Chapter 15 #2
“No, please—”
“God’s Wrath has no mercy.” I pull the trigger.
I train the muzzle on the second guy. “You have five seconds to convince me not to put a bullet in your head.”
“I have two children—”
Bang, Bang. Bang. Three slugs enter his dome.
“Changed my mind.”
The next man drops with two in the chest. I set my sights on the fourth man. He doesn’t cower or snivel like the others. Respect—but he still has to die.
“Not the last two,” Zeus commands, making his way through the carnage and shell casings. He stops in front of the tough guy. “You’re going to deliver a message. Understand?”
The man gives him a clipped nod.
“Tell Spider death is coming for him. Now get the fuck outta here.”
He pushes to his feet and ambles out of the door, cool as a fucking feather.
Zeus turns to the last man. “Tell your crew we can let bygones be bygones or we can continue to spill blood.”
“Yeah, man, I’ll let them know.” He scrambles to his feet and hauls ass.
Lucky bastards must have a guardian angel.
“How’s your shoulder?” Zeus asks, nodding at the bleeding wound.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” I respond, sliding my gun into my holster. “I’ll have the doc take a look at it later.”
I’m wearing a bulletproof vest to protect my vital organs—all the brothers are—but a well-placed shot can still take me out.
“You did good,” Zeus remarks, slapping me on the back.
I dip my chin, acknowledging the rare compliment.
“Found this on Bear’s body,” Tank says, holding up a bulging envelope.
“Payment for the merch,” Jigsaw states, taking the envelope from him. “I’ll give it to Butch.”
“All right, people, move like you got a purpose,” Zeus orders. “Dump the bikes and disappear the bodies.” He looks at Draco. “In the morning, gather some prospects to put the warehouse to rights, but the cleaner needs to come tonight.”
He nods and pulls his cell phone from his cut pocket.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.
“Twelve stitches,” Naomi announces, securing the bandage around my shoulder. “You’re fortunate your injury isn’t more serious.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I mumble, rotating my shoulder.
The pain is minimal. I’ll be back in tip-top shape within the week.
“You’re welcome,” she replies with a bright smile. “Keep the stitches dry for the first twenty-four hours. After that, you’ll need to wash, rebandage, and apply petroleum twice a day. I’ll pull them out in ten days.”
I nod, taking in her instructions.
“Antibiotics to prevent infection.” A pill bottle is pressed into my palm. “Take one three times a day for a week.”
“Got it.” I push the bottle into my inner cut pocket.
Zeus slides into the chair to my right and passes me an ice-cold beer. “Finally got your badge of honor, boy,” he praises, a grin on his face. “And you took it like a soldier.”
“I hardly call getting shot a badge of honor,” Naomi scoffs, ramming her supplies back inside her medical bag. “He could’ve been killed.”
“Shut your mouth, woman.” He winks at me, mirth in his gaze. “I’m talking to my son.”
Naomi is an emergency room doctor and a recovering gambling addict. She got in way over her head. I don’t know the particulars, but rumor has it that she’s millions in debt.
Zeus offered her a side gig patching up our wounded.
He loves getting under her skin. They have a lust-hate relationship, though the hate is on her part.
Zeus just wants in her pants. I see why he has a hard-on for her.
Curvy waistline, double D’s, and a plump ass with ham hock thighs—she’s thick, thick.
Naomi springs to her feet, her hands balled into tight fists at her side. “I’m not one of your lackeys.”
“But you’re on my payroll,” he quips, his sensual gaze slowly roaming over her. “And insubordination has consequences.”
“Then fire me.”
“I’d rather fuck you.”
Naomi’s fair skin turns bright red, and Zeus smirks. The tension between them crackles—lust and fury wrapped in barbed wire.
“Fuck you, Zeus.” She snatches her medical bag off the table and stomps toward the door.
“Naomi!” His booming voice cracks through the air like a whip, halting her instantly. “Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. My patience is wearing thin.”
His implication is as clear as a cloudless blue sky. One way or another he’ll have her by any means necessary. Naomi bolts out the door without a backward glance.
“Run away, little rabbit,” he growls. “I’ll trap you soon enough.”
I swing the beer bottle to my lips and down the bitter contents in a few gulps.
“Want another one?” Zeus asks.
“Nah, I’m good.” I rub my gritty eyes. “I’m going to head upstairs and crash.”
I’m too damn tired to drive home.
“Stop exaggerating!” Snake shouts, elbowing Smokey in the stomach. “I didn’t fall. I dove on the floor so I wouldn’t get my ass shot off.”
“You fell harder than that new chick in the cafeteria yesterday.” Smokey laughs, blocking Snake’s elbow from digging into his midsection again. “What’s her name? It’s some weird shit.” He snaps his fingers. “Oh yeah, Zilphia.”
I leap to my feet, toppling my chair to the floor. Just hearing that name is like a kick to the gut. The chances of Zilphia being in Oregon are slim, but I need to put my mind at ease. “What’s her last name?”
Zeus locks eyes with me, fully knowing the pain she caused me.
Smokey shrugs. “I don’t know, man.”
“What does she look like?” I bite out, vengeful thoughts twitching my cock.
“I didn’t draw her picture.” He chuckles and takes a long swig of his beer. “Shit, man, I don’t even remember what I ate for breakfast this morning.”
Cricket walks over to me and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Relax, you don’t know if it’s her.”
“Don’t know if she’s who? Am I missing something?” Snake’s eyes dart between Cricket and me.
I pounce on Smokey, hauling him off the barstool. “Answer the fucking question!”
“Um, she’s Black. Pretty,” he rushes out, his eyes wide with fear. “Slender, about five five.”
It’s her. Has to be.
The girl who turned my heart black. I want to cut her open and bathe in her blood. It’s a sick fantasy for a sick motherfucker.
“Who is she to you?” Snake asks.
I release the shirt clutched in my hands and leave the bar on autopilot. Three phrases ring through my mind on repeat.
Make her hurt.
Make her bleed.
Make her suffer.
“Where are you going?” Cricket calls after me.
I straddle my bike and start the engine, my hands shaking with the need to hurt her.
Cricket grips the stainless-steel handlebars. “Leave with your head all fucked up and you’re going to end up roadkill.”
“Back off.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he pleads, worry evident in his voice. “Even if it is her… so fucking what. Keep that bitch in your rearview.”
“You know what she did.”
“I know, and it’s fucked up, but don’t go jumping off the deep end.”
“Cricket, back off or I’ll crush every bone in your fucking hand.”
He sighs but steps back. I twist the throttle and speed toward home. My surroundings are a blur, whizzing past unseen.
Make her hurt.
Make her bleed.
Make her suffer.
If it’s her… Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? No.
Hell hath no fury like a man scorned.
Sweet, sweet Zilphia, the most sadistic atrocities await you.
I’m going to make her hurt… I’m going to make her hurt so fucking good.