Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(34)
“So listen,” Trey said, pulling his cigarette from his mouth and flicking it into the snow. “Preacher’s been talkin’ ’bout the clubs becomin’ one.”
Ripper’s eyebrows lifted. This was news to him.
“’Course, not everyone’s on board,” Trey continued, “but ain’t no one gonna argue with Prez once he’s made up his mind. I figured if that’s the way shit gonna be goin’ down and we’re gonna be workin’ side by side, then we best make sure shit’s solid between us.”
Whatever shit Trey was referring to, Ripper didn’t feel it could be more important than the scene unfolding before him. Keeping his eyes on Deuce, he grunted his response.
Although he couldn’t hear what the men were saying, Deuce appeared agitated, running his hands through his hair, something he often did when he was about to blow. And the Russians didn’t exactly look too happy either. Mick, as usual, was the buffer. To the untrained eye, it would look like he was simply standing shoulder to shoulder with his prez as a show of solidarity, but Ripper knew better. Mick was waiting for the bomb to detonate, the bomb being Deuce when they found out Hawk’s fate.
“That mess with Frankie, him f*ckin’ up your face, just wanted to make sure shit was good between you and me. No hard feelin’s, right?”
Ripper’s vision wavered, his fixed attention on Deuce began to wane, and for a moment he felt like he was back inside that warehouse, back under that blade and the madman wielding it. Blinking, he refocused on Deuce and took a deep breath.
“Preacher had no clue what that f*cker was doin’ on the side,” Ripper muttered. “I let that shit go a long-ass time ago.”
“Good to hear,” Trey said. “Thought you might be harborin’ some resentment toward the rest of us who’d been there.”
Ripper froze. Everything stopped and became fuzzy as he tried and failed to process what Trey had said.
The rest of us who’d been there.
The rest of us who’d been there.
The rest of us who’d been . . .
His arm shot out, grabbing Trey’s jacket collar, and then he quickly dragged the man behind the van and threw him up against the back door. Letting go of his collar, he wrapped his hand around Trey’s throat and squeezed.
“What the f*ck did you just say?” he demanded.
Trey didn’t even blink. He was as calm as ever staring back at Ripper with those big gray eyes of his that looked so much like Eva’s. In fact, Trey was the male equivalent of his cousin, minus the tits and Chuck Taylors. The only difference was the eerie chill Ripper felt slither through him while looking at the man.
“I thought you knew,” Trey said quietly.
“I would have killed you if I knew,” Ripper ground out through gritted teeth.
The admission made Trey smile, also super creepy. “You could’ve tried,” he said, his tone as dead as his eyes. “Lots of motherf*ckers have. And they all f*ckin’ failed.”
“Yeah?” Ripper’s eyes narrowed. “Why? ’Cause you had Frankie doin’ your dirty work for you? You enjoy watchin’ him f*ck people up, you sick shit?”
Trey attempted to shake his head, but Ripper’s unforgiving grip on his throat allowed him very little movement. “Ain’t nobody wanted to f*ck with that * and what he did for kicks. I may not be the nicest motherf*cker out there, but I ain’t ever carved anybody up like a Thanksgivin’ turkey. If I got a beef, I shoot point-blank. Frankie was a breed all his own.”
Ripper stared at him. Not the nicest motherf*cker out there was putting it mildly. Trey had a line of bodies trailing behind him. But then again, so did Ripper.
Ripper released him and backed away as Trey reached up to massage his throat.
“We good?” Trey asked.
About to tell him to go f*ck himself, Ripper was distracted by an angry shout. He turned just in time to see a body being tossed out the door of one of the SUVs. As Hawk’s lifeless body fell to the ground, the door slammed closed and the line of SUVs sped off. Without giving Trey a second glance, he took off running. Trey didn’t f*cking matter. Frankie didn’t f*cking matter.
Because when it came down to it, this wasn’t a pretty life by any means. Bodies fell, and people got hurt. But you did your best to keep going; you found yourself a nice little patch of happiness, and you clung to that shit like it was your last f*cking breath.
And he’d done just that. He’d found his peace within the arms of a beautiful girl. He’d found peace and a whole lot more.
Frankie was dead; that psychopath had paid for his sins in the worst possible way.
And someday, Trey would get what was coming to him.
Neither of them deserved another f*cking thought. They weren’t worth it.
But Hawk was.
“Grab his legs!” Deuce shouted, grabbing hold of Hawk’s underarms and trying to pull the man’s big body upward. “And watch out for those wounds!”
Shoving Dirty and Mick out of his way, Ripper dropped down to his knees and skidded across the snow-covered pavement, reaching for Hawk’s unmoving body. Wearing only a pair of soiled boxers, he was covered in bruises, dried blood, and other substances Ripper didn’t want to give too much thought to what that they were. On either side of his right leg, there were two shoddily stitched-up wounds, both an angry red and seeping with pus, the dirty skin around them turning unhealthy shades of black and blue.