Chapter Eighteen #4
And for the first time since this whole clusterfuck of a day started… I finally let myself relax.
***
Abigail finally drifts off once the first bag of blood is half gone.
Her breathing evens out.
The tightness in her face relaxes.
For the first time since I walked into that room, she looks peaceful.
Riley pulls a chair close to the bed, gently brushing Abigail’s hair back from her face. Sunny sits on the other side, her hand wrapped around Abigail’s like she’s afraid to let go.
Lila leans against the wall, holding Bree while Eli quietly pulls another blanket over my woman’s feet.
“She won’t be alone,” Riley tells me softly, tucking Asher into the bed beside Abigail.
I nod.
“I know.”
Sunny looks up at me.
“You should go,” she says. “The men aren’t doing okay.”
“We’ll stay,” Eli offers.
“You sure?” I ask.
He nods.
“None of us could get any sleep, and Maverick has about six people in the hall on guard duty.”
I look back at Abby one last time.
Her chest rises slowly.
“I’ll be back before she wakes up,” I whisper.
Then I turn and leave the room.
***
The compound looks different when I get back.
Not destroyed…not burning…but wrong.
Floodlights illuminate the yard like daylight, casting long shadows across the gravel.
Prospects and patched members move quietly across the property.
No one is talking much.
They’re cleaning.
Blood washes across the gravel in dark red rivers as someone hoses down the ground.
Empty shell casings glint under the lights.
The smell of gunpowder still hangs in the air.
Bullet holes pepper the siding of two houses.
One of the windows in the clubhouse is shattered.
And the ground…The ground is still stained.
Crusher walks up beside me.
“They were horrible snipers,” he says quietly.
My jaw tightens.
“How many rounds?”
“Twenty-two,” he answers. “Nine headshots. One in the neck. All ten dead.”
Crusher shifts his weight beside me and gestures toward the outer tree line.
“One round was aimed at Patch when he was hauling Abby,” he continues. “Knicked his side.”
I nod. I saw the blood.
“The second one is the one that hit Abby in the leg.”
My fists tighten.
“And another shot was aimed at Eli and the kid he grabbed,” Crusher adds. “Barely missed them.”
My head snaps toward him.
“Barely?”
“Few inches,” he says. “If Eli hadn’t tripped and fallen when he did…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
He doesn’t have to.
I drag a hand down my face.
“That leaves the other nine,” Crusher continues, glancing toward the houses. “Most everyone was already inside by then.”
“So they started firing blind,” I guess.
Crusher nods grimly.
“Aiming for windows. Hoping to hit someone.”
I stare across the compound.
At the houses.
At the windows that could’ve had any number of our people behind them.
The blood on the gravel suddenly feels a lot heavier.
“Where are they now?” I ask.
“Tied up in the basement,” Crusher says. “Waiting.”
“Maverick ever figure out which one shot my woman?” I ask.
“Yep,” Crusher replies. “But Skip’s already been down there getting his pound of flesh.”
My eyes narrow.
“He’s the one who fired at Eli,” Crusher continues. “But since the shot missed, Skip said he’s only warming the flesh for you.”
I nod once and start toward the clubhouse.
The gravel crunches under my boots as I walk, and I purposefully look at the spot Abigail was shot. The blood on the ground. Fucker’s going to die.
The clubhouse door creaks open, and the familiar smell of smoke, leather, and whiskey hits me like it always does.
Tonight it smells different.
Heavier.
The hallway leading to the basement stairs feels longer than usual.
Darker.
At the bottom, I can already hear it.
A wet thud followed by another one.
Someone’s groaning, but Skip’s voice cuts through it.
“You should really thank me,” he says conversationally. “Tank would’ve been much less polite if he got here first.”
Another thud as I step into the room.
Two men are tied to chairs under the harsh overhead lights.
One of them is already slumped forward, blood dripping steadily onto the concrete.
The other one is breathing hard as he takes hit after hit.
“You shot at my pretty boy,” Skip says. “You missed, by the way. But that doesn’t matter. You still had his head targeted in your fucking scope.”
Skip swings with all his might and hits the man so hard that the chair topples back and to the floor.
Skip stands over him, rolling his shoulder like he’s warming up for another swing.
He glances over when I walk in.
“Oh, good,” he says casually. “You’re here.”
He steps aside and gestures to the chair like he’s presenting a prize.
“This one’s yours,” he grunts as he lifts the chair…and man…back into a seating position.
“Sorry about all the blood,” Skip says. “I left the good bits for you, though.”
The man lifts his head just enough to look at me.
His eyes widen as fear settles in.
Good.
Because I walk forward slowly and crouch in front of him.
“You know who I am?” I ask quietly.
He nods weakly.
“Good.”
I lean closer so he can see my face clearly.
“Because I want the last thing you see in this world…”
My hand closes around his throat.
“…to be the man whose woman you tried to kill.”
Behind me, Skip exhales.
“Ah,” he mutters. “Now the fun starts. Where’s Bones’ toys?”