by L. M. Reign
“That’s right, Uncle. Your eyelids will be removed, and you will be denied the peace you seek in the afterlife.” Her words struck, making him pale even more.
“He wouldn’t!”
“Oh, Kieran,” Mila comes to stand. “He would.”
She turns, stepping into the hall with us. Coming closer, she plucks the ear monitor from my ear and places it in hers. Pressing a button, she begins speaking quickly in that language, leaving us baffled.
We watch in sheer silence as she listens intently to Ness’ response. “Got it. We’ll head up there. Send Raife and Liza to collect this bastard. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”
Stepping back into the room, Mila presses a foot against his knee; eliciting rough wails from the fallen man.
“Kieran, it’s time,” she pulls a syringe from her jacket, popping the lid off with her mouth. His arms begin to flail wildly, smacking at her legs. I step inside, restraining him while she plunges the syringe into his neck.
“You whore! You’re just like your fucking mother!” He yells, eyelids fluttering as he goes under.
“I am,” Mila stands, delivering a swift kick to his stomach. “Come on,” she walks past us. “We’re needed on the roof. There’s a conflict of interest.”
“What’s that?” Rook questions.
“Your club.”
Fuck.
_____________________
Mila
“Here,” Cole holds out his hand. I step away, dodging it. Fury racing through my veins at the fact that his fucking club is part of this – working with the Italians.
And he’s running towards them.
Was he using me?
“Goddamnit, Mila,” he growls, trailing behind me as I take the stairs quickly. Charging towards the door, I duck as bullets pierce the metal.
“I need cover!” I tell Ness.
“Let me,” Cole attempts to push past me, I hold out my arm, stopping him.
“We need cover,” I tell him. His face a mask of fury. “Please wait,” I soften my approach, knowing very well we’ll have to have a conversation about this.
Later.
“Where are you coming out?” Ness questions.
“Stairwell,” I tell her quickly.
“Covered! Go right once you’re out.”
“Go right,” I move my arm, gesturing for Cole to move forward.
He acts quickly, kicking the door open and drawing fire while he moves to the side, Rook follows behind him. Then me. Focusing on the scene before me, I note my team, Cole, Brass, and Rook are spread out, firing at the Don and his capos. Sangster, Bodi, and Dimebag are among them.
Bastards.
Each side is firing sporadically at each other.
The cops will swarm soon.
Fallen bodies litter the ground, and the scent of copper hangs heavy in the air. Death is never easy, especially when you die for nothing.
Bullets whiz past me and I move to duck behind the wall, pieces of concrete exploding around me.
Motherfucker shot at me!
Stillness settles in my bones, making me relax. Retrieving my knives, I slip my fingers through the holes, twirling them around effortlessly. Pressing the button my monitor, I rely on Ness. “Who’s closest to me?”
“Manny. He’s wounded, right arm, upper quadrant. He’s hiding behind the stone wall about ten yards away. Use the enclave for cover and jump the wall.”
“Got me?”
“Always do.”
At her response, I launch forward, ignoring the string of protests coming from Cole. Placing my hands on the wall, I leap over; sliding on my hip until my boots land on the other side, bringing me face-to-face with my second enemy of the night. He needs to suffer.
I crouch before him, watching surprise register on his face before pain encapsulates his features. Driving my knives into his stomach, I shove him against the wall, pinning his bad arm against the concrete.
The force makes him groan, dropping his weapon. I kick it away. “This is for shooting at my brother,” I whisper in his ear, savoring the breathy gasps emanating from his lips.
His breath is tainted with the stench of copper and I relish the moment a stream drips from his lips. Staring in his eyes, I watch him squirm before accepting the finality of death on the horizon.
Twisting the handles, I force the knives in opposite directions, easily slicing through flesh. The warmth of his blood gushes on my hands and I smile, watching his intestines spill out in a flurry as he collapses in a bloody heap.
“Manny!” A bellow comes from behind me.
Luca.
