Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
DREW
“I’m on my way back to Babylon,” I told Eric on the phone, my voice as cold as my blood. “Be there.”
“You got it. Everything okay?”
“I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
I ended the call abruptly, using Ayda as my anchor. As long as I looked at her, I could stay in control—remain grounded. Couldn’t I? Fuck, I hoped so.
My club had a rat. That’s what Clint’s letter had implied. Harry had known. He’d known there was an infestation among the Hounds, and I had a feeling that’s why my father had returned when he had.
Ayda told Elise, Paul, and the others that the letters had been useful, but we had to leave.
I was too far gone to be polite, so I remained silent, my jaw ticking and my eyes burning with a need to get inside my own club, weed out the traitor, draw their last breath from their body, and hang them in the yard for everyone to see.
No one betrayed The Hounds.
No one.
It was treason, and there was only ever one punishment for that: execution.
I waited on the bike, staring forward to the road ahead while Ayda reassured Elise that we would be back, that she would ensure the family’s protection somehow, and how they should contact her if they came into trouble or they suspected anything at all.
She was natural in the role, a concerned woman with a heart so huge and pure that she could fit the whole world inside it and still have room to love some more.
She was the woman who wanted everyone to live and be safe.
At that moment, I was the man who needed someone to die.
The ride back to Babylon was the exact opposite of the ride to Dallas. I was stiff, hardened by betrayal and a need for vengeance.
Was it Kenny?
Slater?
Jedd?
Deeks?
Moose?
My own fucking father?
I didn’t want to believe it of any of them, but somehow, deep down in my dirty soul, I knew it was true.
How else would the Navs know about the Emps’ body we’d buried on their land?
How else would The Emps have known where Ayda and I were the night of the warehouse nightmare that almost led to our deaths?
How else would everyone on the outside seem to know what was going on on the inside…
like when Cortez rode into the yard that first time after I’d been released from prison, and he somehow knew that Ayda was working her way into my heart, even before I’d known it to be true?
The maid, he’d called her. He’d known she was getting under my skin. How could he have known unless…?
“Fuck!” I cursed quietly to myself all the way home. Ayda never reacted. Her arms didn’t even tighten to reassure me I wasn’t alone. I could feel the tension and need for answers pouring off her as much as they were pouring off me.
The dots were connecting more and more, but there were still questions. The first one I needed answering had to come from my father.
It was afternoon when we arrived in Babylon, and I made damn sure everyone on those streets could feel the president of The Hounds was back in town, and he was pissed.
Anger curdled my blood, and as we turned on to the street where The Hut and the yard sat proudly, I realized it was the first time I’d ever looked at it in a way that made me feel sick.
There was no calling it home now. An enemy was inside that building.
Someone I trusted was hurting my men while looking them in the eye with a smile on their face and false love in their voice.
I.
Was going.
To end him.
The bike kicked up dust as I tore into the yard, skidding to a dangerous halt and feeling the way Ayda tightened her arms around me as came to a shaky stop.
Turning my head to the left, I saw my father standing outside the pawnshop.
He was wearing a blue and black checked shirt with a dark T-shirt underneath, his jeans torn at the knee, and his thick, brown boots more worn than his gray-bearded face.
When he saw me, his face remained calm, but ever the man of power and dominance, he merely crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin to the sky, waiting for me to make my move and go to him.
My nostrils flared, and I struggled to drag in enough air, my chest bouncing as I stared at the man who’d created me, not knowing if he was an enemy or a friend. Not knowing if he even thought of me as his son at all.
Every drop of blood I’d ever shed had been because of him, this life, and the need to be what I’d been created to be.
Should I regret that? Should I hate him for it? Or should I revel in the power I felt within me, burning like a weapon that could tear anyone apart if it had to?
Revel, I thought with determination.
Ayda practically jumped from her seat, her bag falling to her feet with a thud as she tore the helmet from her head and dropped it to the back of the bike. Her eyes darted around the yard at some of the men who’d heard our approach and seemed curious about the mood we’d brought back with us.
