“Where’s Riggs?”I demand, the question coming out in a low hiss.
His eyes are already glazing, blood flecking his lips as he struggles to breathe through a punctured lung.“F-fuck you,” he manages to spit, warm droplets landing on my cheek.
I twist the knife again, watching pain contort his features.Not for pleasure—I take no joy in this—but for information.For Xavier.“Where?”
“Back…” he wheezes, eyes rolling as shock sets in.“Service entrance…”
I let him drop, the wet thud of his body hitting the floor barely registering as I’m already moving toward the hallway that leads to the rear of the clubhouse.My boots slide slightly on the blood-slicked floor as I round the corner, coming face to face with three more Reapers at the end of the corridor.
They raise their weapons in unison, but their surprise costs them precious milliseconds.I don’t hesitate.Two quick shots drop the first one, his forehead erupting in a spray of bone and brain matter.Then I’m charging the others, ducking low as they open fire.The confined space of the hallway amplifies the gunshots to a deafening roar, bullets punching holes in the wall behind me.
White-hot pain sears across my shoulder as a bullet grazes flesh, but the burning sensation only sharpens my focus.I slam into the second Reaper at full speed, driving him back into his companion with enough force to hear the crack of ribs.My knife finds his gut, the resistance of skin and muscle giving way as I rip upward with brutal efficiency.The coppery stench of perforated intestines fills the air as I kick him away, already turning toward the last man.
He backs up, eyes wide with terror as he fumbles to reload his empty weapon.The metallic click of his magazine releasing echoes in the sudden silence.My gun clicks empty at the same moment—no more bullets—but I don’t need them.The knife in my hand feels alive as I launch it with a flick of my wrist, years of training condensed into a single, fluid motion.
The blade spins once before burying itself in his chest with a meatythunk, the impact driving him back a step.His eyes drop to the handle protruding from his sternum, mouth working silently as understanding dawns.His knees buckle, body folding in on itself as he slides down the wall, leaving a smear of crimson in his wake.
I move forward, retrieving my knife with a sharp yank that sends fresh blood welling from the wound.I wipe the blade on his cut, the leather absorbing the worst of the gore before I continue down the hallway.
More gunfire erupts ahead, sharp, staccato pops coming from the direction of the service entrance.The sound sends ice through my veins despite the heat of combat.Xavier.The thought of him in danger, of these animals getting anywhere near him, sends fresh adrenaline surging through my system.I reload on the move, fingers working automatically to eject the spent magazine and slam a fresh one home while my mind races with possibilities, each worse than the last.
I round the corner to find two Reapers trying to break through a barricaded door, the safe room where we’d planned to shelter the women and children.One of them slams his shoulder against the reinforced wood while the other prepares what looks like a small explosive charge.Rage burns white-hot in my chest, consuming everything else.These fuckers came for our families.For children.
“Hey!”I shout, wanting them to see what’s coming.Wanting them to know exactly who’s sending them to hell.
They spin in unison, raising weapons, but they’re too slow, too sloppy in their surprise.I put a bullet through the first one’s eye, the back of his skull exploding outward as the round exits.His head snaps back, a fine red mist hanging in the air as his body crumples.
The second gets off a shot that tears through my right side, hot pain blooming like a flower opening its petals.The impact staggers me momentarily, but rage carries me forward as I close the distance between us.I tackle him to the ground, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh as my weight drives him into the floor.I straddle his chest, pinning his arms with my knees as I drive my knife into his throat, then drag it sideways with savage precision.
His body bucks beneath me, a final desperate attempt at survival as blood pulses over my hands in time with his fading heartbeat.The warmth of it seeps through my jeans, adding to the sticky mess already covering me from previous kills.I push myself to my feet, scanning for the next threat, the next target.
The pain in my side sharpens as adrenaline ebbs slightly, reality asserting itself through the combat haze.I press my hand against the wound, feeling warm wetness seep between my fingers and soak the fabric of my shirt.Not fatal—the bullet passed through clean—but I’m leaving a bloody trail now.Doesn’t matter.I need to find Xavier.Need to find Riggs and end this once and for all.
More shouts from ahead, and a voice I recognize cuts through the chaos.Grey.He’s alive, still fighting.The knowledge steadies me as I follow the sounds, moving more cautiously now as blood loss begins to make itself known.My vision tunnels slightly at the edges, details blurring as my body redirects resources to vital functions.I focus on my breathing, on the next step, forcing clarity through sheer willpower.
Two more Reapers appear at the intersection ahead, moving away from me, unaware of the death at their backs.Their cuts are spattered with blood—whose, I can’t tell, but the thought that it might be Xavier’s sends another surge of murderous intent through my system.I raise my gun, arm steady despite the growing weakness in my limbs, and squeeze the trigger twice.The first shot catches the taller one at the base of his skull, dropping him instantly.The second hits his companion between the shoulder blades, the impact driving him face-first into the wall before he slides to the ground.
No wasted movement.No hesitation.
The service entrance looms ahead, door hanging off its hinges, morning light spilling through in pale shafts that illuminate dust and gun smoke still hanging in the air.Beyond it, in the weak dawn glow, I see him.Riggs, the Reapers’ president, barking orders as his men fall back toward waiting bikes.His gray-streaked beard is speckled with blood, his cut torn at the shoulder where someone got a piece of him.The attack is failing.They’re retreating.
Not this time.Not after what they’ve done.
I step through the shattered doorway, gun raised, ignoring the wet warmth still spreading across my side.“Riggs!”
He turns at the sound of his name, surprise flashing across his weathered face before a cruel smile replaces it.His eyes, cold and calculating, take in my blood-soaked appearance, lingering on the hand pressed to my side.
“Slaughter,” he says, voice like gravel being crushed.“Just the man I came to see.”
“You shouldn’t have come to my home,” I tell him, advancing slowly, each step requiring more concentration than the last.“Shouldn’t have threatened what’s mine.”
He laughs, the sound grating like metal on stone.“And what are you going to do about it?You’re bleeding out, enforcer.I can see it in your eyes.”
Maybe he’s right.The edges of my vision are definitely darker now, details blurring together as blood loss takes its toll.My limbs feel heavier with each passing second, movements requiring conscious effort where before they were automatic.But it doesn’t matter.Nothing matters except making sure he never threatens Xavier or my family again.
“I’ve got enough left to end you,” I promise, raising my gun to center mass.
Movement flickers in my peripheral vision, a blur of leather and steel approaching on my blind side.One of his lieutenants, coming up to flank me while Riggs keeps me talking.I pivot, firing instinctively, the motion sending fresh pain lancing through my wounded side.My bullet catches the lieutenant in the chest, the impact lifting him off his feet before he crumples to the ground.
