Page 2 of Total Carnage
I squared my shoulders, falling into the stance that had made grown men piss themselves. "I'm Vin Reed," I said, my tone daring him to argue. "And I've got a hell of a lot of questions."
The worker's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "But you're... I mean, I saw them put you in the ground myself."
A chill ran down my spine, but I kept my face impassive. "Looks like it didn't take," I said with a grim smile. "Now, you gonna tell me what's going on, or do I need to get persuasive?"
The guy's face went pale as milk. "I... I don't understand. It's been four years since the... the incident. We all thought you were dead."
Four years. The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. My muscles tense, the veins bulging, leather creaking as I fought to keep my shit together.
"Four fucking years?" I said harshly, taking a step towards him. "You're telling me I've been six feet under for four goddamn years?"
He nodded, stumbling back. "Y-yes, sir. The explosion... everyone said there were no survivors. We buried you all right here."
My mind reeled. Four years gone. Four years of my life, my brothers' lives, just... erased. The rage inside me threatened to boil over, but I tamped it down. Anger wouldn't get me answers.
"What happened to the club?" I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. "Hell's Justice. What became of it?"
The worker's eyes darted around like he was looking for an escape route. "It... it fell apart, sir. After the attack, there wasn't much left. Some rival clubs moved in and took over the territory. I think the other chapters folded out of fear the government might send a missile to their front door."
My jaw clenched, and a muscle twitched in my cheek. Everything we'd built, fought for—gone, just like that. The weight of it all pressed down on me, threatening to crush what was left of my sanity. I was a biker without a club, without a brotherhood.
"Who?" I snarled. "Who took what was ours?"
The worker's eyes darted between me and the gravestones. "I-I don't know names, sir. Just... just rumors. Rough crowd, they say. Meaner than you guys ever were."
I snorted. Meaner than Hell's Justice? Fat fucking chance. But the way this guy was looking at me—like I was some kind of ghost come back to haunt him—unsettled me.
"What aren't you telling me?" I said, taking another step closer. The poor bastard looked ready to piss himself.
"It's just... you shouldn't be here," he stammered. "You were dead. We all saw... I mean, how is this even possible?"
How the fuck was I supposed to know? The last thing I remembered was fire, screaming, then... nothing. Now here I was, four years later, standing over my own goddamn grave.
My mind seemed to stutter, a tornado of questions tearing through me. How had I survived? Where had I been all this time? And more importantly, who the fuck had done this to us?
The need for answers burned in my gut, mixing with the rage and confusion until I felt like I might explode. But beneath it all, a cold, hard resolve was taking shape. I'd find out what happened. I'd make things right. And God help anyone who got in my way.
I turned away from the cemetery worker, his fear-filled eyes burning into my back as I strode towards the iron gates. Each step felt like I was just learning to walk, my muscles screaming at me like an old lady, but I pushed through it. Pain was an old friend, and right now, it was the only thing keeping me grounded in this fucked-up reality.
"Hey, wait!" the worker called out, his voice trembling. "You can't just leave like this. There are procedures, paperwork—"
I whipped around, fixing him with a glare that could've melted steel. "Paperwork? For what? Coming back from the fucking dead?"
He flinched, taking a step back. "I... I don't know. This isn't exactly covered in the employee handbook."
Despite everything, I felt a harsh laugh escape my throat. "Yeah, I bet it ain't." I softened my tone just a hair. "Look, pal. I appreciate you not shitting yourself when you saw me. But I've got some business to take care of."
As I turned back towards the gate, my eyes swept over the rows of headstones. My brothers. My family. Anger surged through me, hot and familiar. Whoever did this was gonna pay, and pay hard. Pay the Hell’s Justice way.
I pushed open the gate, the rusty hinges groaning in protest. The world beyond the cemetery looked different yet achingly familiar. Four years. Four fucking years of my life were gone in the blink of an eye.
"I'm coming for you bastards," I muttered under my breath, my fists balling, fingernails digging into skin, muscles ready to explode. "Whatever rock you're hiding under, I'll find you. And when I do, you'll wish I'd stayed dead."
The resolve in my chest hardened, turning to steel. I didn't know how I'd come back or why. But I knew one thing for damn sure—I was gonna use this second chance to rain hell on the fuckers who'd taken everything from me, including Raven.
I strode toward the parking lot, my boots crunching on gravel. The weight of my kutte felt different now, heavier with the ghosts of my fallen brothers. As I approached the parking lot, my eyes locked on a lone motorcycle gleaming in the fading sunlight. It wasn't mine, but it would do.
"Sorry, buddy," I muttered, swinging my leg over the seat. "Consider this a loan to the undead."
