My Dark Knight (gay biker romance) (Kings of Hell MC Book 2)

by K. A. Merikan

  He was finally not eating every single meal as if it could disappear from his hands the next second, and Knight was so happy to see his cheeks have a healthy rosy color. Despite his features still being so angular, Elliot’s face had filled up a bit and he didn’t look so gaunt anymore.

  The other week when they were about to head out to town, Elliot had layered all his clothes under a big hoodie and Knight could hardly believe it when Elliot admitted that he didn’t own a winter jacket. Elliot had claimed he was fine, but his blue fingers told a different story, so Knight took him shopping for winter clothes and called it an early Christmas present. Elliot wasn’t thin as a reed anymore, but it by no means meant he had that much fat on him.

  Knight smiled when he glanced at Elliot, who looked like the picture of joy despite every single item of clothing on him being black. He sipped his caramel-flavored latte, nibbled on the gingerbread man, all huddled up in his new jacket with a wide furry collar, the long scarf, and a beanie.

  Knight remembered his first meeting with The Count and how full of mean looks he’d been. The Elliot Knight got to know, the one underneath the makeup and the crazy Fane-loving stories always had a smile for Knight, was excited to talk history, and had the prettiest dark eyes that showered Knight with adoration any time their gazes met.

  They left the area that was strictly dedicated to shopping and continued down the street, which featured two long lines of small Christmas trees decorated by children for a contest of their own. The bright lights slid over Elliot’s handsome features, only making his reddened nose and cheekbones seem more adorable. Despite being—as Knight found out—twenty-five, Elliot looked much younger than that, with a long body and angular hips.

  Day by day Knight saw him transform from the half-starved Count to a pretty young man with a contagious smile and energy to fuel two people. His long legs, which felt so good wrapped around Knight’s hips, moved in springy steps, and slim, elegant fingers that barely fit into the leather gloves Knight got for him were wrapped around the colorful cup as they walked.

  Knight had been right all along. The Count was an alter ego born out of low self-esteem, but the moment Knight intervened to show Elliot a different way, William Fane slowly faded from his memory. For Knight’s sake, Elliot even wore black body tape over the portrait on his chest.

  Knight grinned and swallowed some of his coffee, breathing out vapor and disturbing the snow spiraling around them. “Good. You can have another one later. Soon your hip bones won’t be poking me when we fuck.”

  Elliot grinned back at him. “You want to get me fat so you can eat me.” He bit the gingerbread man’s head off.

  Knight leaned in and pressed their lips together before licking off some of the crumbs left behind on Elliot’s mouth. The sugary taste melted on his tongue and made him smile wider. “In your dreams. You’re just jealous I won our bet.”

  Elliot crossed the road along with Knight. He ignored the last comment and progressed to a jab at Knight himself. “You sure? I could provide some icing.” He wiggled his eyebrows and only then it hit Knight Elliot was talking about giving head, not cannibalism.

  His breath caught, and he briefly looked away to the street before returning Elliot’s gaze just because he didn’t want to seem like he was afraid of anything, even the concept of taking another man’s cock into his mouth. Now that he was indulging in Elliot’s delicious lips any time he wished to, it was hard to comprehend what had stopped him from kissing guys before that. It used to be something he simply didn’t do. He didn’t want any suggestions that the sex would be anything more than that, but that proved a completely unnecessary precaution. How could he know if it wouldn’t be the same with sucking dick?

  Unlike taking on the passive role in anal, blowing someone didn’t feel completely off the table. He did fantasize about it several times, more often than not only briefly and without detail, but considering how much some of his partners enjoyed doing it to him it couldn’t really be completely horrible. In his mind it wasn’t very different from giving a girl oral sex, even if some people would say the act of taking a cock into one’s body was emasculating by definition. He wasn’t entirely sure he agreed. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to give it a try either, but if Elliot’s angular, tempting body tasted so good everywhere else, why wouldn’t his dick be yet another treat?

  “How about some dick-painting on your chest?” Knight asked in the end as they followed a paved path through a small park and toward the local museum.

