Page 28 of Choices

“If you don’t,” I add, “I’ll take a blade to your bitch and cut her up real slow while I make you watch then I’ll fuck your ass with the same knife.”

The sheet begins to shake with Wynona’s sobs. Eric’s lips part, his teeth clattering against the barrel. The smell of piss punctures the air as it drips down his leg, puddling at his feet and soaking into his socks. I pull the trigger, the sound cracking like lightening through the room. The back of his head paints the wall and ceiling, dropping down like red rain in pitter-patters to the floor. Before his body even hits the ground, I turn the gun on Wynona. She screams into her hands, and Callan grabs a pillow, placing it over her head. I pull the trigger, putting a bullet through it, and her body stills.

Releasing the pillow, Callan stares down at the hole and the feathers surrounding it, his face screwed into a grimace. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

I place the gun in Eric’s hand then step around his body, careful not to leave any footprints in the brain matter and piss.

Following Callan through the apartment, I stop at the kitchen and grab a plastic bag.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking the fish.”

“Cutter, don’t be fucking crazy.”

“The cops will think Eric flushed it.” I push the bag into the bowl and let the water pour in, sucking the fish in with it. “Got it.”

“Well done. You’re a fish hero,” he mocks. “Can we get the fuck outta here now? Someone could have heard the gun shots.”

We spill out of the apartment, checking our surroundings. It’s like everyone vanished off the face of the earth, allowing the monsters to roam freely. Keeping to the shadows, we jog back to our bikes, stripping out of our hoodies. I chuck mine at Callan and take my cut from him, pulling it on, finding comfort in the weight of the leather over my shoulders. I fix my helmet in place and stash the fish in my saddlebag while Callan stuffs the hoodies in his. Cocking my leg over my bike, I bring her to life and tail Callan home.

The rumble of our engines echoes through the night like rolling thunder as we pull into the compound. As we park, a couple brothers greet us as they head out on a run. “Early one?” Callan asks, detaching his saddlebag.

“Early bird catches the worm.” Dodger waggles his brows, and Podge’s throaty laugh makes him cough. “We have a pickup at Dolls and Poles.”

“Don’t let any of those bitches play with your worm or the only thing you’ll be picking up is the clap.” I shudder, taking the fish from my bag.

“Worth it,” Dodger howls, climbing onto his bike.

“I’ll deal with these and update my old man,” Callan informs me, taking off before he even finishes his sentence.

Dodger and Podge rev their engines and cruise past me with a salute. “Have fun, you dirty bastards,” I call out.

Heading inside, the club is quiet aside from the soft thrumming of music and groans of pleasure coming from an open bedroom door.

I’ve seen way too much of Green’s ass for a lifetime.

My boots pound the route to Kitty’s room, and I knock this time, waiting the few seconds it takes for her to open the door. She’s a light sleeper—unless she pounds beers all night, then she sleeps like the dead, mouth agape, dribble on her chin. And fuck me if it still didn’t turn me on. “No,” she says, swinging the door open and immediately pushing it back. I put my boot in the space, preventing her from closing it fully.

“Fuck off, Cutter. No, you’re not doing this to me again.” Her voice is deep with sleep, stroking over me like unraveling silk. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?” I fucking know what but I want to hear her say it.

“Make me so drunk on you that I forget all the ways you hurt me.” Fuck, that’s not what I thought she was going to say. “If I let you in, are you going to stay?”

“No.” I didn’t come here for this and don’t like the pressure weighing down my chest at her words, at her pained features. Fuck, this was a bad idea.

“You have to stop making a fool out of me.”

“You’re not a fool.”I am.

“Yes, I am.” She squeezes her eyes closed. When they open, torment shines back at me. “I’m a fool begging a man who doesn’t want me to choose me. Love me.” She swallows, her cheeks flushing bright pink.

Just say it. I want to tell her I love her more than I’ve ever loved anyone—anything. That I want to punch a fist through my chest to stop it from aching to be close to her. That I know her scent, her taste, the map of her body, sound of her voice, her laughter, her soft moans when she comes, the gasps of breath that escape her when I thrust inside.

My breath comes in heavy pants. I stare at her, the words on the tip of my tongue, not finding sound.

My silence burns everything between us. Soot fills my mouth. “Take this,” I say, shoving the bag with the fish darting around inside at her.

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