Chapter 9 Ripper
Ripper
“You two stay together. Watch each other’s back. We’ll meet up once we find what we’re looking for.” Jerking my chin, I motion them to go one way while I explore the other.
With the sun gone, the darkness left behind is my best friend. I’m easily able to cling to the shadows, creeping against buildings. It only takes a few minutes before I come across my first target.
There’s a guy smoking a cigarette, staring out toward a few of the boats docked. Imagining one of his own, if I have to guess.
He’s wearing the cut of the enemy, a red flaming motorcycle, and that’s enough to push me toward taking his life.
Unholstering my blade, I grip it tight as my light steps come heavy. Before he can take in another lungful of smoke, my blade is sliding across his throat.
It’s the sputtered gasp that leaves his lips, the gurgle of blood, that reminds me that I should’ve asked about her brother before killing him. Whoops.
Moving on, I skim through a few buildings, sadly not finding a single soul to interview. Growing increasingly annoyed by the minute, I’m relieved to see a building with a few windows lit up. Someone inside has to know where Paulie is.
Stopping at the door, every muscle in my body recoils at the black orb planted only a few inches from the handle. A spider of all things? Seriously?
God, I hate spiders. People get pissed when I kill them, but this one is in my damn way.
“Can’t you get lost for a second?” Whispering softly, I unholster my pistol, waving it in hopes of scaring it away.
Fuck, what if it jumps?
Just as I’m flicking my wrist, the spider moves, but not with its legs. The door opens with little warning. My savior is a thug with ink under his eye and a ring planted in his nose. He’s got more ink against his throat, but there isn’t a single date. Damn. Not Paulie. Just another piece of scum.
Pulling the trigger twice has the warmth of blood hitting me before he can ask me who I am. The smell of copper is welcoming, but I’m unable to enjoy it. Not when three other men inside the room want to get defensive when seeing one of their brothers die.
The world detonates into noise and motion.
A muzzle flash blossoms in the gloom of the room. I don’t think, I just move. My body is a coiled spring, released and launching me sideways. I crash behind a heavy oak desk, my shoulder taking the impact with a jarring thud.
The air above my head immediately turns thick and deadly.
Bullets fly, tearing into the other side of my wooden shield.
Chunks of wood splinter before me, peppering my face with sharp, stinging shards.
The sound is deafening, a relentless thwack-thwack-thwack that vibrates through the floor and into my bones.
I press myself lower, forced into a burrow. The desk won’t hold forever. I can feel it disintegrating piece by piece. Then, a searing line of fire traces across my ribs. I gasp, the pain is delicious; the adrenaline it brings is far more addictive than any drug.
The gunfire ceases. The silence that crashes down is heavier, more oppressive than the noise. It’s the silence of reloads, of shared glances, of false confidence. They think they have me. They think I’m finished.
The silence is my cue. I’m up before the echo of the last shot has entirely faded, rising from behind the ruined desk like a specter. My gun is an extension of my will. I don’t aim with my eyes; I aim with the certainty in my gut.
The first man, a brute still fumbling with a fresh magazine, looks up. His eyes are wide, brown, and stupid.
I fire without hesitation.
The bullet takes him in the eye. There’s a wet, popping sound, distinctly organic and final. Ouch. He drops like a sack of stones.
My barrel swings, a seamless arc of death. The second man is faster, his gun coming up. My shot is a fraction of a second quicker, punching into his thigh. He screams, a high-pitched sound of agony, and stumbles, his own shot going wide and chewing a hole in the ceiling.
I can already taste his pain in the air, a metallic tang mixed with the coppery scent of his blood. I hurry and hit him once more so he doesn’t become a problem.
The third one, the one I didn’t hit, uses the distraction.
He’s a bull of a man, charging low. I twist, my body anticipating the trajectory of a bullet that never comes.
Instead, his shoulder slams into my midsection.
The air explodes from my lungs in a pained grunt.
The world tilts, spins, and the floor rushes up to meet my back.
The impact is stunning, and I’m seeing stars.
Before I can draw a breath, he’s on me. A knee pins my gun arm, his weight immense. A calloused hand closes around my throat. The pressure is immediate and absolute.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snarls, his face inches from mine. His breath is foul.
“Being choked,” I rasp, the words scraping past the constriction, “isn’t really my thing.”
My free hand is already moving, crawling down my side, fingers searching for my blade. I’ve lost count of how many times it has saved me.
As my vision tunnels, a strange, seductive thought whispers through the strain. What would it be like? What if I just let go? Would Haven mourn for me?
My cock twitches at the thought, and if my throat weren’t constricted, I’d laugh.
I can’t die, not before I can tell her how I feel. She needs to know what she’s done. She’s taken a monster’s heart and carved her name in it. She needs to take responsibility.
My fingers grip the handle, a promise made of steel and resolve. In one motion, I unsheathe the blade and drive it upward, going for the throat. The angle is awkward, but the result is the same.
There’s a resistance, then a sickening, wet give.
The man’s eyes, which were blazing with fury, go wide with shock.
