“Don't shoot.” That was all I could manage before I rolled weakened Hatch with all my strength, laying on top of him, holding him down.
“You shittin' me? You're a crazy motherfucker, Pistol!” The man crouched next to me, and I saw the lightning bolts on his temples out of the corners of my eyes.
“Don't. Shoot,” I growled again. “Just watch. This asshole's mine. Killed my fuckin' brother.”
Shit, how many ribs had they broken? I could barely even speak.
Where the fuck were my boys?
Didn't need to ask a second later, when several more men filed into the room.
“Veep!” Firefly's familiar voice hit my ears before I felt his big hands on my back. He pulled me up, against my protests, but I kept my boot on Hatch's back the whole time, watching him twitch.
Skin and Crawl added their hands to my shoulders, holding me up. That was when the Prez walked in, angry and steely eyed, drunk on the smell of blood and gunpowder, thick in every breath.
“They're smoked,” a big man said next to him, the Grizzlies MC Enforcer, Roman. He had something else in his arms.
“Fuck. Fuck – Alex!”
“Calm the hell down,” the big man growled, holding my son against his chest so he couldn't see the nightmare around him. “I've got two of my own. We'll get him outta here, soon as Dust gives the word. Their bitch with the purple hair kept him safe. Let her run off.”
“Go,” Prez said, motioning to the two Grizzlies at his side. “Get the kid in the truck and don't let him out of your sight. Lock this place down. Nobody else leaves 'til I say, not even one more whore.”
Dust stepped forward, looking over my battered body. “Joker...”
He put his boot down next to mine, making Hatch squirm twice as hard from the pressure on his spine. “This him? The Deads' leader?”
I nodded. Behind me, Skinny boy, Crawl, and Firefly all had their eyes on Dust, waiting for the only thing he could say to make shit right.
“Not much to look at. Shit, your shoulder's all fucked up. Can you walk?”
“I'll work with it,” I said coldly.
“Let him down,” he said to my brothers.
My muscles and bones ached as they let me stand on my own two feet again. I dropped down, banging my knees one more time, gripping the machete in my good hand.
“Listen, I owe you an apology for holding you back so long, boy. For lying to the whole damned club. Blood won't take it back. But it can make it right. You left something behind at the clubhouse.” Dust reached into his pocket, pulled a little scrap of fabric out.
I stared. Saw it was my V. PRESIDENT patch. “Okay. It'll be back where it belongs after we've burned this trash, Prez.”
A slow, brutal smile pulled at Dust's lips. He reached into his other pocket, took out his pipe, and gave it a light.
“Go ahead, brother. Take as much time as you need. This fuckhead won't tell us shit we can't get from his files, so there's no use interrogating. Do it for Piece. Do it for us. Mostly, do it for yourself.”
And I did.
My closest brothers watched as I slowly, brutally, mercilessly fucked up the rabid animal under me for the better part of the next hour.
I used Betty G and Mama Peacemaker. Gave both evil fuckin' blades the last taste of demon blood they'd ever sip, straight from their master. Then I snapped the motherfuckers on the floor with two bending, savage kicks.
When it was done, and his blood was on my hands, I collapsed.
Lion walked in with a bucket. Everybody helped wipe me down because I was too fuckin' exhausted to do it myself.
Prez took the bloody scrap of Hatch's cut I'd kept as a trophy. “We'll bring Don by the clubhouse next week so he can see it for himself. Old man deserves to know the deed's done.”
I nodded. Freddy's ghost finally seemed pacified, but it wasn't the peace I'd been expecting.
Murder never satisfied me like this. Before, I'd always wanted more of it, to keep killing when I'd already cut a bastard's throat, or mowed him down with bullets.
This time, I didn't even want to kick the chunks of the dead President I'd carved up around the room.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted to hold my kid.
And I wanted to put my lips on Summer's, good and slow, without either one of us ever wanting to pull away.
*
The next thirty hours were just a fuckin' blur.
I had a vague sensation of my brothers carrying me to the truck, putting a better dressing around my fucked up shoulder, and throwing pills down my mouth like candy.
Alex was in the kiddie seat next to me in the back. I reached out, holding his little hand, watching him sleep.
I blacked out sometime in the first few miles.
When I woke up, I was flat on my back, Dust's ma, Laynie, standing over me.
She had her long gray hair pulled back in a bun. She checked the IV plugged into my arm before turning to the Prez, muttering a few words.
“He's stable, Dusty, but I'm worried about infection. If he takes a turn for the worse, we have to bring him in.”