CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now.” I brush a soft kiss on Savannah’s forehead, careful not to wake her.
She’s been out for the last half hour, and like a creep, I’ve been watching her chest rising and falling.
It’s proof that she’s still breathing—that mother fucker didn’t snuff out her precious life.
My jaw clenches as I take in her battered face. The bruising has darkened around her eye, and her lip is split; no doubt it’ll leave a scar.
Rage burns through me like acid.
I should have been here to keep her safe.
No, what I should have done was kill that piece of shit in Florida when I had the chance.
I won’t make that mistake again. I don’t give a fuck what anyone says, Eddie is going to die. If it starts a fucking war with the Dirty Devils, then so fucking be it. I’ll burn the world to the fucking ground before I let anything else happen to her.
My eyes drop to her battered face. I love her. And she loves me.
Fuck.
I mean, I’ve known for weeks that I love her, but I never imagined in a million goddamn years that she could love me back. Not an old surly bastard like me.
The Gods know she deserves better, but her fate is sealed. I’ll never let her go.
Gently, I slide my arm from beneath her head, being careful not to wake her. By the grace of the Gods, she doesn’t stir as I ease off the bed and tiptoe to the door. Slowly, I pull the door open, wincing when the hinges squeak.
Need to put some WD-40 on those later.
I pause, looking back at my woman’s sleeping form. Her pink hair is spread across the pillow like cotton candy. She looks so small, so vulnerable. The urge to crawl back into bed and wrap her in my arms is strong, but I’ve got business to handle.
Quietly, I close the bedroom door and make my way down the hallway. In the kitchen, I pull my phone from my pocket, scroll through my contacts until I find Klutch’s number, and hit call.
“Yo!” Klutch answers after two rings.
I move further away from the bedroom. “Need a favor, brother.”
“How’s Pinky doing?” Concern laces his voice.
“That’s what I’m calling about,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Need you to come over here and sit with her while I take care of the problem.”
Klutch grunts. “Me and Dems are on our way. Be there in twenty.”
The line goes dead before I can even thank him.
With that handled, I set the phone down on the counter and scrub a hand over my face. My brothers have my back. They always do.
I busy myself with tidying up the kitchen while I wait. Sitting idle right now isn’t an option because it’s taking everything I have not to stick my fist through the fucking wall.
I right the barstool that got knocked over during the struggle, wipe up a smear of blood on the floor, and gather the pieces of the broken lamp Cleo used to knock that mother fucker out.
Thank the fucking Gods for that crazy woman. I’ll buy her all the crazy fucking clothes her closet can hold after what she did tonight. If she hadn’t shown up when she did...
I can’t even finish the thought.
A soft knock at the side door pulls me from my dark thoughts. I stride over and peek through the curtain to see Klutch and Demi standing on the step. I open the door, holding a finger to my lips as they come inside.
“She’s asleep,” I whisper, jerking my chin toward our bedroom. “Probably won’t wake up, but I didn’t want her here alone just in case.”
“How is she?” Demi asks, her eyes wide with concern.
Klutch wraps an arm around her shoulder. “Babe.”
“What?” She looks up at him, then back to me, and must see that I’m barely keeping my shit in check because she nods quickly. “Right.”
Demi moves past me to the living room, settling onto the couch. Klutch steps closer, his voice dropping even lower.
“She’s safe with us, brother. Go do what you gotta do.”
I nod, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
I grab my keys from Pinky’s purse and slip out the side door, closing it quietly behind me. The night air is cold, the stars hidden behind a blanket of clouds.
Feels fitting somehow.
My truck’s under the carport, and I slide into the driver’s seat, knees eating the dash. “Jesus.”
My woman’s short legs didn’t need the extra room, but I sure as fuck do. Sliding my hand between the seat and the door, I push the button and slowly move back.
Sliding the key into the slot, I crank the ignition, and—
“What the fuck!” Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” is blaring from the speakers at full volume. I fumble with the dial on the radio, trying to turn it down. “Jesus. How the fuck is she not deaf?”
My lips twitch despite everything. Pinky and her fucking Christmas music. She’s been playing that shit non-stop since we put up the tree.
The smile fades as I back out of the driveway, remembering why I’m leaving her tonight. I have a problem that needs to be eliminated, and it can’t wait.
