32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Griffin’s Beach Beckett
“ H ow the fuck did you pull this off?” Beckett asks as Brock guides him into the backseat of Colt’s SUV waiting just outside the prison gates at ten that night.
“I owe a guy,” Brock says. “Thanks, Colt.”
“You two are fucking lucky I don’t rip your patches from you,” Colt growls and turns around, his eyes wide. “What the fuck happened to you?”
Beckett does his best to smile, but every part of his body hurts. “I made friends with a guard. Motherfucker had to tie me down to beat me, though.”
“The warden was pissed they couldn’t break you,” Brock says. “I guess this was the second-best option. I wonder if he even knows we’ve been released yet. Probably too busy pounding Bill’s ass to answer his phone.”
His eyes widen. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me. That’s why Bill is just a good boy for the warden. Wait, did you say Bill tied you down and beat you?”
“Yeah, I was tossed into my second home. Solitary. Ramsey came to get information about Shannon, and then found her. Bill brought in a chair, used zip ties, and beat me with a baton. Then his boots.”
Brock bites his lower lip and nods. “Well, that’s how it’ll go then.”
“I just wish I’d known about him getting pounded by the warden. That would’ve really pissed him to know I knew.”
Colt lets out a sigh as they drive away from the place Beckett never wants to go again. “What do you owe?”
“Gotta kill the warden and Bill. One of the guards, Tony, helped us out. It’s the least I can do, especially after hearing what Billy Boy did to Beckett.”
“This is all my fault. Colt, I don’t blame you for being pissed. If you have to strip me of my patch, I understand. I’m just sorry I pulled Brock into this,” Beckett says and winces as he sighs.
The last thing he wants is to lose his patch. This is the first time he’s felt like he’s part of something again since leaving the military. He also understands he made unforgivable mistakes.
Brock shakes his head. “No, I was just as stupid as you were. More, actually.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You were driven by a need to protect your girl. Brock was driven by nothing,” Colt snaps. “Besides being a fucking moron who knows better.”
“I’m sorry, Colt,” Brock says.
Slamming his fist on the steering wheel, he growls. “You should’ve come to me! Goddammit, you two are not this stupid!”
“Brock wanted to. I talked him out of it. That’s on me,” Beckett says with a wheeze.
Maybe skipping the crabby nurse was a mistake. Another one to add to the list.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Brock asks.
“I’m fine. Any word on Shannon? Have you found her? Is she okay?”
“We haven’t gotten eyes on her yet,” Colt says, his tone much softer than before.
Resting his head on the headrest, Beckett closes his eyes. “I promised Ramsey I’d be one of the last faces he ever sees. Breaking promises just isn’t in me.”
They drive in silence, and he focuses on his head throbbing. He can’t ride right now in the condition he’s in, but a few days of recuperation will have him good as new. It means the club will have to get Shannon without him, and it makes him angry.
If anything happens to Shannon, he doesn’t know how to survive that. He was supposed to protect her. Save her. Instead, he acted rash and got locked up.
“What we did learn is that she ran before they could catch her at her old house. We’re not really good at the technical shit you have, Brock, so we only got part of the phone call,” Colt says.
Brock leans forward as Beckett pops his eyes open. “Wait, you broke into my stash of stuff and actually figured out how to use shit?”
“Barely,” Colt says with a laugh. “Had to have Kent and Gavin help us, and even then, we couldn’t keep them around to help as we fumbled to remember what they taught us.”
Beckett closes his eyes again, torn between wanting to attack Ramsey and climbing into his bed to start the healing process.
His body isn’t as accustomed to the physical demands he’s put it through the past few months, and while it’s not the worst beating he’s ever taken, he’s not able to bounce back as quickly as he used to.
“You good, Beckett?” Brock asks. “That beating do more harm than we can see?”
“I’m fine. Just out of practice. Normally, I get to fight back.”
He opens his eyes to see a line of motorcycles waiting along the street. Ramsey’s street.
“What’s going on?” he asks, suddenly very alert.
“Well, since you’re out, we figured we work on getting your girl back,” Colt says and parks the SUV. “And if we’re gonna do that, we thought it might be worthwhile to have you here for that.”
All but jumping out of the SUV, he walks towards Ramsey’s house. All pain disappears as he watches Ramsey step outside holding Shannon as a human shield with a gun pressed to her head.
“What the fuck are you two doing out?” Ramsey shouts, his grip on Shannon’s hair tightening as he yanks her with him. “Anything happens to me, and everyone fucking goes down. You’ll have bounties on your head!”
Shannon whimpers in pain, and Beckett clenches his fists at his sides.
She wears only a T-shirt and panties, and she’s covered in red marks where he’s smacked her around already.
The closer he looks, the more injuries he spots.
Small cuts and swelling on her face. Bruising on her wrists and ankles. Marks on her inner thighs.
I want to kill this motherfucker.
“You didn’t get a heads-up from your buddy? John Nance?” Brock asks. “Huh, wonder why.”
“Who’s John Nance?” Beckett asks.
“The judge on our case.”
Ramsey narrows his eyes at them. “What are you talking about?”
“Your reign of terror is over, asshole.”
“The hell it is.”
