Page 9 of Massacre
Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, a fleeting emotion that vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Words,” she spat, the bitterness of her tone cutting through the room like a blade. “That’s all they are. Words. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I hope to prove them to you with my actions.”
She studied me for what felt like an eternity, her gaze piercing through me as if she could strip away the layers of my soul to uncover the truth beneath. Finally, she broke the silence. “And if I don’t believe you?”
“Then I’ll still protect you,” I said firmly. “Even if you never trust me. Even if you hate me. Because that’s what needs to be done.”
Her laugh was sharp and joyless, a sound born of disbelief rather than humor. “You think you can protect me? From them?” She shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re up against.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, my tone steady. “But I know what’s right. And I know no one deserves to carry this kind of pain.”
She looked away then, her gaze falling to her hands, which fidgeted restlessly in her lap. “I don’t need a savior,” she muttered, almost to herself.
“Good,” I said, surprising even myself. “Because I’m not one. I’m just a guy trying to fix a mess some asshole made. But I need your help to do it.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Why would I help you?”
“Because you want this to end as much as I do,” I said simply. “And because you’re stronger than you think.”
For a moment, she said nothing, her expression hard to read. Then, with a deep breath, she nodded ever so slightly. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t think for a second I trust you. I will never trust anyone who wears that patch.”
Brushing her blonde, matted hair away from her face, I whispered, “Bethany.”
Clutching my cut, I saw the small smile on her bruised and bloody face before exhaustion took over and she passed out. Gathering her in my arms, I held her as I looked around the area, wondering what in the hell she was doing out here.
There was nothing for miles.
Just fucking cornfields.
I shifted her weight carefully, cradling her in my arms as though she might shatter if I let her go. The moonlight glinted off the chrome on my bike, and for the first time, I felt the weight of my history pressing down on me. The silence around us was absolute, broken only by the rasp of my own breath and the distant rustle of cornstalks swaying in the night breeze.
Somewhere in the darkness, a coyote yipped, sharp and hungry. I checked her pulse—steady, if weak—and tried to piece together the puzzle of how she’d come to be here, alone and battered.
Nothing made sense.
The last time I saw her, she was standing behind a barista counter in Chicago. She looked good. Healthier, even happier. I knew she recognized me because when she blinked, she ran to the back room and didn’t return. My cousins laughed at me, believing I ran her off with my not-so-subtle persona. But it was more than that, and I knew it. I came back later that same day to explain I wasn’t here for her, but she was already gone. Turned in her notice and fled. That was years ago, and while I stillthought about her occasionally, I never tried to find her. I made a promise, and I would not break it.
Besides, I was a patient man, and considering everything she’d been through, she made herself very clear. She wanted nothing to do with me or bikers in general.
Not that I blamed her.
Holding her close to me, I slowly stood, her limp body so light, almost as if she weighed nothing. Standing there in the dark, I looked around the landscape when off in the distance I saw lights. Knowing I couldn’t ride with her on my bike, not in her current state, I hefted her closer to me and started walking.
The time for running was over.
She was mine now, and I wasn’t walking away this time.
Chapter Three
Massacre
“Open the fucking gates,” I barked at the prospect on the other side of the gate. The young kid gulped as he slowly shook his head.
“Can’t do that. Not until you tell me who you are.”
Shifting her in my arms, I pulled out my gun and pointed it at the little shit. “I’m gonna count to one and if you don’t open this fucking gate, I’m gonna shoot you then break down this damn gate with my bare hands. Got me, kid?”
The little shit quickly nodded as he slipped inside the guard shack to open the gate. The second it slid open, I walked in and shook my head when I saw the little fucker was on his phone. No doubt calling his president and every brother associated with the Silver Shadows.
