Filthy Valentine: A Dungeon Demons MC Prequel Read online

  Scott looks from me to his new lady. “What? No. Angelica’s not wearing your clothes.”

  Angelica on the other hand lets out a manic laugh, trying to keep it low. “Sweetie, I know you said not to touch anything but I couldn’t help it. You did say green was your favorite on me anyway.” Angelica pulls at the tie and the robe opens, revealing the matching thong that goes with it.

  I want to gag, but instead I only grow angrier. I mean, who in their right mind would ever wear another woman’s underwear? Not me, that’s for sure.

  “You’re wearing her shit?!” For a second I think Scott’s pissed at her, but the second the shocked look on his face turns into a smile I feel even more rage rush through me. Not once can I recall being this pissed. “God, you’re a twisted bitch and I love it.”

  “Not as much as I love you, baby!” Angelica tells him, smirking devilishly as she saunters over to him, walking right past me.

  I don’t know what’s worse, the fact she’s wearing my underwear or that she said she loved him . . . and they’ve been together for how long? Whatever. I don’t need to know the details.

  In my rage I walk past the both of them and head straight to the bedroom Scott and I used to share, go into my closet and grab my luggage. The expensive designer luggage I just bought myself, I should add. My wigs are here, most of my hair care, and my work clothes. Not to mention everything else I need.

  The first thing I do is unzip my bags. Luckily, I got a system of three suitcases that can fit inside one another when they’re not being used. I grab the small one and start pulling my wigs one by one from the racks, collapse the hangers and make sure I’m securing the wigs so they don’t have any damage. I have about four left when Angelica comes rushing in.

  “You can’t take that!” she yells, trying to dissuade me from grabbing my things.

  I don’t even bother looking at her and I certainly don’t stop what I’m doing. “I’m grabbing my things from the apartment I shared with my ex-boyfriend. I can take what I bought because it’s mine.”

  “This isn’t your place, you can’t just walk right in here.”

  Okay, so she’s going to play that card. Grabbing the last wig, I slide it in its sheer bag and pull the hanger off the rod. “I don’t know who the hell you think you’re talking to, Angelica, but did you see him stop me? Uh, no. Because even though he’s an asshole he knows I have a right to what’s mine, so do me a favor and get out of my face while I grab my stuff.”

  Thinking nothing of it, I zip the luggage up and then go to the next biggest one, I don’t even bother folding my clothes as I yank them off their hangers, already figuring this woman is going to be batshit insane. I’m maybe halfway down the rack when a tugging sensation starts near the outer layer of my hair. This chick is really pulling my wig right now? Oh, hell no.

  Instantly, I whip around and look back at her. “You’re going to wish you never laid a hand on me,” I sneer, pulling my arm back I start to move it but she kicks up her leg and manages to get an iron grip on me. Angelica drags me out by the back of my hair and finally let’s go of me when I’m in the bedroom. I take a moment to catch my breath and heat storms through me. I feel it everywhere, but most of all on my face. I lunge toward her and draw my hand back, but the second I’m about to come into contact with her clothes-stealing face, an impact so strong busts right into my cheek and I topple over, hitting the bed.

  With the wind knocked out of me, I try to figure out what the hell just happened. I would’ve seen her hand coming at me, but the way she hit me . . . how the hell did she do it? I need to get out of here as soon as freaking possible. I run back to the closet, zip up my second piece of luggage and grab the two suitcases I filled and rush out of there as quickly as I can.

  Only, when I get to the door Scott grabs me with his nostrils flaring and pins me up against the wall. “Do anything like that to her ever again and I’ll have no problem making your other cheek match.” His words come out callous, stone-cold, and most of all promising. He’s already decided in his mind he has no problem doing this . . . and my body goes rigid.

  Angelica isn’t the one who hit me. It was Scott . . .

  I rip my arm out of his grasp and pull my luggage with me, running to my car like the apartment’s on fire. I throw them in the back seat and get in the driver’s side as soon as I can. But as I turn on the ignition, I know I can’t go back to the apartment right now . . . which means there’s only one place I can go to.

