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Linc kissed the top of Nova’s head as she stared across the bedroom, wearing nothing but a sheet, her heart still racing from the powerful thrusts of Linc’s insane cock, while Slade twisted the cap off of a whiskey bottle and flicked it across a messy garage that smelled of oil and gasoline.
“Another chained up,” Priest said from behind Slade. “Let me at him. I’ll rip one of his eyes out with my bare hands and eat it in front of him.”
Slade turned his head. “What the fuck?”
Every now and again Priest still managed to say something crazy enough to irk Slade. Saying it was one thing, sure, but Slade knew that there was a ninety-nine percent chance Priest not only meant it, but would actually do it.
The man hanging from the chains squirmed and kicked his feet. He ran out of tears about thirty minutes ago. Slade had been standing here for a good hour, watching this punk cry, whine, and beg for his life through a sweat-stained bandana that was wrapped around his mouth and tied behind his head.
This is the fucking prick who shot our VP.
This is the fucking prick that tried to kill our VP.
Slade took a big swig of the whiskey and licked his lips. The garage door growled as it opened and the President of Sins of Fire Real Anarchy West stepped in.
Cyrus’s jaw tightened. “Did he confess fully?”
“Working on it,” Slade said. “Savoring this. Waiting for Linc.”
“He’s on the way,” Cyrus said. He walked forward, his heavy boots thumping against the stained concrete floor. “Have to leave soon for the funeral.”
Slade nodded.
The goddamn funeral…
Things were messy right now in the orbit of the motorcycle club. Not that there was ever a truly calm time for the club. But right now, things were tense. Extremely tense.
With only Cyrus, Priest, and Slade in the garage together, all three outlaws knew none of them were the rat in the clubhouse. But it was on their mind. Constantly on their mind. There were too many coincidences with other members, but they all understood finger pointing turned into pointing with a gun.
Today, therat situationtook a back seat. Just for today.
They had this punk chained up, the one who pulled the trigger and put a bullet into Linc. They also had the funeral of the waitress from the pizza place that had been shot up.
A lot of people in the town of Cielo didn’t like when the motorcycle club showed up to certain events or functions, yet at the same time they felt more protected when the outlaws where present.
For this funeral—some poor woman named Thalia—Cyrus ordered the club’s presence. Out of respect. To show protection.
Cyrus closed in on the punk hanging from the chains. “He have a name?”
“Paul,” Priest said.
“Paul?” Cyrus asked with a grin. “Let me guess. This asshole wanted in somewhere. Was told to take one of us out.”
“Probably,” Slade said. “Guess that didn’t work out.”
As Cyrus began to reach for Paul, the door opened once more. Linc stared forward with pure anger in his eyes that spread across his face. Over the last couple nights, poor Nova had been having vicious nightmares about the pizza place shooting. Nightmares that left her thrashing and screaming for help in her sleep. Loud enough that a lot of guys in the clubhouse heard her.
Also a lot of thedeecees.
Maggie always had a fresh cup of coffee ready to go for both Nova and Linc. She served it without a question either.
In some way, living the outlaw life was a nightmare in itself. Sleep should have been comfort and rest and a chance to let the brain just forget about everything. Poor Nova though. That’s all Linc thought about as he approached Paul.
Ironic enough in some sick and weird way, Paul had nothing to do with Nova’s nightmares. He had nothing to do with the shooting at the pizza place. However, he had tried to kill Linc. And he was strung up by chains.
Linc threw his right hand out and wrapped it around Paul’s neck with ease. He squeezed. Tight. Hard. Paul’s face turned purple almost right away. With his other hand, Linc untied the bandana from Paul’s mouth and let it fall to the floor.
“You don’t need that anymore,” Linc said.
