Eros, smiling only moments ago, now looked at me in shock as he slowly looked down at his stomach. I followed his gaze, only to see blood staining the front of his shirt. He looked back up at me then and whispered, “Brother,” before falling to his knees.
Reaching for him, I heard the noise again right before I felt the sting hit my back. My world tilted, the familiar scent of pine suddenly laced with the taste of my blood. My hand instinctively went to my back, fingers brushing against the warm, wet flow of my blood. Eros, a fallen heap at my feet, his eyes wide with a terror I’d only ever seen on the battlefield, was the last thing I registered before the world around me faded. The whisper of a bee, a sound so innocuous, had been the herald of a far deadlier assassin. I’d traded the phantom of sleep for a brutal reality, and it had just claimed my brother.
Grasping my side, I lay there on the ground, looking at the clubhouse, my adrenaline a fleeting shield against the encroaching numbness as I saw the Death Dogs and Satan’s Angels systematically take out the sentries. The silence that had so unnerved me moments ago now felt like a suffocating presence, a testament to a betrayal I was only beginning to comprehend.
The Silver Shadows’ compound was meant to be protected, a sanctuary.
Now, it was a hunting ground, and the hunters wore familiar colors. As the darkness began to claim my vision, a face I hadn’tseen in years stood over me and sneered, “Hello, Indigo. Miss me?”
Sandman
I couldn’t sleep. I never could without my Sunshine beside me. I missed her. I wanted to go home, but Reaper said I had to stay, that he needed me. I didn’t like it.
I hated this place. There were too many people here, too much noise. Not enough trees.
He huffed again, letting me know he was there, in the shadows with me.
I growled.
Fucker followed me everywhere. I couldn’t take a piss without him on my ass. If Reaper wouldn’t chew my ass out, I would gladly slit his throat. But I was told to behave and leave him alone.
So, I did.
Huffing, I crossed my arms over my chest when he moved, stepping into the light. His eyes focused on the front doors.
I moved too, then heard it.
The familiar whizzing sound.
Together we reached for our guns, then slipped back into the darkness and waited.
He was like me.
I was like him. That was probably why we didn’t like each other. I would have to talk to Sunny about it when I saw her again. She would explain it to me so I could understand. Standing there in the darkness, we waited.
More whizzing sounds.
I turned to look at him when the doors exploded inward with a splintering roar, showering us with debris. Malice didn’t hesitate, his own weapon spitting fire, a controlled fury against the sudden chaos. I mirrored him, the familiar weight of my gun a comfort as I scanned the widening breach. They came in waves, Death Dogs and Satan’s Angels, armed, firing at will, their intent to kill everyone in their path. The whizzing sounds intensified, a deadly symphony of incoming projectiles that sang past my ears. I could feel Malice’s presence beside me, a silent, begrudging partnership forged in the crucible of danger.
We were two predators, cornered but not yet broken, our instincts screaming for survival.
My gaze flickered to Malice for a fraction of a second. He moved with brutal efficiency, his face a mask of grim determination. No wasted motion, no hesitation. It was the same ruthless focus I saw in the mirror, the same survival instinct that gnawed at me even when I was alone.
My Sunshine would have a name for it, a gentle explanation for why two such forces, so alike in the darkness, would clash and burn. But there was no time for explanation, no room to think.
Right now, she needed me to be the killer I was born to be.
More bodies spilled through the ruined entrance, their shouts swallowed by the cacophony of gunfire. The air grew thick with gunpowder and the foul scent of fear, both theirs and, if I were honest with myself, a sliver of mine. I ducked behind a toppled table, its polished surface now shattered, and returned fire, the recoil a familiar jolt against my arm. Malice was a whirlwind of controlled violence, a force of nature cutting through the attackers as brothers from clubs that claimed to be friends, spilled out into the open.
The second I saw Reaper rush from church, I moved, racing toward him. He was my president. The one Remi asked me toprotect. Shooting and killing my way through the horde, I felt the first sting of a bullet hit my shoulder. But I didn’t stop. I had to get to Reaper. The second sting lodged in my thigh and caused me to stumble as a Satan’s Angel took aim at my head, right before Malice tackled me out of the way as he fired, killing the motherfucker.
Pushing his heavy body off me, I ignored the pool of blood forming on his chest.
I needed to get to Reaper.
He was who mattered.
King
