Page 35 of The Originals

Mick laughed, shaking his head. “No.”

Another member of the opposing club spread out his arms. “We were just fucking around, brother.”

“He ain’t your brother,” Grain snapped, advancing on the man. “He’s mine. You fucked with the wrong club, asshole.”

In a flash, the third man on the end who’d been silent the whole time darted to his left, revealing their club patch on the back of their cuts. Mick hadn’t heard of Satan’s Hex, but Mack had. He pointed to the men.

“These are the fuckers that took a shot at us!”

This would be getting double retribution.

“No man, that wasn’t us.” His eyes darted around the brothers. “Look, we’re sorry for fucking with you, alright? Nobody got hurt, and we’re just gonna…”

He never got a chance to finish his pitiful plea. Jack came up behind him, grabbed the back of his neck, and pushed him toward Mick.

“What do you say, Mick? He said he’s sorry,” Jack teased.

Mick snorted, balling his fist. “No.”

He pulled back his arm and swung hard and fast, landing his fist straight into the guy’s mouth. His head jerked back, and a line of blood poured from his mouth. He’d nearly knocked the guy out with one punch, but Mick wasn’t done yet. He grabbed the collar of his shirt and punched him directly in his nose, feeling the bone crack against his knuckles.Not my bones.

Mick was barely aware of the chaos around him. He was solely focused on this guy. He took another few jabs to his chest, stomach, and a final blow to the face. The man dropped, barely moving and spitting out blood. Mick wasn’t ready to end it. He would’ve loved nothing more than to beat him into unconsciousness. But he had other concerns, mainly Meg’s safety. He glanced behind him. Grain and a few brothers were walking toward him, leaving the man on the ground, cowering in a fetal position. Grain rolled his shoulders and grinned.

“Thanks for the entertainment, brother.”

Mick wiped his knuckles on his jeans and smirked. “Glad I could be of service.”

“Let’s go,” Jack said, and Mick turned. The other biker was in a similar position on the ground a few feet away. Ghosttown had sent their message loud and clear.You fuck with one of us, you get all of us.

“What are we doing about them?” Dunn asked.

“They can crawl to their bikes,” Jack said. “Let this be a lesson,boys.”

As the brothers walked away, they cleared a path, and he saw Meg standing twenty feet away. It was almost hard to pick her out since she stood frozen in the dark. He rushed toward her, and when he was a few feet away, he saw her back up. Mick immediately held up his hands and kept walking toward her.

“It’s just me, baby.”

It should’ve calmed her, but when he was close enough to see her face, her eyes were wild and still struck with fear. Maybe even more. He needed to get her out of there. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She was still and didn’t utter a word. She also didn’t curve into him. It was as if she was on guard.

This night had been too much for her. It was a defining moment for both of them. Meg got an insight to his real life and the threats and dangers around him and the club. And Mick wasseeing just how far outside Meg was compared to him and his life.

Chapter Eight

Meg had seen fights before. In school, boys would get into an altercation, they’d talk over one another in veiled threats, and maybe one would get a punch in before a teacher would jump in and break it up. It was over before it started. Those schoolyard fights did nothing to prepare her for the violence she’d witnessed tonight.

Meg barely said a word on the ride back to the motel. Once they’d arrived, a few members cracked open beers in the parking lot and discussed going to a bar in town. It was as if they were celebrating. A few made jokes at the other club’s expense, mainly the brother who’d got punched. All the while, Meg stood silently replaying the fight. It was a strange contrast between them and her.

Mick pressed his hand on her back, and she inched away, heading toward their room. She still hadn’t spoken a word. She noticed Mick didn’t join in when the others were bragging about the violence. He merely stood silently, watching her.

He opened the door, ushering her inside. She turned, watching him walk into the bathroom to wash his hands. She clasped her hands, waiting for some type of apology or signs of regret. When he walked out of the bathroom, he looked up at her.

“Gonna hit a few bars. You need to get ready, or are you good?”

What? That was it?

“We need to talk about what happened.”

Mick furrowed his brows. “No, we don’t.”