  A place I’ve never stepped foot in my life, but a place I know I’ll be safe—Preston’s club.

  Chapter Six

  Filthy

  “Yo, Filthy,” I turn my head and look over to the bar where Bongo’s making himself a drink. He has his cell pulled up to his ear and motions for me to come over. Bongo’s been with the club a few years and is one of the only full patched members around. He’s the Sergeant at Arms and controls all our ammo, guns, and whatever other toys we have around the club.

  “‘Sup?”

  “Neon says there’s a woman out front, at the gate. She’s tryin’ to get in and says she knows you.” There’s been a few times we’ve had some crazy bitches come running into the clubhouse after getting fucked over by one of the other guys, so now we always check.

  “Alright. What’s her name?” I ask, and Bongo asks Neon over the phone.

  “Says her name’s Scar’ . . . or Scarlett.” Bongo furrows his brows in confusion. “She told him both, but man, he says she don’t look good at all . . .”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I fucking hate it when anyone says shit like this. I’m not a fucking mind reader. People can’t just talk in riddles and expect me to know what they mean.

  “Dunno man, just tellin’ you what he told me.” Bongo shrugs.

  “Tell him to let her through already, will ya?” I head over to the door and walk right out of the club. Our clubhouse is only a few minutes from 295 and we’re in the Cisco Gardens neighborhood. It’s nice ‘cause it’s only a twenty-minute drive to downtown. I put a hand over my eyes to shield the sun from my view and see her silver Nissan Altima rolling right up. She’s wearing gaudy sunglasses and she pulls up next to my BMW series coupe.

  I stand and wait for her to exit the vehicle and when she does, she stares at me before laughing awkwardly. “Have to admit, it’s been a really long time since I’ve seen you wearing your leather vest. It might take me a minute. I’m so used to suits.”

  “It’s called a cut, not a vest. Take all the time you need. I’m not always so prim and proper, obviously.” I release a chuckle and scan my eyes over her and see a slight pigment in the coloring of her skin. It seems a bit off, but more than that, the right side of her cheekbone is swelling.

  Without thinking about it, I reach out and take her sunglasses off. “What the fuck happened to you?” I don’t mean for my words to come out so sternly but fuck if it isn’t taking everything inside me to not get every damn answer and then leave her here with my brothers while I rip some fucker to shreds.

  She sucks her dainty bottom lip in and looks to the ground in shame. I give her a moment and just as I’m about to speak she looks at me with tear-filled eyes. “Preston, please don’t. I—I can’t do this right now. I need some place safe, some place where I won’t . . . where I won’t be questioned. I need to think.”

  I nod, understanding what she needs. It’s not like it takes a fucking genius to figure out who did this to her. I spot the two suitcases in the back of her car. She must’ve gone to her ex’s apartment to get some of her shit.

  “Alright. Let’s get you some aspirin and some ice on that face of yours then.” Without thinking, I wrap my arm around her waist and walk her to the clubhouse. She paws at my hand for her sunglasses.

  “Please, I don’t want your friends to see my . . . you know,” Scarlett mutters lowly.

  “Scar’, you don’t need to worry about that shit. No one will say a damn thing to you. Trust me, alright?”

 
; She sucks in a deep breath and nods, and with that I push open the door and walk inside. Bongo’s still behind the bar so I head over there. “Mind getting Scar’ here some aspirin and a Ziploc bag of ice?”

  Bongo takes one look at her and smirks. “Yep. I bet the other guy looks fuckin’ wrecked.”

  Scarlett lets out a laugh and I’m thankful for the old biker’s sense of humor. I’m sure she needed a laugh right about now. Bongo kneels down to the ice machine and scoops some into a plastic baggie, then hands it to me over the bar. I lean over and grab a microfiber cloth and wrap it so it’s not too cold on her cheek and press it to her face.

  “Argh,” Scar’ groans and fuck if it doesn’t piss me off even more. How the fuck does a man do this shit to someone?

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, looking into her dark almond eyes.

  “It’s okay. I . . . I appreciate you even doing this. I was just looking for a place to process, for quiet, maybe even distractions. I don’t know.”

