Chapter Eighteen
Bully
The roar of bike engines slices through the night like a battle cry.
We ride in formation, tight, controlled, lethal.
Boss leads up front, rigid like stone, his patch gleaming under the moonlight.
I ride just behind him, black hoodie pulled up beneath my kutte, jaw clenched, fists tight around the grips.
Behind me, Taz, Ragnar, Brains, and Smiler ride staggered, the weight of war heavy across their shoulders.
Stretch is tail gunner, riding anchor with a sawn-off slung across his chest. Eyes on mirrors, always watching our six. And somewhere trailing behind is Tally in the van, carrying everything we’ll need to end this tonight.
Nobody talks.
The only sound is the deep, unified thunder of Harley engines tearing across the asphalt. We’re ghosts in the dark, death on wheels.
As the bar comes into view, a flicker of yellow neon buzzing weakly against the gloom, Boss raises his fist. Every rider knows what that means—slow down, get ready.
We don’t brake gently. We don’t roll in unannounced.
They need to hear us and know they’re about to die.
We kill the engines, a collective screech of tyres eating the gravel as we line up outside.
One after the other, we dismount, our boots hitting the road heavy.
Tally swings the van door open and begins throwing out weapons.
I grab the M249. This belt-fed monster doesn’t politely knock—it rips the door off the fucking hinges.
The music inside stops, and it brings a smile to my lips. They’ve heard us. “Light it up,” I order.
Then, hell breaks loose.
I squeeze the trigger, unleashing fury. The front wall of the bar explodes in splinters and screams as bullets punch through timber and bodies alike. Windows shatter and bottles burst, cascading down the walls mixed with blood.
We move forward, giving no room for them to come back at us. And once we’re inside, Dagger’s remaining men scramble around, some ducking behind tables but most don’t even get that far.
Brains and Taz move in beside me, each armed with ARs, mowing down anything that breathes and doesn’t wear a Bastards patch.
Ragnar kicks in the side door, tossing in a stun grenade.
The boom shakes the floorboards, and the strobe of light blinds anyone left standing.Boss moves in clean and brutal, shotgun in one hand, axe in the other.
Smiler, grinning like his namesake, follows, picking off stragglers with deadly precision, never missing a shot.
The floor’s already slick with blood and glass.
Bodies are left twitching, moaning, and gurgling.
Stretch and Tally guard the perimeter. Any poor bastard thinking of running will get dropped before he makes it to the road.
When I’m certain everything is still, I hold up my hand and the gunfire stops.
My ears ring with it as I scan the room for any movement.
“Start turning over bodies,” I order. “I need to see him for myself.” And as my men move around, doing as I’ve asked, I pull out my mobile and check on Liv’s location, just in case she’s decided to sneak out and join her sister.
When I see she’s still at home, I relax, tucking it way again.
“Pres,” calls Taz, “he ain’t here.”
I frown. “What?”
“There’s no sign of Dagger. We’ve checked every man. There are eighteen bodies. That leaves Dagger unaccounted for.”
Anger pulsates through me. “Why wouldn’t he fucking be here? Lila was his old lady.”
Boss slaps me on the back. “I know you want him, Pres, but without his club, he’s nothing. It’s only a matter of time before we catch up with him.”
“We need to get Liv to the club,” I snap. “Once he knows about this, she’ll be his target.”
“You want me to send the prospects to get her?” asks Taz.
I laugh. “Nah, she’ll give them hell. I’m gonna have to throw her over my shoulder for this one.” I hand my gun to Boss. “Burn this place to the ground. The police aren’t responding ‘til smoke goes up, so the second you light it, get the hell out of here.”
Olivia
“Liv,” Bria calls, shaking me, “answer me.”
My eyes find hers, swollen red from crying. I have no tears. They’re all gone. She glances at my chest. “You’re bleeding,” she whispers, and suddenly, pain burns the spot, like her seeing it is a reminder that it hurts. “We need to call the club.”
I slide my eyes to where Dagger is lying on his back, the knife sticking out from his eye like it’s mocking me.
A sob escapes me, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
“Is he dead?” I whisper, my voice strained.
She nods, slow and careful, like she’s terrified of my reaction.
“He was going to . . .” I sob harder. “I had no choice.”
She grips the tops of my arms, nodding. “It’s okay. I believe you. Bully can make this go away.”
