Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Hella
Idon't know which part I'm more afraid of. The part where I have to imagine her with someone else, or the part where I have to tell her that I can't be the man she wants. All of which can wait until Richard is taken care of.
Switching off my bike, I help her off and lead us towards the clubhouse. “Come on, I'll take you to the girls.”
She follows closely. The brothers here are not a problem. Melissa doesn't need to wear a property patch for them to know she's mine, but when the other brothers get here, there will be too many, and any woman not wearing a property patch at a clubhouse is fair game.
After leading her into the kitchen, I leave her there and make my way to Beast, who stands by the pool tables talking with Frost.
“So, what's the plan?” I ask, picking up a cue stick.
Beast leans in close over the table, his voice low and rough like gravel under boots. “Richard's gone, brother. Poof. No one can pin him down. Eastbeach store's shut tight, boarded up like a goddamn tomb, but Westbeach is still running smooth, like nothing's wrong.”
My knuckles go white around the cue stick. Where the fuck is this bastard hiding? The wood creaks under my grip, threatening to splinter. Richard's out there somewhere, breathing air he doesn't deserve, walking around on legs I should've already broken.
Melissa's face flashes behind my eyes—those blue eyes, the way they looked when she replayed how he forced her and Millie into the car. My chest tightens. If this goes south, if I can't find him before he circles back to her...
No. I adjust my grip on the cue. I'll rip his spine out through his throat. Feel each vertebra separate in my hands. The thought settles something violent and necessary in my gut. He won't get near her again. I'll make sure his last breath tastes like his own blood.
Bull chimes in from the side, scratching at his beard with a manic glint in his eye. “Got a chick I used to bang in Auckland. Lawyer. Real sharp, specializes in corporate law. She's digging through Melissa's contract now, looking for a way to gut this deal. Problem is, she's pricey as fuck.”
I turn my head, locking eyes with him. “Money ain't a problem, brother. Send me the bill. I don't give a shit what it costs, get it done.”
Bull nods, a twisted smirk curling his lips, and I look back at the table, lining up a shot I don't even care about. My mind's racing, clawing at the thought of Richard scheming. What's his next move? How close is he to her right now? Fuck.
I slam the cue forward, the crack from the balls splitting rips through the air like a gunshot, but it doesn’t ease the storm in my chest one damn bit.
Ripper blows out a cloud of smoke. “What's up with the sister?”
I set the cue stick against the table, the wood clicking against the varnished edge. My fingers drum once against the felt before I straighten. Here we go. The question I knew was coming but hoped wouldn't.
“Fuck knows. She was a nun, though. Straight as fucking shit.”
“Hot as fuck though,” Ripper adds, and I catch the way his eyes glaze over, already picturing her in ways that make my jaw tighten.
A laugh rips from my throat, harsh and dismissive. The sound tastes bitter. “She wouldn't touch a man in cut, that much I know.”
Ripper's eyebrows shoot up, his pool cue pausing mid-chalk. “How do you know that?”
The challenge in his voice has me rolling my shoulders, working out the tension that's taken residence there. Jesus. Does this possessive shit extend to her sister?
I lean back against the table, arms crossed, making sure my next words land with finality.
“Because Melissa told me, there's no way she would ever go near any of us.” I pause, letting that sink in before delivering the kill shot. “Plus she's a fucking virgin, Rip.” My lip curls at the thought. “Fuck that.”
He shrugs. “Blood turns me on.”
I run my tongue over lip. “She's a fucking virgin, Ripper,” I repeat, accentuating virgin, hoping that would cut through his brain, and it ain’t nothing about the blood.
No such luck; his eyes are glued to the door that leads out to the kitchen.
Beast shakes his head, his hand resting on Ripper's shoulder. “Melissa will fucking eat your ass for breakfast.”
Ripper's eyes snap to him, his frown carving deeper grooves into his face.
The laugh rips out of me before I can stop it, my head tipping back. “I don't think my girl is real fond of protein.”
Bull's phone snaps shut. His head jerks toward the back, that familiar wildness bleeding into his eyes.
“Got word from the lawyer. She's sendin' over some shit we need to see. Now.” The words scrape out of him.
But there's an urgency that has my spine straightening, my focus sharpening.
When Hannibal catches a scent, you move.
The club's Lumberjack doesn't waste time on bullshit, and when he says jump, we're already airborne.
We file out back into the Chapel. Beast grabs the papers from an old fax machine, thick fingers crinkling the edges before his eyes flick between me and the piece of paper.
He passes it to me.
