Chapter 4
Chapter Four
MALICE
The aftermath of Rolo’s murder isn’t pretty. Watching Morgan fall to her knees in Saige’s arms, her screams, her tears, they’ll be stuck with me until the day I die. I haven’t slept or eaten, my only focus finding that piece of shit who turned on us and making him pay.
I’m a madman. I’ve always had a screw loose, but I’ve been able to control it.
Somewhat. The twenty-four hours after I stared at Rolo, riddled with bullets, are madness.
The fire that I fight to control every day rages as an inferno now, hungry, ravenous, and unstoppable.
It burns away any hesitations, restraints, or doubt, leaving only fury and death in its wake.
While everyone was at the clubhouse taking care of Morgan, getting plans together, and figuring out how the fuck to move on, I embraced the devil at my back and went on a killing spree.
Saige’s best friend, Seb, is a silent reporter of pieces of shit who don’t deserve to continue walking the earth.
Men who’ve skirted the law for whatever reason and needed a reckoning. And I was happy to give it to them.
The blood that spilled at my hands didn’t snuff out the fire.
I would have taken some of it out on a patch bunny or two in the form of some rough fucking, but even though I’m a monster, I know they deserve their time to mourn and take care of Morgan without me dragging them away to be bound against my bed or cross while I fuck them into oblivion.
I’m sitting in church, the air thick with a volatile mix of rage and sadness. It’s palpable, and I soak it in, letting it meld with my own, letting the fire inside me build and build until I’m ready to blow again.
“Rolo had a life insurance policy we didn’t know about.
So, his death is public record. Instead of Deputy Evans bringing his body here, he’s at the Amberwood Mortuary.
They’re going to handle stuff for us, and then we’ll do our final ride, bringing him down to the cemetery for a burial.
We need to handle the funeral arrangements.
Morgan said she can’t bear to do it, so one of us needs to.
” That’s not common for us. The majority of members who have passed are buried right here on Heathen property.
Things can get messy when you involve others, especially when you’ve got bodies with bullet holes and stab wounds.
“I’ll do it,” I reply, knowing I need to be the one to do this. For Jesse, the club, and for Morgan.
Sin taps his fingers against the table. I count each one. “No offense, Mal, I don’t think you’re in the right space to handle all that. Bristol and I can take care of it.”
“I said I’ll fucking do it, and that’s the end of the conversation. I know how to reel myself in, Sin, so fuck off. Now, where do we start looking for Garrett? Any leads on why the fuck he turned on us? Turned on Rolo?”
All eyes are on me, and for a moment, silence stretches in the large meeting room, until finally, Chaos breaks it.
“None yet. Wrath and Noose, clear out his shit at the bunkhouse, don’t leave an inch untouched.”
“You think he was working for someone?”
“I don’t trust a fuckin’ soul, you all know that. But I dunno. This seems personal, almost.”
“But why Rolo?”
“Did he have beef with anyone that we didn’t know of? Wasn’t he the one who sponsored Garrett? There’s too many fuckin’ prospects right now.”
“We had to! We took too many hits after the Widowmakers attacked us here,” Sin adds.
“We need a deep dive, pull all the prospects in. Time to test their knowledge. We aren’t a herd of sheep, we’re fucking Heathens. And it’s time to remind them all what that means.”
We all leave church and filter into the common area of the clubhouse.
I bounce on the soles of my boots, cracking my neck side to side and shaking out my hands, like an MMA fighter getting ready for a match.
This is where I shine. Sin may be the club’s go-to for being willing to get anything done, but I excel at torture.
All the club members file into the room, the prospects lined up in front of us, including Luca, who’s still healing from his gunshot wounds.
I take my time, eyeing each and every one of them.
I may not be good at reading people, or knowing between right and wrong, or anything about what’s socially accepted, but I’m the epitome of feral, and I can pull answers from them without breaking a sweat.
“One of our men was murdered in cold blood. A prospect—one of you—was shot and almost died. Who knows Garrett?”
A younger kid, not much older than eighteen, is the first to speak up. He’s got a head full of ashy brown hair and deeply set eyes. He’s scrawny as fuck, but he holds himself well.
“He kept to himself. Didn’t talk to us much, just grunts and head nods.”
Chaos doesn’t look amused. “That doesn’t tell us anything we need to know in order to find him.”