I turn, twirling my knives, ready for his attack. He trained his gun on me, firing as I ran for cover.
“Ness,” I pressed the button, praying she could help me.
“I see him,” she responds. “Weapons?”
“Knives.”
“Fuck,” she grits. “There’s a gun twenty yards away. I can’t cover you right now, I’ve got Dash.”
Shit.
Salvation laid only twenty feet away. With a lunge I ran the distance, lowering my body to the ground and sliding along the gravel. Grabbing the gun, I pivot, firing back at Luca, hitting him square in the head. He jerks back in mid-step, hitting the ground lifelessly. Making myself small, I crouch against the wall as hellfire rains down around me.
“She killed my son!” A deep voice cries.
The Don.
“Kill her!” He started doling out orders to his remaining foot soldiers. Thunderous footsteps began to crunch against the gravel, coming towards me from different directions.
“I got this,” Ness’ voice crackles in my ear, followed by rapid gunfire. “I’ve separated Sangster and the Don.”
“Who’s near me?”
“The Don.”
“Keep Sangster occupied,” I tell her, moving along the wall.
“Left quadrant,” she informs me before signing off.
I focus on clearing a path, using my knives to take down anyone that stood in my way. Rounding the last corner, I see the Don crouched behind a wall, rising to fire at my team. Sticking to the shadows, I creep closer until I’m right on top of him.
“Hello,” I whisper, watching fear register in his eyes the second he glances over his shoulder.
Grabbing a fistful of hair, I shove my knee into his back, holding him against the wall. He starts to thrash against me, murmuring out a string of protests, freezing when he feels my blade at the corner of his mouth. Keeping my knee at his back, I jerk his gun and toss it away from us.
Fuck bringing him in.
Drawing my knife back, I slash the man’s face; lip to ear. Relishing the gurgling sounds he makes as he chokes on his own blood. I pull him back by his hair and start slamming his face against the wall repeatedly until he stops moving. Until he can no longer be recognized just by looking at his features. His fat body slithers to the ground, leaving a ghastly trail down the wall. A pathetic heap of a man.
How the mighty have fallen.
“You fucking bitch!” Gravel crunches behind me. I turn on my heel, springing at my assailant.
Latching onto Sangster, I land a solid punch against his cheek. The force alone jars my arm, but the shock on his face numbs the pain. I move towards the gun, but I’m too slow. He delivers a swift blow to my side, sending me sideways. I conjure my training and all the things I remember about him. The hair, the posture... the eyes.
Oh my god.
In all my time studying Sangster, he was always a deceptive bastard. Gentle and mild up until he tore your throat out. He blended in so well with them; a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
The bastard son of the Don.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it before, but the eyes give it away. It became a game of unplanned and uncoordinated punches, kicks and blocks. Neither of us holding back. The fire in his eyes was gaseous and I was the spark.
Blocking my swing, he clutches my arm under his, kneeing me in the stomach. I felt the loss of
precious air followed by several swift blows to my face. I never enjoyed the taste of copper, so I always made it a point not to be the one with a bloody lip.
I deliver a dead kick to his leg, toppling him down. His hold on my arm is released and I shuffle away. My head jerks back by my hair, my scalp screaming at his grip tightening in my roots. Lifting my head back, he brings us face-to-face.
“I always wondered where the beauty in the club disappeared to. Now, I know.” His tongue darted out, catching the blood seeping from my cut lip.
He could’ve ended this at any time, but the punishing gleam in his eye indicated he wasn’t done with me yet. Releasing my hair, a large hand circled my throat, effectively cutting off my oxygen. I clawed at his arm, flailing against him, kicking anywhere I could. My attempts were futile when he gripped a fistful of my jacket, and slammed me against the ground roughly, spots dancing in my vision.
Fuck.
The chatter from my ear monitor became ambient noise as I struggled to focus on the man before me. He shifted, and I felt the tight vise around my throat again. He tightened his grip until blackness tore at the edges of my consciousness.
