Her green eyes flare, her glossy lips part, and the stunned expression leaves her as vulnerable as ever. I could kill her right here, right now, with my bare hands. Squeeze the life out of her slender neck while she kicks and screams for me to stop.
But I won’t do that. Not yet, at least.
I’ve got a score to settle first, information to uncover, and this little demon is going to provide me with the help I need, whether she likes it or not.
Her hair is brown now, so I tilt my head to assess her. She’s using it to hide; it’s clear to see, and that thought pisses me off all the more.
She thought she could hide from me. From the Unholy. Hell, she actually did a pretty good job of it. Hunter has spent weeks attempting to track her down, which makes me wonder who the hell she is and who is helping her, and why?
The dark hair suits her, I’ll give her that. She doesn’t quite look as sweet and wholesome anymore, and my cock is fully on board with it. She has a nose ring that I long totoy with, and I can’t help but wonder if she has anything else pierced.
The way she sneers at me when my hands ball into fists to stop me from wringing the life out of her has my pulse rushing through my body.
Stay calm, Killa. Stay fucking calm.Don’t do a damn thing. Not yet.
She cuts around me, and I remain frozen, staring at the very spot she just left.
I have no idea how long I stand there, paralyzed, replaying her perfect, deceitful face in my mind.
“Yo, Killa. You comin’?” Raider, one of our enforcers, bellows from behind me, pulling me from my thoughts.
I spin on my boots, and they squeak against the linoleum as I stride toward my brothers waiting by the door.
Warrior sparks up as soon as we head outside toward our bikes. He eyes me as if searching for something. “You good?”
“No,” I state, throwing my leg over my hog; a Harley Sportster XL1200L.
“You look like you saw a ghost.”
“She ain’t one yet, but she will be soon,” I grunt, and start up my hog. The feeling of being alive roars through me with the vibrations of my baby.
“Vengeance is coming, and it’s going to be fucking beautiful.” I smile at my brother manically. “I’m coming for you, Little Demon.”
KILLA
I glance around the table in church. This is where I feel at peace, a unity among men, a brotherhood once created in blood, now forged in loyalty. Each one of us has dedicated our lives to our club, and it makes me damn proud to sit around the table with the other club officers.
Our prez, Savage, sits at the head of the table, twirling the gavel in his hand. Not only is he a damn good leader and brother, but he’s also my cousin. We have Unholy blood running through our veins, born into this life through no choice of our own, but we remain in it, creating a legacy to be proud of.
When our fathers passed, we were fortunate enough to be men with a new purpose in mind for the club. Gonewere the days of the old MC where ol’ ladies were ill-treated and abuse was rife within the club. Savage created his own bylaws, creating stronger morals than the bullshit ones we endured growing up.
Stella, Savage’s sister, stuck with us, and so did our cousins, Dagger and Malice, each of whom was born in the Unholy world to complete and utter bastard fathers no better than our enemies, the Vipers.
The clicking from Hunter’s laptop pulls me from my thoughts, and I quickly descend into my usual trail of thinking. Does he have news for us today?
For months now, every time I come into church, I stare at the back of Hunter’s laptop, hoping and praying with every fiber of my being that he has some answers for us.
Since the day we received a tip-off from the O’Connells—a prominent Mafia family in New Jersey—I’ve hoped some of the questions would finally be solved.
My mind wanders back to that very day that changed my life.
My ass barely touches the seat before Savage slams the gavel down on the table. “Got some important shit to deal with, so shut the fuck up,” he barks, and points toward Hunter.
Hunter pushes his chair back and stands. It’s only now I realize we have a television in the room, sitting on a cabinet that doesn’t belong here. He drags it closer while our dumbasses remain seated, all probably as shocked as the next that something different is happening.
Not one of us stands to offer to help him, so he swipes the beads of sweat from his forehead and glares back at us. “You lazy fuckers,” he grumbles, which makes me chuckle.
He takes his seat again and clicks on that damn laptop of his, and when he does, the television comes to life.
