by Nina Levine
“Like she needs some strong painkillers.”
“Call her back and tell her to get an ambulance so she can get painkillers faster. J and I will leave now.” To me, he says, “Keep your eye out and let me know if you feel any heat.”
My phone rings as I watch Scott and Harlow walk away. When I see it’s Chelsea, I answer it straight away.
“Mason.” My name strangles out of her and my gut roars to life with alarm. “I need you.”
I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m not going to stand the fuck around and ask her questions. Not with the torment I’m hearing in her voice.
“Where are you?”
“At home,” she breathes out on an agonised whisper. “Hurry.”
Fuck.
I stab at the phone to end the call and shove it in my pocket, and without wasting a fucking second, I get on my bike and speed to Chelsea’s house. Thank fuck I don’t have any cops watching me like Scott and Griff do.
When I arrive, I don’t bother to knock; I kick the fucking front door in and stalk inside.
I don’t know what the fuck I’ll find, but I’m ready for Hearst if he’s here. If he’s fucking hurt her, I will kill the motherfucker.
Chelsea’s house is huge, and I move fast searching for her. When I don’t find her inside, I head out the back. My fucking chest almost explodes when I see her lying on the grass, beaten and bloody.
“Fucking hell,” I say as I drop to my knees. “He did this to you?”
Her face is a swollen mess of blood and gashes and bruises. She can barely open her eyes, but she manages to open one and look at me. “Yes.” Her answer rasps from her, barely loud enough to hear, but I fucking hear it. It’s like a fucking roar to me and it causes a shitshow of emotions to course through me.
“Where the fuck is he, Mayfair?”
Her hand curls around my ankle and she grimaces from the pain of making even that small move. “Please, we need to go. Before he comes back.”
She’s right. I need to get her the fuck out of here.
“I’m going to scoop you up and it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker,” I say.
She nods but doesn’t say anything. From what I’m seeing, I’m surprised she’s even still conscious. Hearst has almost beaten the fucking life out of her.
“We’ll need to take your car. Where are the keys?”
“Kitchen,” she says, her face contorting in pain as I lift her into my arms.
I move swiftly, locating her car keys and getting her into the Range Rover in her garage. Chelsea fights against the pain that every step delivers. I know this because I hear every anguished breath she takes.
Once I’ve settled her in the back of the car, I reverse out of her driveway and make the drive to the cabin the club owns at Mt Nebo.
I keep my eyes peeled for cops and I keep them on Chelsea as much as I can. She’s pushing through her pain like the fucking badass she is, but I’ve taken enough beatings in my life to know exactly how much she’s hurting.
Joe Hearst will fucking pay for this.
I will track that motherfucker down and I will exact more pain from him than he can ever imagine knowing.
No one hurts my woman and lives to tell the fucking story.
33
Gunnar
“You free this afternoon?” I ask Wilder over the phone while I watch Chelsea on the bed.
We arrived at the cabin about half an hour ago, and I managed to get her inside and to the bed, but fuck, that killed her. I’ve given her some painkillers that I located in the bathroom, but she needs stronger ones that I’ll organise for Wilder to bring if he’s free.
“Yeah, why?” Wilder says.
“I need your help.” I detail what’s happened and that I need him to come and stay with Chelsea while I take care of Hearst. I also ask him to bring those painkillers.
“I’m on my way,” he says, not letting me down.
“Thanks, brother.”
I end the call and crouch next to the bed. “Wilder’s bringing you some stronger drugs.”
She cracks an eye open. “Thank you.”
I want to touch her, but I don’t dare. “Baby, we’re done working your plan with Hearst.”
“I know.”
“What happened today?”
She swallows, making a pained face as she says, “I need water.”
I stand and get her a drink. I then help her drink some, hating every tortured sound she makes doing it.
“He knows I’ve been with you. I thought he was going to kill me. After he finished, he got a call and left me. He thought I’d passed out.” She pauses, looking at me like she has more to say. “I can’t be in this marriage anymore, Mason, but I’m scared of what he’ll do to you and your club.”
“When I said we weren’t working your plan with him anymore, I meant I’m fixing the problem once and for all. He won’t be able to do anything to me or my club. And he sure as fuck won’t ever be able to hurt you again.” Unable to stop myself a second longer from touching her, I gently stroke her hair. “You need to tell me what threats they made against the club that caused you to marry him.”
She nods, swallowing again like she needs water. After I help her take a few sips, she says, “They have stronger legislation drafted that is far worse than what they’ve already brought in. Your club won’t survive it. They also have evidence ready to plant in order to convict you of two murders. Strong evidence that will lock you up for life. They made threats against the families of club members too.” She slowly slides her arm across the bed so she can touch me. “Joe told me today that he’s putting an end to your club. I’m worried he’s already made a move on this.”
I clench my jaw, willing my fury to calm the fuck down. But I know it won’t. And that’s okay for later, when I take care of Hearst, but for now, I don’t want to let any of it out in front of Chelsea. She doesn’t need that. She needs me to step the fuck up and let her know I’ve got her.
