Soulless (Lawless #2)(53)

Life and death had always been very factual for me. We all lived, and we all died, and I was fully prepared to take a bullet when my time was up. I was okay with my death, regardless of when it came.

I wasn’t okay with the death of Preppy.

In thirty years, if I’m still walking the earth, I still won’t be.

If something happened to Ti, the pain I would inflict would be endless because my pain would be endless.

Hurry. Ghost Preppy said.

I throttled my engine and forced my bike to breakneck speeds. I ran every red light, stop sign, and dodged every stopped car. I lead our group, which consisted of Wolf, Stone, and Munch, with King taking up the rear. Gus was meeting us there. We weren’t the largest group, but we had a lot of talent between us, and it was that talent that I was relying on to get my girl back. Then and only then, when I knew she was safe, would I take my time to dispose of my old man for good.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew it was all a trap to lure me in—no f*cking doubt about it. I even think Gus was fed false intel on purpose about the club being out on a ride, but trap or not, Chop had brought the war to his doorstep and I was about to reign down a hell on him like he’d never imagined possible. If there was any part of my old man left who thought I might be incapable of laying him out because he was blood, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.

Dead f*cking wrong.

I frantically flew into the night and used the thoughts of my girl to fuel my hatred and push me forward.

The war we had been preparing for had officially been moved up, to right f*cking now.

Hang on, Ti. I’m coming.

I was going to get my girl back and I was going to bathe in the blood of any motherf*cker who stood between us.

I wasn’t just after revenge.

I was on a f*cking hunt.

I kind of missed the psychotic part of me that had been lying dormant since Preppy died and welcomed the thought of mounting Chop’s severed head on the f*cking roof of the MC as a warning to any other piece of shit who thinks they can cross me and somehow get away with it.

The Beach Bastards wasn’t Chop’s club anymore.

He wasn’t their Prez.

They didn’t exist.

Or at least, they wouldn’t after I was through with them.

Ti may have taught me how to be a man again, but I shoved the man to the side, because right then I needed the biker, the devil, the f*cking demon who would shoot without question or hesitation. Cut without feeling. Hurt without hurting.

On my bike, with Logan’s Beach blurring around me, I became the soulless monster who was willing to spill rivers full of blood for my girl.

There were a lot of motherf*ckers heading to hell tonight.

After I made sure Ti was safe, I didn’t care if I was one of them.

I laid down on the throttle and pushed my bike to her limits. I barreled down the road toward the compound, unsure of how the f*ck I was able to see the road, because in my vision all I could see was red.

Blood. Fucking. Red.





CHAPTER THIRTY




Thia


“No! Don’t put that in my arm! I don’t need it. I swear. I’ll be good. I’ll be calm. Just please. Don’t! I promise. I’ll be calm. I promise!” I screamed, and struggled against several men and women dressed in grey scrubs as they held my arms and legs down on a gurney. A petite woman with short black hair held up a syringe to the light and flicked it a few times before inserting it into the IV drip already in my arm. She looked down at me unapologetically before pushing down on the plunger.

Then it all went out of focus.

Everything.

Including the room.

Suddenly, I was alone. I sat up on the gurney with ease. My wrists and ankles no longer tethered down. I was in the same room as moments before, same pale green walls, but this time it was empty.

At least I thought it was empty.

“And I used to think Bear was the smartest of us three f*ckateers,” a male voice said, followed by a short burst of laughter. “Actually, that’s not true. I’ve always been the smartest one, it’s a scientific fact. Also, my cock’s the biggest. It’s important you know that.”

I lift my head to find a man leaning against the window, his arms and legs both crossed. He’s just a shadow under the light of the moon until he unfolds himself and starts to walk toward me. As he moves, the shadows do too, and I can make out his features. He’s tall, though not nearly as tall as Bear. He’s muscular but very lean. He’s wearing a short-sleeved, white shirt and khaki pants, with an orange bow-tie, and black suspenders. His arms and hands are decorated in tattoos and his sandy blond hair is tied back in a high, messy ponytail, but that is the only thing about his look that’s even remotely messy. His shirt is neatly pressed and his pants have a crease on each leg that runs straight down the front. His beard is shorter than Bear’s, somewhere between stubble and a beard, but immaculately groomed.

“Who are you?” I ask. “You know Bear?” The man comes up beside me to sit down on the gurney, and that’s when my fuzzy brain starts to recognize him, but I can’t remember how I recognize him. I try to stand up from the gurney but when I make a move to stand, I wobble. The man grabs my arm to steady me and sets me back down.

“Of course I know that f*ck. He’s one of my best friends,” he says, like I should already know this. “You’re f*cking smoking hot,” he says looking me up and down. “You wanna make out?”