Her Prince (The Wounded Souls Series Book 6)

by Leah Sharelle

  I shook my head, confused with what he had just said.

  “What the fuck does her being the mechanic or her cut have to do with her falling or having a bruise on her jaw?”

  “They were wearing cuts themselves, Devil’s Advocates MC. Two of them. The big one grabbed Shiloh by the collar and had a go at her for being a patched member of an MC. By the time I got out there, shit was already out of hand. I asked him to let her go, told him what would happen if he didn’t. He let her go with a hard shove backwards, and his fist connected with her jaw in the process, knocking her to the asphalt.”

  “I thought it was you coming back from the flight early, so I rushed out to meet you. Creed thought it was you, too, so he stayed in the workshop,” Shiloh explained, her eyes still down.

  “Hey, look at me, Shiloh.” I lifted her face so her eyes were level with mine. They were red-rimmed and glassy from tears. “I love you, Shiloh,” I told her firmly, knowing that was what she needed to hear. “This will get sorted. No fucking biker is going to get away with putting his fucking hands on my fiancée or my VP.” For the first time since I entered the main room, I noticed Booth and Deck standing behind the couch, their body language deadly. This shit was not going to fly with them, either.

  “What do we know?” I asked, my eyes never leaving Shiloh.

  “Outlaw MC, the Devil’s Advocates. Dirty club, not exactly stellar members. Ford did a quick search, found lots of shady shit and some pretty disturbing stuff, too. Their president is former military. Dishonourable discharge fifteen years ago. One other member was in the army, too, an unsavoury character who goes by the name of Guts. He was one of the guys who paid the visit today, and the other one was a guy named Slither.”

  At the mention of the second name, I felt Shiloh tremble again, and this time, she let out a tiny whimper, as well.

  “Baby?”

  “Guts was the one that grabbed and knocked her down, but Creed noticed it was the other one, Slither who was the least happy about a woman patch member,” my dad supplied, which answered why my woman was shivering all of a sudden, mostly. She wasn’t usually so easily scared, her training in martial arts and boxing giving her the confidence to get herself out of most altercations. There was something else at play here, and I was not going to let it go until she told me.

  “There is more. Tell me.”

  “Slither threatened her,” Deck informed me, his jaw clenched tightly, his arms crossed over his massive chest, and his fists balled.

  “He fucking did what?” I roared. My head turned towards my father, and one look at his grim expression, I knew this shit was worse than just a guy being sexist against female mechanics.

  “Told her he would see her again, then took off and did that to her face with his bike. They headed south of town.”

  An inner rage like I had never felt before in my life bubbled inside me. Someone put his hands of the love of my life and threatened her. Fucking unacceptable.

  “Zander, please hold me,” Shiloh begged in a small voice.

  Without another thought, I lifted her into my arms, her small weight barely registering. In one fluid motion, I stood, one arm banded around the back of her knees, the other around her back.

  “Careful of her hip, Z. She has a decent bruise there, too,” Charlotte said quietly. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, too, but the set of her soft jaw told me mamma bear was not pleased.

  I could only nod my head, not trusting my voice to not break. Another fucking injury at the hands of some wannabe outlaw. Fuck! These cunts were going to pay dearly for touching what was mine and fucking soon.

  “Take Shiloh to your room, and get yourself under control, brother,” Booth said with a glance at his watch. “Meeting in the war room in twenty minutes.”

  I gave my pres a chin lift and walked out of the room without a word, Shiloh safe in my arms.

  ***

  I held Shiloh in my arms on the big bed we now shared when we stayed at the club. It used to be just my room, so the décor was dark and masculine, which was good because she needed the darkness and the coolness the room offered.

  “Talk to me, Spunky.”

  I listened as Shiloh breathed in then out. She did it several times more before the shuddering in her breathing stopped. I was concerned because it wasn’t like her to be so timid. She normally dealt with things head-on, never really showing any fear. Hell, she could take out a target more than a thousand metres away, and her breathing never altered.

