Page 25 of Hell on Wheels

“I know, little dove.”

As fucked up as it was, I knew Angel wouldn’t stop coming after Lark. She made him look like an idiot and incompetent when she flushed his drugs and escaped him without a trace. Angel was pissed and wanted to take out the cost on her flesh. He would use her, torture her, and drag it out for as long as possible before he finally took her life.

A man like that was ruthless. Bloodthirsty for vengeance.

I knew what surged in his blood. I’d felt that wrath myself not long ago. Losing people I cared about took me to a dark place. Somewhere cold and deadly, where I could be the merciless killer I became on numerous occasions. In the past, I never had a choice. As a Marine, I did what I needed to keep those around me safe. Now, I would unleash the killer again to protect Lark and the RBMC.

Angel Mackenzie was a dead man walking.

“He won’t get to you,” I promised vehemently.

She pressed her lips to mine and then ducked lower as more bullets hit the glass in the windows above us and shattered, raining shards upon our heads.

“Fuck,” I cursed.

Staying crouched, I grabbed Lark’s hand and led her from the SUV to the auto garage. The bays were open, and three vehicles filled the inside—plenty of places to hide while I took care of Angel.

“Find a quiet place to wait this out. I’ll find you when it’s over.”

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You will,” I ordered firmly, stealing another kiss. “Kane, guard Lark.” I handed over his leash, watching as he moved in front of her, gums exposed as he snarled, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. I left her inside, running toward the semi-truck and the steady flow of gunfire.

When I reached the cab, the door was ajar. Not a soul lingered inside. I crept around the trailer and took my time, clearing each side and hoping to find Angel. This bullshit wouldn’t continue. The stupid fucker just started a war with an outlaw motorcycle club with chapters all over the world. He was getting a bullet between his two eyes, and I’d fucking enjoy it.

I wasn’t a stranger to killing a man. Hell, the Marine Corps ensured you knew how to shoot your rifle and were good at it. Basic training instilled that skill.

I still went to the range every week to ensure my aim remained accurate. A sharpshooter expert. Same as it had been while I was on active duty. I didn’t need luck—just the chance to fire my weapon.

“You’re too late,puto cabrón.”

I spun around, jolting as I felt something bite into my right shoulder with fangs so sharp that I was sure I was about to die. Pain lanced the whole portion of my upper body. My knees gave out, and I hit the ground, still clenching my gun in my right hand. I fired a single shot and sneered when the bullet hit the dead center of the bastard’s forehead. Sadly, it wasn’t Angel.

My ears began to ring, and I thought I heard Patriot yell my name.

The last thought in my head was that Lark was in danger, and I wasn’t there to save her.

---