The reception takes place in the central clubhouse building. Only today, it’s been entirely transformed, from a gritty, seedy hotbox of fucking and drugs to something with a sprinkle of refinement. Well, okay, it’s still a seedy hotbox, but there are flowers, ribbons, streamers, and black tablecloths. It’s an upgrade, but it can’t hide all of that redneck ratchet.
“Nellie and Reba are talented,” Beast says, swiping his hand over his chin as he glances down at me. I look back at him, struggling to keep the smile off my face. Shocker: I fail. Not only is my new husband ruggedly handsome, but my thong is destroyed and the panties Beast retrieved from my bag are wet with his seed.
I look so pretty on the outside, but really, I’m a fucking maverick.
Beast, also, is a tricky bastard because I see now where the red thong ended up: he’s folded it like a pocket square and tucked it into the pocket of his leather vest so that just a corner of it sticks out. Nobody but the two of us will understand the significance, a private secret just for newlywed demons to enjoy.
“Where did you two disappear to earlier?” Grainger asks, a much nicer version of himself than usual. I pretend like we didn’t even talk to each other in the kitchen this morning, and smile at him, too. He seems creeped out by the expression which I can’t blame him for. I rarely smile. Usually, when I do, something bad is about to happen.
“Crown waited outside the supply closet so we could fuck,” I offer up, and Cade frowns at me. Even though I don’t really want to know the answer just yet, I try to get a read on his expression. Is he being marginally nicer than usual because I am pregnant? Or just because it’s my wedding day?
“Huh.” That’s the response I get, his umber eyes sweeping over me before Beast offers up a curt nod.
“Excuse us, Grainge, but I’m not in the mood to share with you just now.”
A dual thrill goes through me, part excitement and part terror.
“After our wedding, I can’t promise I’ll be inclined to share.”
He did warn me, did he not?
I push the thought aside, allowing Beast to escort me into the room, bracing myself for the onslaught of well-wishers. It’s as bad as I expected, with people I’ve known my whole life treating me like I’m a completely different human.
In the middle of all that, there he is.
My asshole brother.
“Congratulations, Gidge,” Gaz says with this shadow-tinted smile on his face. I bristle at the sound of his voice, using my father’s presence by his side to help control my temper. Cat is watching me so goddamn closely right now. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I’m sure that you are,” I grind out, wondering if it wouldn’t be too much for me to dig Queenie’s knife out from under my dress so I can stab Gaz with it. You killed my sisters, I think as I stare at him. I haven’t seen my brother since I got that text from Grey, but I’ve done my absolute best to bury the thought. Now that I see him standing here, at my wedding, when my sisters cannot be … oh man, violence has never tasted so pretty on my tongue.
“I’m proud of you, girl,” Cat says, but I just stare right back at him, eye to eye, a neutral expression on my face.
“For what?” I ask politely, and he curses at me.
“You know damn well what,” Cat snaps, turning to Beast and putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s yours now, Catcher. Hope you know what you just got yourself into. Eighteen years of being a royal pain in my ass, and all I can say is: thank God that’s over.”
He takes off as Nellie moves over to join us, staring at her husband’s back before returning a beaming smile to me. I don’t fully trust her yet. I doubt that I ever will. But at least we’re both trying and that means something, doesn’t it?
“You look beautiful today,” she tells me, reaching out to put her hand on my cheek. I wrinkle my nose as she kisses my other cheek, but I allow the contact. If for no other reason than to avoid making a scene. “Your sisters would be so proud.”
“Please don’t say that,” I mumble, because I can’t handle talking about Queenie and Posey right now. Not with Gaz inside this room with me. Not when I miss them so much I could take that knife and plunge it through my own heart, just for the faint possibility of seeing them in some sort of afterlife.
“It’s true,” Nellie continues, sniffling and rubbing at her nose. I wonder if she hasn’t sampled some of the uh, more extreme party favors. Not only do we have kegs galore here, but there’s a full bar, a cannabis bar (aka a cannabar), and a generous selection of recreational drugs.
Tables are laid out with glittering lines of cocaine, but don’t worry: Nellie’s put these huge vases of red roses in the middle of them so it’s klassy with a motherfucking K.
“Beast.” Nellie gives him a quick look over. “I wish the two of you all the best.” She offers him a hug which is one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen and then follows after Cat.
