Home > Royally Targeted (Royal Sons MC #8)(9)

Royally Targeted (Royal Sons MC #8)(9)
Author: Elle Boon

“Yo, asshole, you need to be mic’d up at all times on a ride,” King growled into his ear.

Shit, Bluetooth was a great thing. Not.

“Sorry, Prez.” He wasn’t going to make up any excuses. Apologize and take his punishments, whatever they may be. Again, a lesson he’d learned early in life. Fuck, he needed to get drunk so he could forget.

“You’re getting a proper helmet, and I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit. What’s your plans tonight? How about I rephrase that. Whatever your plans were, unless they’re life and death, change ‘em.” King’s voice brooked no argument.

Mick didn’t have any real plans since getting laid last night hadn’t worked the way he’d hoped, and clearly, he wasn’t getting drunk until King was done with him. Hell, he’d thought fucking would make seeing Tiana less...fuck, he didn’t know what it would do, but he’d hoped it would make his need for her go away. Two years, and nothing made that go away. Maybe he should walk away from the Royal MC for good.

Tiana was too young. Too sweet. Too beautiful. Too everything that he wasn’t nor would he ever be. He was tainted by blood and by birth. Not to mention, the Prez had told him and every other bastard who laid eyes on his ole’ lady’s baby sister that she was off limits. Touch her, and you forfeit your life. Period. Of course, King’s words were blunter. Touch Tiana, and he’d cut off your dick, feed it to you, then kill you, slowly. Mick didn’t doubt the man was serious and that King wouldn’t lose an ounce of sleep if he had to kill one man, or a hundred, if they touched Tiana. She’d been a month from turning seventeen when she’d been brought to the clubhouse. Broken, and looking so fucking vulnerable. It had taken everything in Mick to keep from sweeping her into his arms and promising her he’d protect her from the world. It’s been two years, and even though she was nineteen to his twenty-nine, she still was too young for him, and King still threatened every man who walked through the Royal Clubhouse to keep their dirty hands off his little sister. He was pretty sure King would be doing the same thing when T was thirty, and Mick didn’t blame the man, not one bit. Except for the fact she was the only woman he seemed to find it hard to forget.

It didn’t matter that she looked at him with the same need, or that his body didn’t come alive for any other woman, unless he pretended that they were her. Nope, he had to abide by King’s rules. He was good at abiding by rules. He’d been doing it since he’d been a toddler, maybe from birth, and then he’d done the same in the military. Well, he gave himself a little leeway in the military. Being Special Ops, meant he sometimes had to make decisions that some might’ve considered borderline, and didn’t always go with what the orders were.

“Did you hear me?” King barked.

“Got it. I’ll pick one up next time I’m in town,” Mick agreed.

“No need. Keys already ordered you one. It’s waiting at the clubhouse all shiny and shit for your stubborn ass noggin. Let’s enjoy the ride, boys, I need to feel the wind in my hair.”

Mick would’ve laughed at King’s words since the big Prez kept his hair short and wore a skullcap, but he was busy wondering when the hell Keys had ordered him a helmet. Being the smart man he was, he kept his chops closed. He’d seen the Prez bitch slap men for talking back to him for a lot less. Not that King was an asshole really. He had a position that didn’t allow room for questioning. Mick respected the hell out of him and wouldn’t be stepping on his own tongue. One time, he’d seen Duke, King’s brother and the VP of the club, cut the tongue out of one of the pedophile’s mouths. Mick and several others had overseen getting the kids out of cages that had been stuffed to the max. He’d been sickened by the deplorable state of the little ones. They’d all agreed that there wasn’t a single fucker there who didn’t deserve to have their dicks cut off, inch by slow inch after what they’d done to those children. Although he’d almost felt sorry for one of the bastards after seeing the little pecker, he was packing but knowing his brothers would take care of the fucker the way he deserved kept him from going back himself and killing him. When he’d seen Duke and Gator, do just that to a couple of the other pedophiles, he had nodded toward them as he passed, trying to shield the kids. He blinked to dispel the images from his mind.

They arrived back at the clubhouse sooner than he’d thought possible, making him realize he’d been lost in his mind too much of the ride back. “Fuck, I need to get outta my head,” he mumbled and followed the others to the back of the clubhouse.

The big SUV carrying Ayesha and Tiana had driven to King’s place, giving him a much-needed respite. He honestly didn’t think he could handle seeing or dealing with the one woman who revved him up more than any ever had. With the MC, he’d found a place he fit in, a place he actually felt like he found a brotherhood. They may not have made him a member, but they showed him respect.

His mind went back to the night he’d allowed Groot to talk him into going to Luke’s apartment. He’d never been a follower. Fuck, he should’ve known better. King’s little brother hadn’t been part of the MC, choosing to live his life separately. Even though he and Duke were identical twins, they were complete opposite in every other way. He’d been so fucking stupid, following Groot, when he’d been the one to always lead up until they’d found the Royal MC. Groot had been the one to pledge the Royal MC first, but it was Mick who’d fit it better. All through basic, Mick had helped Pete make it through, and then when they’d went on their first tour, he’d saved Pete’s ass more than once. His name had become Groot because he was as thick as a tree, much like the movie character. Pete hated the name, but Mick had told him it was a compliment. Mick’s prospect name had been Frog, a name he didn’t care for, but again, he didn’t give a shit about names. They asked him to do something, he did it. They wanted to call him Frog because of it, so be it.

“Come on, brother. This is our ticket to securing our place with King and the others.” Groot gestured toward the apartment above.

Mick looked at the number on the big steel door. “I don’t feel right, Groot. Let’s head back up to the clubhouse and talk to T-Rex and see what he thinks.”

“Fuck that big bastard. He’s a damn pussy, and you know it. All he does is stand around and look like a tattooed badass when all he does is suck ass and do jack shit.” Groot spit a stream of tobacco out of his mouth.

Mick shook his head, feeling a little woozy, staggering to the side like he’d drank a case of beer. “Fuck.”

“What’s the matter? Can’t hold your liquor?” Groot laughed.

Mick flipped him the bird, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness. He’d had one beer before they’d left. Whenever he was going to be riding, he never had more than one drink. He may be many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. Groot had bought them both a beer and brought it back to their table, sipping his while Mick did the same. They’d stopped a mile up the road from the apartment. Mick had thought to turn back around, but Groot had offered him a shot from a flask he’d brought along. At first, he’d turned Groot down, only giving in after the other man had taken a healthy drink.

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