Claimed by the Hellbound Rider

Promises to Keep

Devil POV

My knuckles thudded against the doorjamb. "Hey, Prez, got a minute?"

Jax Mercer, better known around here as Grave, looked up from his desk. His cut draped over wide shoulders, the patch reading "President" sitting just over his road name. Overall, he'd been a good leader for the club. In our world, that meant more than being popular. It meant making the hard calls and carrying the consequences when things went sideways. I respected the man as much as the patch.

He rubbed his eyes and nodded, closing his laptop. "Sure, Devil. Come on in."

I closed the door behind me, but if he was surprised, he didn't say anything. I rarely needed a closed-door sit-down with the Prez, but this situation called for it. Moving through the office, I took a seat in front of his desk. I'd handled murders, debt collections, and men who thought they were tougher than they were. For some reason, this conversation had my shoulders tighter than any of them.

We sat in silence for a moment as I processed what I wanted to say. In the years since I got out of the service and joined the club, I hadn't asked for much except a place to lay my head. This was the first time I was coming to Grave for a favor.

Hell, it wasn't even for me.

Deciding the best way out was through, I just got straight to it. "I heard from one of my brothers in the Marines earlier. We served together. Different units, same AO. He's one of the reasons I made it home. And he's asked me for a favor, but since it'll end up involving the club, I need to run it by you first."

Grave leaned forward, all his attention on me as he listened. "What's going on?"

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with his focus and knowing my next moves were dependent on his answer here. I couldn't turn down Cross's request, but it would be a hell of a lot easier to fulfill it if I had my club's backing.

"Cross is a Marshal now," I started.

He raised an eyebrow. "And he's asking you for help, knowing who you are? This must be serious."

I nodded. "He's got a witness who needs a safe place to land until it's time for a trial. Thing is, he doesn't currently trust that there isn't a mole in the Marshals Service, because none of the witnesses they've worked with so far have made it to court."

He went still. "Meaning?"

"Meaning they're dying before they can testify, and after they've entered WitSec."

He grunted, so I took that as a sign to continue. "This new witness, she's apparently terrified. And uniquely positioned to help them. He wants to put her here, with me, so I can keep an eye on her. And…"

"So she'll fall under our protection," Grave finished, leaning back.

I nodded again. "Yeah. Says he trusts us more than the guys he works with right now."

"Not many people have the kind of juice to buy off federal agents, Devil. Who are we talking about here?"

Knowing he'd ask, I'd gotten Cross to give me as much information as he could. Which, admittedly, wasn't a lot. But I'd gotten a name.

"He's going after the Mancini Syndicate."

Letting out a low whistle, he pushed back from his desk and started to pace. "Even up here in the mountains, I've heard of them. They're not a group you want to mess with, Devil."

"I know. And if it's too much of a risk to take on, I'll ask to go nomad and take her with me. Cross carried me out of the desert on his back, Prez. I can't refuse him. But I won't put the club in the crosshairs unless you okay her staying here first."

He faced me fully now, eyes on mine. "You're that serious about following through?"

"I am."

He muttered something under his breath, then scrubbed his hands over his face before seeming to come to a decision. "When I took this seat, I made a promise to myself. I wasn't gonna sit back and do nothing if I could do something to help. It's why I updated our creed the way I did." He dropped into his seat. "Anybody can talk about protecting people. The hard part is doing it when there's a cost. We don't hand women over to men who want them dead, not if we know about it. Bring her in."

Something lifted from my shoulders before I even realized it was there, weighing me down. I'd be able to keep my promise to Cross.

"Okay. Thanks, Prez. But…"

"But what?"

"Can we keep her identity between us for now? If she's here, hiding, she doesn't need the entire club to know. Loose lips and all."

He nodded. "Yeah. We'll keep it need to know, and right now that's just us. As far as the club's concerned, she can be an old friend of yours who's down on her luck and needs help. That'll be enough to keep everyone looking out for her."

"That'll work. Thanks, Prez."

"No problem. But, Devil?"

"Yeah?"

"She's your responsibility til she's gone."

I acknowledged that with an incline of my head, then stood and went to the door. Pulling it open, I released a breath and slipped my phone out of my back pocket. I headed up the back steps to my room, and once the door was shut, pulled up Cross's number.

It rang for so long I expected voicemail to pick up when his short, "Cross," came over the line.

"You're a go here, Cross. Send me details on the pickup."

"Extraction in progress. I'll have her up your way in three days."

That didn't give me a lot of time, but it would have to be enough. "I'll be ready."

There was a beat of silence on his end before his voice picked back up. "Thanks, Kane. Seriously. You could be the reason this one lives." The line went dead.

The words echoed in my head, though. Maybe after a life of killing—first for the government, then for my club—this was a way of making amends. Then I shook the thought away. I was who I was. There was no changing that.

No, now I had to focus on getting a place ready for some unknown woman who was brave enough to turn against the Mancini Syndicate and desperate enough to trust a biker. I looked around my room and grimaced. There was a pile of clothes in one corner, motorcycle parts on the dresser, and enough ammunition sitting around to make a federal agent cry. Yeah. This was going to take some work.