“Well,” Brock says and steps forward, “I find it to be very difficult to blackmail people when you have nothing to hold against them.”
The gun lowers, and Ramsey laughs as he still uses Shannon as a shield. “You think you can get into my files? It’s impossible.”
“You wanna hear something funny? That program Sebastian implemented weeks ago to track money movement was a program I created and sold ten years ago.”
“Bullshit.”
“Nine-thousand-five-hundred-forty-two dollars and twenty-three cents.”
His eyes widen as he gapes at Brock, as does Beckett. “What did you do?”
“Got my ass out of prison by taking all of your files and wiping your network clean. Power’s shifted, motherfucker.”
“You’re a dead man. My men—”
“Are a little tied up at the moment,” Undertaker’s deep voice says from behind Ramsey.
A large shadow falls over him, and Ramsey squeals in surprise when Undertaker grabs his wrist and twists until he disarms him. “Where are they?”
“He told you,” Colt said. “Your men are a little tied up at the moment. And I think your house has a gas leak. It might be a little dangerous for them to stay inside.”
Forced to release Shannon, Beckett holds out his arms as she runs to him, grunting only slightly as her body slams into his.
“Are you okay?” she whispers into his ear. “You look like hell.”
“I’m fine now,” he says, refusing to release her regardless of the fact his body screams at him. “I thought I lost you.”
“Me, too,” she whispers.
Colt walks up to them and opens the back of the SUV. “Why don’t you sit in the backseat, sweetheart? You don’t need to be out here half-naked.”
The kindness his brothers show a woman they barely know but understand means the world to Beckett makes him happy. And feel even guiltier than he already does.
“Go in the car, Shan,” he says. “I’ll be right there. I gotta take care of something.”
“Beckett, no. He’ll kill you.”
Colt chuckles. “Look around, babe. There are only a few things this man can do with all of us here, and killing Beckett ain’t one of them.”
Slapping Colt on the shoulder, Beckett walks up the driveway and takes the gun from Undertaker. “Let’s walk into the backyard.”
“I’m going nowhere with you!”
“Looks like baby needs to be walked,” Undertaker says in a mocking tone. “Let’s go, little guy. You can do it!”
It hurts to laugh, but Beckett can’t help it. Watching the mammoth of a man forcing a man in a five-thousand-dollar suit into the backyard of his own house is nothing short of entertaining.
“Remember what I told you when you paid me a visit the other day? After you slapped me like the fucking pussy you are?” Beckett asks.
“It wasn’t memorable enough for me to remember.”
Taking Ramsey’s hand, Beckett forces the gun into and brings their arms up to aim the barrel at his temple. “I told you I would be the last thing you ever saw.”
“Here’s what they’re going to say,” Undertaker says. “Your men died from a gas leak while waiting for you in your house, and when you found them, you felt so guilty that you took your own life.”
“No one will ever believe it. I would never.”
“Gunpowder residue on your hands will make it impossible to prove otherwise,” Beckett says.
“And all your cameras have been turned off. We also have all of your blackmail files, so really, what do you have to live for?”
Beckett squeezes the watch on Ramsey’s wrist and smirks. “Hold up. Gotta switch sides.”
“Why?” Undertaker asks.
“He’s a leftie. Can’t show our hand just yet, so it has to be believable. No lingering doubt.”
To his credit, Ramsey attempts to fight, but it’s no use. Undertaker makes it impossible for him to pull the gun away. “No one will believe this!”
“Look at me,” Beckett says, a smile spreading across his face. “Last face you ever see, remember?”
In a show of defiance—and probably denial—Ramsey finally looks at him. “You’ll have everyone on your ass because I have backups. Contingency plans. You have no idea the hell you’ll create for yourself.”
“Naw, I checked,” Brock says. “You got nothing as a backup plan. In fact, telling everyone their secrets would come out if you died was a lie. You’re not smart enough to pull that off.”
“The only thing getting out is brain matter as the bullet rips through your skull,” Beckett says.
Ramsey opens his mouth, but Beckett pulls the trigger. The bullet flies out the other side of his skull, and both he and Undertaker release the body to allow it to fall as it will.
“Even the idiots in the GBPD will be able to close this one pretty easily,” Undertaker says with a smirk as they walk back out front. “You look like shit.”
“Feel like it, too, but I have a hot nurse I’m sure is more than willing to give me a sponge bath, so I gotta go. Gotta make sure she’s okay, too.”
Shannon curls up next to Beckett as Brock climbs into the passenger seat. “Can we go away now? Far, far away from here?”
“We’re going to the clubhouse, sweetheart,” Colt says. “And you need to fucking stay put this time because your man looks like he’s due for a week-long nap.”
“Pretty sure that’s called a coma,” Brock says and turns around to look at him. “Do you need a coma?”
“Fuck off,” he says and holds Shannon tightly in his arms. “Thanks, Colt. Not knowing if she was okay was worse than any beating they delivered.”
The President just nods to him in the rearview mirror and drives. He’ll gladly accept whatever punishment the club dishes out.
Shannon’s lips find Becket’s ear as she whispers, “Please don’t leave me again.”
“Never again,” he says back. “Never.”