“This is your party,” Beast tells me, pulling me close. He lifts his blue gaze up, scanning the room over my head. “Whatever you want to do, you just tell me. Anything at all.”
“Anything?” I query, running a hand up his chest. He looks down at me and quirks a brow, capturing my hand in his.
“Anything,” he agrees, but before we can move away to find another closet, I see Reba making her way over to me. Outside, rock music blares and I can hear laughter, clinking glasses, can smell the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke.
“This is …” she starts, giving the cocaine laden tables a disturbed look. “Unlike any wedding reception I’ve ever been to.”
“We’re a very sophisticated people,” I agree, and Reba laughs, pulling me away from Beast and wrapping me up in a floral-scented hug. When she pulls back, she looks askance at him and then sighs. “Well, darn. I might as well, if we’re going to be family.”
Reba hugs Beast like she’d hug any other friend of hers, and my little black heart warms a few degrees.
“I’ll take good care o’ her, I promise you that,” he says, tipping his chin. Reba returns his look with a determined one of her own.
“You better,” she admonishes, reaching out to flick imaginary dust from his vest. “Or I will come after you, and I’m a whole lot scarier than I look.”
“You sure about that, Mother Theresa?” Sin asks, appearing behind her with a drink in hand. I reach out to take it, and he gives me a sharp look. When I pry his fingers off of it, he relinquishes it so as not to make a scene, but damn, he’s staring me down.
I bring the cup to my nose for a quick sniff. Oh, that’s nice. Scotch.
“Cat didn’t pull any punches,” Sin explains, nodding with his chin in the direction of the bar, as if he’s trying to tell me something in as quiet and subtle a way as possible. “We’ve got all the top-shelf booze tonight.”
“I can see that,” I reply as Beast continues to watch the room. He’s on edge. He wasn’t before, but he is now. That much I can tell for certain.
“I’mma go about finding myself something non-alcoholic to drink,” Reba says, putting her hand on my arm. “I’ll come find you in a bit.”
“Sounds good,” I say, but I’m already distracted by Beast’s behavior. “What?” I ask, and he tears his attention away from the crowd to look down at me. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Good question,” Sin agrees, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He cuts a fine figure in them, that’s for damn sure. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Beast says, glancing over at Grainger as he rejoins our little group. He said he didn’t much feel like sharing me with the other guys tonight, but the look the two men share goes beyond romance and relationships. This is club stuff, and three out of my four men seem to hold the same feeling of dread that’s roiling in my own chest.
Crown is … well, I have no idea where Crown’s run off to.
“I’ve had a bad feeling all week,” I explain, putting a hand over my belly and staring down into the cup. Oh. Crap. There’s a possibility that I might be pregnant. That is why Sin is being weird about the drink. I probably shouldn’t risk it. I mean, I don’t know if I’m pregnant at all. If I’m keeping it. I don’t know anything. I hazard a quick glance at Grainger, but he’s too focused on studying the other partygoers to notice my questing stare.
“Same,” Cade agrees, and really, it’s his affability that freaks me out the most. “Gaz seems to be in a disturbingly good mood; that’s the part that fucking rankles me.” He lifts a bottle of alcohol to his lips, taking a small sip before curling the edge of his lip up in irritation.
“You want me to find Crown?” Sin offers, but Grainger just shakes his head.
“Leave him be for now,” he says, and I try not to let that statement bother me. I hand the cup back to Sin, and he gives me a muted smile in response. Thank you for keeping quiet about it, I tell him with a look of my own. I don’t need anybody in this room getting wind of the possibility. Sin lifts the drink up in salute and chugs the remaining liquid before crushing the cup in his hand.
Someone cranks the music as the party starts to amp up, spilling onto the deck, into the parking lot, the road. This is what draws so many lost souls to this life; there’s a feeling of camaraderie here. We’re a team, for better or worse. It feels to me like it’s more often shitty than not, but I am a cynical bitch sometimes.
It’s a good reminder that although we might be at war, we are not alone.
The might of the club is a heavy, powerful thing.
I stay with Beast inside the building, finding a relatively quiet corner where we can be more or less alone. Grainger and Sin remain nearby while Crown stays conspicuously absent. Bad feelings aren’t enough to act on, but one wrong move from Gaz, one spark of violence, and this entire situation will go up in flames.
