Текст книги "Shattered"
Автор книги: Skyla Madi
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 9 страниц)
“That’s a promise.”
She twirls in my arms again, my heart increasing in tempo when she stops, her nose brushing mine and her chest resting gently against me. Strangely, she sways slightly in my arms, as if her ankles are moving on their own. That’s when I notice the slight heaviness to her eyelids and the drunken curl of her lips.
How is that even possible?
“Emily? Are you drunk already?”
Emily pulls back, focusing her dark eyes on mine. “I am certainly not drunk.”
I frown. I’m definitely not buying that.
“I mean...I may have been drinking for a little while longer than everyone else, but I’m not drunk.”
“How much longer?”
“Not long.” She glances at the clock. “Since six p.m.”
“That was over two hours ago. How is that even possible?”
“Joel came up to check on me while you were out on your run. He brought booze and I drank it.”
“Why?”
She avoids my eyes. “Because I wouldn’t be able to face you otherwise.”
“I’m confused. Did I do something wrong?”
Emily cringes, expressing another visual display of the nausea and stress she feels inside.
“No. It’s not you, it’s me. I needed the booze because...because I...shit. This isn’t how I imagined this would go.”
“This isn’t how you imagined what would go?”
She opens her mouth only to clamp it shut as a hand slaps against my shoulder. You’ve got to be kidding me?
“You two ready to roll?”
Emily pulls herself out of my arms and I turn my head to face Ted. Unsurprisingly, his wide, cheerful grin falls when he sees my expression so I’m guessing I don’t look happy.
“Shit. Did I interrupt something?”
Ignoring him, I blow out an exhale and reach for another shot—a double—the one in the big blue glass—and I tip it down my throat.
On the other side of the kitchen, Emily focuses on her own breathing exercises as she pours herself a cup of chilled water. She drinks it quicker than I drank my shot of booze. What was she going to say? A million possibilities run through my mind and the only one that keeps coming back, like an annoying fly, is the one involving Huss. Why do I keep sandwiching them together in my head? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because Huss is slimy and I don’t trust him. Or maybe it’s because Emily has a long list of insecurities. She’s always putting me on a pedestal, always boosting me up while putting herself down. She sees herself as a woman who is unworthy of me and she sees me as a man who is using her—a man who is exploiting her body because she’s the only choice I have. It’s not true, I know that, but that’s how she works. That’s how her brain works.
To me, it’s simple.
I love her—and not because she’s the only female caught up in this gigantic fuck of a mess with me. I’d tell her how I feel, but it’d only arm her with another insecurity to use against herself. If I’m being honest with myself, her insecurities terrify me. I’m terrified that if I tell her I love her she’ll panic. She’ll panic and fuck the whole thing up by sliding into bed with someone she’s familiar with—a personality that has fucked her over a million times. That’s comfortable for her because it’s what she’s used to. It’s why I don’t like Huss sniffing around—even if he claims he’s only kidding.
It’s like they say; behind every joke is a hint of truth. If that’s true, I guess that makes Huss one honest motherfucker.
Eight
****
Fallen
Emily
My heart pounds. My nerves are shot. They vibrate through my entire body from the epicenter of his index finger as it swirls in tiny circles halfway up my inner thigh.
Heat flares, scorching me.
My blood thins, making my brain roll in my skull.
I’m incredibly turned on—unbelievably aroused.
I suck in an inhale, but it does nothing to ease the burn in my lungs. He’s close to me—so close I can taste his cologne in the back of my throat.
I came to terms with being in love with Jai today and since that moment, everything about him had multiplied tenfold—his touch, his smell, his voice—They’re all now a part of a unique passcode to my body. Unless you’re him access is denied.
I swipe at the thin line of sweat bubbling along my top lip and hit the window button. Cold air blasts my face, instantly freezing the tip of my nose, but it feels good.
It feels great.
I pull my black jacket around my shoulders. I’m happy I decided to put a warm jacket and thick leggings on underneath my dress before we left. It’s so nice inside the lake house, I forget it’s as cold as a snowman’s asshole outside.
