by Sassie Lewis
Scooping out two more semis and a sawed-off double-barrel shotty, Nessa loaded the shotgun, rolled up to her knees and took aim at one of the riders. The ricochet of the blast deafened her and the kickback caused her to sway, knocking her head against the high-set pot. She vaguely registered that she was going to be sore later, but right then she didn’t have time to let the blooming pain affect her. Her shot had gone wide, hitting the bike and not the rider.
Nessa had never aimed a gun at a human before, but in her mind she wasn’t seeing the group as men. To her they were nothing but vermin that needed to be eradicated. They had hurt the club. And killed innocent women and children.
Letting the building rage take over, Nessa centered herself. Sighting her target, she braced for the shotgun’s recoil and squeezed the trigger. A small thrill of triumph scattered through her as the man she’d aimed for spun from his bike, landing heavily on the ground, not dead but wounded. The thrill didn’t last long, as the gunfire suddenly turned in her direction. Scrambling, she pulled both Becca and her weapons across the porch, searching for a more shielded area. A bullet whizzed past her head, the heat of it swiping at her skin. Another splinter of pain whacked into her shoulder and sent her rolling on top of Becca. Burning-hot agony moved through her body, making her hiss in outrage and flipping a switch in her brain.
In two fluid motions she pushed Becca under the porch swing and stood, a gun held in each hand. Time slowed, again. Her ears buzzed with the sound of her steady pulse. The pistol in her left hand slipped as blood pooled into her palm. Tightening her grip, Nessa raised her arms and let loose. One minute she was the one who had been holding the guns, the next it was as if she was an outsider looking in. Watching as a tattooist turned into a gun-blazing maniac. The yard became her canvas, the semi her paintbrush. With each shot she took, another stroke of color added itself to the art she was creating.
The rider she’d knocked from the bike was the first to go down, his black leather jacket splitting open as she put a hole in his chest. Next she aimed at the asshole pinning down Tommy. The top of her tartget’s head bloomed red before he dropped to the ground. Through the rain, flying bullets and the sound of her blood rage she hadn’t heard more bikes arrive until she sighted her next target. As her focus landed on Chase her vision blurred, her body swayed and she collapsed against the hard wood of the porch.
He’s here.
As her berserker rage washed away, so did the adrenaline that had kept her going and held the pain at bay.
Well shit, being shot fucking hurts.
Chapter Sixteen
They sped down the road like the hounds of hell were on their tails.
The 911 text from Tommy had them all racing from the factory and straight to Quin’s house. Chase hadn’t even had time to register that all the shit going down could be caused by a family member with a jealousy issue. If his uncle was looking for a fight he’d just gotten a lot more. Chase was declaring war on the man who’d targeted their women, and he’d bring in every club Hell’s Exiles was friendly with.
Three unknown bikes skidded past him as he finally hit the gravel driveway. He didn’t follow them, his only focus was Nessa, he needed to get to her. At the scene, his vision tunneled down to black fury; blood and bullets littered the yard. His eyes skipped over the two bodies sprawled across the blacktop before landing on his woman. A small fusion of anger and pride filled him at seeing her standing there in full battle glory. She looked like a dark, avenging angel.
Behind her, flames flickered and smoke curled through the shattered window. Yet she stood straight, legs spread, a gun in each hand, and her eyes held manic rage. She was a warrior protecting her club.
She swung one of her pistols in his direction, but before he could worry about her filling him with lead, the sight of the blood decorating her upper chest sent fear like he’d never known before through his system. The force of it threatened to take him down. Air locked in his lungs, his heart froze in his chest and as he watched, a soft smile crested Nessa’s mouth then she collapsed.
Jumping from the still-moving bike, Chase raced across the rain and blood-soaked ground. Clearing the steps in one bound he reached for Nessa. His heart stopped beating, the fear finally crippling him. Under the soot and blood, Vanessa’s skin was pale. Kneeling beside her prone body his roar of anguish was echoed by someone in the yard. Chase could feel his heart ripping apart in his chest until her eyes fluttered open, revealing those pretty blues he couldn’t start the day without seeing.
