Chapter 39 #2
“Oh my God,” Meela mumbles under her breath. “Here we go.”
Draco hovers beside her, his arms crossed over his expansive chest. “Where is she?”
We both know who the “she” is.
I have to admit he’s freaking hot. Although we live in the same house, I’ve never seen him this close up before.
We’re rarely in the same room together, probably because he doesn’t get along with the middle child of the family, aka my baby daddy.
I’ve heard them arguing from the safety of the bedroom at least a dozen times.
Though he and Sandman are the same height, he’s more muscular in build and has the most vivid green eyes I’ve ever seen.
They almost seem to glow. Even his beard is sexy, and I don’t care too much for beards.
He has beautiful hair too. The curly ginger strands are pulled into a top knot on his head.
Like his psycho siblings, he has a lot of tattoos.
Most notable is the intricate red dragon tattoo spanning the length of his right arm.
How can all three brothers be sexy and crazy as hell?
The red demon, the dark prince, and the stone-cold killer.
Actually, where is the dark prince? I haven’t seen him all day.
He’s probably off somewhere terrorizing Leah.
“She’s at home, Draco,” she replies, her tone flat and uninterested. “Did you really think she’d come here of all places?”
“Alone?” he presses, stepping closer to her. Depending on the answer, all hell might break loose.
“Yep. Plans to watch movies all day.”
“I’ll take her a plate,” he mumbles, more to himself than anyone else, and turns on his heel.
“I’m taking her one later,” Meela calls after him, but he keeps walking.
“No need.”
See, crazy as hell.
Meela rolls her faux-blue eyes. “How does one become pussy whipped without actually getting the pussy?”
“I suppose the same way someone becomes dick whipped without actually getting the dick,” I counter, fluttering my eyelashes.
She grins, bumping my shoulder with hers. “Touché, bitch.”
“Aren’t you going to warn her?” I ask, watching Draco as he piles food on two paper plates.
“Hell no.”
“That’s not very sisterly.”
She shrugs. “I don’t give a damn. I hope he fucks her until her back gives out. Anyway, he would never hurt her. He worships the ground she walks on.”
“That doesn’t matter if she doesn’t want him.” I’m tired of these fucking men thinking they can have any woman they want.
“Listen, she needs to get fucked and fucked bad. And not just regular fucking either,” she adds, plucking a string bean off my plate and tossing it between her blue-painted lips.
“Tulip, the prude, needs the type of fucking that will have her walking bowlegged for a month. I swear, sometimes it’s hard to believe we came from the same penis and vagina. ”
“Still, it’s her choice whether—”
Meela holds up an index finger. “Hold that thought, because I know this bitch is not all up on my man.”
I follow her gaze to where Jigsaw sits with a pretty brunette snuggled on his lap. “Meela, don’t do anything crazy. There are children here.”
“Please, these little snots have seen way worse on television.” Meela drops onto her shiny blue platform heels and smooths her hands down her skin-tight multicolored jumpsuit. “How do I look?”
I look her up and down, from her blue knee-length lemonade braids to the tips of patent leather boots. “Like the next twerk star.”
“You give the best compliments.” She blows me an air kiss, then squares her shoulders. “Watch my purse.”
I sigh, watching her sashay toward the unsuspecting duo.
Cricket grins, his gaze tracking Meela too. “This should be entertaining.”
Meela taps Jigsaw on the shoulder and starts giving him the business. I can’t hear what’s being said over the din in the room, but her stance says it all. One hand is propped on a curvy hip while a long acrylic nail is pointed dangerously close to his face.
He pushes the woman off his lap and stands to his full height, towering over Meela’s small frame. Even in her heels, the height difference is astounding. The two begin to argue, and as scary as he is, she still doesn’t back down.
I squirm in my seat as they shout at each other. I’m able to hear bits and pieces now. Meela says something about him being a dog in heat and needing to keep it in his pants. He counters with something about her being a brat and needing to stay in a child’s place.
