What would I be if I killed her?
Because that was what it would take now.
Her death. Her blood. All of it on my hands. For my club. For my brothers.
We stared at one another silently for several minutes, me coming to terms with what I now had to do because of my fuckup, and her realizing the repercussions of my mistake.
I grabbed a T-shirt from the floor and threw it at her. “Get dressed.” And then I was storming from the room and locking the door behind me. I headed back to my own room, flicking the switch so I could watch her get dressed. So I could see those perfect tits one last fucking time.
My cell was on the table next to my weed, and I rolled a joint and lit it as I contemplated what I would do to her. How I would end her life. I lit the joint and inhaled deeply, needing the calm effect to wash over me. My cell flashed with a message and I opened the phone and read it.
IT DONE YET?
It was Hardy. Motherfucker needed to give me some time.
I was a man, not a machine.
Wasn’t I?
Wasn’t I?
ALMOST, I replied.
I glared as his reply came through.
ALMOST AIN’T GOOD ENOUGH. GET IT FUCKING DONE. HER DADDY NEEDS TO KNOW NOT TO FUCK WITH OTHER CLUBS OR EVERYONE HE LOVES WILL PAY.
Jesus fucking Christ, he was ranting like a motherfucker, just to top my crappy fuckin’ day off.
THAT BITCH BETTER BE HURTING AND CRYING TO DADDY WHEN YOU’RE DONE WITH HER.
I snarled as his words continued to tumble onto the screen.
MAKE HER WEEP AND BLEED. I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU DO. JUST GET IT THE FUCK DONE. LESSONS NEED TO BE TAUGHT.
I dragged a hand down my face. My body was aching and sore from my crash, bruises had formed all over my arms and legs, the side of my chest was practically purple with road rash burning up one side of me, yet his words, the realization of what had to be done was more painful than any of my wounds.
I slammed my phone down on the table, the screen cracking with the force. I was still naked, joint hanging from my lips, dick limp between my thighs, and a burning rage running wild inside me. Hurt her? I had to kill her. She knew which club was responsible now. She’d fuck everything up. Her daddy would kill every single one of my brothers, and me. He’d burn our fucking club to the ground Or at least try.
This would mean war. Plain and simple. And I wasn’t about to put my family in that position.
I had no choice.
Putting my joint in the overflowing ashtray, I reached over to my cut hanging on the back of my chair and pulled out my knife from the inside pocket. I thought about getting dressed, but decided it would be easier naked; there’d be less evidence and I could shower her blood off of me, so fuck it. Then the whole house could burn. I took one more glance at her on the camera. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her T-shirt on and her long hair swept over one shoulder as she stared at the door.
She was waiting for me.
She knew what was coming.
And fuck me if I hated that most of all.
I stalked across the hallway, the blade in my hand and an ache in my chest.
The key was still in the lock and I turned it before pushing the door open. Her head was bowed, chin to chest, but she looked up when the door opened, her eyes flitting between me and the knife. I wanted her to scream and cry, to beg for me not to hurt her, to try to give me reasons why I shouldn’t. But all she gave me was the golden glow of her eyes searing into my soul as she raised her chin and stood up.
We stared at one another, her a broken daddy’s girl wanting nothing more than to run from her responsibilities as a daughter and princess of her club and to have a life which was her own, and me, an evil madman wanting nothing more than to chase her every step of the way.
My expression may have been impassive, but that did nothing to hide the hate for this which was swallowing me whole. Devouring me like a demon devoured a virgin bride.