“Fuck baby, you scared me half to death. I thought I’d lost you… I thought… I thought you were gone.” He knew he was babbling but fuck, the way she was laid out had made him think she was dead.
Tears welled in her eyes, and her hiss of pain brought his rage back full throttle. He was going to kill the motherfuckers. Every last one of them.
“Don’t move baby, let me check you out.” As gently as he could, Chase ran his hands over her skin. There were a few small cuts on her face, a bullet had grazed her right bicep but the worst was the bullet wound to her left shoulder. Without rolling her over there was no way of knowing if it was a through-and-through, or not. Chase slid off his jacket and pulled off his rain soaked shirt. “This is going to hurt Nessa, but we need to try and slow the bleeding.”
“B-Bianca…” Her words cracked and more tears flooded from her eyes.
He didn’t have time to worry about anyone else. Nessa was losing a lot of blood and he wasn’t going to lose her just because he hadn’t taken the time to try and stem the flow.
In the background he could hear his MC brothers dealing with the fuckers who’d encroached on their turf. Leaning forward he took her mouth in his and swallowed her scream as he added pressure to the wound. Her teeth sank into his lip, filling his mouth with the taste of his own blood. After everything he’d put her through, by dragging her into his life, he deserved that small pain. Pulling away, he rested his forehead against hers and breathed deep, searching for that flowery fragrance that normally surrounded his woman. A soft noise had his eyes flicking in the direction of his sister, hiding under the porch swing. Becca didn’t look back at him, her eyes vacant orbs, unseeing of what was in front of her.
“Chase man, we gotta go. Uniforms on route,” Blake crouched down beside him. “Shit. Nessa. You okay, girl?”
“Momma A… God, please…p lease tell me—”
Blake surprised him by placing his big palm against Nessa’s cheek. “Sorry, sweetie. She’s gone.”
Chase’s stomach rolled at Blake’s words. Fucking hell, Bianca. The fuckers had killed Bianca.
A cat-like whine drew his attention back to his sister. Before he could say anything, Blake was there, pulling her from under the swing. He murmured something to her then cradled her face close to his chest. “We gotta go, man. No fucking way the cops won’t make out we started this shit. And our Prez has lost it.”
Lifting his head higher, Chase took in the scene playing out in the yard. Tommy was moving the bikes into the garage while Horse pulled out the truck. Zane was busy holding back Quin, who was going after the one asshole they’d managed to capture. Quin would get his chance to kill him, but not until they’d bled as much information out of the fucker as they could. And beside the Rover laid two dead bodies: Rico and his stepmother.
Chase’s temper spiked anew. Blake was right; they couldn’t be there when the cops showed up. Vengeance couldn’t be wrought from behind bars.
“Help me get the girls off the porch. That fire’s spreading.” The rain wasn’t enough to douse whatever accelerant the cocksuckers had used. And the smoke was getting thicker.
Not saying a word, Blake hauled Becca into his arms and carried her down the stairs. Chase didn’t miss the fact the big man kept her shielded from her mother’s body, nor the fact he’d taken Becca to the other side of the stairs.
Looking back down at Nessa
he wiped the tears from her eyes. “Sorry baby, but I have to move you. I need you to be brave.” Fuck he didn’t want to. He knew it was going to hurt like a bastard when he did. But his woman didn’t protest, she just gritted her teeth and nodded at him.
Again he swallowed her moan of pain as he cradled her in his arms and moved away from the burning house. Placing her softly on the ground he kissed her once more before pulling away. He needed to get himself together and act as the VP of Hell’s Exiles, and not the freaked out boyfriend. He needed to protect the club. And that meant getting his boys to safety.
“Nessa I have to leave. We can’t be here—”
“Go. I understand.” Her words came out through gritted teeth. “What do you want me to tell the cops?”
