My Dark Knight (gay biker romance) (Kings of Hell MC Book 2) Read online

  They turned into a path Elliot hadn’t even noticed at first despite his eyes having gotten used to the dark. This was not his night. If he survived Knight’s punishment, then he’d die of pneumonia anyway.

  “Stop saying that. William wasn’t just anyone. He was special!”

  “Special how? You mean because he had the unusual hobby of murdering people? And, only young men known to be handsome. We both know what that means.”

  “So he was gay. Big deal. With the club president you guys have, this shouldn’t be an issue.” Elliot dared to glance up at Knight’s face. The man was too handsome to be real. All symmetry, cheekbones, and a nose that had surely never been broken.

  Knight snorted. “If you look at how serial killers operate it’s more than likely he was also sexually assaulting his victims. Is that the kind of thing you’re into? Maybe I shouldn’t rough you up too much, or you’ll come back for more.”

  Elliot’s whole body was so cold violent tremors went through it every now and then, but his face still went hot at the notion. “Sure, he killed people, but you don’t know what those men were like. You don’t know what they’d done to him.” Elliot tasted powder on his tongue and bit his lips in shame when he realized his intricate but cheap makeup was now dripping down his face.

  “Really? You think a baker or a clerk could hurt a man who owned a large estate and was part of the high society?” Knight asked and stopped, letting go of Elliot. For a moment, Elliot’s frantic brain told him to run, but before he could consider it, a heavenly warmth covered his shoulders. The scent of leather and the same aroma he’d sensed on Knight had Elliot’s insides flaring up with butterflies.

  Covered by Knight’s leather jacket, he suddenly forgot what they’d been talking about. At least the tears that spilled down his face shouldn’t be so visible in the dark. Why would have Knight done such a thing? Why give up his own comfort for Elliot’s sake? It simply didn’t add up.

  Elliot looked up at Knight, embarrassed about the way he choked up at the gesture. “They could have still broken his heart.”

  Knight watched him for several seconds. “One day, someone’s gonna murder you, you know that? This kind of thinking’s gonna send some homicidal douchebag your way, and off you go,” he said, poking Elliot’s forehead with his finger.

  Elliot looked away, all kinds of restless. The warm leather jacket felt like a shield from all the world’s evil, and he loved that feeling, even though his mind alerted him constantly that something was amiss. At least he was getting the vibe that homosexuality didn’t bother Knight. “How do you know I wouldn’t kill them first?”

  Knight asked, crooking his head so abruptly some of his thick hair rolled back to uncover his shoulder. After giving away his jacket, he was clad only in a T-shirt that didn’t exactly cling to his chest but showcased it in the best way possible. “You? With no meat on those bones?”

  The sense of indignity pushed Elliot forward, and he started walking even though he had no idea where he was going. “All you need is good aim.” But Knight was right. Elliot had the worst taste in men, because he was attracted to the douchebag who insulted him at every turn and threatened him with a gun. At least he didn’t feel like Knight was about to murder him anymore.

  The warm hand was back on his shoulder, and he welcomed it this time, excited by the touch of an enemy he’d fought tooth and nail for so many years already. He really was fucked up, wasn’t he?

  “Spare me. It’s bullshit, just like your stupid costume.”

  “Just because you don’t like something doesn’t make it bullshit! Some people deserve to die, and William Fane understood that.” Despite his agitation, Elliot moved those few inches closer to Knight.

  “Like who?”

  Elliot glanced up at him and almost tripped over a branch. It seemed that they were going somewhere because the landscape was changing. Smaller trees surrounded them now, allowing the moon to brighten up the scene.

  “Depends on who makes the choice, doesn’t it? William might have thought Laurent Mercier deserved to die, but Laurent also made his decision and ultimately murdered William. There is no universal rule. It’s up to those who have the guts to make those judgments. You know what Richard Ramirez said? That we all have the power to kill, but are afraid to use it. William wasn’t. He controlled life and death. And depending on what he thought of you, he would choose if you would live and bask in his friendship or die at his whim.”