Sucking in one last inhale, I pull up the window before the cold air manages to turn my nose to ice. As the glass slips tightly into its socket, a howl of laughter tears through the car, signaling the end of Ted’s story. I’m glad I missed it. I don’t think I can stomach hearing another descriptive monologue of his penis as it enters a vagina. He’s proud of his sex stories—it’s as if he fucks just so he has something to talk about. I’d hate to be one of the girls in his stories.
Ted reaches around the driver’s seat, extending his beer to Huss who, by someone’s stupid decision, is the designated driver. I don’t know whose idea it was to make the guy who has been abusing his pain pills drive the car—not to mention he has a broken arm, bruised ribs, and a whole lot of stitches. If the stress of not telling Jai I love him doesn’t kill me, then I’m certain Huss’s driving will. That being said, I’m glad I have the window seat. Jai kindly switched out so I didn’t have to be sandwiched between him and Ted—which, if I’m being honest, wouldn’t be such a bad thing under different circumstances.
Huss shrugs Ted’s bottle away. “I’m driving, asshole. I don’t fancy being in another car accident any time soon.”
“You’re a police officer.” I point out peering around Jai to look at Ted. “You should know the law.”
With a hearty laugh, Ted rolls down his window and tosses his bottle of beer outside. It whirls away. Whether or not it smashed on the asphalt, I have no idea.
“I’m dying tomorrow.” Ted announces. “Fuck the laws!”
He unclips his seat belt and moves toward the window. My heart leaps into my throat as my stomach heaves.
“Ted—” I reach across Jai, but he catches my hand.
“You’re wasting your breath.”
He threads his fingers through mine. My stomach twists painfully and my hands grow clammy. Jai notices and squeezes my hand tighter. It doesn’t help. All I can do is watch as Ted drunkenly climbs out the window and sits on the door, his feet resting casually on the back seat. I can barely put up with sitting correctly in my seat with my seat belt on. How can he be outside the vehicle while it’s moving?
“Wait for it...” Jai mutters.
Huss laughs, glancing excitedly between the road and his side mirrors. “Three...two...one...”
“Fuck the police!” Ted shouts. “Whoooooo!”
Once again, laughter rips around the car and it eases my tension. Their laughter is infectious and it makes me feel good—like I belong here. Hell, my own laugh even bubbles in my chest.
It’s funny how it works. I’m on the run from a psychopathic murderer and the world thinks I’m dead. By all accounts I should be miserable and paralyzed by fear. I’ll admit I’m terrified. Most nights I hardly sleep and the thought of the future is enough to reduce me to tears, but, in moments like these, I’m having the time of my life. If I had the chance to relive the past month or two I would and I wouldn’t change a thing. Why? Because I’ve learned a lot about myself and about life. They’re lessons I wouldn’t have learned anywhere else—lessons I’d hate to learn anywhere else.
****
Crasssssshhhh!!
I jump, clenching Jai’s forearm as the doors to the rundown establishment fly open, exposing a bulky, bald headed man in a leather vest. In his hands, he clenches a lean, beanstalk of a man whose face is all beat-up, his skin painted with black and purple bruises. Freeing his arm from my grip, Jai wraps it around my waist and swiftly pulls me to the side as the skinny man is tossed off the porch and down the stairs. I gasp as his frail body hits the dirt with a thud. Groaning, he curses into the ground, his blood turning the dirt into mud as it mixes with the earth.
“Holy shit!” Ted booms, holding back a laugh. “What’d he do?”
The aggressive man with the strong toss, disappears behind the black wooden doors as they slam shut, trapping the sounds of rock music and laughter behind it.
“Ignore him.” Joel states, brushing past me.
He clears the five stairs in two bounds, reluctantly slowing down when he realizes we’re not following. With an exhale betrayed by the sudden drop of his annoyed shoulders, Joel turns around.
“He’s hurt.” I point out, even though it’s obvious.
“It’s not our problem.”
