Chapter 2
BLADE
Fuck Ryder King. Why me? I hate playing babysitter, and he could have given this job to anyone else but me.
My resentment is overridden by the need to fuel my body. The last thing I need is to be holed up in one of our safe houses with a woman who looks as if she’s about to expire with fear.
Do I want to deal with another dead body today? Not fucking likely, and when he issued the instructions when she was passed out in my arms, I fixed him with a sharp glare, wondering if he lost it last night.
If I had my choice, she would have remained in the hospital because she needs medical attention not a fucking vacation.
Snake obviously sensed my disagreement because he reminded me not to disobey an order from the mighty leader we tolerate and yet love with a fierce loyalty that has been hard earned over the years.
There is always method in Ryder’s madness, and we must wait this out to discover the reasons for this detour.
If she wants answers, I’m not the man to give them, and I prepare myself for some difficult questions when she gets over her obvious fear of me.
I’m used to it. I’m not exactly the kind of man you’d take home to meet your parents. Anyone even. I terrify the shit out of most people, my brothers included, because along with my blood brother Razor, we are a surly addition to the brotherhood otherwise known as the Twisted Reaper MC.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. Playing nice lands you in deep shit, and there is no more Mr. Nice Guy. That ship sailed years ago, and I hold the body count to prove it.
“Um,” she hesitates, her soft voice tinged with a slight accent I can’t quite place, and I raise my eyes, noting the flicker of fear in her beautiful deep green irises.
“Well, um–”
I lean back, my food already eaten, hers merely pushed around her plate.
Her lower lip quivers as she swallows hard, and her voice is soft, hesitant as she whispers, “Thank you.”
Her pale skin colors as she draws in a deep breath, and I wonder why it took so much effort to say two freaking words.
“You’re welcome, darlin’.”
I nod toward her plate.
“Don’t you like it?”
“I’m sorry, yes, it’s delicious.”
I make her nervous; it’s pretty obvious, and with a sigh, I push back from the table.
“I’ll be outside chopping wood. It can get cold up here in the mountains; we should be prepared for that.”
I leave before she can question me further because I don’t have any answers, anyway.
I wonder if she will retract her thanks when she realizes we’re stuck here together for the foreseeable until Ryder decides otherwise.
The crisp mountain air is welcome as I drag in a deep lungful, loving the pure oxygen with none of the pollution of man.
I wish I were here alone.
It’s my preferred option every fucking time because I’ve always been a lone wolf and I doubt that will ever change.
Chopping logs will be a distraction from the woman inside the cabin.
Many men would be eager to spend time with her; she’s definitely attractive, probably one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen, but she’s haunted. It’s in her startled expression, the pain, fear, and broken soul of a woman who has lived a life she should never have been introduced to.
Anger burns inside me as I sling the ax at the nearest chunk of wood, relishing the sound of the blade slicing through the unyielding block.
Imagining what might have happened to that poor woman sharpens my anger for justice.
I don’t believe we got any because a bullet to the brains of the people responsible was nowhere near good enough for what they were about to do to those poor women, tied up on a stone altar, preparing to be sacrificed to depravity.
Anger spurs me on as the scene captures me and my fist curls against the ax as I drive it deep into the wood, wishing like crazy I could have torn every fucker in there apart with my bare hands.
Unleashing my inner beast in a fury on men and women who believed sacrificing another human was an acceptable use of their time.
When I plucked her from the altar, a wave of protective fury hit me unexpectedly.
Her body was soft, almost featherlike, and her beauty shone through in her drugged sleep as she nestled in my arms, as I whisked her away from the edge of hell.
To safety? Well, the jury’s out on that one because it’s fast dawning on me that the longer we stay here, the less safe she will be—from me.
Chopping logs takes little time and so I busy myself with checking out the area. The cabin is one of many we own dotted around the country. Hidden in mountainous territory, deep inside forests with security systems designed to deter any weary traveler who happens upon them.
Many believe we are a dirty motorcycle club with nothing but terror written into our code. We are not. We are paid government assassins. Ex-military renegades who were sent here rather than being court martialed, or worse.
Ryder King is our president and has earned his title. He is the most feared ex-marine special forces operative who the government decided was the perfect man for the job.
He heads up a band of close on fifty soldiers disguised as an army of terror, and where the courts fail, we prevail, and nobody is safe from our twisted blend of rough justice.
What happened at Rockwell will never make the press, the courts, or the internet. It will be swept under the proverbial rug along with the crumbs of every other fucker who stepped outside the law and had a pass from justice.
There is never an escape from justice if you piss off the man at the top, and sometimes I believe Ryder acts on a higher authority than even the president of our great country.
My thoughts return to the woman inside the cabin, and I hope she has finished her plate. The last thing I need is to babysit a woman whose choices are questionable, and if she refuses my help, I’m liable to force-feed her myself.
Let’s hope it never comes to that.
For both our sakes.