Tyrant (King #2)(2)

It had only been minutes since I’d killed a man.

But it had been a long time since I’d taken pleasure in it.

Adrenaline like I’d never known, in an amount great enough to wake a corpse, coursed through my veins.

I was high on it.

I fed off of it.

It was like I’d pushed my nose into a bowl of blow and inhaled over and over until I felt like I was invincible.

A motherf*cking god.

And until I fixed the f*cking mess I’d made, I wasn’t planning on coming down. I felt sorry for any motherf*cker who had balls big enough to try and stand in my f*cking way.

That was the moment I’d first heard it.

Him.

Preppy.

Time to show those cock suckers they f*cked with the wrong kid from the wrong side of the motherf*cking trailer park. Preppy’s voice was as clear to me in my head as if he stood beside me.

I was going f*cking insane.

By the time I’d crawled out from the woods and made my way back to the house Bear was just getting off of his bike. When he saw me, he tossed his cigarette to the ground. He marched toward me with hard, angry steps; his forehead creased with lines, his fists clenched. The dry grass crunched under his heavy steps. “Listen, motherf*cker, I didn’t want it to come to blows, but the way you f*cking handled that shit just ain’t f*cking right. She deserves better than that, better than this, better than to be f*cking lied…” Bear stopped when he saw the mud and blood I was covered in. “What the f*ck happened to you?”

I pushed past him, ignoring his question, running toward the house, taking the steps three at a time. I threw open the front door so hard, the screws from the top hinge shot out and clanked down onto the deck. “Pup!” I called out. A small part of me held out hope that somehow she had found a way to stay. But the second I entered the house I didn’t have to search the rooms to know she was gone. I felt the emptiness. “Fuck!” I roared, picking up one of the kitchen chairs. I launched it across the room, where it skipped over the glass coffee table, cracking it down the center, punching a basketball-sized hole in the thin drywall as it came crashing to a halt.

Bear followed me into the house. “Are you going to tell me what happened or you gonna tear the f*cking house up some more?” I moved passed him on my way to the garage. I needed my bike and some provisions.

The kind of provision that required bullets.

“Nothing a f*cking body bag couldn’t fix.”

One handcuff was still locked on me, the other end was open and dangling from my wrist, the chain stained with the fake cop’s blood. As soon as that f*cker was dead and the car crashed against the tree, I’d pulled myself over into the front seat. Thank f*cking god the handcuff keys were still in that f*ckers pocket. “I see that,” Bear said. “Where the f*ck is Doe?” There was a protective tone in his voice, which rubbed me the wrong f*cking way, but I’d deal with that later.

After I got my girl back.

“The good senator f*cked me over. There was no Max. And the last time I saw Pup, she was kicking and screaming as I was being carted away by a guy hired to take me out.” The image of her struggling in the senator’s grip made me see red. “Make a few calls,” I clipped. “Find out where he might be taking her.”

“Fuck.” Bear said. Instead of pulling out his phone he bent over and rested his hands on his knees.

“What the f*ck now?”

Bear pinched the bridge of his nose. “There was a reason why I came back here, man. Besides to kick your ass for f*cking shit up with Doe. I’m thinking that before you solve this problem with a spray of bullets, you should probably know that it might not have been the senator who was trying to send you to ground,” he said, standing up straight and leaning up against the wall where he lit a cigarette.

“What the f*ck is that supposed to mean? He was the one who had the guy arrest me. Of course it was him.”

Bear shook his head. “He’s a problem, but he’s not our only problem. Rage called not twenty minutes ago, and as you know that f*cker’s got eyes and ears everywhere. Word is that the shit that went down with Isaac isn’t over. Far f*cking from it.” He ran his hand through his hair and the ash from his cigarette fell to the carpet.

“I made that f*cker’s head explode myself. Looked pretty over to me,” I argued.

“No, not Isaac. He’s f*cking worm food, but someone who’s f*cking pissed about Isaac not being able to continue selling his shit in Florida on account of him being dead. Someone who ain’t afraid to kill entire families to get to the people who wronged him.”

I stiffened, knowing exactly who he was talking about. “Eli.”

“Yeah man,” Bear confirmed. “And if I was a betting man I’d put my money on it being Eli wanting to take you out over daddy dearest.”

Eli Mitchell was who Isaac had filtered his drug money up to. Well, he did until me, Preppy, and Bear ended him and most of his crew. With his thick rimmed black glasses and his short stature, no one would never think the guy was capable of half the shit he did on a daily basis.

When you wanted to scare a rabbit out of a hole you sent in a smoke bomb. Eli’s version of a smoke bomb was killing anyone you’ve ever loved until you showed yourself and he could finally kill you too.

“The intel I’m getting says Eli’s still in Miami, but he’s making a move, and soon. The MC is on lockdown, afraid of the blowback. Pops is pissed as f*cking hell.”