  Knight watched Elliot. “Funny. In my experience it’s only the weaker ones who die. People own alligators and deadly animals as pets, but they don’t try to cuddle them to sleep, because they know that their admiration can never be mutual. That is exactly where you and your serial killer-crazed friends are going wrong.”

  Elliot’s feet landed on a sturdier path, and while he appreciated the lack of mud, he also feared stray trash that could hurt his bare soles. “I would have understood him, adored him, I would have given him everything he missed out on. He would never have hurt me.”

  “What makes you think that? How do you think his victims were different from you? It’s been over two hundred years, and there are no details known about their relationships with Fane.”

  Elliot curled his shoulders, not even wanting to think what a mess his wig and face were. “I just do. Few people are ready to give as much as I am. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “You might be the most delusional guy I’ve ever met. Can’t wait to push you into your car and go back to the guys,” Knight said in a sour voice.

  Could there possibly be an opening for one last attempt at pleading with Knight? He hadn’t even hit Elliot despite having put on an aggressive front for everyone else back at the clubhouse. The pebbles they reached wreaked havoc on Elliot’s feet, but he still looked back at Knight. “And I would give anything to spend a night in William’s home. That’s all I wanted.”

  Knight groaned. “Why? To toss rotten tomatoes at Laurent Mercier after coming up with another theory you’d just pull out of a hat?”

  The wet asphalt was a relief to Elliot’s aching feet when they passed the tall, creaking South gate to the asylum in faint light provided by the stars. “It’s hard to appreciate Laurent Mercier after what he’s done, but I guess he hung for it, so justice was done. I… I could stop delving into the topic of him if it bothers you so much. There are all those new bodies to focus on anyway.”

  “If it bothers me?” hissed Knight. He unexpectedly grabbed Elliot by the shoulders and shook him, testament to just how strong he was. “He was later called a hero. Everyone but you and other delusional ‘Faneatics’ like you knows that! Whenever I listen to one of your idiotic ideas about him, I just want to twist your head off.”

  With no punch coming Elliot’s way, the cuffs on his hands were only giving him a thrill. He’d never met a man who shared his interest in history and was hot at the same time. “I can’t help my attraction.”

  Knight swallowed, staring straight at him with an intensity that burned through Elliot’s skin and cooked his flesh. “I don’t fucking care if you like a dead psycho. But hands off my family and real history. It’s because of people like you that so many are misinformed!”

  “Have you ever searched for the other bodies? The authorities only found seven in total, but over thirty men went missing in the area back when those lands belonged to William.” Elliot couldn’t stop staring at Knight and didn’t even care anymore that he couldn’t feel his toes.

  “And your conclusion is what? That thirty men broke Fane’s heart?”

  “No…” Elliot licked his lips and took a step closer. “Maybe we could look for the hidden graves together.”

  Knight looked ahead as they walked along the road, toward the sad purple piece of junk that was Elliot’s car. A sense of embarrassment curled in Elliot’s stomach, but his attention was completely taken by Knight and what he might answer.

  “And what? You’d twist our findings to fit your theories? I don’t see how thi
s would be a good deal for me.”

  “I’m also seeking truth. My feelings are what they are, but I want to find out what happened to those men. How did he do it? How did he hide it?”

  Knight pondered Elliot’s words, but then his mouth curved and he let out a laugh. “Is this one yours? The Count’s carriage?” he asked, nodding toward the car.

  Elliot groaned. “It’s not mine-mine. Of course. My actual car is being repaired so I got this piece of shit for now as a replacement.” He kicked the wheel for good measure, even though his heart bled at doing so.

  Knight shook his head and pulled the leather jacket off Elliot’s shoulders before putting it back on. “Damn it. I don’t think I have the keys to the cuffs on me. Looks like you might have to drive using your teeth on the steering wheel.”

  Elliot’s eyes went wide. So this was Knight’s plan. He hadn’t hit Elliot but would instead leave him here in the cold and have him die of hypothermia. It now made sense why he first got Elliot cold, then warm, and now cold again. He wanted to fuck up Elliot’s body and kill him slowly.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me. I don’t even know if I have toes anymore.”

