Now, Grace was twenty-eight and lethal, both in looks and spirit. She’d grown dangerous with her magic, and even more so with that mouth of hers, which she didn’t hold back on me for one damn second. I either want to drag her into the nearest dark corner and show her what I really wanted to do to that fine ass, or strangle her, and she’d be more than happy to return the favor. To her, I was nothing but the leather-clad bastard who’d “babysat” her all these years.
But she hadn’t known the half of it. How I’d been watching over her all these years for Virgil. I kept her out of trouble when I could, which was a lot more often than I needed it to be. She’d been a magnet for trouble her whole damn life, and lately, it had gotten bad enough to put her six feet under if someone didn’t step in. Especially with the kind of men she liked, those inked up, fast-talking pretty boys with nothing going for them except what they could do between the sheets.
Grace didn’tdorelationships. She didn’t want the mess that came with ‘em. She wanted heat, distraction, maybe a little danger, and then she’d move on like it never happened. And by the way she burned through them, there wasn’t much there to begin with.
Not that I was jealous. Hell no. I’d seen what those losers brought to the table, and it wasn’t worth my time worrying over. I wasn’t one of her little conquests. I’d made damn sure of that. Still, watching her keep diving headfirst into chaos stirred something ugly in me, not envy, not possessiveness, just frustration. The kind you feel when you see someone lighting matches in a room full of gasoline and pretending, they won’t get burned.
And Grace? She was made of fire.
I always kept a prospect stationed at her shop, that was non-negotiable. The French Quarter’s a damn maze of charm and danger, and the Midnight Wytch sat right in the thick of it. Drunks, junkies, wannabe warlocks, you name it, they wandered by. Usually my guys kept the riffraff off her doorstep.
But last night? We were out on a run, and for the first time in months, there wasn’t anyone watching her six. Should’ve known that was a mistake. Should’ve known she’d find herself dead center in whatever chaos decided to crawl out of the shadows.
Trouble had a scent, and Grace wore it like perfume. Maybe it found her. Maybe she went looking for it. Hell, if I knew.What I did know is that it was part of her nature, wild, reckless, beautiful, and just dangerous enough to make me forget every good decision I’d ever made.
Jameson cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the low murmur in the room. My attention snapped forward.
“Bloody Scorpions hit the place,” he said, voice flat but sharp. “Grace wasn’t there, but they broke in, tore it up pretty bad. She’s damn lucky she wasn’t around.”
A cold fist twisted in my gut, but I swallowed it down hard.She’s fine,I told myself.Just a scare. She’s fine.
Jameson’s gaze locked on me, that steady blue stare that said he’d already made up his mind. “We need someone on watch there, twenty-four-seven, until this shit’s handled.” His lips pulled into a grim line. “Hellsing, you’re up.”
The room went dead quiet. I felt every pair of eyes turn my way, waiting for my reaction. My jaw tightened, and I could already feel the headache coming on.
“Ah, fuck me,” I muttered under my breath, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “Look, I’ve done my share of babysitting. You want someone to do it, get a prospect. I’ve earned my time away from that witch.”
Jameson’s face didn’t soften one bit. “A prospect isn’t enough. This is the Bloody Scorpions we’re talkin’ about, Hellsing. They’re targeting Bastard property. If they get to her, it won’t end there. They’ll take her, rape her, who knows what the hell else.”
Jameson didn’t flinch. “Already did the math, brother. You’re the only one who knows how to handle her, and you sure as hell owe Virgil that much.”
I pressed my lips together, clenching a fist under the table. I knew he was right, and hell if I wanted anything to happen to her, but that didn’t mean I wanted the gig. Not even a little.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But if I wind up dead, that blood’s on your hands, Prez. That little witch has been gunning for me for years.”
Powertrain chuckled low. “You’re not fooling anyone, Hellsing. You’ve got it bad for her, and don’t even try to deny it.”
I threw him a murderous glare, which only made him grin wider. “Shut your mouth, Train.”
Jameson stepped in again, his gaze locked on me. “Hellsing, I’m not asking, I’m giving an order. This is important, and Virgil would want his daughter protected. Try to keep her alive and, you know, avoid strangling her if you can.”
“Like she’d ever let me get close enough to lay a finger on her,” I muttered, but I damn well knew that was a lie. Everyone in the room knew that it was only a matter of time before Grace and I combusted. Hell, maybe we already did, and I just haven’t figured out which part of me is still burning.
Jameson’s gaze shifted, cold and calculating as he looked over the table, his finger tapped steadily against the worn wood. “Macabre,” he said, voice steady as a blade. “I want every damn angle on this. Find out which Scorpion ordered the hit on the Midnight Wytch. Don’t stop until you’ve got a name.”
Macabre gave a sharp nod, already thumbing through his phone. ““I’ll dig ‘em out, Prez. Someone always talks when I ask therightway.”
Jameson’s attention shifted to Hoax, who already had that tech-focused glint in his eye. “You’re on surveillance. I want every camera within five blocks scrubbed. If a bug crawled past that shop last night, I wanna see it.”
Hoax smirked, that cocky tilt to his grin lighting up his face. “You got it, Prez. I’ll have their faces, plates, and the color of their goddamn socks before midnight.”
Jameson leaned back in his chair, scanning the room one last time. “Good. No one hits Bastard property and walks away breathing. Not the Scorpions. Not anyone. Make that known.”
That was the final word. Church was done. The room filled with the familiar scrape of chairs and the low rumble of engines outside starting up again. I sat there a second longer, feeling the weight of it all settle over me. I was still getting used to being Chaplain, a title that felt both too heavy and too damn fitting. Virgil’s old role, passed down to me like a ghost I hadn’t quite learned how to live with. But Jameson, he trusted me. And trust in this world meant more than blood.
Family was sacred among the Royal Bastards. You touch one of ours, you’re signing your death warrant.
As I stepped out into the fading light, the low hum of bikes rattling in the distance, my mind drifted to the Midnight Wytch, and the witch herself. Grace Desdemone.
