Page 51 of Massacre
My father muttered something unintelligible as Archie slid two cups of coffee our way. Just then, Dante, Sypher, and Danika walked into the club looking like dog shit. Running towards us, Danika headed straight for my dad, who happily picked her up as Dante plopped his ass next to me. “God, I need coffee.”
“What’s the matter with you?” I asked, taking a sip of my coffee.
“Dani didn’t want to sleep in her bed last night. Someone”—my brother narrowed his eyes and glared at Tank, who smiled and winked as he walked by—“let her watchTheNeverending Story.”
“Okay?” I asked, not understanding where he was going with this as Torment and my father groaned.
“He didn’t?” Torment asked and glared at the smiling man.
“Yep.” My brother nodded and added, “And because of it, she insisted on sleeping with her pony to make sure nothing happened to her.”
“Told you she was too young for that damn horse,” Sypher groaned, taking the coffee that Archie placed before Dante and adding, “I need this more than you,” as he walked off to talk to Reaper.
In the next instant, my father shoved Danika in my arms and marched over to Tank.
“Oh shit,” Torment cursed as he and Dante rushed after him.
“It’s always something, isn’t it?” Remi smiled at me as she carefully slid onto a bar stool. Huffing, she rubbed her enormous belly and sighed. “Do me a favor, Amber. Let me smell your coffee.”
Frowning, I shifted Dani in my arms and held my cup up to Remi when we both heard. “Don’t even think about it, woman!”
“I wasn’t gonna drink it, asshole!” Remi snapped at her husband. “I just wanted to smell it.”
“Go smell some orange juice!”
Chapter Nineteen
Amber
Sitting on my bed, I tapped my booted foot on the floor as I watched the seconds tick by on the clock on my nightstand. It had been forty-seven hours, fifty-six minutes, and twenty-seven seconds since Massacre left and the second the clock struck midnight, I was fucking out of here. I already had a small bag packed, money stuffed in my shoe, his patch, and the card he gave me in my back pocket.
My small duffel sat by the door, mocking me with its readiness. Each minute dragged, as my nerves gnawed at my insides with the steady, methodical tick of the clock. Shadows crept along my bedroom walls, drawn out by the soft golden light of the lamp, and I traced them with my gaze, imagining the road ahead—uncertain, necessary, and far overdue.
I glanced at my phone for the hundredth time, screen blank. No new messages. No calls. Just the echoing reminder of Massacre’s promise and my own brewing resolve. Somewhere in the clubhouse, muffled voices carried through the vents—laughter, the scrape of a chair, the shuffle of boots on the old wood—reminding me that life moved on, indifferent to my restlessness.
The air was thick with the ghosts of goodbyes I hadn’t yet said. I pressed my palm to the card in my pocket, the edges soft from being handled too many times. Beneath my bravado, a tremor of fear lingered in my veins, not knowing what lay ahead of me when the clock struck midnight.
I took a breath, steady and deep, and let the silence settle. Just a little longer. Just until midnight.
Then I was coming for him.
I didn’t know where he was, or how long it would take me to find him, but I knew where to start.
Three more minutes.
Getting to my feet, I double checked everything, making sure I left nothing to chance because when I left the clubhouse, I would be on my own. Really on my own.
Seconds bled away, each one thick as honey. I stood, my boots scraping softly against the wood, and I slipped my jacket on, feeling the comforting weight of it around my shoulders as my head snapped to the door when I heard someone walk past. My heart pounded in rhythm with the ticking clock as the footsteps faded.
Two minutes to go.
I couldn’t believe I was going to do this. My whole life I’d done exactly what others had told me. First Harold, then Dan, that sick fuck Capribella, my mother, King. It was all a never-ending cycle and tonight I was ending it.
God, I was scared shitless. I didn’t know what I was walking into, who this person I was supposed to give Massacre’s patch to was, or how I was even going to get there. All I knew was that Massacre was counting on me.
The seconds ticked by, an agonizing countdown to my freedom. I felt like a caged animal, pacing in my room, my gaze fixed on the door, willing it to be midnight already. I wanted to be out of here, away from the clubhouse and the ghosts of my past. With each passing moment, I felt the weight of my decision—a mixture of excitement and terror. I was stepping into the unknown, but it was a step I had to take. I owed it to myself and to Massacre. He had given me a chance to break free, and I wasn’t about to waste it.
As the final seconds counted down, my heart raced. I took one last look around my room at the familiar surroundings that had become my prison. With a deep breath, I stepped toward the door, my hand on the knob. I paused, my heart pounding in my ears. Then, with a surge of determination, I swung the door open and stepped out into the hallway. The voices and laughter from the clubhouse faded as I took the backstairs and quietly snuck out into the night.