  Elliot narrowed his eyes at him as he swallowed the last of his gingerbread. “You just want to put your dick on William’s face.”

  Knight scowled. “Jesus Christ. Don’t mention that scumbag. Don’t want my dick anywhere near him,” he said as they passed the fence and crossed the yard in front of the two-hundred-year old brick building. A large wooden board in front of it proclaimed a seasonal exhibition about William Fane, organized to celebrate the new finds on the grounds belonging to the Kings of Hell MC.

  Elliot laughed out loud. “Oh, my God! Your face. That’s just priceless. Anyway, I’m so excited about this.”

  “They wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for me,” Knight added with pride swelling in his chest as they walked up the steps and entered the hot interior of the museum.

  “Actually… You never really told me how you found the remains.” Elliot lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Were you digging a grave?”

  Knight cleared his throat. The truth was that the grave would have never been discovered if it weren’t for Laurent’s knowledge of its existence. Knight simply pushed to have the bodies handed over to the authorities for the sake of historical truth. “I was burying a cat.”

  “You had a cat?”

  This lie would be developing, wouldn’t it? “No. My ex-girlfriend’s sister had one, and I offered to dispose of the body after it was hit by a car.”

  They approached the cloakroom and started removing their outer clothes. Elliot stayed in the turtleneck that hid the evidence of Knight’s passionate nips and kisses. Elliot never complained about them, and even casually showed them off at the clubhouse, so Knight saw no reason to leave Elliot’s neck alone. Especially that he made such cute whiny sounds when bitten there.

  “Ugh. That’s a bit gruesome. Then again, they clearly knew the right guy to handle the problem.” Elliot wiggled his eyebrows and picked up his coffee from the counter once he left all his outerwear.

  “I am a born problem solver. That’s why Beast made me his VP,” Knight said as he handed his coat to the lady at the cloakroom. He was exaggerating a bit, but Elliot didn’t need to know that.

  Elliot grabbed his hand and pulled Knight along the corridor to the exhibition space. “Really? What about Raphael Mercier?” Elliot teased, and he’d struck a sour note, because in his search for his family’s past, Knight hadn’t been able to find much information prior to the early eighteenth century. It was as if Raphael had emerged out of nothingness to marry Knight’s many-times-great grandmother in 1714, but what and who came before him—Knight had no idea. It didn’t help that Knight’s distant cousins in France weren’t particularly keen on studying old records and driving around old churches to look into the ancient files.

  “Still nothing,” Knight said, frowning, “How about you come up with something, smartass?”

  Elliot chuckled and pulled him through the door. “Come on. I want to see the exhibition.”

  The museum was very much local and not too large, but the curator had unearthed many items that must have been hidden somewhere in the archives, because despite his extensive knowledge of the subject, Knight was seeing many of them for the first time. On display were some of William Fane’s clothes, most notably the very suit he died in, still stained a reddish brown at the front. Seeing it made Knight shiver, as he immediately thought back to Laurent’s ordeal and the ghost wearing that exact same outfit.

  Other exhibits weren’t as traumatizing but equally interesting.
Family and friends must have burnt most of Fane’s correspondence, as well as his diaries—if he’d written any—but the museum staff unearthed short pieces of his writing that came from local shops and a lawyer’s office. There were porcelain figurines, cutlery, and even a gold pocket watch that William Fane reportedly received from his father, but the most baffling item was in the last room, which was entirely dedicated to Fane’s murderous pursuits.

  A human-sized steel collar, to which Elliot drifted so quickly he forgot that he left his cup on a windowsill. “Wow… Knight, do you see this?” Elliot put his palms against the glass like a kid in a candy store. “I’ve only read about it. That it was being held somewhere in the archives.” He backed away and took a photo, which would undoubtedly soon end up on The Count’s blog. “Look at that thick chain on it. Oooh! Gives me the shivers.”