I lean against the table. “Got names,” I drawl, slow and cocky, letting the words roll off my tongue. “Three fuckers that’ll be joining his little friend buried already. Danny fuckin' Kirk. Ray Olsen. Jason McUle.” My grin vanishes when I hit the fourth name.
My fingers curl into fists, the paper crumpling.
That fourth name. “And Eddy fucking Woolbrock who now goes by, Richard fucking Donovan.”
I slam my fist into his face again, and again, until blood rains over my face.
Ain't no trace of that pale skin or those angry blue eyes left, just a mess of crimson clinging to the ruins of his features.
Bone gives under my knuckles, a dull crack that settles somewhere behind my teeth.
My hand throbs, but the ache is clean. Honest.
I chuckle, pushing on my gloves, smearing red over worn leather as I peel them off and slide them back on. Reset. Like I didn’t just turn his face into mush.
Beast looks at me, eyebrows raised. “You done?”
His gaze drags over the man hanging in the chair before coming back to me. Judging. Or impressed. Hard to tell with him.
I roll my shoulders back, tightening the mask that's sitting around the bottom of my face, tugging it over my mouth. The stink of blood and piss hits harder when the fabric seals in my breath.
“Please,” the woman pleads, her arms bound around the back of her chair, her hair falling over her eyes. Her voice cracks on the word, thin and raw. “Please, what did we do wrong?”
I bite a cigarette into my mouth, blazing the end and letting the smoke fill my lungs. “He fucked with someone who belongs to me.”
Her tear-stricken eyes widen. “Melissa?” Suddenly all barriers drop. Her fear morphs into something smug that I want to knock clear off her face. “That slut had it coming! She's a dirty bitch! Did she tell you? Did she tell you that I was there when it happened and I fucking laughed!”
I grab her by the chin, squeezing her hard enough that her lips pout out. “Yeah?” I’ll blame it on the blood and violence, but my head tilts as I take in her body.
“You know…” My grip softens as my finger glides down her cheek, over her jaw, and — she flinches.
“Nah, it's gone.” I shrug, rising to my feet.
“What's gone?” she pleads, her eyes searching mine, stinking of desperation.
My eyes land on her. “The need to fuck anything that isn't my girl.” I turn to Frost with a smirk. “Playtime for the Joker?”
He’s already pulling her up by her hair before I finish, her screams leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind.
“Yo!” I call out before he hits the hallway. “Do it here! I want this fucker to see his girl being abused.” My lip curls; the tobacco doing jack shit to calm me down. Did Melissa know all along that this fucker was Eddy? Or is the face disfigurement new?
Frost drags her back towards us. “Brother, rape isn't really my thing.”
My hand flies to her throat, because I fucking knew this. None of us really get our kicks out of that particular brand of filth. We’re more the ‘murder you and fuck your victim over your corpse’ type men.
With fucking consent.
My fingers dig into the soft flesh of her throat until the small bones crack beneath my fingertips. I yank her face closer. “Lucky for you, I brought the wrong brother.”
No harm in tossing it out there for the sick fucks though.
“But unlucky for you,” I add, looking back to her from Frost, “I'm going to make you wish that I did just rape you.” I swipe her hair out of the way with my face, my skull bike mask skimming over the blood that's tracing down the side of her cheek, her desperate tears causing her mascara to run. “At least you'd enjoy my cock.”
Frost steps up. “Me, I'll do it.” He pulls out his gun and cocks it. “I want to try something.”
This fucker always has the worst timing.
My eyes flick up to him. “Try what?”
Studying the tip of his barrel, right where there's a silencer screwed on, he glances down at her legs, before making his way all the way up her body. “I wanna see what her insides look like if I blow her up from the inside.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Beast whispers, pulling out a chair from beneath the kitchen table. “Hurry the fuck up. I’ve gotta meet Yana for the cake tester… thing.”
“Cake.” I glare at my best friend. “Right. Your wedding.”
moments pass. Tense. Of course, we choose to address the elephant in the room right now.
Kicking out my leg, I lean back in my chair. “You don’t love her.”
His eyes snap to mine.
I don’t give a fuck. I continue. “Because you already love someone else.”
The piece of shit on the ground starts tugging on his ties around his wrist, his muffled screams silenced by the duct tape that's over his mouth.
Beast’s mouth curls in a way I’ve only really seen a handful of times. “Dead girls can’t love back.”
Silence. I shrug. “Valid. Go for Red Velvet then.”
Eddy's screams come louder, more desperate, and I roll my eyes, fucking done with his shit.