  Now some fucker had taken that away from her, made her show her weakness, knocked her confidence around just because she wore a cut and handled a spanner. Shiloh was a damn fine VP and mechanic with skills in the workshop that could put any man to shame. I had lost count of how many motors from various club vehicles she had taken apart and put back together over the years.

  Being a female didn’t make her a bad mechanic or a bad VP. Shiloh earned her patch by working hard at the club businesses and putting the club and its members first. There wasn’t a problem she couldn’t solve, and if one ever did exist, she asked for help to figure out a solution. She was a team player, never showed off or went off half-cocked to impress anyone just because she was a girl. Shiloh fought all kinds of prejudice growing up as an MC princess and the daughter of an officer.

  I was positive that for a man to call her out and challenge her on her job or position in the club just because she had different parts between her legs was bringing back all kinds of bad memories.

  “Baby, I hate to see you hurt, but it kills me to see your tears,” I said into her hair. She was curled up on my chest, lying on the hip that hadn’t been hurt. I had yet to see the injury, but I would, and I was going to make sure that bastard Guts received the same injury, only much, much worse. His face was going to cop my fists plundering it until he was goddamned unrecognisable even to his own mother.

  “He had this look of hostility on his face, combative like he hated me from the second he saw me. He just kept looking at my patch as if he wanted to rip it right off my cut.”

  “He isn’t going to touch you again, and this Slither ain’t getting near you, Shiloh. I promise you that,” I vowed. Even I was surprised by the vehemence in my words, though I shouldn’t have been. My father and the men of the Wounded Souls imparted many words of wisdom to all the sons growing up, the most important one was how we treated and protected the important women in our lives. And there was no one more important than Shiloh, not to me.

  Shiloh touched her mouth to my throat, the warmth of her lips like a balm to my soul.

  “I know, honey, but being the VP, I have to stand on my—”

  I quickly turned us so she was under me, and even though I was rough, I was still mindful of her hip.

  “Don’t say you have to do this on your own, just don’t. Yes, you are the vice president of the club and ranked above me, so you can order me to do something as my VP, but, baby”—I placed a kiss on her lips, making sure to pour all the love I had for her in that one kiss, desperate that she got it—“don’t take away my right, my need as your man to protect you. This isn’t like jumping off a roof or tying you up on a swing. Spunky, this guy hurt you, and from what I’m hearing, this other arsehole is gunning for you too.”

  A tear escaped and ran down her temple, then disappeared into her hair. I fucking hated to see her cry and would do anything in my power to never make her cry again, except for one thing. I wasn’t going to stand back and let her handle this without me at her back. Fuck, I would stand in front of her till the end of time if it meant her not getting hurt ever again.

  I got that she was my VP, but what she had to get through her head was that it was secondary, and my personal relationship with her would always be first and foremost in my life. Protecting my fiancée was my job. End of story.

  “Okay, Zander,”

  If she thought for one second that I was going to let her go off— Wait, what did she say? “Okay, Zander? You agree with me?”

&n
bsp; Shiloh laughed softly, it was watery and shaky, but it was a laugh.

  “Yes, honey. I told you already that we come first. My job here is important and always will be, and I will get to the bottom of what happened today at the bike shop. With you by my side,” she said softly, and I finally got one of Shiloh’s bright smiles. The one that hit me in the heart every time she bestowed me with one.

  “Always with you, Spunky, always.” I leaned down and kissed her lips. The kiss wasn’t heated or desperate—just a kiss of pure love.

  “Always,” she agreed.

  “Good. Now, show me your hip.” I moved my hand down her waist to the band of her tight-as-fuck yoga pants. I was convinced she only wore these stretchy things so my dick stayed in a constant state of arousal.

  Shiloh’s blue eyes went from wide and soft to narrowed and blazing.

  “Ah, no,” she replied, then slipped out from underneath me and rolled off the bed.

  I growled at the loss of her body and because she was hiding her injury from me. How the fuck was I going to do the same and worse to this fucking Slither if she wouldn’t fucking show me.

