by Max Henry
The next bullet from the shooter tears a path through my side where I still sit on my bike. Thank fuck it doesn’t seem to hit anything major. The pain only fuels the anger that’s brewed inside these past weeks since I left Elena behind.
I’m fucking furious, and it needs an outlet. I’ve just found it.
Glock in hand, I manage four rounds toward the house to give Twig cover. He manages two of his own on the way to his bike.
The final bullet from our shooter? Yeah, that’s Twig’s, too. With his head down, turning the key, he never sees it coming. He folds like an accordion, slumping off the left side of his ride to lie on their driveway with his right boot still hooked on the seat.
I see red.
Kicking my stand out, I fire the last rounds in my clip at the house, shattering the frosted windows beside the door and putting holes in the wood. The kids are nowhere to be seen and all I can hope is that they’re somewhere safe inside. Returning fire whistles past my ear and puts a gash in my shoulder, but nothing is going to fucking stop me. Not when I’ve just seen one of my closest friends, and a fucking good family man, fall before my eyes.
I replace the clip as I advance, dropping my empty on the front steps. The door splinters at the lock after a healthy dose of right boot, the shooter surprised to see me walking in without a fucking care in the world. I give him a bullet in the shoulder and one to the knee—this fucker’s mine. The man falls to the floor with a growl, defiant to the last.
“Where the fuck are the kids?” I holler at him.
“Safe.” The guy stares up at me, his gun rests where it landed after I shot his shoulder, out of reach.
I place another bullet in his arm for good measure anyway. “Anyone else here?”
Lying on his side, he shakes his head. “No. My wife took the kids out the back.”
I circle the bastard, smiling at the mess I’ve made of his right arm. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“Orders were to take you out after the drop.” His words are clipped, angry, as though he’s frustrated he even has to answer me.
I’m so furious, breathing so heavily, that my normally loose cut feels too tight. “They even your fuckin’ kids?”
The guy nods, his teeth bared as he winces at the pain.
“What the fuck we doing pickin’ your kids up from a motherfuckin’ container park?” What kind of shit is this?
“They work for us.” He drags the last word out on a moan as he tries to push himself into a seated position against the wall.
“They fuckin’ what?” They’re kids. Grade-school age. What the hell?
“They carry packages onto the cruise ships that come in.” He wriggles about to be able to face me better. “Nobody suspects a kid walking on with a backpack. Kids fucking enjoy it, too. He buys them lots of toys and stuff each time they pull a job off.”
I stride across to the guy’s gun and kick it into the next room. “Who does? Who fuckin’ buys them shit for doin’ that?”
A sick feeling ripples my spine at the grin this asshole’s sports. “Your boss—Carlos.”
Suddenly, those kid’s heads we delivered on the first run make a hell of a lot more sense. Job gone wrong, perhaps. “Let’s get one thing straight—he ain’t my fuckin’ boss.” I jab the bastard in the injured shoulder to get my point across, earning me a slap to the arm to try and get me to leave him alone. “Carlos was the one who ordered the hit on us?”
The guy shakes his head, his hand pressed to his arm. “Nah, man. That was our choice.” It’s that very movement that draws my attention to the tattoos that show from under his tank. Feathers. He struggles against me, but I pin him to his stomach with a knee on the back of his head and tear the fabric away to reveal the Blood Eagles patch.
“You fuckers,” I roar, standing and placing a bullet to his head.
Fucking Carlos. Fucking Blood Eagles. They’re in fucking bed with each other. Bet Apex doesn’t know that. Or does he? Is our prez the rat? Motherfucker.
I turn for the door and stand in the open space to stare down at Twig’s body. I pull my phone out to find a missed call from Gunner. Hitting redial, I drag a hand over my face. How are we going to tell Twig’s old lady, let alone his kids, about this?
Gunner’s phone rings out. Trying the only other number I have programmed in for the people on this run, I get an answer from Judas.
“Where the fuck are you?” he asks in place of ‘hello.’
“At the drop-off.” Duh.
“Shit’s fuckin’ going south. We bailed, dropped the kids at the hospital and high-tailed it back to the clubhouse.”
Shit. “The Blood Eagles arranged this.”
“We know. Those cunts think they can fuckin’ put us to ground? They have another thing comin’.”
“What now then?”
“Those of us left are meetin’ at the clubhouse.”
Those of us left. This shit keeps getting worse. “Who’s down?”
“Gunner. Callum managed to ride off and place a call to us. We found him lying in the grass with two to the thigh on our way here.”
“Send the crash truck here after Gunner.”
“You’re fuckin’ kidding.” He curses again under his breath.
“Fuckin’ wish I was. Twig’s been taken down, too.”