From the corner of my eye, I see several women herding the children into the hallway with promises of candy and a Disney movie marathon in the movie theater.
Good idea. They don’t need to witness this craziness.
Meela angrily shoves at his chest. Jigsaw’s companion shoves her in return, and Meela sucker punches her in the face. Well, that escalated rather quickly.
“Oh snap,” Cricket chortles, throwing his head back in laughter.
The woman screeches in outrage and charges at Meela, her fingernails poised to do some serious damage.
She swipes at her, but Meela ducks and rears back her fist for another punch.
Jigsaw holds Meela back with an arm and grabs the brunette by the throat, snarling something in her face before shoving her away.
Their shouting match resumes, and he says something that makes Meela stagger back a few steps.
She slaps him hard across the face, then attempts to slap him again, but he latches onto her wrist. Not one to be bested, she tries to knee him in the balls, but he twists away and shakes her like a rag doll.
I look at Cricket. “We have to do something.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “That’s their business.”
Afraid for my friend, I hop off the stool, determined to defuse the situation. “Well, I’m going to put a stop to it.”
“Sit the fuck back down,” Cricket growls at me.
Who the hell does this bastard think he is? “Fuck—”
A loud boom tears through the room, trapping my words in my throat. The once-secured metal door that led to the bar now lies damaged on the floor.
Everything seems to happen all at once. A group of men pours into the room, releasing a hail of gunfire. Bullets riddle the brunette’s torso, killing her before her body hits the carpet.
Jigsaw bounds across the room with a screaming Meela in tow. He shoves her inside the arcade with a dozen or so cowering kids and jumps into the fray.
“Get down,” Cricket shouts, yanking me to my knees behind the island, a gun already in his hand.
“What’s going on?” I ask, shaking so hard my teeth chatter. “Who are those men?”
“Fucking Lawless Disciples,” he hisses. “Get to the kitchen and hide. I’ll cover you.”
“Have you lost your mind? If I go out there, I’ll get shot to bits.”
“Do what I say, goddamn it!” he yells at me. “I’m not going to let you die.”
“I’m scared,” I say, my voice trembling as tears burn my eyes.
“Just stay behind me.” He pulls a second gun from a holster. “On the count of three, okay?”
I nod. Where’s Sandman? As much as he hates me, I know he’ll protect me.
“One. Two. Three!”
We make a break for it. I stay hidden behind him, praying I don’t get shot.
“Oh, you want some, motherfucker?” Cricket bellows. Pop, pop, pop… “Oh, you too, bitch? Fuck you!” Pop, pop, pop…
It only takes seconds to reach the doorway, but they were the longest seconds of my life.
“Go, Zilphia! And don’t come out until it’s over.”
I race to the kitchen as fast as my legs will carry me, grab the biggest knife I can find, then shut myself inside the pantry. Little good it’ll do against a gun, but my choices are limited.
I didn’t think to grab my phone; everything happened so fast. Has anyone called the police? The better question is: Will anyone call? People usually turn a blind eye where the Gods are concerned. Besides, the gunfire is probably too muffled for anyone outside to notice.
I recall Sandman mentioning that while the clubhouse isn’t fully soundproof, the construction crew went to great lengths to get it as close as possible. If that wasn’t bad enough, the few stores around here are all closed for the holiday.
I sink into a corner and pull my knees to my chest. Blood pounds in my ears as my breathing turns ragged. Shit. My asthma medication is in my purse right along with my cell phone.
Okay, stay calm and focus on your breathing. Long, deep breaths, like the doctor taught you. In and out. In and out. In and out.
“Where are you, little mouse?” a man croons. “I saw you come in here.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wipe the sweat from my eyes and push to my feet, holding the knife out in front of me. I press deeper into the corner, my heart thundering against my rib cage.
“Come on out like a good little gash and I’ll make it quick. Well, I might have a bit of fun with you first.” He chuckles.
I remain stone silent, hoping against hope that he goes away. Sandman, I need you.
