Chapter 43
“R emind me again why we just don’t kill every one of these assholes?” Alex grunts as he helps me carry our latest ex Clan member out of the cellar.
“Because the last thing we need right now is multiple murders coming back on us.”
“Sure, as shit would be easier than this,” he mutters as we drag the unconscious body over to the gate and then throw him a good few feet away before locking up and heading back to the house. At this rate we’re going to be lucky if we have twenty men left but I’d sooner spend the next five years rebuilding our numbers and reputation than let their poison continue to spread. But as they say, there’s no point in picking the weeds if you aren’t going to dig deep and get to the root of the problem.
The Old Guard needs to be dismantled for once and all.
Watching Samuel, Adam, and James squirm against the ropes threaded with thorns, each twist digging into pressure points with precision, I bite back a smirk from my seat on the top step of the cellar. The sight of them struggling, their smarmy bravado cracking, is the calm before the storm I’ve been waiting for.
“You ready to do this?” Alex asks, his hand settling firmly on my shoulder as he stands behind me.
“I was born ready,” I mutter, rising to my feet and descending into the cellar. The satisfying sound of their grunts and curses echoes in the damp space, and I can’t wait to wipe the smug looks off their faces. First, we get the answers we need. Then, we put these bastards where they belong—six feet under.
“Wakey, wakey! Time to confess your sins,” Alex sing-songs as he follows me down, plucking a knife off the counter and spinning it casually between his fingers.
Samuel thrashes harder at the sound of our voices, ignoring the thorns cutting into his skin and the way the ropes tighten with every move. Adam, slower to react, looks between us with wide eyes, shock giving way to panicked laughter and then frantic pleas.
“What’s wrong, Jamie?” I mock, using the nickname I know he hates as I prowl towards him. “Got nothing to say?”
“Fuck off. Angus should’ve put you down when he had the chance,” he spits. His words are venomous, but it’s the feel of his spittle landing on the side of my face that snaps my control.
Before anyone can react, my fist connects with his nose, the satisfying crunch of bone breaking under my knuckles reverberating through the space. Blood sprays, the metallic tang filling the air, and I feel a twisted sense of calm settle over me. This is on them. I am who I am because of these sons of bitches.
“Now,” I say, wiping his blood off my cheek and stalking around the room, “why don’t you fill us in on how this entire Clan managed to hide a human being’s existence for twenty years?”
“Fuck off,” Samuel snarls, his wrists bleeding as he fights the ropes.
“Not happening,” I reply coldly. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Either way, you’ll spill your guts.” With a swift motion, I bury my knife into his shoulder, his scream bouncing off the cellar walls. Leaving him writhing, I turn to Adam.
“You seem like the smart one here. Why don’t you start talking?” Alex taunts as he steps beside me, passing me a fresh blade before moving to Samuel. “Who knows? Maybe we won’t make your wife a widow.”
“Please! Just let me go. I wasn’t involved—I told them it was a bad idea!” Adam pleads, his wide eyes darting to mine, desperate for a shred of sympathy. But he won’t find it. If he really wanted to stop them, he could’ve. At the very least, he could’ve told someone who could intervene.
“You heard him,” Alex says, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “Tell us how hiding Helen’s existence came about, and maybe we’ll consider your plea.”
“Angus and her parents suggested it! We just went along with it. I swear I didn’t know anything dodgy was going on!” Adam babbles, his words spilling out like a flood. “I thought she was just a runaway!”
“Your lies might be convincing if we didn’t know she was meant to marry Angus,” I snarl. Bluffing works wonders in interrogation, but sometimes pain is the only motivator. Switching my knife for a set of brass knuckles, I make sure Adam sees them glinting in the dim light.
“Fuck, please! I’m sorry—I forgot about that!” he wails, panic thick in his voice. “You know how Angus was, Logan. What he said went. Who were we to question why Helen was never to be mentioned again? With time, we just… forgot about her.”
He says it like it’s that simple, like forgetting someone’s existence absolves him of guilt. The sheer audacity makes my blood boil.
“You forgot about her,” I repeat, my voice low with menace. “Guess I’ll just have to remind you the hard way.”
Hours later, drenched in blood but lighter for it, we dig three unmarked graves miles from the compound. Their tattoos are burned off, their bodies reduced to pieces. Even if someone stumbles across them, there won’t be much to identify. But we’re not taking chances—these bastards don’t deserve to rest on Clan land, and they sure as hell won’t haunt us.
As I toss the last shovelful of dirt onto the grave, I glance at Alex. He meets my gaze, his expression grim but satisfied. Together, we’ve sent a message: betrayal isn’t just punished—it’s wiped off.