Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
“It’s grazed. I think,” he says about his arm when he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine.
Only then I realize there’s an eerie silence behind the wall. Our gazes clash as worry sets in, and we peek past the concrete block at the same time to witness a standstill. The Vultures are retreating toward us, some helping others walk. I focus on the background, where dusky shapes with shotguns loom on the other side of the battlefield, keeping the Butchers from running their way.
“Do not fucking move, you vermin! This is our home!” shouts someone, and I chuckle, dragging my hand down my face, drowning in relief. Rhonda, the canteen lady is here too. Apparently, some civilians chose to stand by us and protect the settlement rather than hide. Their support from the back must have tipped the scales in our favor. I start clapping before I can think, because this is exactly the kind of community we deserve.
“Well said!”
“Clap now, because we’ll be back to burn down this whole fucking place!” one of the Butchers yells despite being forced to kneel, but a bald friend of his slaps him on the head.
“Just shut the fuck up!” Baldy raises his hands, staring at Prophet who stands in the open gate, assessing his victory. “Grizzly’s dead, and most of us have been unhappy about this whole Roy vendetta for a while now. Am I right, brothers?”
When he looks to the other Butchers for support, most of them do nod and grunt in agreement. My heart soars. Could this be the end? At least for now?
Baldy continues. “As far as we know, none of you killed Roy. Case closed.”
The man next to him must have learned from the slap, because now he’s eagerly changed sides. “And what do we care who Clyde fucks? He’s not a Butcher anymore.”
More grunts of agreement from men with guns to their heads. If they know what’s good for them, this shaky new peace won’t be just for show.
Baldy nods. “You’ve got your business, we’ve got ours, and from the look of it…” he takes a pointed glance around the few dead men. “We’ll all have a field day with the cops, so… truce?”
Prophet makes a show of stepping over Grizzly’s body, and forces the Butchers to wait, but he eventually extends his hand to Baldy. “Finally. Someone who talks sense. Truce.”
“Let’s fucking hope it lasts longer than the last one,” I say, dragging myself back to my feet as I watch Clyde’s former club admit defeat.
Baldy shakes his head. “Me too. We’ll talk in a few days,” he adds, meeting Prophet’s gaze. Skirts swish over the floor, and I twitch when a familiar, slender hand settles on my shoulder.
“You’re fine. I told Clyde you would be,” Brigid says, then leaves us, walking toward our prez, as if all of this blood and gunpowder was only an event that needed to happen for the Vultures to surpass what they were before.
But as much as I want our opponents gone, so we all have the opportunity to lick our wounds and regroup, those things take time. Several of the Butchers have fallen, and on our side, Martin has bled out from a wound to the neck. There will be mourning. I don’t fucking know who slashed him, and it’s not like we have cameras here to confirm, so I choose to believe it was the dead fucker found close to him. At some point, people hit each other blindly, and while guilt soaks into my heart every time I glimpse at his body, we are better off than the Butchers. Martin pissed me off at times, but he always came through when it mattered. I’ll miss that shit-mouthed bastard.
The Butchers eventually leave, accompanied by several patches, who are more or less intact, and I look down at Clyde. He’s still sitting by the wall, and I’m eerily convinced he might start bleeding out and die like Martin.
The fucking thought of it is… unbearable.
“How are you—” But when I scoot down to him, Clyde slumps face-first against my knee. “Fuck!” I peek right back up, and there he is, Parker, our village doc. “Parker! Come here! Come see him!” I yell, already picking Clyde up on one side so I can take him into the clubhouse where there’s lots of light and water, as well as some basic first aid kit.
To my relief, Clyde’s eyes open at the sound of my voice, but he’s pale and dazed as I lead him inside. “I’m okay,” he says, even though he’s definitely not.
“Like fuck you are,” I mumble, carrying his weight despite my ribs begging for attention as well. The others will get help too, but Clyde is my priority. I shove beer cans off the large dining table, before helping him lie on top of it. “Parker!” I shout again, shushed by Clyde’s chuckle.