  “Shiloh,” I growled.

  “Zander.” She mimicked my tone. “We don’t have time. Meeting in the war room now, and that’s an order, brother,” she sassed at me, making me laugh. But the lightness of the mood quickly disappeared when she started to limp towards the door.

  Yep, I was definitely going to fuck that arsehole up.

  Chapter 11

  Shiloh

  I sat at the table in the war room with half my butt hanging off the seat. My hip was killing me, and judging by the glares and growls coming from Zander, I wasn’t doing a good job of hiding my discomfort.

  His patience was going to wear off and showing him the huge bruise was inevitable. Mum had barely held Dad back from tearing off my pants to get a look at it when Creed and I got back to the compound earlier. Okay, so he wasn’t actually going to tear off my pants because that would have been plain weird, but you get the point.

  Zander, on the other hand, was going to demand to see it when we arrived home after the meeting. That storm of fury was not going to be fun at all.

  It kind of stung that the attack on me wasn’t being treated as the VP getting attacked by a rival club but rather as the princess of the club getting hurt by a man. If it had been one of the guys, would they be doing all this, taking him to the hospital for a few scratches? More than likely not.

  If that happened to Vegas, I would want to rip that prick a new arsehole, too. So stop with the ‘I’m not being treated as an equal’ crap, Squirt. When Rogue attacked the club, Booth did everything in his power and some things he wished he hadn’t had to, to protect the club and its members. This is no different.

  I cringed in my seat at the disciplinary tone Darth used. He very rarely turned his anger on me, and I couldn’t remember a time he spoke to me that way.

  Darth, I didn’t—

  Enough, Shiloh. You get hurt again, and we will have no choice but to retaliate. The Souls don’t do that unless it is absolutely called for. If it were Memphis, Rainn, Mia, Stella, or your mum, the same thing would be happening. This is not about treating you with kid gloves because you are the princess. This is about a room full of honourable men who refuse to sit back and see a woman they love and care about being abused. Now fucking end it, and grow the hell up.

  I sucked in a gasp, hurt and shocked from Darth’s tirade but also because he was right. My father would never stand back and let this happen to Mum, Booth would definitely go postal if Stella were pushed by a big biker as would the rest of my uncles, so why would I expect Zander to act any differently? He loved me, and my happiness and safety meant everything to him. Taking that away from him just so I could save face and be tough would only serve to humiliate him. My constant need to prove myself had really turned me into a selfish, whiny woman, exactly what I didn’t want to be. Not at all the type that deserved these men in her corner.

  Okay, Darf, message received.

  I felt a breeze at my ear, and I knew Darth was giving me one of his kisses.

  Love you more than my man bun, Squirt.

  Love you more than my Sidchrome sixty-four-piece quarter-inch socket set, big fella.

  “Shiloh, you all good?” Booth asked, interrupting my silent conversation.

  I hadn’t said anything aloud, but when Darth and I spoke to each other in my head, I did tend to block every other thing around me out. Zander told me once that I got this weird look on my face, that my eyebrows knitted together, and my lips pursed and thinned, depending on what I was hearing or saying to Darth.

  Damn, it was hard being twenty-four and having a ghost.

  “Absolutely, Pres. Got a ripsnorter of a bruise on my right side, but other than that, I am just pissed off. Who the hell are these guys and what are the club colours they are wearing? I haven’t heard of them before.”

  “Good question. Ford, you wanna tell us what else you have found out.”

  Ford, who was sitting at the end of the table, pushed his laptop into the middle so everyone could see. The huge nineteen-inch screen was a godsend when he had a show-and-tell moment like this one.

  “Devil’s Advocates—a stupid name, by the way—have a mother chapter in Sydney and five other branches spread across Australia with this being the first one here in Victoria. The location of the clubhouse is unknown, but I have Jason and James working on that. The outlaw motorcycle database will surely have something on them.”

  “So they have set up somewhere here in town, then?” Mannix asked.

