Page 62 of Golden Atonement

“No.”

“Yes,” I growled. “And that’s a fucking order.”

Growling, Sandman ducked his head against his arms, behaving like a small child who had just been chastised. With any other man, I would tell the mute fucker to grow some goddamned balls, but Sandman wasn’t like anyone else. He was something totally different and unique, and the faster I got him home to Sunny, the faster she could fix him.

A noise caught my attention, and I turned and watched Layla walk out the front doors of the Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse. She smiled into the darkness that surrounded her.

The look on her face said it all.

She had done it.

She had killed George Stone.

What she didn’t see was the Soulless Sinner who lurked in the shadows behind her.

“Reaper.”

“I see him,” I sneered. I didn’t think when I reached for my blade, throwing it as I yelled, “Drop!”

Doing so immediately, I watched my blade glide past Layla’s face and easily slide into the Soulless Sinner.

I didn’t know who he was.

I didn’t care.

Repercussions be damned.

I would think about that shit tomorrow.

Right now, I needed to get Sandman home.

Walking toward the dead man, I saw the gun in his hands as blood bubbled out of his mouth.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Gripping the hilt of my sword, I yanked hard, removing my blade as his now lifeless body fell to the ground.

Turning toward Layla, I said nothing as I walked back into the darkness to find Sandman shaking his head.

“No more. No more. No more.”

“Alright, brother. No more,” I murmured, sheathing my blade before reaching down to help him to his feet. With my arm around him, I called the only person I knew who could get us the fuck out of this state and home fast as we stumbled toward the nearest busy street.

“Yeah.”

“Need a flight. Tonight.”

“Reaper?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Sypher. Get me and Sandman the fuck out of here fast,” I ordered, flagging down a cab.

“How fast can you get to JFK?”

“On our way now.” I grunted, shoving Sandman in the back seat before climbing in after him.

“Head to hangar twelve at JFK. There will be a plane waiting for you.”

“Head to JFK,” I firmly said looking at the cabbie before asking, “My wife?”

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