He held the machete up to my face. Fuck me, I began to struggle, instinctively trying to pull my skin away from the sharp, hot death pressed against my cheek.
Two other bastards caught me, held me, grabbing at my head. Hatch reached into his pocket, pulled out a switchblade in his other hand, and popped it open. Betty G.
This was fucking it. His evil mismatched eyes said it all.
He'd toy with me for awhile. Torture me. Take me apart piece by piece.
I'd die like a fuckin' man, though. I'd die without him hearing me scream, thinking about my girl, my kid, and praying to God the brothers caught these motherfuckers in time to save Alex and get him home.
“Hmm. Shit,” Hatch mused to himself, looking at me and smacking his lips. “You know, motherfucker, I've been around for more than six fuckin' decades and I still don't know if twins sound the same when they're dying. Thought I'd seen it all, Joker. Not that. Maybe you can give me something better than another hit or the keys to taking your boys apart. You can teach me something new, taking you apart.”
“You won't take shit,” I growled, looking the demon dead in his eyes. “You thought you'd get my family. Truth is, you ain't getting a fuckin' thing, and we both know it. Go ahead and take my hands. Take my eyes, take my nuts, pry my damned heart outta my chest. You'll never take the only fuckin' thing that matters, even after I'm shoveled in my grave.”
Bastard didn't like that. For a long second, he looked at me, like a volcano winding up to explode.
His hands moved. Then the switchblade was square against my cheek, pressing down, flaying my skin to the bone.
I closed my eyes. Expected the motherfucker to cut clean through my face, saw my head in half, take me out quick, dirty, and clean because I'd pissed him off so bad.
That kaleidoscope from hell started flashing through my eyes, dozens of faces I'd killed, all staring at me in one blinding split second. I'd ended a lot of fuckin' lives, always bastards who deserved it, but the karma train rolled home in the end.
Please, I thought, praying to whatever the fuck was in charge now. Just let me see my family one more time.
Their faces came.
Summer, the innocent. Green eyes, long dark hair, legs and tits and ass that set me on fire. Beautiful as the first night I kissed her, smiling and looking at me, holding our kid.
Alex, the blank slate. My son. Laughing, running his little hands against my stubble, like he knew he could grow up and be anything as long as he took the spoonful of applesauce I held out to his mouth.
Freddy. Piece. My face and his were one. He'd been my fellow hellraiser, the other half of me. He looked up and smiled, saving a seat for me in hell.
Grandpa. He'd done the best he could with us, bringing us up in the only family he'd known, the club.
He'd raised us better than that fuckin' junkie our old man had been, dying young when he'd choked on his own vomit. He'd brought us up better than that whore who'd shat us out, and run off with a hitchhiker, never to be seen again.
He'd done his damnedest, and I'd never forget it. I'd be waiting for him with Piece on the other side, so help me God.
But a noise like the world ending upended everything.
Hatch stopped on my cheekbone, his ears perked up, his mouth slowly falling open when he heard the sound. “Go, go, go you stupid fuckin' idiots! That's gunfire, goddamn it!”
He dropped his machete and spun around, reaching for his gun while his men went flying outta the room. The boys were already inside their clubhouse.
I watched two men jump out, only to get mowed down by long, brutal rounds.
An explosion. More bullets, some coming straight through the thin walls. Damned good thing I stayed on the floor, slowly reaching for the blade with my good arm.
A dark shape climbed over the dead men, just as Hatch began shooting. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
He sounded like a cornered animal.
When a man's cornered, he does the stupidest shit. Like forgetting what's behind him.
I saw my chance and jumped. Hurt every damned muscle in my body, but I caught him around the neck, screaming while I dragged him to the ground.
He kept firing the whole time, 'til I knocked the gun outta his hand. Small fuckin' miracle I hadn't caught a bullet.
Even bigger miracle once I had the evil asshole on top of me, fighting my fucked up arm harder than I fought him.
Die, you twisted fuck. Die!
He kicked, moaned, brayed like a bull going down.
I had to keep squeezing. Had to knock him the fuck out, or he'd wriggle away. Used the only weapon I had.
Just started going fuckin' loco, bashing my head into his from behind, hammering the shit 'til he was too dazed to keep going.
Our heads were both a bloody mess, soaked in hot, red grease by the time the boys came running in.
“Holy fucking shit!” a strange voice said, keeping his gun on us.
At first, I thought it was one of the Deads because the colors weren't Pistols. But the Grizzlies were our friends on this op, and they'd shown.