Of course it’s not. It’s easier to ignore someone in need than to help. Unsurprisingly, Huss and Ted step around me and join Joel on the porch.
“You’re kidding?” I say, scowling at the three of them.
Ted shrugs his wide shoulders. “It’s kind of a buzzkill and besides, look at him. He’s homeless.”
I glance down at the small, old man who now sits on his ass, clenching his ribs. I can see how Ted came to that conclusion. The stranger’s hair is matted together, strands glued with blood and booze. His skinny, black jeans are torn around the knees and his Black Sabbath shirt is stained and sagging at the collar. Despite all that, despite the fear of him lashing out at me or sticking me with a used syringe, I step away from Jai and move closer to the man.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
“Emily...” Jai mutters, concern laced with warning clear in his low tone.
He looms over me, a protective lover at my back, pressing his wide palm firmly against my hip.
“Just another typical Thursday.” The man forces out, his voice trapped inside his boney chest. “I think I’ll be okay.”
His body quakes and shakes as he rolls onto his side and pushes himself on to all fours. He holds himself in that position for a little while, dragging on the seconds as if his pain will ease long enough for him to push himself onto his feet.
“Is there anything we can do for you?”
“Not unless you’re a doctor—ahhh.”
Stepping around me, Jai grabs the old man’s forearm and bicep and helps him to his feet. Jai gives me a look—pursed lips and a slight frown. He’s not happy about helping the old man, but he’s doing it anyway. For me. Someone fucking catch me before I swoon myself into a coma.
“You don’t smell too good, old man.” Jai states, turning his face up to the sky.
“You can talk. How much of that cologne are ya wearin? Jesus Christy. D’you soak your clothes in it?”
Panting, the man reaches for his front pocket and frees a shitty little cellphone. “Call me an ambulance.”
He tosses the phone to me and, luckily, even in the dim light, I manage to catch the ancient device.
“No, you go inside.” Jai says, holding his hand out. “I’ll call the ambulance and take this gentleman to the bus stop down the drive. They’ll find him easier there.”
I hand him the phone. “Are you sure? Because I don’t mind—”
“I’m sure. I’ll only be a second. Stay with Joel, all right? Don’t leave his side until I get back.”
I step back, my palms exposed. “Okay. I’ll stay with Joel.”
Supporting the bulk of the man’s weight, Jai escorts him through the parking lot and disappears into the shadows cast by the looming oak trees. I turn back to the building, unable to stop the shiver that shoots through me, lodging my heart in my throat. It doesn’t make sense to me why we’d come to a place where men are getting tossed out doors and I can’t even walk around by myself. Although, I guess we’re kinda limited on places we can go in terms of being seen. Still, I’d just about take anywhere else over this run down, tin shed of a building. On a thick plank of wood nailed to the roof of the bar is a makeshift sign. The words ‘THE CAVERN TSMC’ are chiseled into it. Underneath its headline is a sentence. ‘In honor we fight. In death we rest.’
I’m not sure what it means, but it’s definitely not a slogan you can feel good about.
“It’s good fun here, Em.” Joel calls from the porch. “You’ll love it.”
Joel pushes open the doors and enters the premise, leaving me outside in the cold. I stare after him. He’s not even going to wait for me? My heart pounds in my chest, the stress of indecision eating me up. Do I go find Jai and beg him to take me home or do I follow Joel into the scary building and hope I’m not going to be gang raped the second I step foot inside?
AWOOOOOOO!
I jump as a dog howls close by and that just about settles it. I am not about to be eaten alive by rabid dogs.
“Joel! Wait!” I rasp in a rough whisper. “Wait for me!”
My shoes clack loudly against the rickety wooden steps and are even louder once I step onto the porch. I reach for the doors and they whoosh open at the last second, slamming against the tips of my fingers. I squeak as I slam on my brakes, clenching my hand to my chest.