“They kept using these threats to keep you playing along with the marriage?”
“Yes.” It’s one word and it falls brokenly from her, but it’s the fucking nail in both their coffins as far as I’m concerned. Her father will pay for this too.
“What was your plan to get rid of him?”
She gives me a quick rundown of what she discovered about Hearst’s involvement with the mafia, and I agree it was a good plan, but mine is far fucking better. Mine will deal with the problem once and for fucking all. And mine is the one we’re rolling with now.
Wilder arrives and I give Chelsea the stronger painkillers. Leaving her to hopefully sleep, I close the bedroom door and join Wilder in the living room.
“What’s the plan, brother?” he asks, looking concerned as I stalk past him, outside.
I need to get some of this wild anger out after holding it in with Chelsea, and that’s gonna involve me punching something a few fucking times.
I find a wall and let loose on it, and when I’m done, I look at Wilder. “I’m going to fucking kill the motherfucker. That’s the fucking plan.”
“You taking anyone with you?”
“No.”
“You need to reconsider that, brother.”
“I don’t wanna drag anyone into this shit with me.”
“Yeah, I get it, but we’re already in this shit with you. Scott needs to know what he’s up against.”
Fuck, he’s fucking right. And the fact that both Scott and Griff now have eyes on them again makes me think Chelsea’s right. That Hearst has already put his plans into motion.
I force out a harsh breath and nod. “I’ll call Scott.”
“I’ll stay here with Chelsea as long as you need me to.”
“Thanks, brother.”
I pull out my phone and call my president. After I detail the events of today for him, he says, “Griff and I still have heat on us, but J and Nash are clear. They’ll go with you. I’ll also organise for Blade to take your back. And Gunnar?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t leave this motherfucker breathing. I don’t fuckin’ care what he does to threaten the club; no one fuckin’ threatens our women.”
An hour later, the four of us storm Chelsea’s home and find Hearst sitting in an armchair in his lounge room waiting for us. The cunt looks smug as fuck sitting there drinking his whisky.
“Where is she?” he demands, standing.
“I have her as far fucking away from you as I can,” I snarl. “And you won’t ever be getting your hands on her again.”
“Oh I think we both know that’s not true.”
J steps forward, a feral expression on his face. “You think you’re gonna survive the fucking day, Hearst? You’re fucking not.”
Hearst’s gaze snaps to J. “It seems we’ve got a trade to make.”
“What fuckin’ trade is that?” Nash asks, knowing full fucking well we’re not here to make any trades.
“You give me my wife back and I give you your club back. If you’re not aware by now, the police have stepped up their efforts against you, and tomorrow Novak will push through new legislation to assist them with that. I’m the only one who can put a stop to all of that, so I suggest you do as I say.”
“You’re not fucking getting her back,” I say.
He eyes me. “I am, and when I do, I’m going to spend time making her regret the fact she let you between her legs.” He comes closer to me. “I thought I was fucking her enough to keep her from straying. Now that I know she requires more to be satisfied, I’ll be sure to fuck her multiple times a day.”
I see fucking red.
It blazes in my eyes, in my head, all the fuck around me.
And it forces its way out of me in a punch that propels Hearst against the wall.
Closing the distance between us in two angry strides, I punch him again while roaring, “You will never fucking touch her again!”
He fights back, punching me, but he’s outnumbered here, and since we’re not making any trades or agreements, he has no hope of surviving this.
After we exchange a few punches, Blade steps in and pulls me off him. “We need to get out of here, Gunnar. The longer we stay, the higher the risk.”
I know what he’s saying, and he’s right. The plan is to take Hearst up to Mt Glorious and rid this earth of him. I would have preferred to take my time with him, days of my fucking time, but with the cops back on us, that’s not a good plan.
Hearst wipes blood from his nose as he looks at me. “Novak’s waiting for my call to assure him his daughter will be returned. If he doesn’t receive that call tonight, he will proceed with this legislation.”
I grip his neck and yank him closer. “What you’re not fucking getting here is that we don’t cave to fucking demands. We’ll take our fucking chances with convincing Novak to leave our club alone, and to be really fucking honest, with the shit we have on the both of you, I don’t think he’ll be passing that fucking legislation.”
Letting him go, I sucker punch him and knock him the fuck out.
Blade looks at me. “Your woman must be made of fucking steel to have put up with this motherfucker.”
Yeah, she fucking is.
We get Hearst in our van and I follow them on my bike that I left at his place earlier. An hour and a half later, J, Nash, and Blade dig his grave while I take the breath from his fucking lungs.
With his hands and feet tied, I slam him up against a tree and take to him with my fists. I pound them into him while thinking about what he’s done to Chelsea. I don’t know all the ways he’s abused her over the last few months, but I can take a good fucking guess, and I make him hurt for every one of those wrongs.
Every blow I deliver works its way deep into my soul.
I won’t ever fucking forget what my woman endured on my behalf, and I won’t ever let her go another day not knowing I love her for everything she did to save me and my club. But this piece of motherfucking shit will feel the anguish I feel over what she gave for me.