Sin stands next to me, his fists clenching at his sides as he looks over each man, looking for something I’m missing.
“You,” Sin says, his voice deep and angry.
He points to one of the larger dudes, standing in a pair of black joggers and a charcoal grey hoodie.
His lips are pursed, and he doesn’t seem shocked that Sin is calling on him.
Wrath drags a chair to the middle of the room, the wood scraping on wood piercing my ears.
Noises have always bothered me. It’s the silence that I crave most. “Take a seat, buddy. Let’s have a chat, yeah? ”
Sin grips the man’s shoulder, guiding him and pressing him firmly into the seat.
I watch the other prospects, but can’t get a read on them until Wrath nods his head in the direction of another one.
Similar build, slightly shorter, hair growing back from being recently shaved in the last few months.
I cock my head to the side, looking at the one sitting in the chair.
Same hair. Clearly growing in. I lean into Wrath’s space, whispering. “Get me a razor.”
Wrath’s eyes bulge for a moment before he looks at the ground of the clubhouse. “We’ll need to take him down into the basement if you’re gonna skin anyone else. No one wants to clean up that shit from the clubhouse.”
“I’ve never skinned anyone.”
“Yeah, you did. That night you and Rogue took care of those few Widowmakers at the drug den.”
I think back to that moment that shouldn’t feel so long ago.
“What the fuck happened?”
“Apparently he wanted to make a coat,” Rogue tells Wrath as their eyes look at me from my boots to my head. I admit, I’m looking a little gruesome. The man was a squirter and covered me in blood. Pretty sure there are brain matter chunks on my vest and for sure on my neck.
“A coat? Like a human one?” Wrath asks, looking queasy.
“Unfortunately.”
Wrath gives Rogue a look that I can’t quite read, and I suddenly feel itchy all over.
Rogue grabs a towel and some bandages and helps to get the wound on my arm taken care of.
Luckily, it’s just a flesh wound, and I didn’t even notice it until I started oozing.
Blood leaks all over Rogue, both from me and the fucker I killed.
He doesn’t look too happy about that, and I can’t help but smile.
“You’re a crazy sonofabitch; you know that, right?
” Wrath says, making me laugh. I throw my head backward, cackling into the night.
If they only truly knew just how fucking crazy I actually am.
It’s why I was kept locked up. To contain me.
To protect themselves and others. That didn’t end like they thought it would.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, dude?”
“You two idiots think I would actually skin someone?” I ask, curious about their answer.
They share a private look, and my eyes narrow in their direction. “You do know what your road name means, yeah? And how you got it?” I’m very much aware. I crave evil. I am evil.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t skin anyone,” I lie.
I think about it for a moment, the process, what it would be like to actually skin a human.
Would I wait for them to be dead, or would I attempt it while they were still alive?
I bet the screams would be pretty. Messy, though, and a lot of work.
I’d probably get hungry and need to take breaks.
And if I needed to take a break, I’d probably want to fuck.
Then he’d just start to rot and decompose, half-skinned.
Probably not worth the effort when there are plenty of other ways to make someone hurt.
“Yeah, no. I couldn’t. I stabbed him in the neck and hit an artery.
Or two. Shit erupts like a geyser.” I motion an explosion with both of my hands as I talk.
“There’s no stopping it once it starts. Did you know hearts are slippery? ”
“I remember. And I thought about it, but I’ve never skinned someone, and I couldn’t do it. Not worth my time. I want to shave his head.”
“You want to shave his head?”
“I. Want. To. Shave. His. Head.”
Wrath punches me in the arm, earning us a few stares from onlookers. “For fuck’s sake. Why?”
“Just a hunch.”
Wrath rolls his eyes, but he walks away in search of a razor.
“What’s your name?” Sin asks the man sitting in the chair.
“Jason.”
“Alright, Jason, what do you know about Garrett?”
“Not much. Like he said, he was quiet, didn’t talk much.” He shrugs, and I don’t fucking like it. Why isn’t he taking this more seriously?
“You see, Jason, I don’t believe you. Men who have something to hide, they behave a certain way, overly confident that they won’t get caught, won’t be questioned, and, if they are, that they’re good enough at lying and deceiving that it’ll go unchecked.
” Sin squats down to look Jason eye to eye. “You know why they call me Sin, Jason?”