I smell the leather first, then the booze, and, finally, the cigarette. I trail my stare up the man in front of me. Huge, black boots for stomping skulls into the ground, thick, coarse jeans for wiping the blood off his knife with, a plain black t-shirt to no doubt stuff in someone’s mouth as he’s beating the hell out of them, and a worn leather vest with Vice President Devil’s Cartel Motorcycle Club stitched into the breast of it. I shrink into myself as I finally flick my gaze to his face. Oily, chin length hair filled with natural waves hang down the sides of his face as he glares down at me. His eyes are dark, as black as tar, and he has a scar that runs through his eyebrow.
I gulp.
He’s a beast. A delicious, manly beast.
“Uh...hell..ooo.” I cringe, wrapping my arms around my body—a strange defense mechanism I didn’t know I had.
“You’re blocking my way.” He bites out, his voice rough like gravel.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” I slip to the side, giving him space to beat his chest and storm off. “Sorry.”
Instead of leaving, he flicks his cigarette to the floor and stamps it into wood with his heavy, black boot, overtly looking me up and down. “Whose whore are you? Bones’s? Crow’s? That fucking piece of shit Joker’s?”
What the fuck are they? More importantly, did he call me a whore? Why am I a whore?
“Um...I’m no one’s whore.”
He leans in close and the race of my heart feels like betrayal.
“Are you sure?”
I gulp again. “Yes.”
“Is there a problem here?” Relief floods at the sound of a familiar voice. Stepping to the side, the Vice President of the Devil’s Cartel turns around and I see Joel at the doors, his fists clenched at his sides.
“She’s with you?” The biker asks, folding his thick arms across the wide expanse of his chest.
Joel steps out from the doorway and the door closes behind him, clicking shut with finality. With confidence, Joel swallows the distance between us. What is he—oh! I startle as he slides his hand around my hip—too close to the curve of my ass for my liking—and pulls me tight against his body.
“Yeah, she’s with me.”
My heart pounds in my ears as the stranger closely examines Joel. Please don’t recognize him. Please don’t recogni—”
“I know you.”
Shit.
“You’re one of Skull’s men.”
Joel’s body tightens, his fingers digging painfully into my hip. I shift my hips, but his grasp doesn’t let up.
“I was. Not anymore.”
“Hmph.” The stranger’s dark and dangerous stare pegs Joel in his spot and a small eternity passes before he retrieves a packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket.
“If you ever see that motherfucker again, tell him Stoic is looking for him.”
He drums a thick, callused finger along the bottom of his packet.
“No.”
My heart stops. So does the biker’s tapping.
“The next time I see him I’m going to beat him within an inch of his life and then put a bullet through his fucking head.”
A staring contest breaks out, neither Joel nor the stranger backing down. I have to admire Joel for his courage. This strange man makes me want to pee everywhere, like a terrified puppy. By some miracle, the tiniest smirk tugs at Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome’s lips.
“Good. We’re on the same page then.”
He extends his cigarette packet to me. All of the butts are aligned. Except for one. One juts out above the others and I assume it’s for me. Without hesitation, I take it and he offers one to Joel who shakes his head. Without a word, the mysterious man walks off, stomping from the porch, down the stairs and into the parking lot.
I suck in a large inhale and hold it until my lungs threaten to burst then I blow it out.
“You smoke?”
“Nope.” I toss the cigarette off the porch. “But I wasn’t about to turn him down. Who was that anyway?”
“That was Stoic. VP of the Devil’s Cartel Motorcycle Gang from Exeter, California.”
“California? What’s he doing here?”
Joel drops his hand from my hip.
“Settling some stuff with Joker, probably. They’ve got a lot of history.”
I lean in close, so close I’m certain no one else can hear me.
“You brought us to a biker bar? Are you nuts?”
He grins. “This is the only place Skull’s eyes won’t see us. Besides, they’re friendlies. Relax.”
Joel turns away and re-enters the bar.
Awwwwooooooo! The dog howls sending tendrils of fear barreling through my stomach. I am not waiting around out here. I snatch the handle in my hand and yank the door open.
“I need a drink.”
