Page 26 of Property of Rattler

“You mean we don’t have to suffer Rat for a year?” Winchester asks, a look of absolute glee on his face. “Bring it the fuck on.”

“Fuck yeah,” comes from all around, and multiple hands thump the table, accompanied by the stomping of feet and not a few deep belly laughs.

I don’t wait for any other comments. I stand and, for the first time ever, walk out of church before Prez has brought the final gavel down and without waiting for permission to leave.

I don’t get far before Saint catches up with me and, digging his fingers into my shoulder, swings me around. “You get your ass back in church before I strip your fuckin’ patch for disrespect.”

“With all duerespect,VP, I don’t give a fuck. You hear what you’re asking me to do? Give up my life for a woman I don’t even like. Either fuck her,” I childishly put my finger into my mouth and pretend to throw up, “and give her a child, or spend six years of my prime living off-grid in a fuckin’ cabin.”

Saint shakes his head. “We’re fuckin’ with ya.” He even looks contrite as he adds, “Look, you didn’t stick around for option four. That’s the plan we’re about to get onto. You’ll want to stick around and find out.” His brows knit together. “Rat, you can’t deny you’ve always been an ass. Of course, the brothers are going to take their pound of flesh when it’s dangled in front of them.”

Opening my mouth to deny I’ve ever been an ass, I realise any denial would fall on deaf ears. So what if I offer some hometruths from time to time that others don’t want to hear? I just can’t be bothered with people who don't see the world through my eyes. Then, I latch onto his words. If there’s a way out of the mess I’ve gotten myself into, I’d like to hear it.

Following Saint back into church, I make sure my head is held high, determined not to look like a schoolboy dragged back in front of the headmaster. I go to my seat, sit in it, pull it into the table, making sure the legs grind against the floor. Then I direct my gaze straight at Bullseye. “You got something to say? Let’s hear it.”

The growl that comes from the table should make me quake in my boots, but I’m too riled to pay much attention. Around, brothers are silent, their eyes going from me to the prez as if they’re watching a tennis match. The fury in the air is as palpable as any ball in play.

“Not that you fuckin’ deserve an out,Brother,” Bullseye snarls. “But here’s the plan Saint and I have come up with.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AMES

When I look up and see Rat return from his meeting, I notice his face is as black as thunder. I’d turned to him with a friendly smile, but he’d greeted me with a scowl.

Satin and I had spent the time he’d been absent talking and making plans. Her suggestion was that we head to California, maybe Los Angeles, where there are bound to be strip clubs where she could get work, and hopefully I could again get employment as a server. At least I’ve got experience now. Unlike Gravity, it’s a big city. There’s bound to be somewhere that wouldn’t mind paying cash.

I like Satin, owed her. If I hadn’t met her, I’d probably still be living on the streets or worse. Odds are that Malachi would have found me earlier, and I’d already be dead. But I can’t get a niggling doubt out of my mind. While I completely trust her, I can’t deny she wasn’t around last night when I needed her. As a friend, I doubt I could find better, but as a bodyguard? She can’t be with me every moment. Even at Royals, she’s on the stage while I’m working the floor.

Goosebumps rise on my skin as I realise that even if she’d been there last night, if I hadn’t glanced toward the main door at exactly the right time and had recognised Malachi, he could have taken me from under her nose. Even if I’d shouted and caused a fuss, he could have played the concerned big brother card and, at the least, outed me for being under the Kings’ self-imposed age limit. In that scenario, there’s no way they’d have believed the truth.

I love Satin and would love us to stay together. But if the Kings come up with another option, I’ll have to take it. Eighteen months might not sound too long to many, but it is when you’re trying to stay alive without help.

“Satin,” Rat snarls. “Get out.” He jerks his head toward the door.

Both of our eyes widen at his rudeness, and she grabs my hand and tells him, “We’re leaving anyway.”

Rat strides over and pulls me away from her. “Ames stays right fuckin’ here.”

“That’s not up to you,” Satin challenges. She takes a fighter's stance, ready to throw hands.

“For fuck’s sake,” he growls. In one swift move, he has one of her arms twisted around her back and is frog-marching her to the door. With his free hand, he opens it and pushes her out, passing her over to the prospect who’s still standing there. “Escort her off the compound,” he demands. “And make sure it’s known she’s not allowed back.”

“Ames!”

“Satin!” I respond to her, while shouting at Rat, “Rat, you can’t do that.” I run and bat my fists against his back.

Having released her into the other man’s charge, he kicks the door shut and pushes me across the room, throwing me down on the bed.

“Six fucking years,” he tells me tersely. “You’re going to need protection for six fucking years.”

Bolting upright, I hiss, “What do you mean, six years?”

His hands are clenched, his face glowing red. His eyes blaze. “I mean you fuckin’ lied, or at least hid the truth, and now you’ve been caught out.”

Rapidly shaking my head, I respond to his accusation. “I didn’t lie. What the hell are you talking about?”

He looms over me, and I shrink back. “You told me you’d come into your money when you turned twenty-one?—”