I surrender to my darkest needs.
I allow myself to torture how I’ve never tortured.
It’s bloodshed and brutality and carnage like I’ve never known.
I use my hands.
My knife.
My gun.
I carve his heart from him.
I carve my hatred into him.
I carve his death. Over. And over. And fucking over.
It’s not enough.
It’ll never be enough for what he’s done.
And when I’m finished, I sit back and stare at the man who took too much from my woman, and I want to fucking start all over again.
“Gunnar,” J says, drawing my attention his way. “We need to bury him and get out of here, brother.”
I nod.
I know.
I don’t fucking like it, but I know.
Pushing up off the ground, I start moving Hearst’s body into the grave, piece by fucking piece. I’ve butchered him so completely that he’s unrecognisable. Once he’s all in the ground, I stare down at him and lock the sight into my memory. This is a fucking memento I want to carry with me for life.
Joe Hearst will rot in hell for what he’s done, and anyone else who comes after my woman will fucking join him.
34
Chelsea
I listen to Mason on the phone with his club president and my gut twists with worry. They’ve been on the phone for the last fifteen minutes discussing how to handle my father and his refusal to back down on some legislation he’s going to push through today. I don’t know what conversations have taken place between them and Dad because I slept through most of yesterday afternoon and last night thanks to the painkillers Mason gave me, but I’ve worked out things are tense for the club.
It’s just after 5:00 a.m. and Mason doesn’t know I’m awake. I’m sure he wouldn’t be having this conversation in here if he knew I was. My man doesn’t like to worry me with things. He likes to handle stuff so I don’t have to even know it was a problem to begin with. Well, this is a problem I helped cause, so I want to know about it, and I want to help them.
When he stabs at his phone to end the call, I say, “Mason.”
He’s already up off the bed and halfway to the door, but my voice halts him, and he turns back to me. “I didn’t realise you were awake.”
“I know.”
Coming back to the bed, he looks at me with so much love I feel it right down to my bones. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a truck slammed into me.”
“Fuck.” His anguish is clear in his eyes and I want to rip it out. I wish he didn’t have to see me like this.
I reach for him even though it pains me to move any part of my body. “I can help with Dad.”
“No.” The word smashes out of his mouth and I swear I feel the impact of it.
“I know my plan is out the window. I get it. We’re doing this your way. But I think I can help force Dad out of office.”
“I don’t fucking want you anywhere near this, Mayfair. I want you here, safe with me, where they can’t fucking hurt you anymore.”
“I know. And I love you for that, and I promise to go along with whatever plan you decide from here on out, but please take me to my father this morning so I can talk to him. You can stay in the room with us and make sure I’m safe, but this is something I need to do. For me as much as for your club.”
I watch him war with this decision, my strong protector. I meant what I said, I’ll go along with whatever he decides, but I’m desperate for him to agree to my request. I helped make this mess. I want to help clean it up.
Mason rakes his fingers through his hair before giving me a tight nod. “I’ll take you to your father this morning, but”—he jabs his finger at me—“the fucking minute shit goes south, I’m taking you out of there.”
I know he’s worried that history will repeat itself. That I’ll do what my father demands. But I won’t. I’ll never do that again.
<
br /> I pull myself up to a sitting position, ignoring how it kills me to do so. Bringing my hands to Mason’s face, I touch him gently and say, “I’m done with making decisions without you. I know it’s going to take me a long time to gain your trust back, but I promise you that from here on out, I’m yours for life, and I’ll spend the rest of it showing you I mean every word of what I’ve just said.”
The Mason staring back at me is the boy I loved as a child. The boy who showed me his hurt when his father wounded him. I’m looking at that same kind of wound, and it pierces my heart. I never want to put this kind of look in his eyes again.
I bring my lips to his and kiss him softly. I can’t manage more than soft, but that doesn’t matter because he knows what I’m promising in this kiss.
When it ends, he gives me his eyes. “I fucking love you, and if you ever try to walk away from me again, I just won’t fucking let you.”
I smile, and it’s from such a deep place within that not even my injuries and the pain it causes can stop how big it becomes. “You are my greatest favourite, Mason Blaise.”
“Thank fuck, because you were always mine too.” He moves off the bed. “Now, let’s see how fucking hard it’s gonna be for you to get ready to go see your dad. I swear, if this hurts too much, I’m not fucking doing it.”
Still smiling at him, because I love him and his bossy, grumbly ways, I say, “I won’t complain about any of the pain. You won’t even know I’m feeling it.”
“Baby, I never hear the fucking end of it when you have a headache. There’s no fucking way I’m not gonna hear about this.”
And just like that, Mason helps wipe away some of my pain. Just by being him. Just by being my man. Just by loving me.
Mason helps me shower and dress, and I only complain about some of it. Every time he gives me that look of his that signals he’s almost reached breaking point of dealing with my pain, I pull back on letting him know how bad it is.
He drives me into the city and escorts me up to Dad’s office. I phoned ahead to let him know I was coming, so he’s waiting for me. And he doesn’t look happy.