  “It appears so. Jason said a couple of the highway guys had ten bikes pulled up for licence and EPA tests just last week. Apparently, not many of them believe in exhaust pipes and mufflers,” Ford said with disapproval. A Harley was meant to be loud and obnoxious at times, but ten of them going through a small family orientated suburb was plain old incivility.

  “What are Jason and the department doing about an outlaw club moving into town? Sitting back and knitting blankets? Fuck me drunk, Booth. Outlaw clubs mean drugs, which means trouble,” Steel added his piece to the conversation, but it was Creed who held my interest. He had a pensive look on his face, the same look Zander got when something was bothering him, something bad.

  “Creed, got anything?” I asked him. He was at the bike shop, spoke with the bikers, and got up close and personal with them—not as close as I did, granted, but close enough to disarm one before he could blink.

  Creed stared behind me for a few seconds, his black eyes troubled.

  “The smaller one got really antsy when he heard me mention Booth and Deck, then again with Steel and Mannix. What was it he said, the Steel brothers?”

  I nodded my head. “Yeah, he said, ‘Are the lot of you here.’ Then he got his brother and practically ran back to his bike.”

  Creed nodded in agreement.

  I went over in my mind and tried to recall everything the one called Guts had said. Suddenly remembering what was said before all the shit hit the fan, I continued, “Hang on, didn’t he call you a wonder sniper of the commandos? He also knew your name the minute he saw you.”

  “He did. Called me Creed, but I ain’t got no memory of him. If he were going by Guts back then, too, I don’t remember anyone called that.”

  “No distinguishing tattoos giving a clue to what branch?” Dad asked again.

  “Not that I could see,” Creed said, and I knew instantly what he was getting at.

  My gaze flicked around the room until they landed on Darth, who was standing by the door, his big body leaning against the wall. His usual ‘ain’t got nothing to say yet’ grim line set on his mouth.

  “VP?” Booth said in a low voice, his eyes going from me to the door. He knew.

  “Yeah, Pres?”

  “Did he recognise the one Creed is talking about?” Booth didn’t have to elaborate on who he was.

  My eyes met Darth’s, and he looked so menacing, so… d
angerous. It was just as well for the Devil’s Advocates that Darth wasn’t one of the guys sitting at the table right now.

  I didn’t recognise his face, but there was something the way he called Creed ‘wonder sniper.’ I just can’t put my finger on it yet, but I will.

  “Not his face, but something was familiar about him, something about the way he described Creed as a wonder sniper,” I repeated what Darth told me. My conversations with Darth were very private and mostly just about us, Vegas, or Zander. When I was a kid, I used to play with Dad a bit, telling him things Darth would say about him to make him squirm. Just fun stuff. This, however, was a little too real.

  Booth’s stare lowered to the monitor in front of him, his finger reaching out and tracing the screen. A look, a mixture of love and fear, passed over his face briefly. Had I blinked, I would have missed it. He sat there and didn’t say anything for at least five minutes before he looked up, his grey eyes flashing fire.

  “Zander, that bloke you used to spar with at Wally’s gym is with that MC out of town near Buninyong, yeah?”

  “Saxon? Yeah, goes by Vicious. He is a member of the Hawks MC, but he moved to the Caroline Springs chapter. Want me to give him a call?”

  “No, not yet. We will do this the right way. Talon—I think that’s his name—is the president of the Hawks mother chapter. I will reach out to him to see if he knows anything first. Ford, find me his number.”

  Booth stood from his seat, his gaze fixed on the bruise on my jaw.

  “This is uncharted territory for us as a club. This town has been quiet and free of outlaw shit since we set up here twenty-five years ago. We stay vigilant, report any bikes we don’t know, whether they are wearing a cut or not. VP, you and me in here, everyone else, go back to the businesses, and no staff member goes to their cars without an escort. And no wife or kid goes out alone. There will be no repeat of what happened to us before.” Booth didn’t speak the name of the person who had caused that trouble—he didn’t have to. That time in the club’s history was something best left where it belonged, in the past.