Chapter 4 #2
I straighten up, keeping one hand on her shoulder.
She leans into the touch like she's starving for it.
Like no one's touched her gently in so long she's forgotten what it feels like.
"Listen to me," I say, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. "This woman is under the club's protection now. Under my protection. Anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me."
Silence.
No one has a problem with it. No one would dare.
I look back down at Ripley.
She's staring up at me with tears streaming from her one good eye, mixing with the blood on her face, and I feel something shift in my chest.
"He won't touch you again," I tell her. "I promise."
"Why?" The word is barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"
I don't have an answer. Not one that makes sense.
"Because I can," I say finally. "Because someone should."
Tawny returns with the first aid kit, Paige trailing behind with a glass of water and a pile of clean towels.
I step back, letting them work, but I don't leave.
I stand there watching as they clean the blood from her face, as they press ice against her swollen eye, as they murmur soft words of comfort that I don't know how to give.
She keeps looking at me.
Every few seconds, her gaze finds mine, like she's checking to make sure I'm still there.
Like she's afraid I'll disappear.
I don't move.
Later, when she's cleaned up and settled in one of the spare rooms upstairs, I find Zenon in the hallway.
He doesn't look surprised. He looks resigned.
"Let me guess," he says. "You're going to handle this personally."
"Yes."
"Not Behemoth. Not a club decision. You."
"Yes."
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Levi, you already went off-book once for her. You stripped his patch without a vote, and the brothers accepted it because you're the Prez and you gave them a damn good reason. But this—"
"He beat her, Zenon." The words come out harder than I intended. "He beat her so badly she could barely walk. She showed up at my door covered in blood, shaking like a leaf, because she had nowhere else to go. And you want me to sit back and let someone else handle it?"
"I want you to think about what you're doing.
" His voice is calm, but there's an edge to it.
"You're the President. You're supposed to be above this.
Supposed to keep your head while everyone else loses theirs.
But this woman—" He shakes his head. "She's got you twisted up, brother. I've never seen you like this."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're about to go murder a man for a woman you barely know. That's not fine. That's—" He stops, searching for the word. "That's personal."
Personal.
He's right. It is personal.
I don't know why, can't explain the rage that burns in my chest every time I think about Cain's hands on her, but it's personal.
She's personal.
"I'm going to kill him," I say quietly. "Tonight. I'm going to find him, and I'm going to put him down like the animal he is. And when it's done, I'm going to come back here and make sure she knows she never has to be afraid again."
Zenon stares at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nods. "You want backup?"
"No. This is mine."
"And if it goes sideways? If he's got friends, or weapons, or—"
"Then it goes sideways." I meet his eyes. "But it won't. You know me, Zenon. You know what I'm capable of."
He does know. He's seen me work. Seen the things I did overseas, the things I've done for this club.
He knows that when I set my mind to something, I don't stop until it's finished.
"His father's a cop," Zenon says quietly. "Chief of Police. You kill Cain, you're making an enemy of the entire Pittsburgh PD."
"Let them come." My voice is cold. Final. "I'll handle it."
Zenon holds my gaze for another beat. Then he steps aside. "Be careful, brother. This one feels different."
He's right about that too.
It is different. She's different, and I don't know what that means yet, but I know one thing for certain.
Cain Varro is going to die tonight.
And I'm going to be the one holding the knife.
I find him at a bar on the south side.
Shitty little dive, the kind of place where nobody asks questions and everybody minds their own business.
He's alone at the bar, nursing a whiskey, muttering to himself.
Probably telling the bartender all about how he got screwed over.
How unfair it all is. How none of it was his fault.
I slip in through the back door.
Nobody sees me.
I've gotten good at moving through the world unseen.
He doesn't hear me coming until I'm right behind him. "Cain."
He spins around on his stool, and I see the exact moment he realizes who's standing there.
The fear that flashes across his face before he can hide it.
The way his hand twitches toward the knife on his belt, then stops when he sees my gun already drawn.
"Leviathan." He forces a smile, all false bravado. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"I'm sure you didn't."
"Look, man, whatever this is about—"
"You know what it's about."
The smile falters.
He glances around the bar, but nobody's paying attention.
Nobody wants to get involved.
"She came to you, didn't she?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Crying and playing the victim. That's what she does. Manipulates people. Makes them feel sorry for her."
"Shut up."
"I'm telling you the truth! She's not some innocent little—"
"I said shut up."
He shuts up.
I step closer, letting him fully see the gun.
Letting him see my face. Letting him see the death that's waiting for him in my eyes.
"You beat her," I say quietly. "You broke her nose. Blackened her eye. Split her lip. Left bruises all over her body because you couldn't handle losing your patch."
"She deserved—"
The gun comes up, and I press it against his forehead.
"Choose your next words very carefully."
Silence.
"Here's what's going to happen," I tell him. "You're going to walk out of this bar with me. We're going to take a little drive. And by morning, you're going to be a memory."
His face goes white. "You can't do this. My father—"
"I know who your father is. I don't care."
"He'll destroy you. He'll destroy your whole club."
"Let him try."
I grab him by the back of the neck and shove him toward the rear exit.
He stumbles, almost falls, but I keep him moving. Nobody in the bar looks up.
Outside, my bike is waiting.
Cain starts to struggle, starts to beg, but it doesn't matter.
Nothing he says matters anymore.
An hour later, it's done.
I stand over his body, breathing hard, blood on my hands and satisfaction in my chest.
He died badly, but he deserved worse.
I think about Ripley. About her swollen face and her trembling hands and her voice asking why.
Because someone should.
I clean up, dispose of the evidence and make the body disappear.
Then I ride back to the clubhouse, to the woman who's sleeping in my spare room, to the promise I made.
He'll never touch her again.
She doesn’t know this yet, but I keep my promises.