Page 11 of Massacre
King leaned forward in his chair and grinned. “And whatexactlydid Reaper tell you to do, Massacre?”
Yeah, I take it back. King was smarter than he looked.
“And before you answer my question, Massacre, just remember, I have a Jackass, so I know all the tricks.” A few of the brothers chuckled at that as the one called Jackass frowned.
Saying absolutely nothing, I kept my eyes on the threat as I stared at the man. This wasn’t my first rodeo, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be my last. Nope, I wasn’t saying shit, and if King was as smart as he claimed, he knew I wouldn’t either.
There were clear, deliberate set rules in the biker world. It was those rules I lived by, and just because King was a Prez, he wasn’t my Prez; therefore, I didn’t have to tell him shit. If there was one thing I knew about bikers, it was that silence could be just as loud as a shotgun.
King met my stare with a wolfish grin as he tapped his fingers on the scarred wood of the desk, waiting for me to blink.
I didn’t.
Time stretched—maybe only seconds, but it felt like years of my life ticked away as I counted out in the low hum of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter from somewhere deeper in the clubhouse.
Finally, Sypher broke the tension and muttered something about stubborn men. The kid’s nerves were shot, but I’d seenhim under fire—he’d hold. King, for his part, just kept grinning like the Devil who already knew all my secrets and didn’t mind waiting for me to confess.
But I wasn’t gonna spill shit.
Not today. Not ever, and especially not with so many ears pressed to thin walls. In the biker world, I learned to trust certain players, not the rules. And if that player wasn’t wearing a Golden patch, then they were the enemy until I was told otherwise.
At last, the moment passed as King leaned back, a satisfied gleam in his eye that unsettled me more than any threat could.
He wouldn’t push—yet. He liked the hunt.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“Not leaving without her.”
King’s eyes narrowed as all the brothers stiffened in their seats. That told me exactly what I wanted to know. She meant something to someone in this fucking club. “She stays here.”
“Not without her consent,” I challenged, daring him to say otherwise.
Cash placed his hand on King’s shoulder, halting him as the big man went to stand. The fucker smirked and said, “Haizley said it was you who rescued her in Louisiana. Is that right?”
I kept my expression flat. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
A tense silence settled over the room. No one moved. All eyes flicked from me to Cash and back again. The truth buzzed beneath the surface, sharp as broken glass in a whiskey bottle. I could feel old, long forgotten memories clawing for daylight—the ones whispered in the night, the ones they wanted confirmed.
King’s mouth curled into that half-smile, predatory and lazy all at once. “You sure you wanna stick with that answer?” heasked. “Funny thing about silence—sometimes it has a way of bleeding into the open, no matter how hard you try to forget.”
I swallowed hard, refusing to give ground. “You want answers, you ask Bethany. I don’t owe you anything.”
Romeo growled, “Her name is Amber, asshole.”
I slowly turned and growled at the fucker. “Why are you even here, asshole? You’re not a fucking officer.”
“I’m her friend.”
I smirked, slowly shaking my head as I glared at the soon-to-be-dead man. “So, you’re the one fucking her.”
King immediately ordered. “Don’t answer that, Romeo,” then turned to me and sneered. “She goes by Amber now and no one is forcing her to stay here. She is family to us. A sister.”
I said nothing as the tension in the room rose exponentially.
No one breathed. I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears, a half-second too fast, as if my body braced for the blow before it landed. King’s gaze pinned me, unblinking. Somewhere behind him, Cash flexed his fingers—a reflexive motion, as if he was weighing the odds of violence or words. With each second, the air thickened, heavy with words everyone refused to speak. A bead of sweat slid down my spine, but I kept my posture loose, my jaw set. The room felt like a loaded gun—waiting for someone, anyone, to pull the trigger when Sypher spoke, trying to ease the tension. “Mass, she’s safe here. The Silver Shadows have been protecting her.”
“SHE’S BLACK AND BLUE!” I roared, slamming my hand on the table as I jumped to my feet. “She wanted nothing to do with the clubs. I promised her she would be safe! Protecting her?” I scoffed. “Go look at her, Sypher. She’s worse than when I left her. This fucking pussy club couldn’t protect a fucking paperclip!”