God he loved her. He blinked slowly as the strength of that word rolled through his brain. Love. He’d told her she was his, but that word hadn’t past his lips since he’d begged his mother not to leave his four-year-old self. Shaking away the memory he gave Nessa and Becca a rundown of what to tell the police.
With the sound of sirens filling the air he raced up the porch and grabbed the guns Nessa had used. Rubbing off her prints as best he could, he placed the killing weapons in Rico’s hands. Tightening the dead man’s grip around the pistol, he let off one shot. He didn’t feel guilty about putting the deaths on his fallen brother’s head. Any of his club brothers would have taken the rap, rather than letting one of the women be charged with murder. Even if it was in self-defense the girls were part of Hell’s Exiles and no matter what the situation the cops weren’t going to overlook that.
Placing his hand over Rico’s prospect patch, Chase spoke softly. “Ride wild, brother.”
* * * *
Sweat trickled from his brow and his knuckles felt bruised under the tape. Swinging his arm again, at the fucker hanging from the factory roof, Chase planted his fist in the fucker’s already-broken nose. He would have loved to feel the asshole’s skin split under bare knuckles, but it wouldn’t be wise showing up at the hospital with busted hands.
“Think he’s done, Chase.” Blake caught his shoulder before Chase could land the next punch.
The asshole—Billy if he wasn’t lying—had squealed like a little pig, but it didn’t mean Chase had stopped beating the shit out of him. After sending a few of his MC brothers to check out the information Billy had provided, he’d gone about relieving his anger on every part of the fucker’s body. Using the beat down to take his mind off Nessa’s injuries and Bianca’s death, at least for a few minutes. He wanted to be at Nessa’s side, but with Quin a mess, Chase had to step up and do his job. And that had been finding out as much information as he could.
Spitting on the lowlife, Chase turned away, holding his hands out for Blake to strip off the blood soaked tape. “Update?”
“The boys said the area’s clean, but they were definitely there. Zane’s taken off, thinks he can track ’em.” Blake nodded at their captive. “What do you want done with him?”
“Get Charlie to have a look at him. I want him alive but tell doc not to give him anything for the pain. That bastard is Quin’s kill.” Chase moved away from the whining man behind him, stripping his clothes as he went. The factory was fully equipped with everything they needed, including a locker room style shower block.
“Quin still at the club house?” Flicking on the water he waited for Blake’s answer.
“I just checked in with Hound, he said our Prez is already onto his second bottle.”
That took one worry off Chase’s mind. With Quin halfway through killing his liver he wasn’t out killing anyone else. There was a time and place for killing, and with the shit-storm the cops were going to stir-up, now wasn’t the time.
Moving under the steaming spray he washed the sweat and blood from his skin, his mind playing over the scene he’d ridden into. He’d never been so scared in his fucking life, and he’d been in some pretty bad situations before. The difference was they had only been a threat to him. Watching Vanessa collapse, Chase had realized something: she was his life. If he lost her, he’d end up a walking shell.
Fuck! Although, he knew his dad’s marriage wasn’t always a happy one, the man must be feeling the same way. There was nothing he could do for him now, but Chase vowed that Quin and his Hell’s Exiles brothers would have their revenge.
Toweling dry, he dressed in clean clothes and made his way out of the factory. He’d been awaiting a phone call from the hospital, where he’d act appropriately surprised that it was the first he’d heard about the shootings, before racing over. But his phone had remained silent. Fuck it, he wasn’t waiting any longer.
Speeding down the main road on his Heritage Softail he notice Blake on his six.
Chapter Seventeen
Nessa could not believe the gall of these people. For over a month they’d completely ignored her existence and now they wanted to act like concerned parents. Three times she’d asked the nurse to call Chase, or hell, just bring her a damned phone, and three times the breeders had interfered. Actually her father’s words were, “I forbid anyone to call that criminal”, all while ranting about being a lawyer. Nessa wished she still had one of the guns. That way she could go postal on their asses until someone called her man.