I couldn’t concentrate on any of them. My eyes were fixed firmly on my father as I swung my leg over the bike and stood tall beside it.
Every hair on my body rose to attention, willing me to fight, to go now.
Now! But the raging in bull in me knew when to strike, and I had to get closer.
My feet started moving slowly—heavy footfalls no one could feel but sure made me feel like the earth was shifting beneath my feet.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Eric never flinched. There was no reaction or curiosity on his face, not even in his eyes.
He held my gaze the entire way, his calm a frustration to my boiling fury.
The closer I got, the harder I fought to breathe through my nose.
My teeth clenched together, my cheeks feeling the tension as I worked the muscles in my jaw and marched closer.
Closer. Closer. I began to move faster. Just a little at first, the need to end this pushing me forward until my arms swung, and I charged towards the man in front of me like I wanted to strike a dagger through his heart.
I ran, feet pounding, my cut swaying behind me as I used every ounce of power I had to crash into him, spin the fucker around by his shirt, use all my muscles to push him back and slam him into the brick structure of the pawnshop.
He was a ragdoll in my hands, and I had the power to pull him back and slam him into the building again, my head swaying forward until I was so close to his face, his now-ragged breaths bled into mine.
My forearm pushed up against his windpipe, pressing on him to pin him in place as I shook with him in my grip, all my rage pouring out of my sweat-soaked skin.
Our eyes were only an inch apart, and I stared into his seeing a reflection of me staring back.
His were wide with surprise, yet he somehow didn’t look surprised at all when I pressed into him, turning his face redder by the second.
The silence, the unspoken words took over until I couldn’t hold anything back.
“Did you know?” I growled through gritted teeth, my arm shaking violently against his throat. “Did. You. Know?”
Eric was grinding his jaw, staring at me like he wanted to kill me as much as I wanted to kill him. But he remained silent, his eyes then flickering around the yard to the other men who had gathered behind us.
“Is it you?” I spat, pulling back to give him a second to breathe before I slammed him back in place. Fuck, I was desperate to hit him. To deliver a strike so punishing, he wouldn’t even know how to lie. The only thing that would pour free from him would be all the truths he’d kept hidden from me.
“Not… here,” he croaked, bringing his attention back to me. His eyes were popping, the red lines in them getting wilder as I stole his oxygen… just like he’d stolen any chance I’d ever had at a normal life.
“Fuck!” I hissed, pressing harder. “You knew. You fucking knew.”
“D-drew…” he gasped.
I got closer to his face, mine all contorted, twisting, and twitching as I struggled to hold back the betrayal I felt.
“You knew we had a rat,” I whispered furiously, so only he could hear.
His eyes searched mine, and he licked his bottom lip before his blue-greens rolled back in his head, and he brought his hands up to try and pull my arm away.
“Not… here…” he croaked one last time, his voice low and furious, but unwilling to fight.
I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was a stranger, but someone I knew couldn’t, and wouldn’t hurt me.
Harry had trusted him. Harry had kept in touch and communicated with him over the years, making sure he was in the loop of all that was happening.
Harry wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t the unsure man I was.
Harry was capable of making better decisions, better judgments, and… shit, I wished he were here.
“They’re watching,” Dad whimpered roughly.
Glancing over my shoulder, I looked at the crowd of men behind me, all of them standing firmly with their legs parted, some with their arms over their chests, others with theirs hanging down by their sides, fists tensed and ready if I needed them.
I met their eyes. All of them. Jedd. Slater. Kenny. Deeks. Moose—and all the other men who had been a part of the club’s history for as long as I could remember. Every single one of them was looking at me in confusion, but ready to go to war.
How could it be any of them?
I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling the dry ball of uncertainty go down like a dusty rock. When I turned to look back at Eric, his mouth had parted, and he was struggling to breathe.
All at once, I let him go, and he sank down the wall with no grace at all, crumbling to his knees, falling to one side to rest on his shaky arm.
My chest bounced so damn hard, and I met Ayda’s eyes, just for a second, needing her to ground me again, but not wanting her to come close.