Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(65)

His bastards were all around me in a circle. Must've been half his f*ckin' crew, maybe more. Never seen a gang of such dirty, rotten, drugged out bastards. The wiry motherf*cker he called Skelly couldn't stop snorting crystal up his nose long enough to give me a proper beating, thank f*ck.

“I'm guessing you ain't gonna talk, rat f*ck. We've been at this for hours, and I'm getting f*ckin' tired. Mama Peacemaker here, she's getting hungry. So's Betty G. Too bad her big, mean bitch of a cousin's got a hunger ten times worse.” He ran his finger along the edge of a big, sharp machete.

Shit, I could see it now, gleaming in the dull light. Damned thing was rusted, stained, maybe from blood he'd never bothered to wipe away.

“Get f*cked,” I growled, my tongue so swollen it slurred my damned words worse than being plastered drunk.

Fuck it. Didn't care how hard it was to talk.

I'd keep cursing his evil ass 'til the end, all of them, even if it came out like mush.

Hatch paused, hovering over me for a moment, brandishing the blade. He shook his head, the rough lines on his face catching the light.

“You know that shit they say about the more things change, the more they stay the same? I'm looking at it. Right f*ckin' now.” Slowly, he crouched down, balancing on his knees. “This is f*ckin' funny. Familiar. I've seen this face before. Joker, you realize you're giving me the same broken look your bro did before my boys held him down and ripped his eyes out? He screamed like a stuck pig. Betty G and Mama Peacemaker drank deep that night.”

He held the machete up to my face. Fuck me, I began to struggle, instinctively trying to pull my skin away from the sharp, hot death pressed against my cheek.

Two other bastards caught me, held me, grabbing at my head. Hatch reached into his pocket, pulled out a switchblade in his other hand, and popped it open. Betty G.

This was f*cking it. His evil mismatched eyes said it all.

He'd toy with me for awhile. Torture me. Take me apart piece by piece.

I'd die like a f*ckin' man, though. I'd die without him hearing me scream, thinking about my girl, my kid, and praying to God the brothers caught these motherf*ckers in time to save Alex and get him home.

“Hmm. Shit,” Hatch mused to himself, looking at me and smacking his lips. “You know, motherf*cker, I've been around for more than six f*ckin' decades and I still don't know if twins sound the same when they're dying. Thought I'd seen it all, Joker. Not that. Maybe you can give me something better than another hit or the keys to taking your boys apart. You can teach me something new, taking you apart.”

“You won't take shit,” I growled, looking the demon dead in his eyes. “You thought you'd get my family. Truth is, you ain't getting a f*ckin' thing, and we both know it. Go ahead and take my hands. Take my eyes, take my nuts, pry my damned heart outta my chest. You'll never take the only f*ckin' thing that matters, even after I'm shoveled in my grave.”

Bastard didn't like that. For a long second, he looked at me, like a volcano winding up to explode.

His hands moved. Then the switchblade was square against my cheek, pressing down, flaying my skin to the bone.

I closed my eyes. Expected the motherf*cker to cut clean through my face, saw my head in half, take me out quick, dirty, and clean because I'd pissed him off so bad.

That kaleidoscope from hell started flashing through my eyes, dozens of faces I'd killed, all staring at me in one blinding split second. I'd ended a lot of f*ckin' lives, always bastards who deserved it, but the karma train rolled home in the end.

Please, I thought, praying to whatever the f*ck was in charge now. Just let me see my family one more time.

Their faces came.

Summer, the innocent. Green eyes, long dark hair, legs and tits and ass that set me on fire. Beautiful as the first night I kissed her, smiling and looking at me, holding our kid.

Alex, the blank slate. My son. Laughing, running his little hands against my stubble, like he knew he could grow up and be anything as long as he took the spoonful of applesauce I held out to his mouth.

Freddy. Piece. My face and his were one. He'd been my fellow hellraiser, the other half of me. He looked up and smiled, saving a seat for me in hell.

Grandpa. He'd done the best he could with us, bringing us up in the only family he'd known, the club.

He'd raised us better than that f*ckin' junkie our old man had been, dying young when he'd choked on his own vomit. He'd brought us up better than that whore who'd shat us out, and run off with a hitchhiker, never to be seen again.

He'd done his damnedest, and I'd never forget it. I'd be waiting for him with Piece on the other side, so help me God.

But a noise like the world ending upended everything.

Hatch stopped on my cheekbone, his ears perked up, his mouth slowly falling open when he heard the sound. “Go, go, go you stupid f*ckin' idiots! That's gunfire, goddamn it!”

He dropped his machete and spun around, reaching for his gun while his men went flying outta the room. The boys were already inside their clubhouse.

I watched two men jump out, only to get mowed down by long, brutal rounds.

An explosion. More bullets, some coming straight through the thin walls. Damned good thing I stayed on the floor, slowly reaching for the blade with my good arm.

A dark shape climbed over the dead men, just as Hatch began shooting. “Fuck. Fuck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, FUCK!”