Page 23 of Dark Savior

I nodded. “I’ll make it up to you as soon as I’m home,” I promised as I released her hair so she could stand from her bar stool. She left her beer bottle where it was, knowing one of the hang-arounds would clean it up for her.

“You better. I’m holding you to it.”

I chuckled and led her down the hall to my room, already picturing all the ways I’d make it up to her. Penetration may be off the table while she recovered from her hysterectomy, but I knew many other ways to please my woman.

TWO WEEKS LATER

None of us expected the run to last this long. Someone had spooked the Souls of Grim, and they’d gone underground, which meant we had to sit and wait. I refused to turn back around, and Drake didn’t want to either. Besides, the Souls of Grim hadn’t had enough time to run—only hide. Eventually, someone had to slip up.

So, we waited them out. Kept to ourselves. And when we found one, we tortured him to get the location of the others.

From there, it’d been chaos. Bloodshed. Chopped off fingers, which I’d put on ice in a small cooler to bring home to Rachel. To prove to her that they couldn’t touch her again. That I’d done what I’d swore to her I would do—make them fucking pay.

The last one to die had been the president, and that was only because I needed to know what his obsession with my woman was.

I carved out the fingernail on his index finger, listening to him scream and gag, though his stomach was already empty from me cutting Rachel’s initials into his chest. He’d vomited so damn much, my own stomach had rolled, and not much affected me anymore. But fuck, his vomit stunk.

“Tell me what you want with Rachel,” I demanded.

He sneered at me as I dropped his fingernail to the floor. “Fuck… you,” he panted.

I grunted. “You’re not my type. I prefer pussy.” I grabbed his middle finger. “Tell me what I want to know, or this one’s next.”

He spat at me, and it landed on my cut. I grimaced before pushing my knife under his nail. He screamed, sweat running down his face. “Wait! Wait!” he yelled. I paused, arching a brow at him. He dry-heaved for a moment. “Her grandfather—he borrowed money from me. He owed me,” he panted. “And the son of a bitch couldn’t pay up, so Rachel was going to be my payment.”

I yanked the knife from under his nail bed, making him screech, before I pressed the tip of the knife to his throat. “Wrong fucking move,” I growled. “She’s mine. Always has been mine, even when she didn’t goddamn know it.”

I shoved the knife into his neck before yanking it back out and stepping back, watching his blood leak down his neck and the life slowly drain from his eyes. I swiped my knife on my jeans before shoving it back into my belt and walking away.

“I want his fingers,” I told Drake as I passed him so he could relay the message to the guy who’d been collecting them. Then, I headed out of the basement, nodding once at Carter. “When they’re done, light this place on fire, and let’s get the fuck home. I have gifts to deliver.”

I slowed to a stop outside of the clubhouse gates, waiting for one of Drake’s men to slide it open so we could make it through. Once we were all in the gate, it was slid shut again and locked. I blinked in surprise at the sight of Raymond sitting at one of the picnic tables, Gretchen beside him.

Raymond looked like he hadn’t just spent the past few weeks laid up in a hospital bed. He looked a bit older than I remembered, but still looked steady and strong. Honestly, it pissed me off a bit. He might be the original president, but fuck him for what he’d brought on Rachel. Fuck him for the heat he’d put on this club.

“When’d your granddad get out of the hospital?” I asked Carter when he stopped beside me.

He shook his head, looking as confused as I felt. “I don’t know.”

We slid off our bikes, both of us heading for the clubhouse. Gretchen looked at her son, a scowl on her face. “Do something with your little sister,” she snapped. “She’s being a bitch.”

I tensed, ready to defend her because fuck her, too, but Carter opened his mouth before I could say something that would no doubt land a heap of shit on my back.

Carter rolled his eyes. “She’s not my problem.” He jabbed his thumb at me. “She’s his problem now.”

She looked at me, still scowling and looking downright pissy. “Do something with her.”

I sighed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I was fucking tired; I didn’t want to deal with this shit.

“If she’s in a foul mood, she probably has every right to be,” I told her calmly. “You and your husband never give her space. Why do you think she left to go live with him—” I pointed at Raymond— “in the first place?”

Raymond just huskily chuckled.

She launched to her feet, but I looked at Raymond, not even giving her a chance to speak. “And you,” I snapped. His laughter stopped immediately. “Do you know what she’s fucking lost because of you? Do you know what the fuck she’s had to goddamn endure because of you and your stupid fucking decisions? If you needed money, you should have turned to the fucking club. To family. You turned to the enemy. If any of us had done that, we’d be dead.”

He kept his mouth shut because he knew this was all his goddamn fault, and he knew I was right.

I looked at Carter. “He goes, or I go. One or the fucking other, brother. Because I will not allow Rachel to live anywhere near where he is. I’ll black out the ink on my fucking back for her. Because of his shit decisions, she lost things she’ll never get back.”