4. Killian
4
KILLIAN
I could feel the darkness coming back.
The kind of darkness that was so fucking heavy, it was suffocating me, and I didn’t know how to get rid of it or ask for help.
It was the kind of darkness that had followed closely behind me after Lilliana’s betrayal. It had been so heavy back then, especially when we were on the road, traveling to Las Vegas after the night of the massacre, and had to constantly watch our backs, afraid Daniel Hayes’ men had found us.
This was much worse.
So much fucking worse. I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to get rid of the tension as I looked up at the building in front of me.
There had been reports of the old members of the Heartless Saints donning their cuts on full display. How arrogant those bastards had become, blatantly showing off a disgraced organization.
My brothers didn’t know I was here. I hadn’t told anyone.
Maverick wouldn’t approve. But then, Maverick hardly ever approved of anything we did in recent years. He had his head so deep in revenge and taking back our empire that he lost sight of who he was. Not that I could blame him. I had been right there with him. And perhaps focusing on that had been easier than seeing what the world had already seen when they looked at us.
Savages.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my older brother smile… until her.
But now, she was gone.
A week had passed since our little trip out to the pawnshop. We’d found traitors to the syndicate faster than this, but apparently, a five-foot-four wisp of a girl proved to be too hard for our men.
I shook away the tension in my hands and reached behind me to feel for the machete strapped to my back. Feeling the leather handle in my gloved hand was like a balm, calming my nerves. I wasn’t walking in the fucking building defenseless. I wasn’t suicidal, after all, but fuck me if I could keep finding a reason to live now when it felt like every day was a fight trying to swim out of the darkness, trying not to drown, only to fucking wake up and do it all over again.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
The night was quiet. No doubt it was because the fuckers learned a thing or two from the night of the massacre. They weren’t drunk or high out of their fucking minds. They were on alert, which presented a little challenge. Good fucking thing I loved a good challenge.
I moved to the side of the building, scaling to the second-floor window by boosting myself up with a metal trash bin nearby until I could hold on to the metal ladder attached to the wall.
The building was old and abandoned in the worst part of town. It might have been a brewery before, but right now, it was a fucking nest.
And I was about to push all the snakes out.
I shimmied open the broken window and hoisted myself inside. The second floor wasn’t really a floor but a metal walkway attached to the wall that looked out into the open space down below.
No one was nearby. They were all on the bottom floor, huddled together, sleeping. As if there really was safety in numbers for them.
There was no safety. Not when I was hunting them. My skin felt tight with awareness, and I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my bloodstream. I pushed myself against the wall and waited until my eyes adjusted before I moved closer to the railing and got a closer look at the fuckers.
It was as the rumors said. Men wearing the Heartless Saints’ cuts as if it was something to be proud of.
I shook my head in disgust. Their club left behind a legacy of a useless president and debt.
That was all. What did they have to be proud of? Following Sebastian Cline wasn’t any better. The fucker was a dead man the moment he made it clear he had survived the massacre.
I was hoping I would run into him tonight, but a quick assessment of all the faces below told me none of them were Sebastian Cline.
Such a fucking shame. I would love to come face-to-face with the man who had been nothing but a fucking headache. I counted the men.
Seven that I could see. And only two were awake, but barely. And I was wrong. Several cases of beer littered the ground. They were probably all completely drunk.
It would be nothing to take them on. Only problem was I didn’t know if more would show up suddenly.
But I didn’t want to stand around and wait. Maverick always said patience wasn’t my strong suit. How well my big brother knew me.
I jumped over the railing and rolled as soon as I got to the ground, lessening the impact of my landing. I hadn’t made a lot of noise, but it was enough to rouse a couple of light sleepers. It didn’t matter much. I was on them as soon as I got to my feet, reaching behind me for the machete.
“What—”
I chopped the man’s head off before he could finish his sentence; the crunch of his bones breaking gave me none of the satisfaction I usually got. The man beside him tried to get up but wasn’t quick enough. A quick slash across his torso had him gasping, blood pooling out of him from where I had cut and onto those closest to him, waking them up. The fucker wasn’t dead, but I knew he wished for it.
The alcohol slowed them down, and I should have been fucking thankful, but all I felt was disgust over their lack of self-control and disappointment that this wasn’t more of a fucking challenge.
I stood and spun around when I heard a third coming at me. The machete sliced down the fucker's arm before he could even pull his weapon, his blood squirting out and hitting me in the face. The warmth of it was able to spark some excitement in me, but not fucking enough to help with the darkness. At this point, I didn’t think anything would.
He stumbled back, his eyes wide as he took me in, and I followed, jumping on him and bringing the tip of the machete down on his chest, right where his heart lay. His eyes remained open, even as life bled from them.
It wasn’t enough.
Not fucking enough.
I moved to the next one and the next. The ones who had been awake before but were still too drunk finally realized they were in danger. I could see one of them sloppily pull out his gun. I didn’t care.
He held it up and aimed at me, the loud bang ringing in my ear as the shot was fired. It skimmed my arm. A superficial wound. I turned to the man, the pain making me feel alive.
I smiled at him.
He panicked and tried to shoot at me again but missed. A third shot nearly got me on the side but instead ate at the drywall behind me. He threw his gun down when he ran out of bullets and tried to run away from me.
It took no effort or time to catch up to him, and I grabbed him from behind, slicing the sharp blade over his neck. The warmth of his blood dripped out and onto my arms. I let him go and turned to my next opponent.
I barely remembered killing them, but when the red haze of bloodlust finally subsided enough for me to think straight and take in the scene, all the men were dead, and I was standing in a pool of their blood. My boots made a squishing noise as I slowly walked out of the abandoned building, leaving the machete behind.
The logical part of me knew I should call for a cleanup.
Try to cover up all the evidence of me being there, though I doubt there was any.
All they had to go on was a bunch of corpses that could no longer talk.
And the darkness was still there.
Fuck me, but the darkness was still there.
I slowly moved to where my car was parked a small distance away, and got in, looking out to the space ahead of me.
Fuck me, but what the hell was I supposed to do?
This was fucking why I didn’t want Silas to bring home the club princess. This was why I should have killed her when I had the chance because now she had burrowed herself firmly under my skin, and I didn’t fucking know how to cut her out.
I would have skinned myself alive to get rid of her if I fucking could.
And she left.
She fucking left, and a whole club was after her.
I should be pissed she left. Instead, I was scared shitless for her.
What if they got to her before we could?
I would destroy the fucking world if that was the case.
And that was all there was to it.