The pressure on my windpipe vanishes. A gurgle escapes his lips, a horrible, bubbling sound.
A steady drip of blood mists my face, warm and salty.
The coppery smell, once a distant welcome, is now an overwhelming flood.
He collapses onto me, his dead weight a final, crushing insult. More blood pours on me, soaking through my clothes, a hot, sticky baptism. I shove him off, rolling onto my side, coughing and drawing in ragged, glorious breaths.
The pain against my side radiates, and I open my jacket, scowling at the sight of my blood soaking through my shirt.
Shit. It’s just a graze, but I can’t believe I’ve been hit. Ruined my fucking cut.
Sighing, I stand, dust myself off, and take in my surroundings.
There’s a door that’s shut, beckoning me closer to it. Playing it safe, I open it from behind, just in case some coward is hoping to catch me off guard. When a blast doesn’t come immediately, I peek inside.
There’s a man tied to a chair bolted to the ground.
“Oh, thank God.” Entering the room, relief floods me as I see the same six numbers on his throat. Beneath the numbers, their mother’s name. “Here you are.”
He doesn’t move, hardly to my surprise. Probably unconscious or dead, if I have to guess.
“You’ve caused a lot of trouble for your sister, Paulie.” Kneeling down to look at him, I stare past the dried blood caked onto his skin and search for the spots where fresh blood leaks.
He’s got a slash against his throat that looks clotted. His nose isn’t looking too pretty, crooked from a few hits. Two swollen eyes and a busted lip. Bet he’s missing a tooth or two, too.
“She’s going to cry when she sees you.” Clicking my tongue, I reach to check his pulse to see if he’s still breathing. Right before I touch him, I’m delightfully surprised when he jerks, somehow having the strength to try to bite me.
Bastard still has some fight in him. No wonder he’s taken so many hits. Probably pissed off the bodies lying behind me.
“I think Haven might want these.” Curling my fingers before he can take them, I step back and watch as he struggles against his bindings.
Look at him go. How many of Blaze’s men did it take to take him down?
Huh. This might be more than a rescue mission. This could be a recruitment effort.
“Listen.” Reaching into my pocket to pull out another magazine, I swap my low one for a full one.
Frowning, I press the muzzle against his forehead.
“Your sister asked me to save you. Can’t do that if you’re trying to kill me.
Now, I don’t want to make her sad by being the one to tell her you’re dead.
Are you gonna play nice, or are you going to break her heart? ”
“She’s alive?” His voice comes out in a gargled, outright painful tone. “Who are you?”
Can I introduce myself as his future brother-in-law? Probably shouldn’t jump the gun.
“A friend.” Deciding it’ll be better to go this route, my shoulders relax when he stops struggling. Pulling back, I keep my pistol aimed. “Now, can I save you, or do I need to be worried?”
“I want to see her.” He coughs after the words leave his bloodied lips.
Good enough for me. Holstering my weapon, I cut the ropes binding him. Once he’s free, I watch as he tries to stand and prepare myself for anything.
One step in, and he sways. It could be from a head concussion or a loss of blood. Who knows? Either way, I’m forced to give him my shoulder as we make our way out.
Stepping through puddles of red and over chunks of the men who hurt Paulie, I feel pretty good about everything.
Here’s to hoping the other two have been able to keep up with themselves.
There’s gunfire echoing in the distance. Hoping that’ll be where the other two are, I start making my way over.
I’m caught off guard by the sound of screams, and I’m even more confused when I finally do see Warden and Hammer. They’re jogging toward me, but they’re not alone.
Warden flinches when he sees us, both bloodied. If he’s this disgusted, I’m willing to bet Haven will be, too.
“Who the fuck is she?” Motioning to the red-haired woman wrapped in Hammer’s arms, the scarred man gives me a silent shrug in return. His shoulder is bleeding, but he doesn’t seem too bothered by what looks like a rusty nail sticking through his shirt.
“We fucked up.” Warden doesn’t beat around the bush as he expresses his concerns. “Bad Ripper. Judge is going to kill us. This is going to start the war.”
I motion for him to continue, impatient.
“We let their inventory slip away. They’re going to know we were here.” Warden’s expression matches mine as he looks at the woman. “There were so many of them.”
Inventory.
While he’s telling me about a shipping container filled with women, I’m only half listening. While I already knew they dipped their toes in trafficking, I can’t help but realize something that makes my blood run boiling hot.
“You know what’s funny?” Interrupting him, I look past them as a laugh leaves me. “They wanted Haven to bring Eliza here. Not to their clubhouse, but here.”
Eliza Parsons came to us to run away from an arranged marriage with the very man who runs this town.
Arranged marriage, my ass.
“He wanted to sell off Ghost’s girl. I think Blaze got a little greedy and hoped to sell mine, too.” Another laugh leaves me, but there’s nothing humorous about it. When Paulie grunts, it feels like a confirmation.
Judge was hoping to avoid bringing war to Willowbrook Ridge. He’s got nothing to worry about. I’ll bring it here instead.