Page 3 of Dagger

Where was the honor in that?

My skin felt too tight to contain my blood and bones. Everything seemed jarring; the lights shone too bright and the sounds were too loud.

The past years reared up before me, along with all the love, loss, and so much needless heartache.

A sharp pain gripped my chest, and I roared, desperate to get it out of me.

My feet carried me into the bar where Cash, Abe, and Atlas were waiting. I rested a hand on the countertop, leaped over, and grabbed the baseball bat we stored there before jumping back over.

“Fuck!” Atlas muttered. “You’re not smashing the bar up again. We’ve only just replaced the bottles you decimated last time.”

“Dad, what the fuck’s goin’ on?” Cash demanded.

“Dagger,” Abe snapped, taking in my rage-filled expression. “Keep it together.”

I pointed the bat at Abe. “You knew somethin’ wasn’t right. I remember your exact words. You said not to lose sight of the fact she loved me, and that there was more to the story.”

Pity filled Abe’s eyes. “I was right?”

“Yeah,” I said flatly, lip curling. “You were. I let her down, Abe. Threw her to the fuckin’ wolves.”

“Shit,” he murmured.

“What did she say?” Atlas asked, eyeing the bat in my hand. “What the fuck’s goin’ on? How does it affect my Sophie?”

“Sophie’s mine,” I croaked.

“Jesus,” Cash breathed. “Think we need a family meetin’.” He jerked his chin toward my hand. “What ya doin’ with that?”

“I’m gonna fuck shit up.” Turning, I stalked for the doors and burst into the parking lot, heading straight for the garage. My dad wasn’t here, so I couldn’t batter his thick, mean skull, but I could take my anger out on the next best thing, or at least the only things I had left of him.

Two Harleys were parked at the back of the garage. I’d kept them, biding my time before I restored them for my two eldestgrandsons, Kai and Wilder. Except now, the thought of pure goodness sitting astride Bandit’s filth burned through my gut.

I ran at them, pulling back the bat with a roar before smashing it across the front of the nearest bike.

The sound of shattering glass tinkled loudly as the headlight exploded. Chest burning, I pulled back again and crashed the bat down, satisfaction coursing through me as the metal of the gas tank contorted under the force of my strike.

A loud “Whoa!” came from the doors, along with the sounds of scuffling.

I swung the bat against the spring seat, watching it fly off and hit the back wall. Then, I brought my leg up and stomped the side of the wheel, buckling it then watching as the motorcycle teetered on its kickstand before toppling over with a loud crash.

I brought my boot down on it repeatedly, grunting with all my pent-up frustration, kicking the metal over and again until it became a mangled mess on the floor.

Over the next five minutes, I turned my rage onto the second bike. I smashed into that motorcycle so savagely that every part of it was crushed or bent out of shape, worse than the first one. Over and over again, I channeled my rage until, eventually, the bat splintered down the middle.

My breath sawed in and out, and I stood, staring with my eyes fixated on the fucked-up remains of everything my dad cherished.

Bandit Stone was a bastard, alright; I’d never seen him in any other light, but I’d always believed he had my best interests at heart. Coming to terms with the fact that the only interests he’d served were his own and the club’s cut me down to the bone. He was a self-serving cunt, and knowing how he’d fucked Elise over made my heart bleed for her, for us, and for what could’ve been.

But then, was I any better?

“Alright, everyone out,” Abe’s voice ordered from the doorway.

“What the fuck’s goin’ on?” Bowie cried.

“Dad’s just lost his shit,” Cash said disbelievingly. “Grandpa’s bikes are mangled.”

“Jesus,” Bowie exclaimed.

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