Page 36 of The Originals

“Yes, we do, Mick!”

He folded his arms and jerked his chin. “Then talk.”

Meg had a feeling he wouldn’t be receptive to anything she said. But she was going to speak her piece anyway.

“You didn’t have to choose violence,” she muttered and stared at the pea green carpet in the motel room.

She heard a faint snort. “Theyfucking chose violence. They knew coming up to me would end in a fight. They just thought their odds were better. Had I been with the club instead of you, they wouldn’t have said a fucking word.”

Meg swallowed the lump in her throat. She could understand his position, and maybe he was right. But the circumstances were different.

“It wasn’t a fair fight,” Meg whispered, picking at the edge of her shirt.

Mick slowly turned, scowling.

Meg licked her lips and shrugged. “Three of them and three times more of you.”

“Yeah, and now they know not to start shit they can’t finish.”

“They were trying to walk away, Mick.”

He snorted. “Yeah, and you think had the brothers not showed up having my back they would’ve? Don’t fucking bother answering ’cause I’ll tell you” —he paused, hardening his glare— “they wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that. They could’ve…”

“Yeah Meg, I do fucking know. You think this is the first time some fucking assholes have tried to flex their club? They specifically came at me because I was wearing my colors and alone with my girl. They saw that as a weakness, thinking their three against just me was gonna get them a win.”

He had a point, but there had to be another way.

“Why not just give them a warning?”

“I fucking gave them one, and they didn’t back down ’til the club showed up. Then they wanna take it? No!”

Mick scoffed, shaking his head, ripping off his shirt. He tossed it across the room and bent down, digging into his bag and pulling out a clean one. Meg felt as though she was being dismissed. She walked to the bed, sat, and gripped the edge of the mattress.

“Okay fine. I just think…”

“Your thoughts aren’t worth shit when it comes to this.”

Meg flinched, not only at his words but his aggressive tone.

“I don’t get a say…”

“No, Meg, you don’t. This is my fucking world, and I know how it works. You don’t! They got exactly what they fucking deserved. Anything less and those fuckers would still be a threat. Now, they’re not.”

Meg clamped her lips, watching him put on his shirt. He stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door. Meg stared for a minute, and she heard the faucet running. This was not at all how she envisioned the night going. It had started on such a high, she could’ve never predicted the drastic turn it would take.

Mick wouldn’t even listen or hear her thoughts. He’d completely shut her down and dismissed her concerns. He didn’t want to hear anything she had to say.What kind of relationship is that?

Five minutes later, the door opened, and Mick walked out. Meg was still on the bed pondering her next move. Clearly, this conversation wasn’t done. Maybe he just needed to calm down. The adrenaline rush was probably over, and they could talk rationally now.

Meg wasn’t sure how to open up the conversation again, and when she saw him grab his cut and put it on, she doubted talking was anything he was interested in.

“Mick?”

He drew in a breath, shoved his cigarettes and wallet in his pockets, and stalked to the door.

“Come on. Everyone’s waiting at the bar.”