My body fell limp, slowly numbing over. Slight pinches at my lower stomach has me groaning when agony flushes through my body. Hot liquid pools through my shirt, soaking it. Releasing his grip, I start coughing. Whimpering in pain, earning me a vindictive smile.
“You will die tonight, bréagán.” I cringe at his use of my language, calling me a whore. I spit at his face, smiling.
“Níos fearr ná roinnt dago.” Better than some dago.
“Your Syndicate will suffer for what they’ve done to my family,” he tells me, gripping my jacket again. “And it’ll start with you,” he slams me against the wall again.
Only this time, darkness came to save me.
Chapter 23
Cole
I look at her on the bed. The covers pulled up to her collarbone. Her hair, that same dark brown I’d caressed so many times, had been pulled off her face. Revealing the full extent of her injuries.
One eye was swollen shut and purple, the bruise spreading from her temple across her cheek. There were cuts here and there in various stages of healing, and the bruising was made all the more brutal by the ghostly pallor of her skin.
She looked small, wounded, and vulnerable. Darkness mars her neck where her oxygen was deprived, her bottom lip had been split open and was swollen, but her mouth was open, stilted air whooshing softly between her lips. Part of me relaxed because it meant she was finally breathing on her own.
It’s been two weeks since all that shit went down and Mila still hasn’t woken up from the coma that Dr. Hansen keeps telling me that her brain forced her into in order to cope with the pain. Fuck that.
No one forces my girl to do anything. Not even her fuckin’ brain.
Even though the days drag on, it seems like time has stopped. I didn’t want to sleep that first night without her because that would make it real. Make waking up the next day without her a reality.
Memories of her assault ambush me, reminding me of the scariest damn moment of my life.
“Help!” Milo bellows, running ahead of me when we arrive at the estate. I clutch her limp body to me, her head lolling backwards without care. Blood is everywhere, and I don’t know what parts to make better first.
We’re rushed down to the infirmary where several doctors are waiting. I don’t want to let her go, but I know she needs them more than she needs me right now.
“She’s lost a lot of blood,” he notes, assessing her once I let her go. “Her pulse is weak. Blunt force trauma, stab wounds, and severe swelling. She needs surgery. Please leave,” they start yelling at us, springing into a frenzy. Cutting Mila’s shirt away from her body. Blood oozes freely from her stomach and her head.
“S-save her,” I stutter, struggling to verbalize my thoughts. “Fuckin’... save her.”
Overwhelming grief starts to crush me. I didn’t love her enough. I didn’t love her like I should.
Son of a bitch, take me.
“Come with me,” Maryse touches my arm, gesturing me to follow.
I walk aimlessly behind Brass and Rook. Ness, Dash, and Milo stay behind, murmuring in hushed tones.
Fuck them. Fuck this.
“Tea? Coffee?” She offers once we enter the kitchen. I shake my head, unable to accept any kind gestures right now.
Not when I don’t deserve them. I went there to fucking protect her, and I failed.
“Sit,” she points to the stool. “Stop blaming yourself. Everyone knows the risks,” she tells me.
I lean against the island with my elbows, running my fingers over my face. The scent of copper rocks me to my core as I realize my fingers are caked in her blood.
“Let’s wash that off,” Maryse pushes me to the sink. I couldn’t bring myself to wash the blood off, not wanting to part with Mila, so she started to do it herself.
“There,” she said with a twinge of pride once she was done. “We can’t have you looking like a mess when our girl wakes up.”
_____________________
Dr. Hansen joined us in the hallway, clutching a scrub cap in his hands anxiously. “She’s lost a lot of blood. We bypassed anesthesia to avoid amplifying any potential injuries that we couldn’t see,” he explains.
“The wounds were deeper than we initially thought. Her liver was lacerated, leaving scattered remnants of debris embedded into her organs. We’ve repaired and cleaned those out.