Nine
****
The Joker and the Crow
Jai
“Ughhh!” The old man groans as I lower him onto the black, wooden bench under a flickering streetlight.
Exhaling, I sit his phone down next to him.
“All right, old man. The ambulance should be here soon.”
“Thanks for your help, Pal. Do me a favor...” He hisses through his teeth, sliding his body on an uncomfortable angle. “Stay away from Crow’s daughter. Otherwise, you’ll end up like me.”
I dust my hands, unable to help my smile. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
“Speaking of women—and problems—that pretty lil’ thing you’re with. What’d you call her?”
“Emily.” I say, flatly.
“Emily...she yours?”
“Is she mine?” I shift my weight onto my left leg and fold my arms across my chest.
What kind of question is that in this day and age? Do I own her? Do I possess her?
No.
Women aren’t like cars or animals and they certainly don’t come with ownership papers. So, no. I don’t own her. That being said, do I want her only for myself? Would I kill to keep her for me and me only?
Yes.
In that sense, she is mine. I could open up that can of worms with this old man, but then I’d be wasting more of my time out here, arguing with an old man instead being of inside, enjoying my last night. So, to answer his question I tell him she’s mine.
He nods, clenching his teeth as he pushes himself up into a seated position. “I, uh, I don’t tell a lot of people this cuz they’ll think I’m crazy, but you helped me so I’m gonna help you.”
With a suspicious scowl, amplifying the swelling to his right eye, he glances around us, making sure no one is listening.
This is ridiculous. He’s lucky Emily cared enough to help him. Before her, I was siding with Joel to leave this guy in the dirt. Who knows where he’s been or what he’s involved in. Being tossed from the porch of the bar that belongs to the Twisted Sons MC tells me he isn’t someone I should be helping.
“No. It’s okay. You don’t need to return the f—”
“I’ve got a gift.”
I glance away, uninterested. “A gift?”
He hisses, exhaling in sharp, short spurts. “I can feel the vibes of a person’s future—not everyone—but some.”
Silence falls, allowing the sounds of night to be heard clearly. This man, the man who has had his face smashed in, his ribs broken, and his lung punctured, claims he can feel the future—not see it. Feel it. What kind of bullshit is that?
“How much have you had to drink? That’ll hinder how many pain killers you’re going to get.”
He clenches his ribs with bony fingers. “I’m telling the truth. Your girl, Emily, she’s in for a lot of trouble. I felt it.”
I roll my eyes and turn away, stepping off the thin slab of desecrated concrete and onto the hard gravel. “Yeah. Okay. You keep yourself safe until the ambulance arrives, all right?”
“You don’t believe me?” He calls out, his voice drowned with pain. “I’m telling the truth. When her life starts falling apart don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I stop in my tracks and swipe at my top lip. Is it a bad idea to indulge him? If he is in fact talking shit then what have I got to lose? I turn around, stuff my hands into my pockets, and step back onto the concrete. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be enabling his behavior.
“I’ll humor you.” I say. “What’d you feel?”
In the distance, I hear sirens. They loop, over and over, growing closer and closer.
Suddenly in a hurry, the man shifts on the seat again, panting harshly. “I looked at her and I felt pain...an unbearable pain my belly.”
He’s kidding, right? Perhaps I should remind him how we found him.
“You were beaten and thrown off a porch.” I point out.
He shakes his head. “This is different. I felt it only when I looked at her. There was a strange ripplin’ sensation over me lips. The guy...the one who told her to ignore me...he’s your kin?”
I nod.
“His pain is connected to hers...I felt embarrassment...and pleasure.”
I flinch. Pleasure? That’s not right. That can’t be right.
“Now I know you’re talking shit, old man.”
Joel would never betray me like that—neither would Emily. Besides, pleasure doesn’t necessarily mean it’s sexual. I get pleasure when I allow myself to eat a nice chocolate mousse after a week of disciplined eating. Still, uneasiness settles in my stomach as the seed of jealousy grows. The mere thought of them together turns my stomach.