  Knight blinked, as if he were a mime, and pulled out a small bundle of keys. “Ohh, there they are.” He whistled and gestured for Elliot to turn around.

  Elliot exhaled deeply, frustrated to no end. Tiredness dropped on his shoulders like a coarse wet blanket, and with his guard down, he let himself enjoy the touch of Knight’s fingers.

  “There. You may now call your driver,” Knight said once the handcuffs were off.

  Tears filled Elliot’s eyes, but he wouldn’t let them spill. He opened his shitty car, ready to go back to his shitty place, and his shitty life. “Just leave me alone.”

  Knight moved so abruptly Elliot fell right into the torn seat, suddenly certain he would end up dead after all, but Knight was only leaning over him, with the thick hair hanging so low Elliot could grasp it with his lips.

  “Beast won’t tolerate you snooping around, and neither will I. Is that clear? Next time this happens, you are gonna lose that pristine smile of yours,” Knight said, tapping his teeth to demonstrate what he meant.

  Elliot nodded in resignation. He was used to being disrespected, but this was a new low. He was sat in his piece of junk, with torn stockings, no shoes, his suit soaked and his face probably resembling a melted ice cream. This night didn’t have many ways in which it could go any worse than it had already. Knight’s presence seemed to exist only for the purpose of contrast.

  Knight grabbed a fold of Elliot’s suit, which was hanging out of the cab, and tossed it inside before he shut the door. And that should have been it, but he gestured for Elliot to lower the window instead of turning on his heel and returning to the party.

  Elliot rolled down the glass, unable to keep his eyes off this man who caused him so much distress and yet provided the perfect concoction of pleasure and pain simply by gracing Elliot with his brief companionship. Knight’s scent clung to Elliot, as if he were still clad in the jacket.

  Knight popped his head into the car. “Give me your phone.”

  Elliot’s shoulder’s sagged. “Really? After all this, you’re gonna rob me?”

  Knight rolled his eyes and opened his palm. Elliot handed over his cell with resignation. Now that he thought of it, Knight probably just wanted to check that Elliot hadn’t taken any photos, so he just lay back and waited.

  In the pale light generated by the cracked screen Knight looked as handsome as William Fane in his portraits, and Elliot couldn’t deny the insistent pull he felt in his company. He was so lost in his own head it surprised him when Knight dropped the phone into his lap.

  “My phone number. Call me up if you really want to uncover the truth, and I’ll give you a personal tour. But if I ever see you coming here without authorization...” He made a cutthroat gesture with his index finger.

  It took Elliot a while to process what he’d just heard, but in the end his heart started beating faster. A tour. Of the Fane mansion. He smiled. “I won’t. I mean, I will. I will call first!”

  Knight’s mouth curved and he tapped the roof of Elliot’s car. “Good. And now go back to your palace, Count.”

  Elliot didn’t start his car just yet, watching Knight walk off into the darkness. With the patches on the back of his jacket and broad shoulders he looked like someone Elliot wouldn’t want to anger and yet Knight not only hadn’t hurt Elliot’s body, but showed him kindness.

  Elliot smiled at his phone once Knight was gone. Maybe there was a method to his madness after all.

  Chapter 5

  It took Elliot three days to recover from the violent illness that took hold of him after the barefoot walk of shame in the rain, and he didn’t want to present himself to the public—or to Knight for that matter—looking like shit. So it was only today that he was making his first video in a while, announcing that he would be touring the famously inaccessible Fane mansion. He might have been a little bit creative about the way he earned himself an invitation, claiming that his videos got noticed, but it wasn’t exactly untrue.

  He had been recognized by Knight. Even if the way things had gone down was slightly unorthodox. Elliot couldn’t stop thinking about how illicit it had felt to be wrapped in Knight’s jacket. If any of Knight’s biker brothers saw them walk together that way, Knight would have likely been in trouble, but he’d still done what he’d felt was right.

