Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Tonight, she would curse me. She would hate me for what I’d done. But I would take her hate gladly, as it would mean there was no way for her to chase us. We would vanish to do what was necessary, while she would be safe, far away from carnage.
If tonight worked—if the gods of fate had decreed I’d paid my toll and deserved my final retribution—then I would return a peaceful man. I would never raise arms again. I would have no need to. I would be content and redeemed. And Cleo would never have to worry.
I’d lived the past few years smelling nothing but blood. I’d existed craving nothing but revenge.
That was all at an end.
Tonight, I’ll finally find closure.
My appetite for peace would be sated. My hunger for justice fed.
Salvation.
Shaking away the cobwebs of my thoughts, I centered myself. All thoughts of Cleo were silenced. All nerves that I might die deleted. All I needed to focus on was clearheaded anger.
The brothers around me throbbed with power. The night pulsed with sounds of engines and scent of gasoline.
I looked back at Pure Corruption’s clubhouse one last time as I checked ammunition and pushed a revolver into my back waistband. My hands took stock, checking the sawed-off shotgun holstered to my thigh, the grenades gathered like a bunch of fucking grapes in my satchel, and the semiautomatic strapped to the back of my Triumph.
I bristled with war.
I dripped with weapons.
There was nothing left to do.
I gave the signal, and we pulled out.
“You ready for this, dude?” Grasshopper asked, his eyes trailing to the gate of the Crusaders’ Clubhouse.
Three a.m. and it was a dead town. No security guard on watch, no trained dogs patrolling the perimeter. Just a squat, ugly brick building with rotting outhouses and overgrown weeds. Even the moon and stars hated this place, preferring to hide behind a belt of clouds.
It was child’s play.
Undefended.
Unprepared.
Entirely fucking cocky.
Night Crusaders were new. Their MC hit four years old last month. When they’d encroached on our domain, we’d had … what should I call it? An altercation.
Egos were thrown, dominance asserted, and we’d taught them a lesson. We weren’t a Club to be messed with. We had strict fucking rules and any newcomers were bound by those rules.
After spilling blood, we’d come to an understanding. They could stay, pay us our monthly due in order to receive our gracious hospitality, and promise allegiance whenever we called upon them.
My fists clenched around my handlebars.
Fucking traitors.
If I had known they would join forces with Dagger Rose, there was no way I would’ve ever fucking agreed.
They’d taken my money, accepted a whore, and lied to my face.
They’ll get what they’re owed tonight. Same as every Dagger.
Looking to my left, I nodded at Grasshopper. His silhouette was barely visible in the dark. “That question is irrelevant. I’m ready. Been ready for a long fucking time.”
There was something to be said for just getting a job done. Dagger Rose had lived eight years longer than they were entitled. I should’ve slaughtered them the night I got out of the slammer. Why didn’t I just do it? Why bother forming an elaborate scheme to destroy them piece by piece? Dead was dead.
Because Wallstreet had bigger plans and you agreed.
I gritted my teeth. That was true, but it’d also kept my mind off Cleo’s death. If I hadn’t had something so intricate to puppeteer, I didn’t know if I would still be alive. I might’ve drunk myself into a coffin, or willingly been reckless, trying to follow her to the underworld.
Luckily, I had no wish to die. And Wallstreet’s plans had finally aligned with mine.
It’s time.
Grasshopper looked behind us. “We’re ready when you are, Prez.”
I swung my leg over my bike, unstrapping the semiautomatic and holding it high. There was no time for battle cries or courageous speeches. Each man knew what he was here for. We’d all done what was necessary to prepare.
The entire Club, minus two guards at the compound and one watching over Cleo, was present. They all copied me, climbing off their bikes and arming their weapons.
“Say whatever prayers you need. Tonight there are no half measures. Got it?”
The men nodded, jaws tight.
Mo handed me a pair of bolt cutters. I felt like a fucking senator about to cut a city’s ribbon. Handing Beetle my semi, I wedged the cutters through the metal links holding the flimsy gate together.
The chain snipped apart, slithering to the dirt, resting beside the pathetic padlock.
The gates swung open.
The Crusaders had tried to guard their home, but the barbwire on top of the fence was merely decoration when they chose to lock their gates with something as useless as a fucking chain.
I paused, glancing around the compound. We’d all studied blueprints, courtesy of a disgruntled Club bunny who’d been raped and left for dead by a prospect of the Crusaders. She’d spent a year as their slave before managing to escape. Now she wanted nothing more than revenge.