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This is why I work alone. No one to stop me from enjoying the carnage I ache to inflict. Springing up onto my feet, I circle Bowman as I slide off my dusters. I don’t need any weapons for this. Because he’s not fast enough to get to his feet, I stomp down on his ribs—the ribs I just fucked up. Howling in pain, I drink it in like the smoothest bourbon.
Dropping to my knees, I straddle the prick, basking in the fear shining deep in his eyes as he stares up at me. The blood dripping from his nose is my paint, my work of art, and I’m going to add to my canvas.
Clutching onto his hoodie with my left hand, I raise my right and say, “Tell your brother I said ‘hi,’” and land the first punch.
Over and over, I rain down blow after blow, until his face is unrecognisable. His nose is completely split open. The hole in his cheek is now wider and deeper, and his eye is sunk down into the socket. The bones in my knuckles crack and break with every punch. This fucker thought he could take what was mine and destroy that little bit of pure light I have in my life.
“Psy, that’s enough. He’s dead,” Chaos barks. I manage one last blow before I’m being pulled off the cunt.
Spinning on my heel, I flex on my brothers, panting, trying to catch my breath as I ride the rage of my adrenaline rush. I focus on my president, willing myself back to reality before I lose to my overwhelming need to hurt someone else.
No amount of pain will ever suffice for the likes of Jordan Bowman, and I tell myself I’ll cause myself further physical pain by continuing the assault, not him.
“He’s gone. It’s done,” he assures me. Just then, his phone rings. Pressing it to his ear, he listens to whoever’s on the line and hangs up without a word. “Thomas is with Evie. They’re both safe and sound,” he reports.
Nodding once, I’m ready to put my cut on when I hear a single gurgle. Slowly, I look over my shoulder to see Bowman is still fucking alive.
Leaning down, I unclip the blade from my ankle brace and descend on him one last time. The blade sinks into his neck like warm butter that’s been left out of the fridge for too long.
It’s still not enough.
The thought of how things could’ve turned out for Evie because of me flood my mind. The thought of her tears endlessly falling, forever grieving her boy who never made it home, has me plunging the blade into his chest, his neck, his arms, the side of his head.
The fucker isn’t breathing now. My hands, my clothes, my face are so slick with his blood, I slip and end up lying beside him.
The only noises now are my strangled breaths, and the sound of the metal blade falling from my grip and landing on the floor.
I roll my head around to look at him. He resembles something out of a horror movie, but all I can do is smile.
Fucking breathe now, cunt.
Rolling onto my side, I heave myself up and wobble, my brothers looking at me like they’ve never seen me before. It takes me a moment to realise why. Looking down at myself, I see I’m covered in his blood.
“Brother…” Chaos begins, but stops.
“Don’t. There’s nothing to say. He got what he deserved.”
“I’d say he got more than that,” Mayhem murmurs.
“I disagree. I didn’t cut his dick off.”
The tense atmosphere is broken when Chaos barks out a laugh and pulls his phone out.
“You can’t ride through town looking like Carrie at her high school prom. I’ll call the prospect back.” Looking down at the body, Chaos orders, “And get someone on this.”
The next hour becomes a blur, and it’s not until we’re driving through the gates at the club that Chaos tells me, “Evie’s here with Thomas.”
“You should go around the back and wash off before she sees you. Plus, you fucking stink,” Mayhem huffs.
The stink is the drying blood. The smell has never bothered me before, and every time I inhale, it reminds me that the danger to Thomas is no longer alive.
“No, she needs to see me like this.”
Shaking his head, Mayhem argues, “The fuck she does, brother. Seriously, you’ll scare her.”
Knowing what I have to do, all I say is, “I hope so.”
“It’s your life, but there’s only so much a woman like her can take.”
