Mercy (Sin City Outlaws #2)(29)

I stop, tucking my thumbs in my pocket, leaning my head back slightly as I take in my lil’ bro and his men.

He looks the same as last time, just less bloody. He’s still sporting the same brownish, reddish colored hair, pretty boy looks, and that scrawny as shit build.

“What the f*ck are you doing here?” He points at me, drawing his gun with his other hand. The rest of his men pulling some kind of weapon out. Gun, knife…is that a f*cking bat? I would like to say I never saw that coming, but in all honesty I expected that.

“Little brother. Nice to see you again.” My tone comes out calm, and collected. But I’m anything but f*cking fine.

“You ain’t my f*cking brother,” he sneers. I hate it when he says that.

“You killed one of our brothers, then walk on our turf,” a man with dark hair starts, “It’s like an early Christmas.” He rubs his hands together, clearly ready to end my life. Glancing along his cut, his name is Shadow and he’s the Vice President.

“I—” I pause, not sure how to say killing one of theirs was not my intention. It wouldn’t matter, it wouldn’t bring him back. Dropping to my knees and begging for forgiveness won’t get me anywhere. I have to earn my respect. Make them see I mean business, and that’s purely it, I’m here for business. I lower my head, trying to think of what to say next.

Cold steel is pressed to my forehead, looking up Lip is staring down at me from the other end of the gun. Quickly I draw my gun, and place it to Lip’s temple. His gun to my head, mine to his. The idea that he would even aim his gun at me has me over trying to be civil. I knew it wouldn’t last long anyway. I just didn’t expect Lip to be the first to draw his gun.

“You think I’d be here if it weren’t the last f*cking place on Earth I could go?” I push the words out through gritted teeth, my finger on the trigger.

“It’s going to be your last place.” Lip seethes, his thumb clicking a bullet into the chamber.

“You pull that trigger, you’re going down with me.” I give my head a tilt to the side, a scoff ripping up my throat.

The barrel of a gun is pressed into the back of my neck, causing me to still.

“I suggest you lower that gun, son.” I shake my head, be damned if two bullets fly through my skull.

“I can’t do that,” I whisper, my eyes locked on Lip’s.

“Lip, lower your gun.” The voice orders from behind me, the tone holding an older authority to it.

Lip’s eyes slide over my shoulder, his brows pinching together.

“You have to be kidding me.”

“I’m not. Lower your f*cking gun!”

Lip drops his arm. His gun pulling away from the side of my head. Following suit, I lower mine and exhale a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. My back sweaty, and hand aching from holding the gun so tightly.

The gun in the back of my neck pushes forward, reminding me that not all my worries are gone. That I should keep holding my breath instead of taking in air.

“Turn around.” Gripping my gun even tighter, I turn.

A man a little taller than I stands with a .45 pointed mere inches from my face. His hair dark and falling around his neck. His eyes are bright green and he looks older, his hair and beard showing signs of gray. Pulling my gaze from his, I look at his cut, finding myself face to face with the Devil himself. The President, Bull.

“What’s stopping me from pulling this trigger?” he questions.

That’s a good question. One I don’t know the answer to. If I were him, I’d pull that f*cking trigger. I’d end my pathetic life and with it, it might just save not only Jillian but a lifetime of future f*ck ups and turmoil.

“There’s nothing,” I respond, my nostrils flaring.

He squints his eyes, tilting his head as he looks me over. He looks confused, as if he’s puzzled I’m not pouring my guts out as to why I’m here. Asking for mercy, or explaining the death of one of his members.

He lowers his gun, but I don’t feel any lighter. I don’t feel that breath of fresh air that I felt with Lip. I feel nothing.

“Why are you here?”

“Bull?” Shadow steps up, clearly not agreeing to me still standing on two feet.

“Step back, Shadow. Last time I checked, I still ran this club.” Bull looks back at me, and shakes his head.

“You better make this good, or my prospect, Fox, is going to be cleaning your brain matter up all day.”

“I’m not going to beg to live. I’m not going to drop to my knees and apologize for one of your member’s death.”

“His name was Tom Cat!” A blond man hollers from the crowd.

Bull pulls his gun back up, aiming it at my skull once again.

“Wrong answer, son.”

“Would you?” I continue, my brows furrowed. “Would you ever say you were sorry for doing what you were bred to do? All I came to do that day was talk, and my club and I were made a mockery of.”

“Don’t listen to him, Bull. He’s playing you,” Lip states.

“I’m not,” I chuckle. “I’m not ‘cause, if I were playing you, I’d tell you what you wanted to hear. I’m telling you the truth. The truth that is embedded in every one of us. We are raised to be brutal, raised hot tempered, and to live by our own set of rules. I killed one of your members in a fog of rage, one that I cannot bring back, or change. It’s in the past, and all I can do is move forward and pay my dues. I’m here because I have nowhere else to go. I’m here because it’s the last f*cking place on Earth.”