“Where are we staying tonight?” I ask, because I’m not the one that made these arrangements. This part of the equation was left up to Beast. He stares down at me like I mean the world to him, like the planet spins on my axis, and he’s just an adoring sun watching from above.
“At the farmhouse,” he says, and my heart stutters a little. He means Crown’s farmhouse, my farmhouse. “But we’ll have it all to ourselves.”
Ouch. No wonder Crown is so upset. Not only does he not get the wedding and the wife of his dreams, but I’m going to have my wedding night in his house while he sleeps elsewhere?
I feel like a total dick. Maybe I’m the one with the problem here? Rather than him not loving me enough to accept these new circumstances, maybe I just don’t love him enough to let him go? Fuck.
Beast, perceptive monster that he is, seems to notice my wandering thoughts. He leans down and puts his pretty mouth up against the side of my neck, making my toes curl in my boots.
“There won’t be anybody around to hear you scream,” he whispers, licking the side of my throat. I put my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as his arms wrap around my waist. His mouth presses smoldering kisses to my pulse point, and I let my head fall back, relaxing into his touch. I’m baring my throat to this man, this fellow predator in the night.
My husband.
He could kill me right now if he wanted to, snap me like a twig.
But he won’t. Because he loves me. Because he’s given me his leash to hold.
Beast slants his mouth against mine, and we end up pressed to the wall in the corner, cloaked in shadows. His hands slide down my body to cup my ass, and then he’s lifting me up and my legs are going around him.
I’ve become one of those people, the sort of club barbarian that Giulia mocked, the kind who doesn’t care who’s watching. Guess she was right.
If I had a skirt or dress on still, I’d have probably let my new husband screw me right then and there. Only, the white leather pants I insisted on make that a much more difficult task. Doesn’t keep us from kissing though, from feeling one another up with greedy, questing hands. Beast’s hips rock into mine, grinding me against the wall, promising a repeat performance of the supply closet.
Our wedding night—our real wedding night—is going to be heavy and hot, sticky with emotion, rife with need. I can’t wait.
With a small growl of frustration, Beast eventually sets me back on my feet.
“I don’t much like you wearing pants,” he remarks in a low, dangerous sort of voice. That makes me laugh right there.
“Frankly, I’m not a huge fan of these pants right now either.” I lean back against the wall, secure in his jacket, in his attention, in the way his blue eyes flick away to search for threats before coming right back over to land on me again. I reach up a hand and tickle my fingers against his smooth chin. “I can’t decide if I miss the beard and want it back, or if I like this new look. If you get to decide whether I wear pants or not, do I get to decide how you wear your facial hair?”
“Mm,” he purrs, putting his forearm on the wall above my head. “I’m inclined to say no, because I really do like my beard.” He reaches up with his other hand and strokes his bare chin. “But you’re too pretty to deny anything to, you know that?”
I bite my lip. This is dangerous. Beast is dangerous. He’s temptation incarnate.
“How long do we have to stay here before we can leave?” I ask, and he lets out this low, husky chuckle.
“Cat wants us here most of the night. You’re a symbol to him, you know? New blood, new life.” Beast reaches out to cup the side of my face, and then pauses as a new song begins to play, one that I recognize.
Fire Love by Yacht Money and Gabrielle Mooney.
Considering it’s a song that mentions Tennessee, whiskey, and sex all within the first verse, we’re off to a good start.
Beast surprises me by grabbing my hands and pulling me into the center of the room. People cheer and move to the side, watching us as he places strong, confident hands on my hips. Our audience begins to clap and stomp their feet in time to the beat, adding real-life energy to the music. This, I begrudgingly admit, is part of the club’s appeal. I can feel the horde of them at my back, a surging force that could burn entire towns to the ground with their might.
“Dance with me, wife,” Beast says, and even though I wouldn’t exactly call myself a dancer, how can I resist a request as tempting as that? Laughter bubbles up past my lips as Beast guides me around the dance floor.
He moves with total confidence, like he expects the world to make space for him and not the other way around. It’s that aspect of his personality that I find most attractive; I do my best to emulate it, letting my worry and my anger go for the span of that one song, allowing myself to melt into Beast’s arms.
