Page 42 of Devil's Queen
REX
I’m goingto kill him. I’m going to kill Monte for laying a hand on Rem. Hitting a woman is low. An unfathomable offense. Hitting mine is a fucking death sentence.
The rage inside me is afire, consuming every rational thought. My heart pounds like a war drum, thudding louder with each breath I take. I can practically hear the blood roaring in my ears, a cacophony of violence and fury.
Monte has finally done it. He’s crossed a line that will end him. His hatred for Rem and her family was a strike against him already. Touching her? He won’t come back from that.
As I pull into our clubhouse parking area, the gravel lot is filled with motorcycles. Unheard of for this time of night typically, but I am guessing one of the prospects ran across Rem’s deposit on our doorstep. They’d likely texted me, but I hadn’t bothered to look at my phone since I saw Rem’s face. Words will do nothing to quell the insatiable fire inside me. My bike barely rolls to a stop before I am off it, charging for the front door. I kick it open. Every pair of eyes shifts toward me.
I let out a deafening roar, shaking the very foundation of the clubhouse. “Where the fuck is he? Where’s Monte?”
I spy a crowd of my men around one of the larger dining tables. Murph, our resident medic, is standing in front of someone sitting on one of the wooden chairs. He shifts enough so that I can see Monte’s bloody face in front of him. His eyes go wide when he sees me before darting around the room, hoping for a glimmer of mercy. But there is none to be found. I can still see the bruises on Rem’s face and hear the tremble in her voice.
“Woah, Prez. What’s this about?”
“He fucking touched Rem,” I seethe.
“He what?” Coffey argues.
“This motherfucker went to their strip club to rough up a dancer who allegedly owes us money for drugs. Instead, he roughed up Rem.”
I charge forward, shaking off Tex and Coffey, who try to stop me from getting to him.
“Monte, get up,” I command, my voice dripping with venom. He doesn’t move. My hands go for his throat, hauling him from his chair. Monte gasps and gurgles as I tighten my grip around him.
“Tell me, what exactly did you do to her?” I demand.
I release my grip on him, and he drops to the floor, his breath ragged and gasping. His eyes are puffy and red, but he meets my gaze with fear and defiance.
“I did what you couldn’t. I put that bitch in her place.” Monte’s face contorts in a snarl, daring me to make a move against him. “Look at yourself. You’re willing to kill one of your own brothers over that bitch.”
A low growl escapes my lips, a warning that this is far from over. “That bitch has more Zulu King blood in her veins than you could ever dream of having.”
I lunge forward, my body propelled by pure adrenaline and hatred. My hands curl into fists, ready to strike at the man who has caused me so much pain. As I reach him, my knee makes a sickening crunch as it connects with his already battered face. Monte howls in agony, but it only fuels my rage further. He struggles to crawl toward me, his hands almost grasping at my boots in desperation. Without hesitation, I rear back and stomp down hard on one of his hands, feeling the bones crunch beneath my heel. A guttural scream escapes from his mouth, mixing with the sounds of our violent altercation. The smell of blood and sweat fills the air, mingling with the metallic tang of fear. In this moment, there is no remorse or mercy—only a burning desire for revenge.
“Who ordered you to go after her?” I ask him. Monte held no officer’s position within the club. Either he did this alone, or someone else in our ranks ordered it. “Give me their fucking name.”
“No one,” he roars. Crimson liquid gurgles from his open mouth, the droplets splattering onto the floor in front of him like a morbid work of art. Each drop lands with a sickeningly satisfying plop, painting the surface in a macabre pattern that seems to mock the life seeping out of him.
“Answer me.” My boot presses harder on his now broken hand, putting pressure on the injury.
“I went on my own,” he answers.
“That’s a fucking lie. You took two of our guys with you. I’m going to need those names too.”
He stubbornly shakes his head. I have to give Monte credit for one thing—he’s fiercely loyal to whoever is pulling his strings. I peer over and notice two of our prospects looking bloodied and guilty while they try to blend into the crowd.
“You took the fucking prospects.” I shake my head. “Men who beat women have no goddamn place inmyclub. Put your fucking cuts on the table and get the fuck out,” I roar at them. “You’re done.” The two men shove through the crowd they were hiding behind and do as I order. I wait for them to leave before I return my sights to Monte.
“You’re going to let two prospects go over her. Is this the kind of man you want running this club? Look at what he’s willing to do for a piece of ass,” Monte screams out. “The bitch deserves what she got. I only regret that I didn’t get to sample the goods myself. See what all the hype is about.”
Rage takes over. My hand goes for my gun at my back. Retrieving it, I press the barrel between his eyes.
“She’s mine,” I snarl, my voice trembling with fury.
Monte’s eyes are wide with terror, but he stays silent.
My finger goes toward the trigger. I can feel the cool metal as I start to pull backward on it. The end of this asshole is so close I can feel his soul slipping away already, but before I can fire, Murph steps forward, shoving Monte away from my gun, his hands up in front of him. “Woah, Prez, we need to hear him out. Let’s give him a chance to explain himself.”