Epilogue

It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of His Lordship, Weston Milton Blair the Second, the 13th Earl of Kent.

His titles, lands, and all accounts have been passed on to his only living heir, Weston Milton Blair the Third.

His Lordship is hereby requested by His Majesty, King…

" C hrist," I crumple the official announcement of my father's death in my left hand.

My chest tightens with anxiety about what my family is going to expect from me. I've been running from that bloody responsibility for longer than I can remember. I never wanted any of it.

I still don't.

It was never my choice, and no matter how I try to fight it, my DNA, according to the bloody British Monarchy, is royal. Which means I'll need to deal with this.

"FUCK!" I throw the glass tumbler of whiskey that I poured before opening the letter that was delivered by fucking courier moments ago.

Scotland is still trying to gain its independence from England, and thus, I must acknowledge the formal call from His Majesty's office, if not for legal reasons but for my family's honor.

An alarm starts blaring, and I'm on my feet in an instant.

"What the bloody hell," I rush to my door and throw it open, looking up and down the empty hallway of our brand-new apartment building.

Construction was completed a few weeks ago, and until we hire a building manager full-time, I offered to do it since I've taken up one of the penthouse suites on the top floor.

The fire alarm is going off, and the flashing lights indicate that we should all exit via the far left stairwell. Abel's fucking AI is playing an announcement so all the tenants can hear.

"We are conducting a required fire drill. Please exit the building for further instructions." The message repeats, and I groan.

There are only two fucking tenants.

Myself and a young woman who I've yet to meet on the main floor of the building. I slap my hand on the stairwell door, which bounces and echoes down the stairs. A loud screech follows, and I glance down the banister to see a pair of jade-green eyes looking up at me.

Oh fucking hell, she's gorgeous.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. Are you okay?" I stumble over my words as I take the stairs two at a time.

She's clutching her chest and white-knuckling the handrail as she watches me approach.

"I'm Skull," I throw my hand out in greeting, and she stumbles back from me with a trembling bottom lip.

"Skull?" She's got herself backed into a corner and is looking around me like a scared animal searching for an escape.

I take a few steps back and open the doorway that leads to the alley.

"Yes, I'm the Medic for the MorningStar MC. The club that owns the building? I'm your landlord, basically." Her eyes narrowed, but her breath started to calm as I waited for her to exit the building first.

"Oh, I'm sorry. They said one of the guys would be living upstairs. I didn't realize you'd be so," Her voice trails off as she swipes her hand up and down to demonstrate my size.

"Big?" I fight my smirk.

"Mmhm," She straightens to her full height and approaches me cautiously.

"You know, the front door is closer to your apartment than this one. If this were a real fire, it wouldn't have been a good choice for you, Lass." I nod at her to keep walking past me and out into the balmy New Orleans night.

"I was in the basement getting ready to do laundry." Her voice becomes defensive, and I hear her mutter something to herself that sounded an awful lot like, ‘If I did what I should, I wouldn't fucking be here.'

"Ah, my apologies then." I close the door, and the alarm stops immediately.

Our phones both ring, and I fish mine out of my back pocket while she looks down at the one she's holding with a death grip. I glance at her screen, both mine.

Thank you for your participation. All tenants are clear. This concludes the fire drill. -MSMC Management

"Well, I'm guessing we can go back in now. It was a pleasure to meet you finally," I said, stopping when I noticed she had never given me her name.

"Oh, um, Ivy." She waves at me awkwardly and runs off, leaving me standing in the middle of the alley, watching her disappear.

I shake my head in disbelief.

The lass is a head shorter than me, skittish as fuck, and half the width of one of my thighs. I have no business standing here salivating at the thought of getting her in my bed.

I have no right to be mixing business with pleasure. I do not shit where I eat. I keep all my romantic rendevous strictly away from club business and my brothers, frankly. Those sons of bitches do not need any encouragement for the hazing they love to torment me with.

If they knew about my title?

"Shite," I swear and rub my bald head.

My phone rings, and my eye starts to twitch at the name on the screen.

"Abel," I answer, knowing my life as I knew it was about to change.

"Me, Lord."

FUCK!