  Elliot sat in front of the spotty mirror he’d placed on the windowsill of the dining area in his trailer. When his father was still alive, he used to sleep curled up on the corner sofa by the plywood table, since the trailer only had one bed. Right next to where he was sitting now.

  He’d already put away his costume and changed into his usual fare of black with black and black. Jeans paired with a T-shirt was the standard getup, but with the weather getting colder by the day, he wore his thickest turtleneck and warm hoodie as well. The overcast sky provided little light and rendered everything gray, so he switched on a small lamp to see his face better and pushed his black bangs off his face. Maybe the new video would earn him a sponsor? His work didn’t attract many ads, and so monetization was shit. His crowdfunding page had grown since last month, but it wouldn’t be enough to replace the broken radiator if he still wanted to eat.

  For a brief moment, he looked around the cramped space that had belonged to his father since the eighties, first as a holiday home, then as permanent residence. Its age showed, with stains of damp permanently ingrained into the whitish walls and wood-patterned finish cracking on the cheap furniture. Built to serve for camping during the summer, the trailer had little to offer in terms of temperature isolation, but it was the only home Elliot had ever known, so he tried to make it work.

  Still, despite constant attempts to stay in good spirits, the inevitability of not having the things others deemed a necessity was chewing off his pride bit by bit. This wasn’t a place where he’d invite anyone decent, nor the place he wished to stay in for the rest of his life. He was meant for greater things, and just because he was stuck now didn’t mean he’d always have this few options.

  It could have been worse after all. He could have been homeless. His father could have been still alive, bugging him every day, stealing his food, and wrecking his shit.

  Elliot took a deep breath to stop thinking about the old man.

  He looked into the mirror instead. He and his father were nothing alike. Night and day really, with Father blond, tanned, and blue-eyed and Elliot with black hair, dark eyes and pale skin. Elliot likely took after his mother, but he could never be certain of it because Father had burned all pictures of her in a fit of rage years ago.

  Elliot rubbed the last of the white face paint off his jaw with a soft cloth, which was much cheaper than cotton wool pads in the long run, and he’d rather invest those few cents saved into more makeup.

  He didn’t exactly hate his face. It was okay and attracted men wh
en that was Elliot’s intention, but it didn’t give him the same boost of confidence the theatrical makeup did.

  As Elliot, he was a high school dropout who lived in a trailer park.

  As The Count, he had fans, charisma, and a biting sense of humor.

  As The Count, he was a person of interest to Knight, the vice president of the Kings of Hell Motorcycle Club, a man who was into all the things Elliot liked, even if they didn’t see eye to eye most of the time where it came to the interpretation of facts. Without the colorful persona, Knight wouldn’t have looked at Elliot twice.

  And Elliot desperately craved Knight’s attention in any way, shape, or form.

  Since they’d met in real life, there hadn’t been a day when Elliot wouldn’t think about Knight at least once. As a Mercier descendant, he had a murderer’s blood in him, and just thinking of that had Elliot breaking out in goose bumps. What was Knight himself capable of? He was the VP of the Kings after all, a powerful man who didn’t get where he was by being a good Samaritan.

  Had Knight killed someone? Or many people for that matter? How many? He definitely looked like he could snap someone’s neck with those big hands. A shiver went through Elliot when he thought back to the way Knight had taken control of the situation by grabbing him by the jaw. If Knight weren’t straight, they’d have made a perfect team. Elliot would have found a way to weave himself into the fabric of Knight’s life. He’d be useful, help hide any crime Knight committed and even lie for him in court if necessary.

  A loud knocking at the trailer’s door startled Elliot, and he almost dropped the cloth to the floor. Who could that be? There was no mail coming, and he didn’t have friends to drop by either. Nevertheless, he slid from behind the table and opened the door.

  He was halfway through ‘Yes?’ when his breath got stuck in his throat, turning into a painful ball of ice at the sight of a sinister-looking face. Martin’s broad jaw and narrow eyes were as recognizable as the clothes he wore the day he’d been arrested a year ago.