As much as I was dreading the idea of this, of being married to someone in the club, I find that it doesn’t matter like I thought it would. Because I don’t care if Catcher Coffey is a part of DBD or anything else. No matter where he goes or what organization he’s a part of, he’s mine. I’m his.
This is it for us.
Husband and wife.
It isn’t quite the lamentable knell that I always feared it to be.
“I hope you’re okay with me taking you home to Tennessee and showing you off,” he whispers, and my eyes go wide as he pulls me close. It never really occurred to me that any of my men might have family out there. I know it sounds stupid, but once you’re in the club, you’re in. This is your family. Most of the men are like Sin, broken links searching for a new chain.
Beast has family left in Tennessee, family that he wants to introduce me to? That’s news to me.
“More than okay,” I promise, thinking about the possibility of travel, of a life beyond the walls of this compound. Using the club as an anchor instead of a steel trap. It’s an exciting thought. The armor thing, it’s working.
We finish our dance to soft, murmured approval which I find odd. What happened to the clapping and the stomping? I notice that the overall energy of the crowd has dimmed slightly. There are even a few people slumped over tables or curled up in corners. Not unusual for a club party, but it’s a little early. That, and there seem to be quite a few of them.
Beast frowns hard, looking up and over my shoulder and then gesturing with two fingers. I glance back to see Sin and Grainger waiting at the edge of the dance floor, watching us. At Beast’s behest, they move through the languorous, sleepy crowd to stand beside us again.
“Do you see this?” Sin asks, nodding his chin at the drunk swaying of the other dancers. It’s really fucking bothering me that I haven’t seen Crown since the procession. Something about that isn’t sitting right with me. “It’s a little early for so many people to be this fucked-up, don’t you think?”
“I see it,” Beast agrees, moving over to one of the people on the ground. The man is breathing, obviously, but he doesn’t react at all when Beast tries to wake him up. It’s like he’s drunk. Or drugged.
A chill traces over my skin as I take in the overall state of the room. If it were two in the morning, sure. There’d be a lot of drunk, high, and just generally exhausted partygoers, but we’ve barely been here an hour.
I remember that first dinner with the Don and his wife, when I carefully tasted each item, worried about poison. There’s plenty of food here, but most people aren’t eating. Mostly, they’re drinking and smoking and …
Snorting.
I look at the tables with the lines of coke, and I wonder.
“Where did this cocaine come from?” I ask, and all three men cast me dark looks.
“Jesus,” Grainger grinds out, moving over to the table closest to the towering stack of wedding gifts in the corner; the rest of us follow. He rubs some of the powder between his fingers but shakes his head. “There’s no way to tell just by looking at it; I’ve had my own guys watching the supply since it came in. Gaz was never allowed near the stuff.”
“You’re thinking this could be the mafia’s coke, Gidge?” Beast asks, his voice almost disturbingly calm. He’s coiled right now, like a snake ready to strike.
“It would make sense, wouldn’t it?” I ask, crossing my arms and doing my best to calm my racing pulse. I don’t want my hunch to be true this time, just like I didn’t when I worried about Rhea Bundy. But I can’t ignore the gnawing fear in my gut.
“I personally saw to it that we used our own product.” Grainger shakes his head as he plants his hands on his hips. “But you never know. There’s always the chance of a bait and switch.” His eyes flick toward the open doors leading to the deck. “Especially with that fucking rat scurrying around tonight. Goddamn it, I should’ve put a bullet through that cocksucker’s skull a long time ago.”
Sin catches a woman who’s about to fall to the floor. He grabs her under the armpits and lowers her gently to the ground, but she isn’t the only one collapsing. All around the room, people are stumbling, falling, fainting.
Not everyone, obviously, but enough that it’s disturbing.
We’ve been poisoned. The club’s been fucking poisoned.
No, no, drugged.
“For every day that you delay, we destroy something, ” I whisper, and Grainger gives me a sharp look.
“What the fuck are you saying, Gidge?” he asks, but I’m too caught up in my head.
“Every day, we add another person to the tally. Don’t make us polish off all those pretty families of yours. ” I recall the words Grey spoke to me that day on the video call with utter horror.
“Let’s get Gidge out of here—” Beast starts, but his words are cut short by the sound of an explosion. Heat blasts me, and the world rocks like it’s on stilts. One second, I’m standing up. The next, I’m on the floor underneath Beast’s huge body.