The drive to Eternal Peace is quick. The streets are empty at this hour, not even the cops are out patrolling.
Pulling into the parking lot behind the funeral home. I cut the engine and sit in the darkness for a moment.
I squeeze the steering wheel tight, my knuckles turning white. I close my eyes, suck in a deep breath, and blow it out slowly before opening them up again.
Show time.
The back door to the funeral home is unlocked, just like I knew it would be. I slip inside, locking it behind me. As soon as the door closes, I hear that mother fucker screaming from the basement.
“Let me out of here! You’re all fucking dead! You hear me? Dead!”
Eddie.
Blood boiling in my veins, I tromp down the concrete steps, following the sound of his voice.
I bypass the room he’s in and head for the cremation room where my brothers are waiting.
Yukon is leaning against the wall, a beer in his hand. Beast is perched on the edge of the counter, legs swinging, looking bored as fuck as he tips back his own bottle Bud.
Undertaker is standing by the incinerator’s controls, thumbing through his phone. He’s the only one without a drink in his hand.
“Thank fuck you’re finally here,” Yukon says, pushing off the wall when he sees me. “That mother fucker hasn’t shut his mouth since we strung his ass up.”
Beast laughs, taking another sip of his beer. “Been screaming like a little bitch.”
“Want one?” Undertaker asks, nodding toward an open case of Bud Light on the floor.
I shake my head. “Naw. I need a clear head for this.”
Yukon and Beast exchange a look, then chug what’s left of their beers and toss the empties in the trash.
Yukon grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let’s do this.”
I turn on my booted heel and stalk down the hallway toward the screaming. I push open the middle door and step inside the empty room. Rafters run along the ceiling, and there’s a drain in the floor. Perfect for times, just list this.
My eyes shift to Eddie hanging from the rafter by his wrists, his toes barely touching the floor. His face is already a mess from whatever Beast and Yukon did to him before I arrived.
Good.
I hope they made it hurt.
His eyes widen when he sees me, recognition dawning on his bloody face.
“You,” he spits, blood and saliva spraying from his lips.
I don’t respond. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I hand my cut to Undertaker and roll up the sleeves of my shirt, one at a time. When I’m done, I step closer, looking him in the eye.
“You made a mistake, coming to my home,” I say, my voice void of emotion. “Putting your hands on my woman.”
“Your woman?” Eddie laughs. “Savannah is mine. Always has been. That little slut will spread her legs for any—”
My fist connects with his solar plexus before he can finish the sentence. The air leaves his lungs in a whoosh, and he gasps, struggling to breathe.
“Her name,” I grab a handful of his hair and yank his head back, “should never come out of your fucking mouth again.”
I release his hair and step back, circling him like a shark. I’m not in a rush. We’ve got all night.
“You know,” I say conversationally, “I should have killed you in Florida. That was my mistake.” I stop in front of him. “But don’t you worry, mother fucker. I won’t make it again.”
Fear flashes in his eyes, but he tries to hide it with bravado. “You think I came alone, old man? My brothers know where I am. They’ll burn this whole fucking city down looking for me.”
I smirk over my shoulder at Beast. “Can you believe this prick?”
Beast shakes his head and snorts. “It’s always the stupid ones.”
I nod, and Beast steps forward, handing me a pair of brass knuckles. I slip them onto my right hand, flexing my fingers to get the feel of them.
“You know what your problem is, Eddie?” I ask, not giving a fuck if he answers. “You picked the wrong fucking woman.” Rearing back my fist, I let it fly. The brass knuckles connect with his ribs, and the loud crack that follows is music to my ears.
I hit him again, this time in the kidney. He pisses himself, the urine soaking through his jeans and puddling on the floor.
“You think you can put your hands on a woman.” Another hit, to the other side of his ribs, and another crack.
I step back, breathing hard, watching as he gasps for air. Blood drips from his mouth, but it’s not enough, not after what he did to my butterfly.
“Please,” he wheezes. “I’ll leave her alone. I swear.”
My brows hike up. Is he for real? “Mother fucker, your time was always coming. You just accelerated shit by coming here.”
“Saved us a trip of tracking your ugly ass down.” Yukon grunts.