I shake my head. “No. I have to call the police. When I tell them what happened, they’ll understand. It was self-defence.”
“Listen to me, Liv,” she says sternly, and I wait for her words.
“You’re going to do what I say now, okay?
” I nod. “Go and shower. I’m going to call Bully.
Let’s get this mess cleared up.” I’ve never seen her so calm, so I find myself pushing to stand.
She places herself between me and Dagger, like I haven’t already got his image burned into my brain. I shudder.
I stay under the hot spray of the shower until the bathroom is filled with steam, making it hard to see my hand in front of my face.
It’s only when the door opens and Bully appears that I burst into tears.
He throws his kutte over the sink then steps under the spray, wrapping his arms around me as I cry against his chest.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but my tears have dried and I’m exhausted. Bully turns the shower off and grabs a fluffy towel, all while still holding me to him, like he’s afraid I’ll fall if he lets go. Maybe I will.
He wraps me tightly then begins to fight out of his wet jeans and shirt, wrapping a towel around his waist. No words are spoken as he scoops me into his arms and carries me from the bathroom straight into the bedroom.
He sits me on the edge of the bed and grabs another towel.
Standing beside me, he gently rubs my hair.
“Liv,” he whispers, and I startle at his voice. “You’re safe now.” I exhale, like his words have the ability to make that statement true. And suddenly, I feel lighter. My shoulders slump, and Bully places a gentle kiss on my head. “I’m sorry.”
His apology hangs between us as he takes the hairdryer, aiming it at my wet locks. He runs his fingers through the strands, and I close my eyes, picturing all the times I’ve felt close to him. Yet this is the first he’s shown me any kind of tenderness.
I zone out, blinking when the dryer turns off and Bully runs a brush through my hair. He begins to plait it, and I frown in confusion. “Are you plaiting my hair?” I whisper. After everything that’s happened in the last few hours, it’s strange that this sticks out the most.
“I did a few sessions when I was inside.”
A laugh escapes me, sounding foreign amongst the heaviness. “Sessions on hair?” I turn, glancing at him over my shoulder.
He shrugs. “One day I might need this shit.”
“Like?”
He inhales deeply. “If I ever have a daughter.” My breath catches. It’s not the answer I expected.
Bully stands, going to my drawer and digging around for some fresh pyjamas.
He brings a short and vest set over. “It’s boring in there, so you find yourself going to anything just to break the day up.
” He gathers the top in his hands, scrunching it and holding it above my head.
I raise my arms, and he gently tugs it over me, waiting for it to cover my chest before removing the towel.
His eyes land on the bite mark again, but just like in the shower, he doesn’t ask.
The towel remains around my waist, so he crouches before me, holding the shorts there while I step into them. He’s being so attentive, I want to cry.
“I heard all the guys talking about a course on parenting. I had nothing better to do, so I went along. We had to read stories,” he smiles at the memory.
“My personal favourite is The Gruffalo, in case you wondered,” he says, pulling the sheets back on the bed.
He pats the mattress, and I climb in. “That clever little bastard mouse is a hero. The next week, we learned about hair. I can now confidently secure a ponytail and a plait,” he tells me.
“I know that speaking to the bump pre-birth is important for bonding between baby and dad. I even know how to change a nappy.” He pulls the sheets over me.
“Turns out, it was a good course.” He takes his shirt that I wore last night for bed, and pulls it on, then he pulls his boxers back on, the only thing that somehow managed to stay dry. “Sleep now, Liv.”
I grab his hand, and he stops. “I can’t be on my own,” I whisper.
His eyes fill with pain, then he places a kiss to the back of my hand before placing it beside me on the bed. “I’ll be right outside. I’m not going anywhere.”
Bully
I slip out the room, closing the door and resting against it. My heart aches for Liv. So much has happened in the last few weeks, so much I wanted to protect her from.
Bria appears in my line of sight, so I move off from the door and head into the living room. “Don’t say it,” I warn.
“It’s nothing you don’t already know,” she spits. “If you’d forced her to the clubhouse, this would never have happened.”
“No one could’ve predicted this shitshow,” I hiss, closing the gap between us. I’m angry, lashing out even though she doesn’t deserve it. “If I’d dragged her to the club, she would’ve hated me more.”
“He could’ve killed her.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “I know,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
Taz joins us, removing his gloves. “It’s like new in there,” he tells us proudly. “Fuck, it’s been a while since I had to sort shit myself.”