People are screaming, shouting, but not nearly enough of them. Many of them are passed out and unaware of what’s going on. Shit, I’m sober, and I still have no idea what’s going on.
My ears are ringing as I struggle to crawl out from underneath Beast. I keep expecting him to help me up, but he isn’t moving.
That scares me. That scares me a fuck of a lot.
Arms grab me, struggling to help me free from the heavy weight on my back.
It’s Sin.
He’s grabbing my face between his hands; I think he’s yelling at me, but I can’t hear him. I reach up with both hands to touch my ears, and my fingertips come away red with blood.
It’s not that I didn’t expect an attack, but … we’re on the compound. We have three full chapters of Daybreakers here. We’re locked down. Guarded. Safe.
But only from the outside world.
Gaz.
My brother’s face flickers in my mind just in time for me to realize that I can see him for real, standing at the edge of the room surrounded by smoke and the flickering lights of several fires.
“Gidget!” Sin’s voice finally breaks the silent bubble around me, and I cry out. Everything hurts. My ears. My eyes. My body. I look back to see both Beast and Grainger half-buried under debris. I lunge toward them immediately, but Sin’s hauling me back, forcing me to my feet.
“What are you doing?!” I scream, turning back to him with fury burning inside of me. “We have to get them out of there!”
“Gidget,” Sin repeats, gritting his teeth as he glances over his shoulder.
Gaz is coming this way, kicking bodies out of his path as he approaches us. He has a group of Daybreakers with him, one of whom happens to be Caper. Which means …
These guys are with Gaz. All of them.
Sin draws his weapon, but he doesn’t raise it. Not just yet. Because drawing his weapon on his brothers paints him as the bad guy.
“They’re both in on it,” Gaz says, lifting his chin in our direction. It’s a brilliant ruse, I must say, blaming us for organizing a mafia hit on our own compound. Based on everything I’ve been doing, it isn’t entirely out of the question. I’ve been talking to Grey. Meeting with Grey. Helping Grey. Just not in the way Gaz is helping the Grey Wolfe Mafia. “Restrain them both.”
The men move forward and Sin curses. His hand shakes as he puts me behind him and raises his weapon. It isn’t that he’s afraid to kill anyone or that he won’t defend me; it’s that the prospect of killing his brothers, of murdering men he’s fought alongside for years, partied with, attended weddings for, is abhorrent.
The whole situation is awful.
I thought I wanted the club to fall. In reality, all I wanted to do is change it.
“Gidget,” Sin whispers as the other men remove their own guns from their belts and holsters. “When I give you the word, I want you to run.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I breathe, blood running down the sides of my face. Sin looks back at me with an expression that tells me everything that I need to know. He loves me. He always has. Maybe neither of us can pinpoint when it happened, it doesn’t matter. It may as well have been forever.
“Please,” he tells me, his voice hardly audible with the ringing in my ears, the screaming, the moans. “All I want is for you to live your life, Gidge. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He shoves me hard , and I fall to the floor just a split-second before the first shot goes off. I’m pretty sure it came from Sin’s weapon, but it’s hard to see with the smoke and the fires. Gunshots light up the interior of the room like lightning as I reach for the Magnum in its holster.
Only … it’s gone. It’s fucking gone. I touch the spot where the shoulder holster was sitting only to find that it’s missing. There’s a huge gash across the front of Beast’s jacket, and I’m bleeding. Not much, but a little, protected by the leather. The strap of the shoulder holster might’ve been leather too, but it was not so lucky.
I shove up to my feet, crouching low and running for the back hall. Not to leave, though, because I just can’t do that. Because I’m not that person. I will never be that person.
If we die, we die together.
But I need a gun.
I need to find Crown; I need to find Cat.
A hand grabs my arm as soon as I skid into the hallway, the door that leads to the main room of the clubhouse swinging behind me, alternating flashes of pain and darkness. In here, you might never know that something was wrong.
“Gidget.”
I have to blink a few times to realize who it is that I’m looking at.
“Grey?” I choke out, but I don’t have time for a happy reunion. My boys are in trouble.