I nod to Beast, who steps forward with a large hunting knife. I take it from him, testing the edge with my thumb. It’s razor-sharp.
“You know what I’m going to do, Eddie?” I ask, letting the blade catch the light. “I’m going to make sure you never hurt another woman again.”
His eyes widen in terror, and he starts thrashing against his bonds. “Fuck you! No!”
I bring the knife up to his face, pressing the tip to his cheek hard enough to draw blood. “You broke into my home.”
I drag the blade down, opening a long cut from his cheekbone to his jaw. He screams, and the sound echoes off the walls.
“You scared her.” I slice open his other cheek. “You hit her.” He raped her.
Tears stream down his face, mixing with the blood. “Please,” he sobs. “Please stop.”
I ignore him, stepping back to admire my work. His face is a fucking mess, but I’m not done. Not by a fucking long shot.
“You know,” I say, wiping the blade on my jeans, “I considered just putting a bullet in your head. Quick and clean.” I shake my head. “But that would be too easy.”
I hand the knife back to Beast and turn to Yukon. “Give me the bat.”
Yukon grins, handing over his favorite Louisville Slugger. I test the weight in my hands, taking a practice swing.
“You think you’re tough, Eddie? Beating on women?” I spit on the floor. “Let’s see how tough you really are.”
I swing the bat, connecting with his knee. The crack of the bones shattering is audible, and his scream is so loud it hurts my ears.
Fuck him. I don’t care. I swing again, breaking his other knee.
He hangs here, limp and sobbing. The only thing keeping him upright is the rope around his wrists.
I drop the bat, breathing hard. My hands are trembling, but I force myself to stay in control. This isn’t just about making him suffer. It’s about sending a message to anyone who might ever think about touching even a single hair on the head of a Bastard Saints woman.
“You come into my home,” I say, my voice shaking. “You put your hands on my woman. There isn’t any world where you walk away from that.”
He looks up at me through swollen eyes. “She was mine first,” he croaks. “That sweet pussy’s mine. How are my sloppy seconds, old man?”
Something snaps inside me. A red haze descends behind my eyes, and I fucking lose it.
He hurt my butterfly. He raped her. Wanted to snuff out her life and take her from me.
Strong hands grab me from behind, pulling me from the haze. Shaking my head, I find Yukon at my side, holding me back. My eyes drop to my knuckles, torn and bloody. “Fuck.”
“You lost it for a minute there.”
Sure fucking did. I glance back at Eddie. His face is unrecognizable.
“Fuck.” I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.
I look at Beast and hold out my hand for the knife. He passes it over without a word.
Eddie’s eyes follow the movement, widening in terror when he sees the blade again. He tries to speak, but his mouth is too damaged. All that comes out is a gurgling moan.
“See you in hell, mother fucker.” Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I yank back his head and slice the knife across his throat, opening his carotid artery. His blood sprays across my face and chest. I step back, watching as he chokes, drowning in his own blood.
It doesn’t take long. Within seconds, he goes still, his eyes fixed and glassy.
I wipe the knife clean on his shirt and hand it back to Yukon. “It’s done.”
Undertaker steps forward, eyeing the body. “I’ll take care of this. Got a John Doe scheduled to be cremated in the morning. No one will ever know I barbecued him with a friend.”
I nod, suddenly feeling hollow. The rage that’s been driving me is gone, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.
Beast hands me a bandana. “Better clean up. You’re covered in that piece of shit’s blood.”
I take it with a grunt of thanks and wipe the worst of it from my face and hands. My shirt’s a lost cause, but at least I had the forethought to take off my cut before doing this.
Yukon pulls a flask from his pocket and offers it to me. I take it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a long pull. The burn down my throat goes a long way to clear my head.
“You good?” Beast eyes me carefully.
I nod. “I’m good.”
And I am. I finally feel like I can breathe again since walking into my house and seeing Pinky’s battered face.
“We’ll finish up here,” Undertaker says, already moving toward Eddie’s body. “Go home to your woman.”
I hand the flask back to Yukon. “Thanks for having my back.”
“Always,” Beast says, and Yukon nods in agreement.
I take one last look at Eddie’s lifeless body, then turn and walk out.
I’ve got no regrets.
Some men deserve to die.