Page 70 of Massacre
“Where is he?” My voice was small, almost lost.
“In recovery. He’s not out of the woods yet, but your mother and father made damn sure he got another chance,” Reaper replied, his voice rough but certain. “We’ve got to be ready, Amber. This shit show isn’t over yet.”
The hospital’s buzz faded to a dull hum. I nodded, wiping my face. Somewhere beyond these walls, life was starting again, fragile and uncertain, but burning stubbornly bright.
I took a shaky breath, letting the weight of the moment steady me. There was so much left unsaid, so much to fight for.
And this time, I wasn’t alone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Massacre
“I said no!” I roared, looking at Reaper and the others. “Not gonna happen. No fucking way. Over my dead body and you can’t make me. Not this time!”
“Yell like that again and the dead part can be arranged,” Reaper threatened.
“Listen up, Dwayne,” my brother Reggie snapped. “The underworld thinks you’re dead. Dead. D.E.A.D.”
“I know how to fucking spell it, Reggie,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest as the fucker smirked before adding, “Just making sure. Anyway, like I was saying, that motherfucker, Yuri, has already spread the word about your demise. Fucker even took pictures of you hanging in that warehouse as proof.”
“We can use that to our advantage if you fucking do as we ask.”
“Ain’t hiding like some pussy,” I muttered mulishly. I got what they were saying, but they weren’t hearing the words coming out of my mouth. I wanted to find that motherfucker and empty my fucking clip into him. Then borrow another gun and empty that one too. I wanted that motherfucker filled with so many goddamn holes he looked like fucking Swiss cheese.
Reaper snorted; the sound was half amusement, half warning. “Swiss cheese ain’t much use to us. If you wanna be the guy who brings down Yuri for good, you gotta play a corpse, Dwayne.”
“Shit. Sorry, boss. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“No worries, brother.” He grinned. “We all want that fucker dead, but you gotta work with us here. We almost lost you. Val said you were dead when she managed to get you down and that rope off you. She administered CPR for close to an hour until help arrived. Even then, Bane said you flatlined on the table three times from blood loss, not to mention all the other shit that fucker did to you. You’ve been recuperating in that bed now for almost two weeks, and in that time, shit’s gone down. Bane is still with the Brotherhood; Montana is losing his shit and threatening all-out fucking war unless Bane is returned. Val has disappeared. No one knows where the fuck she went. The shit with the Death Dogs is getting bad, and to make matters worse, no one, and I mean not one fucking brother, has seen or heard from Ravage.”
“I told you,” Bullseye grumbled from the corner. “You won’t until the fucker is dead.”
“Yeah, well,” Reaper snapped at the man. “He could at least call in and tell someone he’s alive!”
Digger chuckled. “Oh, he’s alive. It’s when he calls that we’ll know shit’s hit the fan. Trust us, Reaper. You don’t want him calling.”
“What the hell are you two doing here anyway?” I asked, confused as Digger’s smile faded and Reaper slowly shook his head. “What? What happened now? Is Stella okay?”
“She’s fine,” Reaper spoke up first, glaring at Digger. “Let’s just say that information has recently come to light and has caused a minor issue with the Silver Shadows, but it’s nothing King can’t handle.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“Nope.” Reaper shook his head. “Now, back to the matter at hand. I’m done asking. Mass, I’m ordering you to play dead.”
“For how long?”
“Until I say so!” the bossman snapped, pointing his finger at me. “I mean it, Massacre. You will behave. You will not draw attention to yourself. You will lie low and stay the fuck out of trouble because so help me God. If you fuck this up, you are going to wish you really died in that fucking warehouse. Got me?”
I nodded.
“Say the fucking words, Massacre.”
“Yeah. I got you.”
Reaper stared at me for a moment longer, making sure his command stuck. The room felt heavier, almost as if the air was charged with all the things unsaid. Digger had lost his smile, eyes flicking nervously between us, as if waiting for someone to challenge the decision—but there was nothing left to argue.
Orders were orders.