“Here.” He presses a bottle and a syringe into my hand. The bottle contains a liquid that’s eerily similar to the color of his eyes, but with a metallic sheen that makes it look like molten silver. “Anyone who drank beer from the kegs or sampled the cocaine tonight needs an injection.”
“What … what is this?” I ask, noticing for the first time that Reba’s standing behind him, also with a syringe and bottle in hand. “Reba?”
“We don’t have a lot of time, suge,” she says, exchanging a look with Grey.
“No,” he agrees, shaking his head. “We don’t. If they don’t get these injections within the next …” He checks that fancy watch of his and frowns. “About thirty minutes, they’re dead. They’re all dead.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, but I don’t care about anybody else. I care about my men. They’re the most important people on this compound besides Reba and Grey. “I don’t have time for this; I need a gun.”
I gesture back at the room behind us. The gunfire seems to have quieted, but only because it’s moved. I can now hear shots being fired outside.
“If I had one, I would give it to you,” Grey says, cringing slightly. He’s a little roughed up, a little bloody. I have no clue how he managed to get onto the compound in the first place. “Each one of these bottles has enough for about twelve people; if there’s anyone special you want to save, you best point them out to me.”
“Nellie?” I offer, meeting Reba’s emerald gaze. “Can you find her for me? I have to go, but I’ll help as soon as I can.”
“I got you, honey. Go.” Reba nods her chin toward the end of the hallway, and I start forward, pausing to relay a quick warning.
“Be careful; Gaz is on the move with his posse.” I give Grey a sharp look. “Do not get caught. I doubt I’ll get the chance to rescue you again.”
He gives a sharp nod in response as I pocket the items and take off down the hall. Cat has guns stashed all over the compound, just as he does the house. All I have to do is find one. I skid at the end of the hall, slamming into the wall before I gather myself together, sprinting toward the stairs that lead up to Cat’s office.
That’s the most likely place for me to find a weapon, and I don’t exactly have a ton of time on my hands. Please be okay, I think as I run, please don’t be dead. Grainger and Beast, they … well, they weren’t moving. And Sin. Oh my God, Sin. Where the fuck are you, Crown?!
I fling open the door to Cat’s office and stumble inside, wrenching open the top drawer on his desk.
Nothing.
The next drawer.
Nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
I throw the next drawer against the wall in frustration, pausing when I hear the sound of someone approaching. My head lifts up, and all the blood drains from my face.
“You stupid bitch,” Gaz says from the doorway, grinning maniacally at me. “You looking for this?” He waves around a gun like a crazy person. “How stupid do you think I am? Do you think you know where our father hides his weapons any better than I do?”
I stand up straight, heart racing, pulse pounding. My ears are still ringing, and my entire body hurts from the bomb blast. I haven’t had a chance to assess my injuries, but that isn’t important right now.
Right now, I have to survive my brother’s wrath.
“I know Cat far better than you ever will,” I tell Gaz, lifting my chin up, panting and bleeding and still struggling through the disorientation caused by the explosion. My chest feels tight, and I’m fighting the urge to cough. A coughing fit right now would not suit me well.
I move around the desk and Gaz scowls, lifting up the weapon and pointing it at me. The thing is, shooting me right now isn’t a great choice for him either. He can tell Cat that I’m a traitor, but what’s it going to look like when our father walks in and sees his last remaining daughter, dead at her own wedding reception from a gunshot wound?
The club isn’t stupid. They know how to send things in for forensic testing; they even have a lab in Portland that works for them. Cat would figure out what sort of gun the bullet came from. He’d make connections. Gaz knows all of that.
“That’s part of the reason you hate me: because I’m the son he always wanted.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Gaz screams, storming across the room toward me as I surreptitiously slip Queenie’s knife from my pocket and palm it in my left hand. He gave this knife to her, before she ever gifted it to me. Ironic, isn’t it? That I’m going to use the gift that Gaz gave Queenie to try to kill him.
His fury is impressive, terrifying really. It’s so potent, so unhinged. It makes no sense. It also makes him sloppy; I’m counting on that.
“It isn’t my fault that Cat loves me more,” I say, even though I’m not exactly sure that’s a true statement. It could be. It really could be. But I don’t know. One thing I do know for sure: I’m right about my previous declaration. If I’d been born with a dick, I would’ve been the perfect child for Cat.
