7. Chapter 6 #3
I turned back to the clubhouse, needing to check on Honey, when the unmistakable roar of a Harley cut through the gunfire.
A motorcycle burst through the smoke, engine screaming.
The rider hunched low over the handlebars as he tore through the gate and into the yard.
I recognized both bike and rider immediately.
My bike. Stolen from where I'd left it by the gate. And Shank.
The Copperhead enforcer gunned the engine, heading straight for me. His face was twisted in a feral grin, eyes wild with bloodlust. I raised my pistol, squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
With no time to reload. I braced myself as the bike bore down on me. At the last possible second, I hurled myself sideways, rolling hard across the ground as the bike missed me by inches.
Shank skidded to a stop, spinning the bike in a tight circle to face me again. He dismounted, letting my bike fall to the ground. In his hand, a wicked hunting knife gleamed.
"Bloody Jack," he sneered, voice carrying across the yard. "Time to find out if you deserve that name."
Around us, the fighting was being wrapped up.
We’d seen several Copperheads hurry back over the fence when they couldn’t make it to the gate.
If I was right, only two or three Copperheads remained.
Along with Shank. My brothers knew better than to interfere at this stage. This was between me and Shank now.
I rose to my feet, drawing my own knife from its sheath at my lower back. "Been waiting for this," I growled.
Shank lunged with a yell, blade slashing in a silver arc. I pivoted, feeling the wind of its passage across my face. My counter thrust caught his forearm, opening a long gash that immediately welled with blood. He hissed but didn't slow, coming at me again with a flurry of strikes.
We circled each other, blades flashing in the light of burning vehicles.
I felt a sting as his knife found my side, slicing through my shirt and into the flesh beneath.
Warm blood trickled down my ribs but I didn’t flinch or stop my attack.
I drove my shoulder into his chest, following with a knife thrust that he barely avoided.
I drove forward, knife leading the way. Shank sensed the attack and twisted, my blade sinking into his shoulder instead of his heart.
His howl of pain was savage, primal as we grappled, falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and blades.
His knife scored my chest, a line of fire across my pecs.
My fist connected with his jaw, the satisfying crunch of bone giving way beneath my knuckles.
Blood sprayed from his mouth, speckling my face with warm droplets.
"Should've never touched my woman," I snarled, driving my knee into his stomach.
Shank wheezed, spitting blood. "Your woman's next," he gasped. "After I'm done with you, I'll—"
I silenced him with a headbutt that shattered his nose. Raw hatred poured through me at the thought of him laying a single finger on Honey. He scored another slash across the top of my arm.
Somehow, I managed to knock his knife away with a sweep of my arm. Before he could recover, I had him in a chokehold, his back against my chest, my forearm as tight around his neck as I could get it.
"This is for Flowerz," I hissed in his ear, though she'd been a traitor. "For dumping her body on my property like garbage. Traitor or not, she was mine to deal with. Not your to torture.”
Shank thrashed in my grip, clawing at my arm. I tightened my hold, then twisted violently. The crack of his neck was audible just before his body went limp.
I let Shank slump to the ground, rising to my feet. The remaining Copperheads were either dead or in the wind. Including their president, Acid.
I stood in the middle of the yard, chest heaving, surrounded by the bodies of fallen enemies. My brothers emerged from their positions, some wounded, all blood spattered. The compound was ours again.
I sought out Honey with my gaze and found her exiting the clubhouse, shotgun still in her hands. Her gaze locked on me. In that moment, as she walked across a battlefield littered with the aftermath of our violence, I saw something in her that hadn't been there before.
She belonged here now. Not because I'd claimed her, not because of the property patch on her back, but because she'd fought for her place. She'd killed to defend our home.
And God help me, I loved her for it.
Dawn broke fully, the rising sun casting long shadows across what remained of our compound.
I stood in the center of the yard, blood drying on my skin, muscles screaming from exertion and the knife wounds.
The metallic tang of gunpowder and blood hung heavy in the air.
Around me, shell casings, broken glass, splintered wood littered the yard, evidence of the finished battle.
My brothers moved through the wreckage with grim purpose. Before the morning was half over, the grounds were spotless. Animal sat propped against a wall, his stomach bandaged with strips torn from his own shirt, face gray with pain but eyes alert.
