Page 96 of Disturbed Lucidity

“You sure about that?” I stated jumping to my feet as Malice moved fast when Gunny rushed in from the back, heading straight for Ivy.

“Shit!” Montana shouted, quickly moving to intercept the big guy as I shoved a table out of my way to get to Ivy. Of course, I should have known that my woman was more than capable of taking care of herself because the second Malice reached for Gunny, Ivy pushed the old man away and didn’t hesitate to grab Malice’s arm, using his weight, she pole-vaulted herself up and around his shoulders, using her legs to twist herself around before bringing her brother to the ground, her knife at his neck.

“No one touches Gunny,” she sneered, sliding her knife against Malice’s neck, drawing blood.

“Get the fuck off me,” her brother growled.

Pushing off him, Ivy stood, walking into Gunny’s arms.

Glaring at Montana, the man sighed. “Okay. Maybe three people.”

“I am not stitching up any more brothers,” Dr. Lansing clipped, walking into the room, wiping his hands with a rag when Ivy rushed over to him.

“Pyle?”

The doctor smiled at my woman. “He will live.”

Ivy threw herself into his arms, hugging him while I growled.

Releasing her, Gunny grabbed the back of her shirt, pulling her away from the doctor.

Turning to face me, the doc added, “You are down five brothers, Mr. Hawk. Pyle and ALF are the worst. They are going to be out of commission for weeks, if not months. ALF is the worst. A bullet nicked his aorta. If it wasn’t for the quick thinking of your prospect, ALF would have died before I could have even gotten to him. Pyle took a shot in the gut. The bullet fragmented and bounced around, causing quite a bit of damage. I had to remove his gallbladder and appendix. UTAH took a bullet to the left side. It was a through and through. KROD and TBAR only had superficial wounds that needed to be stitched. They should be fine by tomorrow. Your VP, Frost, took a bullet to his left leg. It nicked the femoral artery. He’s lucky to be alive. Razor, Puck and Pinball all have various gunshot wounds, but none are life threatening.”

“You forgot one, Doc,” I said, stepping forward. “Hannibal.”

Confused, the doc looked around the room before adding, “I didn’t work on anyone called Hannibal, Luc. Just those that were wounded when we arrived.”

“He’s right, Luc.” Saint stood. “Hannibal wasn’t one of the wounded.”

“Where the fuck is he, then?”

“He wasn’t there when I walked outside before the attack,” Ivy admitted, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. That motherfucker never left his spot. It was his job to guard the door. He was the first defense against any shit that came at us.

“Mouth?” I growled, turning to my bartender, who was already on his phone, walking away while he made a call.

I didn’t like where my head was going.

Not one fucking bit.

I didn’t like having the Soulless Sinners in the clubhouse.

There wasn’t a motorcycle club around that didn’t know about them or what they were about. If history was correct, and it generally was, the Soulless Sinners Motorcycle Club’s core objective was to adapt, eradicate, and absorb other clubs into their collective.

They’d been doing it since the club’s inception.

I knew what the former president of the Soulless Sinners tried to do to the Golden Skulls. Aligning himself with the son of an original founder, only to turn on him when shit went sideways.

They almost succeeded too, if not for Reaper’s determination.

Reaper was always the wild card.

No one could control him.

Not even his own club brothers.

To make matters worse, my son and his family were part of Golden Skulls, and, for now, my loyalty lay with the Skulls. However, if push came to shove, I wouldn’t think twice before ending all of them.

No one fucked with my family.

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