I laugh because it has to be a joke. “You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m marrying that psychopath.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Watch my mouth? You just told me I’m being sold off to our biggest enemy, and you want me to watch my mouth?”
Dad’s face darkens. “Nobody’s selling anybody. This is business.”
“Business?” I’m on my feet now, pacing in front of his desk like a caged animal. “Marcus Stone kills our people for fun. He’s the reason Tommy’s dead, the reason Jimmy’s in a wheelchair. And you want me to marry him?”
“I want this war to end before it destroys everything we’ve built.”
“So you’re sacrificing your daughter to save your club?”
Dad stands up slowly, all six-foot-four of him unfolding like a switchblade. His leather vest hangs open over a black T-shirt, showing off his arms covered in ink.
“I married your mother when she was around your age,” he says quietly. “Our families were at war then too. The marriage brought peace, and your mother and I fell deeply in love over the year.”
“And look where that got Mom.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Dad’s face goes white, then red, then something dangerous I’ve never seenbefore. His hand rises like he’s going to backhand me across the room.
“Do it,” I tell him, lifting my chin. “Hit me. That’ll solve everything, because the only thing you understand anyway is violence.”
His hand shakes in the air between us, and for a moment, I think he’s actually going to do it, going to knock me flat for speaking the truth about how his world killed the woman he claims to have loved.
But he doesn’t. His hand drops to his side and he looks away, jaw working like he’s chewing glass.
“The constant fighting, the stress of this war—that’s what killed your mother,” he says finally. “The heart attack wouldn’t have happened if she weren’t living in fear every day, wondering if I’d come home or end up like the rest of them.”
“So selling me off is better?”
“I’m not selling you off.” His voice carries the weight of absolute authority. “I’m securing your future. Marcus has agreed to terms that protect you and end this bloodshed.”
“What terms? What exactly did you negotiate for my life?”
“You’ll be treated with respect. No harm comes to you or any Ruthless Devils member. Our territories merge, our businesses combine. Everyone profits, everyone lives.”
I stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “You actually believe Marcus Stone will keep his word?”
“I believe he’s smart enough to know that breaking his word means war with every MC west of the Mississippi.”
The clubhouse hums with activity around us. Boots on hardwood, the crack of pool balls, someone’s bike backfiring in the lot. Normal sounds of a life that’s about to be ripped away from me.
“I won’t do it.”
Dad’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, you will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you love this family more than you hate Marcus Stone. And because I taught you that part of survival means making hard choices.”
He walks around the desk to sit on the part of it that’s closest to me. This close, I can smell his cologne mixed with motor oil and cigarettes—the scent of my childhood, of safety and protection and unconditional love.
“They’ll be here for you in one week,” he says. “The ceremony will be on neutral ground, full honors, witnessed by both clubs. You’ll be treated as befits the daughter of a president.”
“Until I’m not useful anymore.”
“Until you learn to be useful in new ways.” He turns back to his desk, picks up his pen, as if the conversation is over. “Don’t do anything stupid between now and then. This is for our collective good.”