He shrugs his slender shoulders, his breath hitching as he does it. “Believe what ya want. I know what I felt.”
“That’s it? You felt your insides go funny when you looked at her and now you think you know her future? Here’s a newsflash for you, I feel funny when I look at her too. She’s pretty. It’s biology.”
The old, beaten man shakes his head. “Sure, she’s pretty, but that ain’t what I’m talking ‘bout.” He stops to catch his breath. “Fuck it hurts to speak. Her life only goes downhill from ‘ere.”
“What about me?” I ask, determined to expose him for what he is. “What do you feel when you look at me?”
“So now you’re a believer? Funny how that works.” He coughs and groans, causing fresh blood to spill from the cut on his eyebrow. “I told you. I don’t feel vibes from everyone. I get nothing when I look at you.”
Well, isn’t that fucking convenient.
I laugh once. “You’re drunk and full of shit.”
“Maybe I am, but tell me if any of these ring a bell—bullets, chains, and skulls. Those three random objects floated into my mind from nowhere when I looked at your little lady.”
My heart lodges itself into my throat. There’s no way that’s possible. Absolutely no way.
“You’re fucking insane.” I turn around and leave, washing my hands of this mess.
He laughs—no—he cackles. It’s loud and haunting as it echoes around me. “You don’t think I fucking know that? You don’t think I know?!”
He’s talking shit. A goddamn nut job who has had too much beer. I don’t believe a word he said. Why should I? His brain drowned in malted barley and yeast a long time ago.
But then again...if I don’t believe him, why is my heart thrumming in my ears as loud and as obnoxious as a bass drum? A cold drop of sweat falls from my hair line and rolls down the back of my neck. Why am I nervous? It’s not possible.
I shake my head. A drunk. That’s all he is. I’m sure the feeling of pleasure he felt when he looked at Emily was nothing more than a perverse twitch of his cock—Joel too. Maybe his sexual hinge allows him to swing both ways. It makes sense. I don’t know why I entertained him as long as I did, anyway. It’s done nothing but deter me from my night and invade my thoughts. The last thing I need is some crazy old man planting what ifs in my head. I don’t need the distraction. Not tonight.
Gravel crunches under my feet, the sound soon swallowed by the blasting of sirens. The darkness around me lights up in a flurry of reds and blues.
At least that’s one good deed I’ve done today.
As I enter the main parking lot, a beefy man on a Harley Davidson zooms past me, not giving a shit that rocks flick up from his tires and bounce off the others bikes and cars. Why would he give a shit? It’s not like he paid for any of them.
Jerk.
I pause as I approach the steps of The Cavern, suddenly weighed down by stress as it sits like a heavy bucket of concrete on my shoulders. I glance at the door. I don’t even want to go in there. I’m tired...exhausted.
Maybe they feel the same. Maybe they want to go home too.
Forcing myself up the steps, I reach the doors and push them open. Rock music mixes with laughter and the clashing of glasses. I stand still, marveling that this shitty little building manages to keep majority of the sounds inside. Stepping in, I glance around the room, letting the double doors slam shut behind me.
At the bar, Joel keeps Emily busy and, judging by their expressions, they’re engaged in lighthearted conversation—embarrassing stories about my childhood, no doubt. At the end of the bar, Huss sits, sulking soberly in to his glass of water and, across the room, Ted leans over a tall table, his foot casually resting on a stool, as he chats up a petite, blonde girl. Immediately, I notice the crow tattoo on the side of her neck. It looks strange on her. How old is she anyway? She has the face of child’s doll—big eyes, a small, pointy nose, and fake, wiry hair to match. If I guessed her age on a whim I’d peg her at sixteen and no older than eighteen. Unlucky for him, Ted has never been good at establishing ages before engaging with a female. Twice I’ve saved him from going to bed with underage girls—seventeen year olds. I can’t blame him. It’s getting harder these days to pin point a woman’s age.
I glance back to the crow tattoo on the girl’s neck.
A crow.
Shit.