My brother’s rage takes over him, and he aims the gun at me, intending to shoot me somewhere non-vital, I’m guessing. When he lifts the weapon, I grab the glass bottle of ink that’s on the desk’s surface with my right hand. It’s India ink, I believe, more of a décor item than anything that gets practical use. There’s a quill pen lodged in it, but I’ve never seen anyone actually use it.
Until now.
I throw the bottle in my brother’s face. Not only is it made of heavy glass and probably hurts like a bitch, but ink goes everywhere. Into his eyes. Onto the books lining the walls. Spatters all down Gaz’s front.
Without breaking my stride, I throw myself into him and jam the knife into his gut. He’s briefly disoriented, firing the gun at the ceiling and knocking plaster loose as we topple to the floor. He’s bigger than me, stronger than me, but I’m scrappy as fuck. That, and I’ve been training with Beast.
Nobody knows how to fight better than he does.
Thankfully, the gun falls from Gaz’s hand, skidding across the carpet and out of immediate reach. My brother doesn’t seem to give a shit. He assumes that, because he’s so much larger than me, because he’s a man, he has all of the advantages.
He might be physically stronger than I am, but he’s stupid and angry and wounded.
I harness my rage and bring it under control, turning my mind into a cool, quiet place where my fears for the boys and Reba and Grey are blurred and distant. This moment, this fight, that’s all that matters.
The blood streaming from Gaz’s wound makes my grip on the knife tenuous, but I manage to yank it out and attempt another thrust. Unfortunately, Gaz knocks my arm aside and sends the knife flying.
He rolls us over, putting me between his thighs. Predictably, the very first thing that he does is go for my throat. This is what Rhea Bundy must’ve seen in her last moments, I think, feeling for her at the same time that I know I’m different.
I will not go down like that poor girl.
As soon as Gaz wraps his hands around my throat, I grab his right wrist with my left hand, yanking it hard to one side. At the same time, I use my right palm to slam Gaz in the center of his chest. The move gives me just enough space to insert my left leg between us while my right foot comes up and nails him directly in the face.
He howls, flailing back as blood pours down his nose.
I’m not here to cosplay as an MMA fighter, so as soon as Gaz’s weight is off of me, I’m surging to my feet. All I need to do is grab the gun and it’s over.
I will shoot Gaz without hesitation and worry about dealing with Cat later.
My fingers have just barely grazed the side of the weapon before Gaz is wrapping an arm around my throat from behind and dragging me backward. I react on instinct, swinging my left arm down and back until my closed fist makes contact with his crotch. Almost immediately, I bring my hands together and throw them over my shoulder, shoving at his face. I spin in his grip, but then suddenly, I’m trapped inside the confines of his arms and my mind is going blank.
Did Beast teach me how to get out of this position? I wonder, but I don’t exactly have time to think on it. Gaz shoves me back violently until I hit the edge of a bookcase, leatherbound volumes toppling off the shelf and crashing into my skull.
Gaz wastes no time in throwing a closed punch at my face. I just barely manage to swing to the side, tripping on some of the fallen books as my brother snatches my ankle and yanks hard enough that I fall on my belly.
I’m able to turn onto my back, but that’s it. He’s on me again, straddling my pelvis and launching another hard punch. This one hits me right in the mouth, and I feel my teeth cut the inside of my cheeks, drawing blood. White-hot pain slices through me, briefly blinding me to my horrible reality.
Out of pure instinct, I reach up and dig my nails into his face, forcing him to grab my wrists and putting a stop to another skull-shattering blow.
“What the fuck is going on in here?!”
A familiar voice booms out, this shock of lightning that seems to electrify both me and Gaz. In an instant, he’s climbing off of me and stumbling to his feet.
“Gaz, what the fuck?” Cat snarls, moving into my field of view. My father looks at me, bleeding and dazed on the floor. Then he looks at his son, also bleeding but not quite so dazed. What a clusterfuck.
“Gidget is involved with the mafia,” Gaz says, bending down and reaching into my pocket before I can stop him. He rises to his feet, brandishing the needle and the bottle of silver liquid that Grey gave me. “She drugged the kegs and laced our product with supplies from Grey Wolfe; I don’t know what this is, but she was trying to inject anyone that was still conscious with it.”
My eyes go wide as Gaz hands the items over to Cat. My father looks at them then back up at his son.
