Was that romantic? Was that Trev just being nice?
Trev took out his gun and Eden tensed up. He took out the bullets and peeled one away. He loaded the gun away and tucked it back into its holster.
“What are you doing?” Eden asked.
Trev walked to her father’s headstone and put the bullet on it. “Just something I do. Hard to explain. My own dumb reasoning maybe. Thinking that this bullet could maybe save me. Save us. Hell, maybe he takes it with him. Each time I leave one, the next time I come back, it’s gone.”
“So you do believe in something.”
Trev patted the stone and walked to Eden. “Come on, let’s get out of here. You need to go hang at the clubhouse. I have business.”
“What does that mean?” Eden asked with a smile. “You’ve got people to kill?”
She was honestly just joking, trying to lighten the mood and the weight in her heart.
Trev looked at her. “That’s exactly what I’ve got to do.”
__
twelve.
Trev sat in a chair with a knife in his hand. The two prospects stared at him, their hands chained, their feet barely touching the ground. They were weak, tired, their eyes begging for death. It had gone beyond any old fuck up. The two prospects had gotten spooked about justice and outlaw. A friend in the PD had given some intel that one of them had been spilling tips to Ethan about the MC.
That was treason.
If they had tattoos on their body, those pieces of skin would have been cut off and shown to them.
Complete fucking treason.
What Trev really wanted to do was just put a bullet between their eyes and end it. But a message needed to be sent. A clear message to every other prospect who wore a leather cut and dreamed of being a patched in member. Don’t fuck with the MC. The MC will fuck you right back.
And since these pricks were on the wrong side of outlaw, their washed up bodies would send a message to Ethan too. Miller had a plan to tie the prospects to the murder and make it as though they were working against the MC, which they were, and then it would take the heat of Back Down Devil and it would make Ethan look like a fool.
As Trev sat in the chair, he could only think about Eden. What to do with her next. How to really protect her from all the bullshit of this life. Hell, maybe it would be smarter to find a way to let Eden escape. Shit, if The Lost Men weren't such filthy humans, she could go there.
A door opened behind Trev.
“You going to do this?” Miller’s voice asked.
Trev stood up. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
“You sure? You look off.”
“No. I, uh, I took Eden to Griffin’s grave. Respect for her, you know? Him too, I guess. Trying to make her understand all of this. So she doesn’t flake out on us.”
“You think she’s a problem?”
“No. I think I’m the problem. The past is hard to shake off.”
“I’m still waiting on a call from up north,” Miller said. “Let’s take care of one problem at a time. Remember, Trev. One of these motherfuckers talked behind our backs. Could have brought all of us down.”
Trev felt the anger build inside him. He and Miller met eyes and Miller nodded.
It was time.
Trev turned and walked right to the prospect on the right. One quick swipe of the knife opened his throat, spraying blood everywhere, including on Trev. He then turned, standing next to the prospect and nodded to Miller.
The prospect only had a few seconds of life before he was gone. The other prospect started to scream and kick, pleading for his life. Trev side stepped and grabbed a wrench off the table and swung it back and cracked the prospect in the jaw. That got him to shut up pretty quick.
Miller opened the door and Blaine, Nate, and Jace were there with two prospects each, their hands cuffed in the front, their leather cuts missing.
“Bring them in,” Miller said.
Trev stood with blood on him, staring at the prospects. When they realized what they were looking at, their faces all dropped. Two of them started to cry within seconds.
“Shut the door,” Miller said. “Guard it.”
Blaine shut the door. “Good luck, assholes.”
“Now,” Miller said. “I’m going tell you something important about my club. We don’t tolerate weakness. When you’re given a job, you fucking do it. You talk to anyone and you end up like our friend hanging here. Dead. Understand?”
All the prospects nodded. They said Yes, sir in unison.
“Now, my guy here, Trev, is in a fucking bad mood. Anyone want to add to it?”
Trev stepped forward. He walked to a random prospect. “What’s your name?”
“Andy.”
“You have fucking family, Andy?”
“None.”
“Your Daddy beat you as a kid?”
“No, sir. My Daddy left us. I was on the street by thirteen. Arrested by fifteen. Riding by seventeen.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-one, sir.”
“You want to see twenty-two?” Trev asked.
“Not unless I’m wearing a cut for this MC.”
Trev nodded.
He backed up a few steps.