Chapter 23 #3
Jacob had turned those truck lights on to help us see who it was, but the headlights had backlit them.
It’d reduced them to nothing but moving shadows.
Ricochet and Hellfire had been blinded and unable to recognize them for what they were when they started shooting.
Though I wondered if somehow Ricochet had caught a glimpse of them and that was why he’d hesitated.
Hellfire being shot had spurred him to act, the consequences be damned.
By the time I caught up enough to see them, Ethan was already getting into another truck with Jacob.
Bruce was climbing into the back with his rifle.
The truck's engine roared as Jacob stomped on the gas.
Ricochet had dropped his rifle. What the fuck was he doing?
Trying to get himself killed? Fear for him coursed through my veins and I forced my legs to move faster, trying to get there in time to help my brother.
Running full speed—fuck, the kid was fast—Ricochet launched himself into the back and slammed into Bruce.
Dust and rocks sprayed everywhere, pelting me as I ran behind them, as Jacob gunned it and fishtailed across the road.
A loud thud in the dust revealed Ricochet and Bruce, rolling around on the ground.
Bruce’s gun was nowhere in sight, so I left Ricochet to deal with the man while I ran after Jacob and Ethan.
The truck was disappearing into the blackness.
If I didn’t hurry they’d be gone. Stopping, I let out a quick, hard breath to steady myself.
Rifle raised, I fired. I kept firing until the truck swayed and slammed into a cactus.
Letting out the breath I’d held while firing, I panted as I watched for movement from the truck.
There was nothing but dust floating in the air.
Turning my attention away from the truck, I focused on my brother.
Even if they survived and escaped, I could pursue them on foot now that the truck was out of commission.
Right now, I had to help Ricochet. Jacob and Bruce were the only real fighters in the cult.
They were monsters of men, and now, seeing Bruce fight, I knew for sure that they’d been trained.
Ricochet was unfazed by the man fighting back against him. He was operating on rage and anguish.
Bruce drove his fist into Ricochet’s face, causing him to stumble back. He raised both arms over his head and smashed them down on Ricochet’s shoulders like the Hulk smashing a car. Ricochet dropped to his knees with the blow.
Ricochet wasn’t a small man by any means, but Bruce still towered over him.
Ricochet rocketed up, throwing a series of blows into Bruce’s stomach, doubling him over.
He locked his arms over Bruce's head and began driving his knee into his face. He looked like he was intent on driving his knee through Bruce’s head.
Bruce collapsed under the onslaught to his face. Ricochet dropped on top of him and dropped punch after punch into Bruce’s face and body, trying to incapacitate the man.
The whole event from when Ricochet had launched himself into the truck to right now had been a mere handful of seconds.
Slowing as I approached my brother, I looked down at what was left of Bruce's face, which at this point was the back of a skull. The face was unrecognizable as human any longer. He’d literally beaten the man to death.
There was blood, gore, and what I was pretty sure was brain matter splattered down the front of Ricochet.
I cautiously touched his shoulder. He popped up, fists raised.
“Hey, hey, hey, it's just me. We’re good. You got ‘em.” I held my hands in front of me defensively. My sides ached and I was taking deep gulps of air as I caught my breath.
His eyes were wide, a mix of rage and panic. His fists were just balls of blood, and I could see more than one of his fingers were twisted and broken. Punching through a man’s skull would do that to a person.
“He’s dead,” I said, trying to soothe him.
Horror at the situation was settling in.
Ricochet had killed a kid in self-defense, then brutalized a man in the name of revenge.
I couldn’t blame him for that, but I knew the events that happened tonight were going to have consequences for him.
Regret for my part in Ricochet’s torment weighed heavily on me.
And though I promised myself I’d do everything I could for him, I knew it wasn’t going to be enough.
“Bruce is dead. Hellfire needs you, okay? I need you to go back and see to his wounds.” My voice shook as I tried to reach my friend.
He was wrapped up in a mist of rage and misery.
Had been that way for a while. I just wanted my friend to smile and be able to let what had happened go.
He deserved everything good. He was an amazing fucking kid.
He was the best brother we could ask for, despite how much he hurt every day.
That snapped him out of it. He stared at me, looking dazed. Now that the adrenaline and fury were melting off him, he was left wondering what the fuck had happened.
“I need you to go find Priest. Help him take care of Hell,” I told him again. He needed something to distract him right now and as much as I wanted to protect him, I had to find Ethan and Jacob. I had to end this. Then I’d help Ricochet.
“Hellfire, right. I got it, I got him,” he stammered as he turned and stumbled off toward where we’d left the others.
I hated fucking leaving him to go back alone.
Not in the state he’d just been in. He was back in the real world now, but I knew exactly what’d happened.
Only the officers knew Ricochet’s story.
He hadn’t wanted the whole club to know, so we’d kept it quiet, but we’d needed to know so we could keep an eye on the kid.
When this night was over, we’d be having a long conversation with Lockout about this. This wasn’t the first time Ricochet had lost it. And he was getting worse. Much worse. That was tomorrow's problem. Right now, I had to find Ethan.