Closing her eyes she prayed for divine intervention and some stronger pain meds. Being allergic to Morphine sucked. And she wouldn’t be getting any of the good stuff until she went into surgery. Asshole doctor thinks he can just leave me waiting, does he? How about I put a bullet in his arm and see…
“I always told…” the female breeder’s voice brought her back from evil thoughts about the doctor, “…that those people were no good, Vanessa. I can’t even feel sorry for that woman dying. That’s what you get—”
Nessa finally lost it, “How dare you say a fucking word about her. That woman was more a mother to me than you ever were.” With an earsplitting scream, Nessa lunged at the breeder who’d birthed her. Her scream of outrage quickly morphed to a cry of pain as fire shot through her shoulder.
The sound of boots pounding the floor reached her ears at the same time large hands gently wrapped around her, dragging her away from the arrogant bitch. His scent was the first thing to penetrate her fury-filled mind; the sound of his voice came next.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Initially she thought he was asking her, then it registered he was speaking to them. In the time they’d been together, she had filled Chase in on the not-so-pretty details of growing up in the Randall house. She’d never been physically abused; her abuse had come in the form of blatant dismissal. She hadn’t fit in to their schedule or their world, so it was easy for them to push her aside and forget she was there. To say Chase had been pissed about her upbringing would be an understatement.
“We are Vanessa’s parents.” Her father’s answer was as entitled as they came. And as far as she was concerned, parent was a bit of an exaggeration. They were breeders, nothing more.
“That’s a bit of a stretch. You were never around. She spent most of her childhood at my dad’s house.” Chase eased her back to the bed, his hands running gently over her arms, but she could see the anger hardening his face as he glared at the older couple.
Settling back on the bed she was quite happy to let Chase deal with them. She was in too much pain to keep arguing with the idiot pair.
Again her father proved his arrogance by stepping closer to the bed and placing his hand on her injured shoulder. Nessa hissed at the pressure, and Chase’s responding growl drowned out the sound. The hand disappeared from her shoulder as quickly as it had made contact, and through blurred vision Nessa watched her father crumple to the floor, his hand caught and being crushed by Chase’s larger one. She couldn’t help the snort from forming at the sight of Nathan Randall’s pain coated face. He might think himself a big man in court, but on Hell’s Exiles turf he was a nobo
dy, and Chase was making that point. Apparently since being with her biker she’d develop a violent streak, because watching her father writhe in pain was extremely satisfying. And listening to his cries of discomfort was music to her ears.
With all the screaming going on, first her, then from her father, Nessa was surprised security hadn’t shown up. Looking at the entrance to her room she spotted Blake standing there like a sentinel. Yeah, no one was getting past the big guy. Where most people feared Chase because of his standing within Hell’s Exiles, just a look from Blake had them running away, terrified for their life; he truly was one scary looking dude. He must have felt her eyes on him because he turned his head, those black orbs of his locking with hers. He nodded once, then turned back to watch the hallway.
Chase’s voice brought her focus back to the room. “Listen real close to what I’m gonna to say, ’cause I don’t like havin’ to repeat myself, and you won’t like the consequences if I need to do that. Nessa is mine. My woman, and she’ll soon be my wife…” Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and tears prickled the corners of her eyes. “She doesn’t want you here and neither do I. So, when I let you go, you’re gonna pick your measly ass up and get the fuck out. Don’t look back, and don’t contact her again. If she ever wants to see you…well we’ll see if that ever happens.” His knuckles turned white as he squeezed Nathan Randall’s hand tighter, and tighter, until her father nodded his compliance. Then he let the other man fall completely to the ground.
Neither of the breeders looked at her as they left the room.
* * * *
After wasting five minutes arguing with the nurse to find out what was happening with Nessa, it had finally been Blake’s, “he’s her fiancé”, which got him what he wanted; then all hell broke loose. His feet were moving before the fury-filled scream fully penetrated his brain. Finding his injured woman strangling her mother shouldn’t have turned him on, but fuck she was hot as hades all riled up. Knowing Blake had his back, Chase assessed and dealt with the fuckers pissing off his girl.