“That’s bullshit,” I choke out, blood dripping from my lips as I manage to drag my tired body into a sitting position. “Gaz attacked me and Sin in the clubhouse after the bomb went off.” Fuck, it sounds so weak. I should’ve said it first. I should’ve spoken first. “He’s been working with the mafia since before Queenie and Posey were murdered.”
My father’s face … I wish I could explain the look of it. But that would take wordsmithing skills far greater than I possess. He looks like someone who’s just had his heart ripped out and shoved up his own ass.
“Here,” Gaz encourages, taking his phone out of his pocket and offering it up to my father. What he might have on there, I have no idea.
Cat doesn’t make any move to take the phone.
“Gidget’s been fucking a bunch of men in the club to get their help. She arranged this hit today.” Gaz throws his hand out toward me for emphasis. “I’m not sure who’s all in on it, but at the very least, your pretty boy officers.”
Cat is staring at us now. Just staring. There’s a realization in his eyes that scares me. He sees it. He sees the betrayal in at least one of us. Probably both.
“Daddy, listen,” I plead as Gaz scowls at me. “Let me have a chance to explain before you decide anything. Please.” I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve referred to this man as ‘daddy’ past the age of five. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Look.” Gaz turns his phone toward my father’s face, and whatever it is that Cat sees there shuts him down. He goes cold. Ice-cold. Glacial. He holds out his hand for the phone and Gaz gives it to him. “Do you think anyone from Grey Wolfe could get on this property? It’s surrounded. Somebody in the club planted that bomb.” He points back at me. “She was never held prisoner by the mafia; she was part of it all.”
With a groan, I finally push up to my feet, swaying a bit as I put a hand on the edge of the bookcase to steady myself. I’m standing there looking at my father, wondering if this is it, if this is what everything in my life has been leading to. I’ve wondered for a long time now if Cat wouldn’t be the one to kill me. When I took off with Grey that day, I expected this ending. Dreaded it, ran from it, denied it, but expected it. Then when it seemed I could step back into the fold without him being the wiser, I relished it.
Even though I didn’t mean for it to happen, I ended up liking the idea of him being civil toward me, if nothing else.
Now, here we are. Gaz is accusing me of working with the Grey Wolfe Mafia. He isn’t entirely wrong about his assumptions, but between the two of us, me and my brother, there’s a certain person that Leroy Kesselring picks every time—and it isn’t me.
“Give me a minute with Gidget,” Cat says, his voice low and gruff. Pained, is how I would describe it if I thought my father was at all capable of that sort of emotion. My eyes meet his, and a cold, inevitability settles over me.
My men are … well, they might be dead.
My father knows I’m a traitor.
I have nowhere left to go, nowhere to run to, no one left to save me this time.
I can’t even save myself.
“Before you go, tell your sister that you love her,” Cat commands, and that really gives Gaz pause. He frowns, but he glances back at me anyway.
“You’re kidding me, right?” he scoffs, but he shakes his head and does it anyway. Because he thinks he’s won. Because he’s placating Cat. Because it’s all over and there’s nothing I can do to stop this. Gaz puts a hand over his bleeding belly. “Love ya, Gidge. See you in the next life.”
“You have one daughter left,” I whisper, pleading with Cat, unsure why I’m even trying. He ignores me, slipping the phone, the needle, and the bottle of silver liquid into his pocket. “Just one. Give me a chance to tell my side of the story.”
“We’ve always been so alike, you know?” Cat muses, tapping his Magnum against the palm of his hand.
He just stares at me for a minute before lifting the gun in a strong, confident grip. It’s pointed right at my face. I don’t close my eyes. Just like that day he pretended to pull the trigger on me. I won’t hide. I will face death head-on.
There’s nothing more I can do.
“Gaz, get out,” Cat says, and my brother smirks at me. He actually smirks at me knowing that I’m about to die. That I’m about to be shot. That our own fucking father is about to kill me.
Leroy Kesselring aka Cat, the President of the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club, puts his finger on the trigger. Aims. Fires.
Happy wedding day, Gidget.
A white dress, a hot fuck, a bomb blast.
Sounds about right.
I am dressed in sin, bathed in it, consumed by it.
And in sin I shall remain—right down to the cold, hopeless depths of my own grave.