  “If you’re lookin’ for a distraction, I can have Neon get his ass up here and burp the alphabet. He can get all the way to Y in one breath but fuck if he doesn’t make his way past it,” Bongo interjects, causing Scar’ to bust out into a breathless laughter. “Here’s your meds, sweetie. Take it sooner rather than later. I’m sure you’re up for a cold, hard drink too. Huh?”

  “That would be amazing,” Scarlett tells him with a half-smile, taking the pills from his hand she opens the water bottle he set down in front of her and takes the aspirin.

  “Pick your poison, babycakes,” Bongo says with a smirk. He’s not normally this jovial, so I know he’s doing it ‘cause he knows what happened. He knows she got hit, as anyone would who walks near her, and he’s doing his damn best to make sure her mind isn’t on it. For that, I’ll be forever grateful.

  “Tequila, please.” Scarlett surprises me by her choice, but she shouldn’t. She’s been best friends with Cam’ for as long as I can remember, and I’m sure Cam’ taught her to take it like a champ.

  “Rail, or the shit we get for Filthy?” Bongo looks at Scarlett and then to me.

  “Filthy?” Scarlett laughs out my road name.

  “It’s my road name,” I remind her.

  “Sorry, I still view you as Preston. Filthy is just . . .”

  “Nasty, naughty, dirty. We know. Have you seen this son of a—” I shoot Bongo a warning glare and he stops, knowing not to ever finish that phrase. I have the utmost respect for my mother, and the man who ever calls her the b word will have my fist through his teeth before he can even finish. “Sorry, all I was tryin’ to say is the name fits. Now, how do you two know each other? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Filthy bring you around here,” Bongo says, and it causes me to laugh.

  “Give her some of my stash, and I’ll let Scar’ tell you.” I tap the barstool for her to take a seat and she does, so I sit beside her and settle back, watching her finally relax since stepping foot in this place.

  Chapter Seven

  Scarlett

  “There’s not much to tell. We’ve known each other for years, since I was a kid and he was a teenager.” I mutter while Bongo grabs the special tequila he gets for Preston, puts a shot glass down in front of me, and pours me a drink.

  “You’ve known this guy since he was a teenager? Damn, I bet he was into some nefarious stuff.” Bongo chuckles, even ends up pouring himself a shot, but Preston grabs the drink and downs it before Bongo has the chance to pick it up.

  “I said she could have some, not you old man, so don’t get it twisted.” Preston’s voice is a bit firm and it almost makes me laugh, so I grab my own shot glass and down it. The liquor burns the back of my throat as it slides down and settles in my stomach, but I know I’ll be feeling so much better very shortly.

  “Don’t be blamin’ me for reachin’, man.” Bongo laughs, getting a sly smirk from Preston.

  “You don’t know how not to reach. Hell, I bet Scar’ doesn’t even have one story about me goin’ too far. She was a kid playin’ with her Bratz dolls. She was too busy to pay attention to me, back then anyway.” Preston’s tone drops a bit and his eyes lock onto mine as he finishes what he’s saying.

  I don’t know why, but I can’t pull my eyes away from his. What did he mean by the last part of his sentence? Back then anyway . . .

  “She had a lingerin’ eye for you back in the day, hmm?” Bongo slaps his hands together and leans over the bar a bit, staring between Preston and me.

  “I saw one, but I don’t know if she’ll fess up to it.” Preston chuckles casually while putting a hand behind his neck, he keeps his fixed gaze on me.

  “Well, did ya, little lady?” Bongo asks, and I see he’s like the best wingman I’ve ever come into contact with. He’s so nosy that it looks like the conversation is naturally flowing, but I think there’s a bit more thought that’s going into this from Preston’s side right about now.

  “I might’ve had the biggest crush on my best friend’s older brother when I was a teenager,” I confess, and with that Bongo fills my shot glass again and I down it.

  “Fuckin’ knew it,” Preston says, smirking like the cat who just caught the canary.

  “And you two ain’t never . . .” Bongo looks between Preston and me, eyeing us both up, his expression and smile saying everything it needs to.