Is she the girl the old man was talking about? The one who had him beaten and kicked out? Of course Ted naturally found himself drawn to her. He’s always chasing women who cause him the most problems. His last girlfriend was an abusive drunk. She beat him with a led pipe while he was sleeping because he didn’t take out the cat litter like he said he would.
I run my cool palms over my burning face. For once, just once, I’d like to relax instead of babysit a bunch of adults. Unfortunately, I’m the reason Ted is here so it’s my responsibility to look out for him. Preventing Ted getting beaten by this girl’s father will prevent me having to kick someone’s ass later on.
I make my way over to Ted, dodging men in leathers and women in lingerie as they go back and forth from the bar, milling about like fish in a pond.
“Ted. I need to talk—”
BANG!
I freeze as tiny pieces of the roof fall down around me, coating my black sweater in white dust. I snap my head in Emily’s direction. She’s off her stool. She clenches it in her hands, her knuckles white from the pressure. Her chest heaves, her wide eyes on me. That’s when I feel the cool tip of a gun pressing firmly against the back of my skull. I react quickly, based on instinct, not thought. Sidestepping, I duck under his gun, grab the barrel and twist it out of his hand. The assailant grunts as I turn my body, over his arm, and punch him square in the face. He drops to his knees and I press the gun into the side of his head. I hear the click of more guns around me and my finger twitches against the trigger.
“Jai! Stop!” Joel shouts, his voice penetrating the sound of rushing blood in my ears.
Panting, I glance around the room. I see barrel after barrel of ready to fire guns pointed at me.
At Emily.
At my brother.
At my friends.
I look at Joel. His dark eyebrows are furrowed and his hands are raised, exposing his palms. What the fuck is he surrendering for?
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You think you can just waltz in here, sit at my bar, on my stools and drink my beer?”
My finger twitches against the trigger again as the booming voice echoes around the bar. Seconds pass, seconds that feel like an eternity, before I can put a name to the voice. He looks more menacing in person than he does in the mugshots on his file. A buzz cut. Dark, tar-like irises and a scar that runs through the side of his lips. Finally, I meet the famous Cain ‘Joker’ Peterson, President of the Twisted Sons Motorcycle Club, in person.
“Good to see you, Joker.” Joel says, sending my stomach dropping like a bag of rocks into my shoes.
Joker waltzes further from the shadows and soon enough his entire wide, six foot two frame is exposed in the light. The heavy thud of his boots stop as he pauses by Huss. Like the soldier that he is, Huss betrays no sign of fear even though he’s as weak as a child in this moment with no protection and no chance of fighting his way out. With a chuckle, Joker lifts his Remington M870 Police Magnum Shotgun and nudges Huss’s cast. Huss clenches his teeth with a hiss as his entire body tightens.
A single laugh filled with insult and amusement flies from Joker’s thin lips. “Quite a pathetic crew you’ve brought along with you this time.”
“I’m not here to fight you, Joker. If we can talk for one second—”
With heavy feet, Joker presses the butt of the shotgun into his shoulder and swallows the distance between him and Joel. I slam the butt of my gun into my attacker’s head and he crashes to the floor as I swing it in Joker’s direction. The sound of hammers being pulled surrounds me, but do nothing to deter me from protecting my brother. If anyone is going to kill him, it’ll be me as soon as we get out of here.
Temptation pulses in my index finger as it rests against the trigger, but I manage to hold out, even as Joker presses the tip of his shotgun against Joel’s forehead.
“You don’t get to talk.” Joker snaps, his hands clenching his weapon.
“You think your shotgun intimidates me?” Joel simpers, sealing the lid on all of our coffins. “There’s nothing scary about a quick death so do me a favor and pull the damn trigger.”
“Don’t tempt me, boy.” Turning his head, Joker spits on the floor. “Why’d you come here?”
“I have a favor to ask.”
He came to ask a favor? So tonight isn’t about enjoying ourselves before we’re gunned down like fucking deer? I should have known! That selfish mother f—
