Page 102 of Bleed Me

Out the front windshield, I saw Dick, arms out wide, two guns firing, taking down one biker after another. He had no cover, only his egotistical, apparently bulletproof self-esteem.

There were others of mine firing their guns, but they were using their training, taking cover and fighting when they had clear shots.

The opposite was Dick.

Blood dripped from the wound on his shoulder, though it didn’t even seem to register. He roared madly as he mowed down our enemy, who seemed too shocked to properly react. Bullets fired past him, all missing. I knew I was witnessing a messiah, wielding his unnatural, unkind wrath, but what I was truly seeing was a miracle.

Tears fell from my eyes… “Thank you, Jenny.”

She had warned us of what was to come. Now she was protecting her brother, who had valiantly attempted to protect her. That guardian angel clearly held no grudge for his failures.

Dick was the only one punishing himself now.

Unfamiliar bikes started racing away, possibly realizing they had been grossly outmatched by the insane motherfucker in front of them.

Spotting the bikes that still stood, Dick bellowed to Meatball, “Drive through them, fatfuck!”

Swerving around bodies, Meatball bitched, “Really? We had to drag my waistline into this?” Meatball was not groomed to take orders from a member underneath his station, but Dick wasn’t truly a Stallion. So, the sedan crashed into bikes that we were not affiliated with and bounced over remains that weren’t our own.

My Blood Wedding was gruesome. Many were injured. But we were the ones who showed those fuckers a thing or two.

Now we just needed to know who attacked us, and why.

Deep down. I knew that answer, too. His tracks to Hell…

6 months later

There would be no easy way to learn of our attackers. None of the dead bodies were wearing cuts nor had tattoos that would identify them. None of the motorcycles had license plates. Even when we ran VIN numbers, we reached dead ends. Every bike had been reported stolen from different states all over the US. There was no rhyme or reason with the attack, other than me dying being the main goal.

Scars had healed…

But old wounds reopened…

My father, Legend, had gained many enemies during his biker reign. From what I was told, it wasn’t his cruelty that earned him those adversaries. Some simply do not appreciate those more powerful than themselves. Legend had many devoted clubs that supported and respected him. That was why, in a short amount of time, he was able to gain so many biker clubs willing to do patch-overs throughout this country, making Steel Stallions into a force to be reckoned with. Other clubs were not fond of the growth and set out to ‘teach’ him a lesson. Hence, Art and I became victims in a war we hadn’t created.

After my father and Diesel brutally retrieved their children, support clubs that aided our enemies dispersed, each licking their wounds and going their separate ways, not realizing they had taken down the king of it all. Bringing me home ended up being Legend’s final act as a Stallion. The guilt I carried was immense.

By the time rivals realized my brother had become President of the mother chapter, it was too late for them to regroup and attack. My brother, so much like my father, had instinctively strengthened the bonds that linked all the Stallion chapters. Their loyalty was now his.

Lynx’s choice in making his club the dominant one was crafty, but he made one grave mistake. He valued the young club member of our enemy, believing the child didn’t have the ability to be twisted and cruel.

Seth was his name.

In Greek mythology ‘Seth’ was the god of deserts, storms, and disaster. He was named well. For years, I watched his gruesome upbringing. He watched my suffering by his club’s hands. We both watched his growing interest in sadistic ways, one of us in horror and the other in fascination.

That evil motherfucker had a train set that he used in ways the toy was never intended. I hated him then, and I hate him now.

I warned my brother, but he failed to listen since I was still so young myself when I was rescued. All he saw was a damaged girl, confused and misled.

Now, a decade later, Seth was a young man, and he was out for blood. He was hungry for revenge. We had annihilated his father’s club. So, the young man gathered allies who were more than willing to offer assistance in order to take down one of the big dogs.

Seth was a dog, too—a rabid one—who needed to be wiped from the face of this planet.

As soon as Giver and I healed from our gunshot wounds and were able to ride again, we joined in the attempts to locate Seth. There were Stallion chapters dispersed all over the country, terrorizing rival chapters for information.

They had none.

Again, that rabid dog had gone underground.