“Oh God, no,” I whimper.
I hate this. I hate that it has come to this. Two clubs at war with each other because of one man’s hatred and greed. Men murdering each other, spilling blood and taking lives just because another man commanded them to, paid them to.
I blink and try to breathe so that the stench of gunpowder and death doesn’t singe my nostrils. When I open my mouth, it floods my tongue anyway, coats it like a thick, sickly slime that I can’t swallow down without choking on it.
All I can do is sit in the damn chair and watch the carnage playing out in front of me like a macabre theater.Another man falls, but he’s not an actor. Even across the massive expanse, I see a dark stain seeping out from underneath of him.
This isn’t some stupid play; this is real.
I breathe out a sigh of relief when I spot the patch on his vest. He’s not one of Steel’s men. I hate that I can be so cold. I hate that any of this is happening.
I blink hard again, willing away the tears pricking the backs of my eyelids. I can’t cry. I won’t cry. I have to be strong. I have to make it through this, to be a warrior. I’m not the one fighting and dying. These men are losing their lives because of a man who is, by genetics, my father.
As if my mind has the power to conjure him, I feel the cool metal butt of a gun at my temple, just as Steel breaks away from the cesspool of butchery and starts pacing across the warehouse, coming for me. The look on his face furious as he sees my father pointing his gun at my head.
Steel stops a few feet from my chair. His eyes don’t meet mine, and I know that to look at me would be his undoing. It would send him spiraling down into a pit of rage.
I stare at his hands, hands that have touched me, hands that have brought me the greatest pleasures, and taught me what it means to be wanted, needed, loved. Those beautiful hands are stained with blood.
“Steel. What kind of stupid name is that anyway?” my father spits out. Not realizing his time has come. “You think you’re untouchable, that this bullet won’t explode your waste of a head just like it would the next man’s?”
Steel snarls. “Nope. I know for a fact bullets work on me. Taken a few before. I’m also sure that you don’t knowhow to use that thing. You should put it down before you hurt yourself, old man, and we can talk.”
My father keeps the gun pressed against my head. I hold my breath until my lungs burn. I want to close my eyes, to tear them away from what my father is going to do to the man I love, the man who means more to me than anything in the world, but I can’t look away. The violence about to unfold holds me captive, just like the ropes binding me to the chair.
Then I feel the gun shift as my father steps forward. No longer pointing the gun at me, he has it trained on Steel. “You don’t get to give orders. You’ve been a thorn in my side, the mighty fucking Steel who thinks he runs this town. Fucking biker trash.”
Steel rolls his eyes like he is bored. “Keep saying my name like that, and you’re going to piss me off more. You know, I almost pity you, Harris. You have everything—money, power, a thriving business, family—but none of it means anything to you. You’re too blinded by your greed and too high on your own power to see what’s in front of your fucking face.”
My father hisses, and all I can do is watch helplessly as he takes a step away from me and his arm extends. He holds the gun perfectly still, as cold and calculated as he has ever been, as everything he’s ever done in his life.
The noise of the gun going off a foot away from me is deafening. It rings through the warehouse, splitting my ears. A shrill wail resounds after, a noise like the wrath of a wailing ghost, drenched in blood and murder.
I realize the noise is coming from me. I’m screaming, and I can’t stop.
Steel stumbles and falls to his knees, a patch of blood spreading out over his shirt.
“Oh God no!” I wail while my father turns to me. I want to believe that there’s a flicker of regret in his eyes. Just a glimmer, mixed with the satisfaction I see. I want to. Because, despite everything, he’s still my father. I want to see it. But it just isn’t there. There is absolutely no remorse.
“See? Said I didn’t know how to use it. Wrong again, you piece of shit, scum, lowly fu—”
A second blast rocks the warehouse, cutting through the tense silence. I turn my head just in time, and it is as if life has slowed down completely, to the point where I can almost track the trajectory of the shot. My father’s body jerks beside me as the bullet slams into him, catching him right in the middle of the chest. He doesn’t stumble or take a knee like Steel. Instead, his eyes open wide and a thin trail of frothy spittle streams from his parted lips.
Then, his body collapses in on itself, and he sways once before he crumples, only a foot away from me. I let out a sound that isn’t human when I stare into his sightless eyes. A pool of blood spreads from under his corpse.
“I figured you didn’t need to hear his whole damn speech,” Edge says as he strides forward, followed by the rest of his brothers. He reaches me first, blocking the view of my father’s motionless form. “Sorry I couldn’t do it sooner. Couldn’t risk hitting you. Fucker moved away when he shot. Left himself wide open. You can thank me later.”
“Steel,” I barely manage to say.
I draw a shuddering breath. I need to see him. I need to hold him, even if it’s for the last time. Even if he can’t feel me doing it, can’t hear me, even if he’s already gone, I need to say goodbye.
“Right here, darlin’.”
My head jerks upright. He is there, eyes shining down at me, his hand on his shoulder, not his chest. Blood flows between his fingers and drips onto the floorboards.
“Steel? Oh my god, Steel!” I lean into him, which is all I can do because I am still tied to the fucking chair.
He wraps his good arm around me and holds me close, lets me bury my head in his shoulder and sob. “It’s gonna take more than a fucking bullet to keep me down. To keep me from you.”