  “Nope, not ever. She’s eight years younger than me, so when she was eighteen, I was twenty-six. I, uh, thought she was too young still for me to be makin’ any moves, especially with our age difference.” Preston speaks up, speaking so matter-of-factly with Bongo.

  Meanwhile, my eyes widen and I’m caught in complete disbelief. Preston just full out admitted he had his eye on me . . . for years at that! Holy crap.

  “Bongo, would you mind?” I ask my newfound friend here, and with a chuckle he pours me another shot which I take back in no time. The burn of the tequila down my throat is in no way a comparison to the way Preston’s eyes are burning through mine right now.

  We’ve both admitted in the last five minutes we’ve had some sort of attraction to one another in the past, and now here we are . . . on Valentine’s Day in his MC’s clubhouse.

  I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. I came here because it was some place safe, because going back to the apartment would only mean Cameron grilling me about what happened . . . but now I’ve opened up an entirely different can of worms.

  Chapter Eight

  Filthy

  Bongo ends up disappearing as soon as he can and walks off to where Kodiak’s sitting in the back, surrounded by Cut and Leather. A few minutes of silence pass us by before Scarlett ends up sucking in a deep breath and exhales loudly. Finally, she turns toward me on the barstool and looks right in my eyes. “You want me to tell you what happened, don’t you?”

  “I want you to, yeah, but I’m not gonna sit here and make you. I got a pretty good idea about what happened, given the luggage in your car, and the swelling.” Scarlett’s holding the ice against her face and finally takes it off, sets it on the counter, and shakes her head.

  “You’re not gonna end up asking me what happened and expect me to say something?” She looks like she’s caught in disbelief. I’m sure she’s thinking how I’m completely different than my sister. Cam’s the first person who will lay down in a fight for you, but man, she’s a drill sergeant most of the time. She wouldn’t ever not let Scarlett talk about what happened, she’d want to know right then and there, so being here with me is probably a breath of fresh air for her.

  “Thanks, for not hammering me about it,” she murmurs quietly, and looks down at the top of the bar.

  Out of nowhere the urge to touch her takes over me, so I give her an encouraging squeeze and rub my thumb over the top of her hand. “I’m not here to make things worse for you. If you ask me, your day’s been bad enough.”

  “Damn straight about that. I’ve had some pretty foul Valentine’s Days in my past, but this by far has to be the worst one of them all
.” Hearing her admit this to me makes me sick to my stomach. Why is a woman like her in a situation like this? I don’t get it, but then again, I don’t understand most shit that happens in this world. That’s saying a lot considering I’m a lawyer. The amount of dumb shit I know people are allegedly doing is almost mind-boggling.

  “The day’s not over yet, so how about you take a deep breath and come out with me?” It feels like the right thing to do, to get her out of this club and let her breathe for a bit.

  “I don’t really want to go out, Preston. Not looking like this.” Scarlett points to her bruised face and I look at her sternly before I finally speak, and while on the inside I’m imagining ways to fuck up her abusive ex, I soften my voice so she doesn’t think I’m being foul.

  “Tonight, you and I are going out and I promise you, you won’t have to worry about this.” I graze my finger against her skin lightly, careful not to irritate the swollen area. While it looks better, it’s surely not that much better than when she rolled up here to the club not too long ago.

  “Preston,” Scarlett’s muttering my name like she’s trying to talk me out of this but I won’t take that.

  “No. You’re not talkin’ me out of this. We’re going out later, and no one will have to see your face. It’ll just be you, me, and the open road. I’m takin’ you for a ride, but I want the alcohol out of my system. I know I only had a couple shots but fuck if I’m gonna be on the road right now. Let’s get hydrated, maybe you can take a nap and see if that’ll make things better?”

  Surprisingly enough, Scar’ nods. “You know, that isn’t a bad idea.”

  “Alright. I have a room here at the club, it’s upstairs, down the hall on the left, and it’s the third room on the right. My code to enter is 4246. You go head up there and I’ll come up in a couple hours. I have some work I need to get done around here,” I say, but little does she know I’m lying to her. I don’t have work to do here, but there is something I need to handle.