  The collar looked brand-new, and strangely enough the chain attached to it was orange with rust. It made Knight wonder if it wasn’t some kind of replica, but the notes on the glass claimed it was the real thing. He read the description, and its author theorized that Fane likely used it to cuff his victims to the wall. He sneered with displeasure.

  “Well, I bet he would have put that on you.”

  Knight didn’t know what popped into Elliot’s head, but he didn’t like the way Elliot bit his lip and his cheeks got darker with excitement.

  “He wouldn’t need to.”

  Knight rolled his eyes. “People like him don’t do those things because they have to. They hurt others because they like it,” he said as they walked along the glass cases, which showcased Fane’s keepsakes. Like most serial killers he kept items that would remind him of his victims, and the ones on show ranged from locks of hair wrapped in coarse fabric to a tooth.

  “Yes, but he wasn’t going around killing people at random. He was known as a good employer, actually. There are records from Laurent’s trial of the footman claiming William Fane always had a kind word for him, and that he’d give all the staff gifts on important holidays. Some murderers have partners they love, so I don’t see why William would be any different.”

  That much was true. And Knight was deeply uncomfortable with that fact that despite all the time he dedicated to Elliot, he was still being such an idiot about this. His gaze was drawn to the final exhibit. Encased in glass was a modern .22 bullet. Rusty and deformed by impact, it had been reportedly found in the dead body of a court official at the time of the murders. The curator’s note explained that it had been since found to be a contemporary imitation, but Knight’s shoulders sagged, and his entire body shook violently as he remembered what Beast told him of his brief stay in 1805. He’d rescued Laurent from a prison wagon and killed two men, shooting one of them with his entirely modern handgun.

  Fuck.

  It was real, and he could not dispute it. His smile widened in amazement.

  “Do you think they’ll ever find Laurent’s noose? I’ve heard people used to keep stuff like that as amulets. Or bound books in the skin of those executed,” Elliot said as he stood close.

  ‘They’ would never find Laurent’s noose, because Laurent was safe and sound with Beast, but Knight could not tell this to Elliot no matter how his tongue itched with need.

  “No idea. I’d rather find Fane’s porn. He probably jerked off to torture pictures.”

  Elliot entwined his warm fingers with Knight’s. “We could always ask him…”

  Knight’s fingers twitched, and he looked into Elliot’s eyes, struck by the truth behind that statement. “We...”

  “Aren’t you curious? For all we know, he might not even be there anymore and it was some weird post-Halloween glitch.”

  Knight shifted, feeling queasy about the idea. But then again maybe they could find out new things from the ghost who couldn’t even see them as long as the room remained locked. Maybe after several weeks with Knight, Elliot would find a meeting with Fane disillusioning? Maybe he’d finally come to his senses. “Maybe...”

  Elliot leaned over and kissed him. “That’s so exciting. We could talk to him through the door to be sure he doesn’t like, reach out or anything.”

  Knight didn’t say anything. He knew he’d lost.

  *

  As Elliot and Knight approached the gargoyle statue, it got colder and colder. This part of the building wasn’t heated very well, so especially in winter one could smell the damp in the air. Elliot seemed giddier by the second, though he did hold Knight’s hand, so Knight imagined him to be a bit frightened after all.

  Knight smiled at him despite the unease in his stomach. If it only depended on him, he’d just ignore this silly idea and do something useful instead of trying to communicate with a menacing ghost, but now that he had agreed to it he couldn’t go back on his word. So he led Elliot down the creepy stairs, to the cellar that felt more freezing than the air outside. He was glad they hadn’t yet taken off their outer clothes. Elliot even wore his beanie.

  They stopped in front of the door, and Elliot’s breath quickened, leaving clouds of vapor in the air. “Should we… knock?” He squeezed Knight’s hand tighter.

  The cool voice coming from the other side had Knight backing away into the wall.

  “That would be the polite thing to do,” Fane said. His voice had a metallic quality to it, as if he were speaking to them through a pipe.

  Elliot shot Knight an uncertain look but didn’t back away from the door. “Good evening, Mr. Fane… I-we are sorry that our last meeting was so… chaotic.”

