“We need to get back to the club.” Ripper groans the words, his brows pinching together. “He needs to be looked at.”
I’m already putting the van in gear, fleeing the scene.
“We need to go to a hospital.” Saying the obvious, I’m met with a pained laugh. “You seriously want me to go back?”
“Hospitals ask too many questions.” He turns to look in the back. “Call Leah. Tell her that she’s going to need a lot of supplies.”
Warden doesn’t need to be told twice.
As I’m panicking about the blood soaking into the seat, Ripper’s pulling out his own phone, groaning under his breath.
“This is going to suck.” He sighs again and presses the phone to his ear. As if by habit, his mouth curves into that charming smile of his. “Prez.So listen, I’ve got bad news.”
Despite not being there to witness, Ripper paints a pretty good picture of what I missed out on. My skin prickles at the mention of human trafficking. My fingers grow tighter on the wheel as I lift my gaze at the rearview mirror at Paulie.
Who has he been getting himself involved with?
When silence meets Ripper, he clears his throat. “Judge… ?”
“He’s pissed, isn’t he?” Warden groans. “He’ll have to know we helped him.”
Ripper stares at his phone, letting out a soft laugh. “He hung up on me. Oh yeah, he’s pissed.”
The vehicle suddenly grows more tense, and I can feel the weight. This can’t be good. The feeling doesn’t go away in the slightest throughout the entire hour it takes to get back.
Once we reach the clubhouse, my breathing quickens at the sight before us.
“Looks like we’ve got a welcome party.” Ripper’s the one to point out all the bikers standing around, waiting.
“How can you make jokes, man?” Warden sighs, accepting whatever this means.
Ripper shrugs, already shoving his door open. “You can thank trauma for that one. Let’s go.”
With the order given, we’re left to face whatever wrath is coming from their president.
Warden helps Paulie out, but Ripper’s the one who leads him out far enough to carefully set him on the ground. It’s the sound of my brother calling for me that makes my body move toward him.
I take a half-step forward, my entire being straining toward him, but Ripper moves in front of me, a solid, blood-stained wall.
He’s always distracting, always fighting for my attention, a force of nature I can’t seem to navigate around. I want to scold him, to shove past him and get to Paulie, but the words die in my throat.
There’s something weird about his expression. The usual mocking glint in his eyes is gone, replaced by a grim intensity. He looks… worried. For me.
“Judge isn’t like Blaze.” The words are low, urgent. My breath catches, a tiny, trapped sound, when he leans in and presses a firm, startling kiss to my forehead. The contact is brief, but it burns, a brand of unexpected tenderness amidst the violence. “So don’t hold this against him, alright?”
Holdwhatagainst him?
I don’t have to wonder for long.
Ripper turns and walks toward the scowling, bearded man—Judge. The air crackles with a tension so thick it feels suffocating.
I don’t think Ripper can get a single word out before Judge’s fist lashes out. A sickening, wet crack echoes in the sudden silence, and I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.
Even more horrifying, Ripper lets him. His head snaps back from the impact, but he doesn’t raise a hand in defense. He just takes it, his body swaying but his feet planted.
No one stops this. The other men, these hardened, brutal men, just watch. They’re an audience to what looks like a public execution.
Judge doesn’t stop with one punch, either. He hits him again. And again. A relentless, methodical beating. The sound is awful, a brutal percussion of flesh and bone. I see Judge’s knuckles split open, painting Ripper’s face with his own blood. It’s a sight straight from a horror movie, one I’m forced to watch with my eyes wide open.
