Chapter 6
Vienna
By the time the basement door crashed open, I had managed to get myself onto my feet, which sounded far more impressive than it looked.
In reality, I was leaning heavily against the wall, one hand pressed to my ribs, sweat coating my skin, the other poised and ready to fight. Michelle was watching me with the sort of expression that said she thought I was both a hero and a moron.
Which was unfair, actually, because everyone could see I was basically Thor.
And not a prick in a cape.
“You know, I’m basically—”
“Thor,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I’ve heard.”
I grinned at her and then wobbled slightly on unsteady legs. “Just wanted to remind you. Couldn’t have you forgetting at a time like this.”
We both grew quiet at the commotion coming from outside our prison.
“Luke,” she hissed, her voice low but fierce as the sound of footsteps thundered above us. “You need to sit back down before you fall down. There is absolutely no point surviving Nico only to crack your skull open because you’re too proud to admit your legs aren’t working properly.”
“My legs are working perfectly fine,” I lied, taking one step away from the wall and immediately regretting it when the entire room tilted to the left. “See?” I said, slapping my thighs. “Excellent legs. Strong and dependable. The sort of legs a man can build a future on.”
Michelle gave me a look that would have withered lesser—and more intelligent—men. “Will you watch where you’re going! You almost fell into that bucket.”
I scoffed. “I didn’t fall. I was merely checking it out.”
“Checking it for what?”
“… Structural integrity.”
“Structural integrity,” she repeated. “Dear God, he’s a fucking moron.” But just like her daughter, there was a hint of a giggle in her voice and a whisper of a smile on her lips.
And in that moment—that one strange, painful moment—I saw the Michelle I remembered.
The one she had been before all this. The fierce, formidable old lady at Harley’s side.
The woman who had passed her strength onto her daughter.
The nasty woman who had once smacked me around the back of the head for daring to breathe the same air as her precious daughter.
After all, the Devil’s stray had never been good enough for the princess of the Riders, and Michelle made sure I knew it every time she caught me nearby.
The footsteps on the stairs grew louder, and I shifted in front of Michelle despite the fact that I was in no condition to shield anyone from anything. But it was instinct.
And not just because she was the mother of the woman I loved. But because she had already been through enough. Just like my own mother, she was a victim of her life, and I wouldn’t see her any more broken and defeated than she already was. Not whilst I still had breath in my lungs.
My hands curled into fists, every bruised knuckle protesting the movement, but I ignored it. If Nico had sent someone down here to finish this before the Devils reached us, then they could get in the fucking queue.
I had been beaten, dragged, concussed, and dumped in a basement, but I wasn’t dead, and I had recently discovered that Gabriella might not be either, which meant I had gone from having no reason to live to having every reason to ruin someone’s day.
The door burst open before I had time to make another terrible decision, which was personally offensive because I had several lined up and ready to go.
A Rider stumbled through first, one hand braced against the frame, his eyes wild as he looked between me and Michelle.
For one second, I thought he was injured.
For one stupid, hopeful second, I thought maybe he was running from Dante, and all I needed to do was stand here looking large and vaguely threatening until my president arrived to finish the job.
Then his gaze dropped to Michelle, and a disgusting, cruel smirk danced across his face.
I pushed her behind me and stepped further in front, ignoring the way my body screamed in protest.
“Oh, good,” I muttered, shifting my weight and immediately regretting it as a sharp burst of pain tore through my side.
“We have a visitor. Right on time, too, because we were just about getting fed up with each other. The old loneliness was kicking in. Honestly, Michelle, your hospitality is shocking. No tea. No biscuits. Just damp walls and attempted murder. And let’s not even mention how shocking my once glorious beard looks. ”
“Luke,” Michelle warned, but there was no real heat in it. There was fear, though. But, like with everything else in my life, my own nerves were hidden behind a humorous mask.
The Rider reached for the knife at his belt and Michelle’s hand caught the back of my cut. “Don’t, Luke. Don’t be stupid. Now is not the time to play hero.”
I scoffed. “Please, Mrs Rider. Hero is my middle name.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed behind me.
I smiled despite everything. “There she is.”
The Rider lunged before she could insult me again and I moved because there was nothing else to do.
