think of it.”
“Fuck, Gidget, I forgot how weird you were,” Johnny murmurs, and then he reaches out to run a hand down my arm, and I snatch his fingers in such a tight grip that he actually chokes.
“Don’t touch me, Johnny,” I warn him, voice tight. I look right into his eyes as I deliver my dose of venom. “And I’m not Gidget tonight. Call me … Tina.” I smile brightly as Trevone laughs and Kellen huffs in the back seat. “First person to call me Gidget instead of Tina gets punched in the balls.”