“Fuckers,” Judas roars down the line. “They’re goin’ to pay for this shit.”
“That they are.”
I disconnect from Judas and jog down the steps to move Twig’s body to the side of the driveway—leave him a little more dignified for when the brothers get here to pick him up. My gut twists leaving him behind, but shit’s just blown up in our face in epic proportions. I can’t in good conscience sit around while who knows what else goes down.
I left Elena amongst this. I sent her back to live with this crazy motherfucker who set us up to be taken out. I knew what he’s like, and still, I told her it was the better thing to do. What the fuck have I done?
I do the quick math as I mount my bike and walk it back to face the road. She said the dates worked out for me, when I saw her, and back then her stomach was just starting to show. Fuck. It’s been two weeks since then—no way she’s still hiding it from him. And if he figures out it’s mine . . .
Shaking my head clear, I turn the key. I flick the kick-start out, feeling the need for a little release, and boot it hard. The bike growls as I tear out the driveway and hook a left to head in the opposite direction to the clubhouse.
Got shit of my own to sort out before I even think about going back there.
See you soon, baby.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It’s been a tough year—I won’t lie.
Ask any author and they’ll tell you that 2015 was the hardest year yet to gain exposure and, therefore, sales. But nothing was ever achieved by wishing for it, right? So I kept writing, kept publishing, and wrapped up my second complete series—the Butcher Boys.
I was excited, because I knew King was next. And I knew how much you loved his cameos in the Butcher Boys. Second to Sawyer, he’s got to be my favourite character to date. I love him. And I hope you still do too ;)
Unrequited was initially meant to be one title, and I tried, I really did. But Elena and King’s story is so epic, spanning over such a long time, that there was no way I could condense it enough without you missing out. So along came Unbreakable, and I’m so amped to show you how their story ends. There’ll be heartbreak, tension, and moments where you’re thinking ‘what the fuck?’ But overall there’ll be a HEA.
It’s the acknowledgements, Max. Why aren’t you thanking anyone yet?
I guess what I’m rounding out to say is that without your support, without those messages telling me how much you love my guys, how real their struggles are, and how much you can relate personally to some of the things they go through, this last year might have been too much. I don’t hide the fact that
I live with mental illness, and most days, I’m my own worst critic. It can be pretty rough. That two minutes you spent sending me a PM or posting on my wall? It helped, it really did. It made me smile, made me proud of what I’ve achieved, and made me write you the next book. So thank you first and foremost to you for reading, and for keeping the stories coming.
Just as important, is ‘Mr Henry’. Thank you, babe, for putting the kids to bed even though they cried their asses off because Mum wasn’t reading the story. Thanks, babe, for cooking dinner without being asked because you could see I was stressed and behind on deadlines. Thanks, babe, for being my own HEA every damn day and giving me something beautiful and real to draw from. Thank you for being you <3
To my babies (who aren’t so little anymore after two and a half years of this). I know you wish I didn’t work as much, and I wish I didn’t have to either, but you’ll understand one day when you’re making your own dreams come true, and I’ll be there right beside you cheering you on. ‘You’re braver than you think, and smarter than you know.’
To my editor, Lauren, and my PA and beta reader, Abbey. You guys . . . Honestly, I’m so damn lucky to know you two. This book wouldn’t have been half as good without you both. You get me, and most importantly, you know when to push me. All those 2am finishes while I was ‘tweaking’ are totally worth it.
Sara, dude. You’ve been fantastic, taking my vague instructions of ‘I want it to look MC, but not like all the others’ and giving me something unique and beautiful. I can’t wait to see how the whole series looks all together when we’re finished.
Valentina, and NeroArgento. Guys. That image is King in every way. I saw it on Instagram and I had to have it. Thank you for working with me through endless PMs, and the pesky language barrier, to bring King to life. <3
Kylie and the team at Give Me Books. Thank you again for organising another great release. You guys are always such a pleasure to work with—keep that shit up, ladies ;)
And to the bloggers—where would I be without your help? Thank you all so much for supporting me and sharing the word. If you would like to be a part of any future sign-ups and exclusive content shares, then hop on over and join my Blogger only group on Facebook here.
I’m sleep deprived, short of caffeine, and hangry, so if I’ve missed anybody, just know that I love you and thank you.
Onto the next . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Originally born and bred in Canterbury, New Zealand, Max now resides with her family in beautiful and sunny Queensland, Australia.
Life with two young children can be hectic at times, and although she may not write as often as she would like, Max wouldn’t change a thing.
In her down time, Max can be found at her local gym, brain-storming through a session with the weights. Or, she may be out bumping, and jostling her way along a dirt track with the family in hubby’s 4WD.
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CONTENTS
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
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Also by Max
Acknowledgements
About the Author