Ghost materialized at my side, his normally immaculate appearance now marred by blood and soot. "We lost two," I told him, voice flat.
He nodded once, his gray eyes taking in the scene with the same detached calculation I was forcing myself to maintain. "Could have been worse."
"Got three more who'll need a hospital," I continued. "Call Doc Simmons. She'll arrange transport, keep it quiet."
"What about the bodies?" Ghost asked, nodding toward the fallen Copperheads.
I considered this. Part of me wanted to string them up as a warning to demonstrate what happened when you fucked with Bound in Blood.
But that would bring heat from law enforcement we didn't need right now.
And it was only a matter of time before someone came out this way to see what the fuss was about.
"Dump them on Copperhead territory," I decided. "Let Acid deal with his own dead.”
I turned to survey the rest of the compound. The main building had held, though its facade was riddled with bullet holes. Two vehicles still smoldered, black smoke curling into the morning sky. The fence would need rebuilding, the gate replacing. Work that would take weeks.
Ghost nodded to Honey. “Girl’s one of us now.”
“Yep.”
"I need to check the rest of the building," Ghost said, tactfully excusing himself even if he did give me an amused grin.
When he was gone, Honey reached for me. "You got cut," she said, reaching up to touch my forehead. I hadn't even noticed. “Stopped bleeding.” She sounded kind of vacant as she spoke.
"It's nothing." I captured her hand, holding it against my face for a moment longer than necessary before bringing her fingers to my mouth and kissing them. "You okay?"
She nodded, a small smile touching her lips. "I killed a man today."
The words were simple, matter of fact. No hysteria, no breakdown. Just an acknowledgment of what had happened.
"I saw," I said. "Clean shot."
"I thought I'd feel... I don't know. Different. Guilty, maybe?" She looked down at her hands, still holding the shotgun. "But he was going to kill me. Would have killed you if he could. So I pulled the trigger."
I studied her face, searching for cracks in her composure, signs of the trauma that should follow taking a life for the first time. Instead, I found a calm acceptance that both surprised and concerned me.
"It changes you," I said quietly. "Killing. Not always in ways you notice right away."
"I'm already changed, Jack." She met my gaze again. "From the moment I walked into that party and you claimed me. There's no going back from that, is there?"
The question hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us was ready to fully examine.
I thought about the life she'd had before. She’d said it was quiet and more than a little boring, untouched by the violence that defined my existence.
She could have that again, in theory. Could walk away once the danger passed.
But we both knew she wouldn't. Not now. Not after today.
"No," I answered honestly. "There's no going back."
I reached for her, pulling her against my chest, uncaring of the blood and dirt that smeared between us. She came willingly, her body fitting against mine like it was designed to be there. The shotgun pressed awkwardly between us until I took it from her.
"I'm sorry," I murmured into her hair.
She pulled back slightly, looking up at me with confusion. "For what?"
"For bringing you into this." I gestured at the destruction around us. "For changing your life."
Honey shook her head. "Don't be. I chose to stay after that first night. I could have run, found a way out. But I didn't." Her hand came up to touch my face again, tracing the line of my jaw through my beard. "I stayed because I wanted to be here. With you."
The simple declaration hit me harder than any blow I'd taken during the fight. This woman, who'd seen the worst of what my life entailed, still wanted to be with me. Not because I'd claimed her, not because she feared what would happen if she left, but because she chose it. Chose me.
I bent my head, capturing her lips in a kiss that tasted of blood and gunpowder and something undefinably sweet that was uniquely Honey.
Her arms wound around my neck, clinging as the kiss deepened, neither of us caring who might be watching.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I kept her within the circle of my arms, unwilling to let go just yet.
"What happens now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I looked over her head at the compound. My brothers moved among the wreckage, securing our home, and removing any evidence there was a fight.
“We clean up and stay vigilant. Same as always.”
As we stood amid the aftermath of battle, Honey warm and alive in my arms, I knew with bone deep certainty that what had started as a claim of convenience had become something neither of us had anticipated.
She wasn't just wearing my property patch anymore.
She was part of my world now, for better or worse.
And God help anyone who tried to take her from me.