The door opens, revealing a tall, thin man. “Hello, love.” He smiles, showcasing teeth too tiny for his mouth, and aims the gun at my heart.
“Please, I’m pregnant,” I say, praying my pending motherhood will sway him from killing me.
“I know, darling.” He motions me forward with his gun. “Drop the knife and come on out.”
I place my only means of defending myself on the shelf. “Sandman will give you anything you want,” I sob, slowly walking toward him. “Just don’t hurt me.”
“You gotta die, darling,” he states matter-of-factly. “Prez’s orders. He wants Zeus and his entire bloodline dead.”
A shot rings out, and my would-be executioner is hit in the arm. Before I can react, he latches onto my wrist and spins me around, snapping his forearm across my throat. I whimper, feeling his gun pressed against my temple.
Sandman stands before us, his weapon raised and pointed at the man at my back. I draw in a sharp breath, seeing something in his eyes I’ve never seen before… fear. “Let her go.”
“Drop it or I’ll blow this bitch’s brains all over this goddamn kitchen!”
“Not a fucking chance,” he growls, taking a step forward.
His forearm tightens on my neck. “Don’t fuck with me! I’ll end this bitch and your bastard right here and now!”
Neither man moves for what seems like forever, but finally, Sandman places his weapon on the floor. “You’ll never make it out of here alive.”
“Don’t care,” the man jeers, aiming his gun at Sandman. “As long as I take you with me.”
“No!” I shout, elbowing him in the gut with all my strength.
He grunts in pain, loosening his hold on my throat. I dive for cover, scrambling out of his reach.
Sandman charges forward with a roar and tackles him to the floor. I crawl underneath the kitchen nook and hide behind a chair.
Both men are on their feet now, throwing punches at each other. Sandman dodges the next punch thrown his way and comes back with a jab to the man’s ribs.
He doubles over and gets a knee to the face. Cartilage breaks and blood spills, making my stomach roil.
“Motherfucker!” the man roars, grabbing a cast-iron pan off the stove and slamming it across Sandman’s face.
I watch in horror as his body hits the floor with a hard thud. He doesn’t move. Oh God, please don’t be dead.
The man turns his wild gaze on me. “Now, where were we?”
I scramble from my hiding place and swing a chair at him. “Stay away from me!”
He laughs and easily plucks it from my grasp.
“Sandman, get up!”
“Darling, he can’t help you,” he taunts, stalking toward me. “He’s knocked out cold.”
I try to run, but he captures me and slams me into the wall, his large hands locking around my neck. I lash out, scratching at his face and arms, but he holds firm. My arms fall limply at my sides, my vision darkening. I feel myself fading away.
Something splashes onto my face, then his hands are gone.
I crash to my hands and knees, sucking big gulps of air into my burning lungs.
A gurgling sound reaches my ears, and I scurry backward, afraid of what it is.
I can’t see clearly. Panicked, I rub my fists against my eyelids, trying to clear my vision.
I blink my eyes open, and a small cry slips past my lips at the sight that greets me.
It’s like a horror movie. Blood is everywhere—on the counters, oven, refrigerator, walls, and even the ceiling.
Sandman is on top of the man, plunging his knife into his lifeless body over and over again. He’s soaked in blood; his once blond hair is completely red and covered in chunks of human flesh.
The man’s face is unrecognizable, reminding me of hamburger meat.
Bile rises in my throat, and I spill the meager contents of my stomach all over the floor.
“Please… stop,” I croak. “For God’s sake… please stop.”
I don’t think he can even hear me. It’s as if he’s possessed.
Zeus rushes into the kitchen—Cricket, Smokey, and Jigsaw follow close on his heels. They all take in the bloody scene, their faces frozen in shock.
“He’s dead, goddamn it!” Zeus bellows, attempting to pull his son off the lifeless man.
In the end, it takes all four of them to drag Sandman away from his latest victim.
A sudden rush of dizziness sweeps over me, then everything goes black.