The impact against her head nearly shattered the base of her skull. Her brain is swollen from the blunt force trauma she experienced, forcing itself to shut down to cope with the extreme levels of pain her body was receiving at the time. To alleviate the pressure from the swelling, we drilled an incision in her skull.
Right now, she’s stable, but she’s in a coma and on a ventilator. We will wait to do another MRI in an hour.”
“When will she wake?” Jorge’s voice was small, worried. The woman that was with him last time we were here, Brooke, was by his side; tears streaming down her face. Mirroring how I felt on the inside.
“Time will tell. Rest assured, we’ve done all we can to ensure she’s comfortable.”
“Dad,” Milo speaks up, his voice cracking. “She’s going to be fine.” Jorge turns, pulling Milo into a tight hug, his body shaking with fear.
“Go home,” Reynard orders quietly, brooking no argument. Dash escorts Rook out, Ness and Brass following closely. Milo and I hang back. I refuse to leave her.
“Son,” Reynard claps me on the shoulder, “go home. We’ll call you when she wakes.”
I shake my head, staring at him. “I’m not leavin’ her. I’m stayin’ right here.”
Jorge and Reynard share a quick look before turning their attention to me. “Well,” Jorge clears his throat. “No reason you shouldn’t be comfortable then. Stay in Mila’s room. Maryse can get you whatever you need.”
_____________________
I’ve been staying in her room, avoiding any contact with the brothers, except for Brass and Rook. And Ma. She knows we have Bodi and Dimebag in custody. Gibbs wasn’t part of this plot, but he knows who was and is devastated.
The charter is waiting on the verdict to determine if it will disband since Bodi brought a lot of police attention to the club with a dirty deal he did behind the club’s back with the fucking Cartel – Los Santos. Gibbs signed the deed of the Dark Horse over to Ma, as reparations for Bodi’s bullshit now that she needs a source of income.
We let Ma visit Bodi in The Cradle. She couldn’t get through a formal goodbye without him yelling obscenities at her. When she walked away for the last time, I saw the weight lift from her shoulders.
She was free. We all were.
Diesel, Rig, Brass, and Rook stayed close. Checking in frequently until Reynard offered them a place in the Syndicate.
“Do you not have family?” Reynard asked when we were in the kitchen with Maryse one day.
“Ace and B are my family,” Rook answers honestly. I could see the struggle in his eyes, and still haven’t gotten around to talking to him.
“My brothers are my family,” Brass responds.
“Same for us,” Diesel and Rig agreed.
“Well, I have a proposition for you. Would you like a bigger family?”
“What do you mean?” Rook sits up straighter, intensely focused on the mention of family.
“Join us.”
Staying in her room brought up all the memories we had together to the surface. The fire that lit her up hotter than the stars when we’d argue. That vibrant smile she’d give me when she thought I did something sweet. How smart she was when we were in school - how smart she is now - how breathtaking she looked in those dresses, how beautiful she would’ve looked pregnant, and how intense she was when she told me she loved me again.
I couldn’t stop the tears that started to fall. This shell wasn’t my Mila. My Mila would be up, pissed, stalking around while plotting ways to kill that bastard.
My heart was shattered all the same. It broke for me, for the eighteen-year-old boy I used to be. If I had stayed with her, left with them, none of this would’ve happened.
“I killed him, baby. No one will touch you again.” I grab her limp hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. I sat with her for hours on end, telling her every little thing that’s happened, no matter how insignificant it may be.
The continued lack of response was turning me into a desperate man with a desperate plea. Holding her hand in mine, I close my eyes and pray. “Please don’t take her from me,” I whisper. “I just got her back. If this is punishment for my sins, take me instead. She doesn’t need to pay for any more of my shit.”
A heavy pat on my head has me looking up into a pair of striking blue eyes, attempting a weak smile, she points to her throat. I react quickly, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.
“Here, baby,” I say quietly, guiding the straw to her lips. She greedily gulps it down, spiraling into a coughing fit; whimpering in pain. “Careful,” I stroke her hair soothingly.