Third Debt (Indebted #4)(49)

The rumble of the machine soothed me. The cool wind on my cheeks gave me room to breathe. And the power from the engine made me invincible.

But it was lacking.

I miss it.

I gritted my teeth.

You miss nothing.

I refused to admit that I missed my f*cking horse.

I hadn’t ridden since Nila paid the Second Debt. I doubted I would ride again. Not now I was the perfect son and life stopped playing me for a fool.

Every mile I travelled, the fog I craved wisped behind me until I was clearheaded for the first time in weeks. Out here with only squirrels and owls for company, it didn’t matter. I sighed in relief as I reached the outskirts of Buckinghamshire and pulled over onto a verge.

I wasn’t far from home, twenty minutes at most. But the rock walls and overhanging trees of the country lanes could’ve been centuries ago—so far removed from humanity and technology.

Killing the engine, I took off my helmet and fumbled for the pills in my leather jacket. I had no intention of going home without more drugs barricading my system.

“Goddammit,” I growled, unable to open the bottle with my gloves on. Biting the middle finger of my glove, I yanked it off with my teeth.

The two tattoos of Nila’s initials shone in the moonlight.

They sucker-punched me in the gut.

Fuck.

Everything I’d kept buried rose up unhindered on the desolate side of the road.

You’re ruining everything.

I’m ruining nothing.

I was protecting my sister, my brother, myself. I was walking the line I’d been born to walk. I couldn’t do any more than that, and if Nila expected more from me, then tough shit. I had nothing left to give.

A rustle and twig snapped in the field behind the mossy rock wall I’d stopped beside. My ears twitched for more; my eyes tried to see through the darkness.

I couldn’t see a thing.

Ignoring the noise—putting it down to a badger or fox—I tipped a tablet into my hand and tossed it into my mouth. Already, my head pounded and hands shook. Withdrawal was a f*cking bitch.

I went to swallow.

I never had time to swallow.

Something hard and brutal struck the back of my skull. I slammed forward, crunching my nose on the handlebars, gushing with blood.

“Shit!” I didn’t know which pain was worse—my nose or the back of my head.

“Travelling on your own, motherf*cker?”

I stiffened. This was why we didn’t go for midnight excursions alone. This was why I had bodyguards and ran a f*cking biker gang.

Thieves and vagrants.

Blinking through the pain, I shoved off my handlebars and glared into the night.

Three bikers from the Cannibal Chainmen MC climbed over the wall and landed on the road surrounding me.

Every muscle tightened.

“You.” These *s had ambushed our deliveries for years. They knew never to step foot in Buckinghamshire. This was our f*cking territory. They belonged in Birmingham—dirty scum.

“Get off our turf,” I snarled, drinking blood and wiping the remainder on the back of my hand. Swinging my leg off my bike, I stood in their circle, turning slowly to inspect each one. “You know the consequences.”

They were lowly ranked members, patched in, but held no position of authority.

“Oh, we know the f*cking consequences, alright.” A guy with a shaved head and knuckles wrapped in red tape sneered.

“Messing with the Black Diamonds is a sure way to die.” I spat a wad of blood on the ground, wishing the throb in my skull would fade. “I suggest you f*ck off. Our turf. Our rules.”

The biker laughed. “Ah, but if we take out the Vice President of the Blacks, then doesn’t that make it our turf?”

That doesn’t even make sense. Fucking idiots had to take out Cut for that to become a possibility. And that would never happen.

They continued to circle. Even though I was trapped in the centre, I guided them toward the middle of the road—away from the wall and my bike.

I needed open space to win.

I needed silence and darkness and no interruptions.

My hands curled, stretching knuckles and tendons, preparing to fight. I hadn’t been in a battle for months. And…I needed one.

Fuck, I truly did.

I needed something to let off steam. To get rid of everything inside. To finally scream and rage and f*cking give into the hatred I never seemed to be free of.

These men had no idea what they’d just walked into.

The intensity I’d lived with all my life remained on a leash, but I slowly let it affect me. Drinking in their violence and bloodlust—I became infected.

In that moment, drenched in moonlight and starshine, I was free.

Free like I was on a polo field. Free like I was when I slid inside Nila.

Fuck, I’ve been so cruel to her.

Away from the Hall and the pressures of my life, I could see clearly. There was no f*cking excuse for what I’d become.

“Made your peace, *?” the bald man said, smiling at his two accomplices with dirty brown hair. They slipped out of their jackets, revealing grimy tank tops and tatted arms.

I cracked my neck, smiling with bloody teeth. “Have you?”

They laughed.

I laughed.

I moved first.

A shout fell from the leader’s lips as I slammed my shoulder into his chest and bowled him to the asphalt. The moment his back smashed against the road, I punched him.