It was eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed. Fight… or lose everything.
I wasn’t graceful with my movements. I wasn’t clever or strategic. I wasn’t even really fighting.
All I knew was that the man in front of me was currently stronger and faster than I was, and I had to keep moving to tire him out if I hoped to stand even the slightest chance of keeping Michelle safe.
I pushed away from the wall and met him halfway, using my size and the last scraps of adrenaline keeping me upright to slam him back against the doorframe.
The impact went through me like fire. My ribs screamed, my head swam, and for one second the room split in two before crashing back together again.
I got my hand around his wrist, trying to keep the blade away, but my grip was weak, slick with blood and sweat, and he knew it. He grinned at me then, the bastard actually grinned, as though the sight of me struggling pleased him.
“Not so fucking big now, are you, Vice President?”
He almost spat my title at me, and I laughed in return.
“I’m big…where it counts,” I panted, which was not my best work, admittedly, but I thought it was pretty funny considering the several internal complaints and the external wounds.
He drove his knee into my stomach, and the breath left me in a rush. I staggered back, my entire world spinning.
Michelle shouted something, but the ringing in my ears swallowed half of it.
The Rider came at me again, and this time I couldn’t get my feet to move quickly enough.
My heel caught the bucket Michelle had warned me about, because of course it did.
Apparently that fucking bucket had been waiting for its moment all along, and as I stumbled, the Rider lifted the knife.
Michelle moved faster than I would have believed she could.
For a second, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. One moment she was behind me, frail and shaking and barely strong enough to shove me earlier, and the next she was in front of me, one arm thrown out as though she could stop the entire world with nothing but the last pieces of herself.
The knife went into her with ease, the sound louder than it should have been.
Her body jerked, a small gasp of pain and terror spilling from her lips. The Rider froze, and we both watched as Michelle looked down at the blade buried beneath her ribs.
And then she chuckled. Despite everything, she stumbled back and she chuckled.
Pulling the knife free, she almost gasped with relief, falling back onto the stinking mattress I had found her on, and threw the knife in my direction.
“Shit,” the Rider hissed, and that was all I needed.
Running off nothing but adrenaline, I hurled my body forward, grabbed the knife, and slammed it into his left cheek and straight out of the other side.
Blood sprayed onto my face, and the Rider mumbled something incoherent before hitting the concrete with a thud. I didn’t look at him. My attention was fixed solely on Michelle.
A pale, agonised-looking Michelle, who was doing her best to cover her stab wound and failing miserably.
She looked up at me with trembling lips, shaking hands, and an ashen face.
I raced over, applying pressure to her injury. And it was at that moment that my right-hand man made his appearance, his voice appearing from behind me.
“Well, shit. What have I walked in on?” Dante asked. “Did the party start without me?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see him looking down at the still gargling Rider, nudging him onto his back with the toes of his boot. “Hi, old friend,” he grinned down at him. And then he pulled the knife from the Rider’s face and slit his throat in one smooth movement.
“You remember Dante,” I said, by way of instruction.
“I remember. He’s grown to be even more psychotic than you are,” Michelle whispered to me.
I laughed despite myself. “You have no idea.”
Blood seeped between our fingers, and I could feel her grip weakening beneath my hands.
“Mrs Rider—”
“Don’t,” she said, her entire body trembling. “Don’t lie to me, Luke. I know what this is.”
“You’re not dying in this basement,” I said, because it was the only thing I could think to say.
Her eyes softened. “Sweetheart, I think we both know I am.”
“Michelle, with all due respect—”
“I don’t want the final words I hear to be from you, Disciple,” she spat in Dante’s direction, interrupting his sentence.
Dante rolled his eyes and looked away, his jaw clenching so tightly I could hear his teeth grinding together. “I was just going to say—”
“Forget it. You murdered my husband.”
This time she did spit. She used the last of her strength, spitting directly on Dante’s boots.
“Mrs Rider—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Luke.”
“He’s trying to help.”
“No he isn’t. He never fucking did.”
“I give up,” Dante said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Die in here for all I care. My old lady is safe and sound upstairs, so it makes no difference to my life where the wife of my enemy dies.”
Michelle glared daggers at him.
“We can get you out of here,” I told her, bringing her attention back to me.