  Knight forced his shoulders to relax and stared at the simple yet very firm-looking door. It was all right, he told himself, Fane could not cross the threshold, and the key was safely hidden in his sock drawer. He was the VP of the Kings of Hell, and he feared nothing, even if all this supernatural shit was getting on his nerves. He remained silent and watched Elliot get closer, until his palm spread over the old wood.

  “Putting it mildly,” Fane huffed.

  “But we understand things more clearly now, and we thought the three of us could talk. You must be… terribly bored, sir,” Elliot said.

  “Ah. Your... friend is here as well? Yet he hadn’t introduced himself and listens in on our conversation like a rat.” Fane sounded so utterly ridiculous that Knight’s adrenaline levels dropped.

  “He is… shy.” Elliot bit his lip as if he too was finding humor in this gruesome endeavor.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m very, very private, Mr. Fane,” Knight said, jokingly poking Elliot’s side.

  Fane exhaled, and cold air bled through the tiny gaps between the door and the wall. “Words. It’s all words. Even now, after that cruel boy put a blade to my throat, I am still mocked.”

  Knight balled his fists and stepped closer to the door. “You’re bluffing.”

  Elliot frowned and pinched Knight’s hand. “What he means, Mr. Fane, is that we haven’t come to cause offense.” Even the way Elliot spoke seemed to be set on leaning into that dead bastard’s favor. “You see, we’ve been to Brecon today, and they have a collection of items that have belonged to you. Among them, a metal collar with a chain. The chain is rusted, but the collar is as good as new. We’re trying to understand if they have a copy or an original. And… we wanted to know what you used it for.”

  A silence was followed by a quiet grunt. “Bring it to me, and I will show you.”

  “We can’t. It’s guarded,” Knight said, rubbing his chin. “Its size suggests it couldn’t be used on any domestic animal.”

  Fane exhaled. “It’s just a trifle. Something to remember my great love by. You would not understand.”

  Elliot gasped and pressed his hand harder against the door. “No, you underestimate me, sir. I would. I would understand. We’re here to listen to your story. That was why we first came down here. There is a lot of gossip about you, sir. Even to this day, and what we want is to know what really happened.”

  Fane remained silent for so long Knight’s ears started ringing softly, and this kind of dismissal w
as piercing the very core of Knight’s pride. “Laurent Mercier had been defending himself. He’s a hero.”

  Elliot hissed at Knight. “Let him tell the story, jeez.”

  Knight frowned, annoyed that the moment Elliot was under Fane’s influence again, he was immediately taking that monster’s side. “He wasn’t telling us anything.”

  “Ah, Laurent Mercier. Such a beautiful man. What hair he had. Skin like porcelain, and his heart was equally cold and impenetrable.”

  Knight bit on the inside of his cheek, willing to listen to this nonsense first before he’d debunk it.

  “Did you love him, sir?” Elliot asked quietly as if he were coaxing a cat down a tree. “No need to lie to us. We would understand. What happened that night?”

  Fane’s fingers scratched against the other side of the door, and all of Knight’s body hair bristled at the sound.

  “Love him? It was impossible not to. Everyone knew how beautiful he was, and he used all his charm and beauty to his advantage. So he tempted, he lied, and yet I still fell for him like an old fool.”

  Knight’s head was boiling. He knew for a fact that it wasn’t true, because the very Laurent Fane was blackening with his words was upstairs somewhere—the very picture of moral superiority and good heart.

  But, outrageously, Elliot nodded, lapping up every word from the ghost. “Sometimes our feelings do get the best of us, don’t they?”

  “Ah, they do, dear boy. I was so blinded by love that I gave him everything he wanted. I even offered to pay back the debt he still owed his employer, but he betrayed me with my own footman.”

  “No! He didn’t!” Elliot raised his voice and his cheeks got a rosier color. “I knew there was so much more to this story than written records could have provided us. But why did he kill you, sir? Did the two of you have a fight?”