I grinned and shrugged. “Just making sure, old man. I mean, you’re nearing forty so I figure your body might start letting you down soon.”
“Fuck off,” he muttered, and went back to what he was doing.
I waited in silence. The only sounds in the room were of fists colliding with bones and the grunts King made as he took his revenge. I’d lost count of the number of times this scenario had played out over the last thirteen years. King liked to take back-up when he went on one of his missions, but he rarely needed it.
The sound of whimpering caught my attention and I turned to the girl. She stood by the bed staring at King, tears streaming down her face. My natural instinct was to go to her and wrap her in my arms; however, I figured after being attacked by one stranger, she’d hardly want another stranger touching her. Instead, I said to King, “Can we hurry this the fuck up, ‘cause we’ve got a woman we need to get out of here.”
King straightened, took a step away from the body lying at his feet, and turned to me. Blood covered his shirt, some of his face and his hands. He looked like he’d stepped out of a horror movie but it wasn’t anything I’d never seen before. His gaze flicked to the girl. “You wanna see me end his life so you know for sure he won’t ever hurt you again, or would you prefer to leave the room?”
“Fuck, King, like she needs to see anymore shit,” I said, before she could answer him. King had some fucked-up ideas sometimes.
He glared at me. “Let the girl decide. Maybe she’ll surprise the fuck out of you.”
I returned his glare before turning to her. She stood staring at me in panic, shaking her head at the idea. It looked like she wasn’t even taking breaths.
I nodded and started walking to her. It was clear she was about to lose her shit and I needed to get her out of here. When I reached her, I pulled her close to me and said, “It’s okay, I’ll get you out of here before - ”
The shot rang out and her scream tore through me as her eyes looked past me to King.
Fuck.
Motherfucker.
I gripped her harder and levelled an angry stare on King. “What the fuck?” I roared, “She didn’t want to fucking see that!”
King’s eyes had morphed from wild crazy to deranged crazy. When he spoke, his words dripped with lunacy and the hardness that was signature King. “I don’t give a fuck what she thought she wanted. She needed to see that.”
“No, she fuckin’ didn’t.”
We faced off, glaring at each other. King was amped, his body taut and full of rage. I knew that look from past experience. He hadn’t rid himself of the need to exact revenge yet; he still had more in him and he’d have to find a way to work that out of his mind and body before the night was over.
He dismissed me with a wave of his gun. “Get her out of my fucking sight.”
She whimpered in my hold, her body wracked with sobs. Without another word to King, I began dragging her out of the room. I moved fast, and when we made it to where the other guy was lying passed out in the hallway, I stepped over his body and roughly pulled the girl outside with me. I knew what King would do with him and she didn’t need to see any more death.
I had her on the back of my bike and was just about to leave when another gunshot sounded. A moment later, King stepped outside and stalked to us.
“You take her, and I’ll call Bronze,” he ordered, still with that deranged glint in his eyes.
The cops.
Of course. Shit was gonna go down between Storm and Silver Hell over this if they ever worked out it was us responsible for the deaths of two members. King had Bronze on our payroll and it was a smart move to give him a heads-up over this.
As I sped off in the direction the girl gave me, unease slid through me. The two clubs had existed for years on a mutual agreement to leave each other the fuck alone. The events of tonight had obliterated that agreement, and while Storm was capable of holding its own, I didn’t want to go to battle.
A battle meant death and destruction.
Two things I’d seen enough of to last me a lifetime.
Chapter Three
Evie
I stepped out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel and walked to the vanity. The woman staring back at me in the mirror seemed more like a stranger than me.
When did I lose myself?
I spread toothpaste onto my toothbrush and tried to avoid my thoughts. They came hard and fast, though, relentlessly chasing me. Trying to force me to face them.
A year ago when you gave up on Kick.
That’s when you lost yourself.
Lost your way.
I spat out the toothpaste and rinsed. Slamming the toothbrush down, I muttered, “Shit.” I reached for the towel and dried my face. Staring back at myself in the mirror, I traced my finger over the dark bags under my eyes. Leaning closer to the mirror, I stared hard at myself.
Fuck, my grief and exhaustion plastered my face.
Moving my face away from the mirror I reached for my skincare and slathered it on. I still couldn’t be bothered with makeup, but at least the skincare might help.
Jeremy’s funeral yesterday had taken every last drop of energy from me. And then seeing Kick had sucked anything remaining.
Kick.
Why the hell had he come back? The last year with no contact had been hard. Harder than the years where we’d been apart but still in touch. At the time, I’d thought those years were hard – having him there but not having him as mine. I’d finally gotten my head together over it all only to have him come and screw with my mind and my heart again.