Wrecked & Reclaimed (Sacred Sinners MC - Texas Chapter Book 5)

by Bink Cummings

  Officially loaded down with necessities, I shoot off a text to Ryker, Bear, and Big to give them a heads up that we’re under attack. Just in case Kade hasn’t had time to do it himself. He’s probably too busy picking the dead man off the floor. If I have any say in what happens, he won’t have to engage a single time tonight. But if shit goes south, he’ll be the only one left to protect Katrina and her daughters until backup arrives. If I knew he wouldn’t fight me on it, I would’ve locked him in the safe room with them. Less chance of someone important dying on my watch. Not that I think he’s a dummy and can’t handle himself. Wouldn’t give him free rein if I did. These feelings are fickle bitches, though. They’re calling my instincts into a hundred different directions, one of which is protecting him. He can’t get dead. My heart couldn’t take that. Not after everything else.

  Another spray of bullets ricochets off the side of the cabin. Shaking my head at their stupidity, I double check my weaponry. Sweet. All set. It’s time to do what I was born to do. There’s not much that can take away the unrelenting pain that hangs heavy in my chest. But this … it numbs the familiar ache for a short while. Making it mildly bearable. It’s better than putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger. Don’t think for a second that thought doesn’t blast through my mind a hundred times a day. Less so, now that I’ve been here with them… him. It’s been years since I’ve stayed in any one place longer than a day or two. Living with Kat and her children have given this dead soul some semblance of a life I forgot existed outside of grief and self-loathing. But that’s a story you already know… No use in obsessing about it now. Lord knows I dwell on it too much as is.

  Bowing my head in prayer, I touch my forehead, chest, and either shoulder in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Guess old habits die hard. There’s no bloodshed without homage to the Almighty above. And to think none of this would’ve been possible if it hadn’t been for Father Samson setting me on this righteous path. It’s strange how fate plays a hand in all our lives, isn’t it?

  Bending over to check my boot laces, I brush my pant legs off, and mentally prepare to kick some ass. Knowing that I can’t walk out the front door, I cross the hall to the bathroom, pry open the window in the shower stall, do a quick check of the area shrouded in brush, then climb out, landing in a cat-like crouch on the ground below. Dropping my night lenses into place, I secure a throwing star in one hand, and my favorite leather-handled dagger in the other.

  Surveying the dark woods, I double check the coast is clear before dashing into the tree line. Ducking behind a thick trunk, not far from Kade’s and my meeting spot, I wait for the nearest biker to enter my line of sight. It doesn’t take long. A man dressed in black wearing a leather cut, snaps various twigs underfoot as he tromps between trees without a care in his puny mind. He stops a few yards away and radios someone as he scans the landscape, skipping over me, who’s not trying to hide. There’s no need to. It’s too damn dark for him to see much of anything outside the light on the end of his semi-automatic rifle.

  Bored to pieces by this lazy kill, I yawn loudly enough for him to hear. Jerking his light in my direction, he randomly calls, “If you don’t show yourself, I’m gonna kill ya.” He has a sexy voice. Too bad nobody will ever hear it again. Mr. Biker’s not only an idiot, he’s delusional if he thinks he’s gonna kill me. Nobody messes with the Sacred Sinners. One of these days outlaw biker rejects who can’t join larger clubs will get that through their thick skulls. If not, I’ll be paid to do the dirty work.

  Baiting the dummy, I fan my mouth with the dagger for the hell of it and yawn again, leaning against a tree, ankles crossed. Big could’ve given me a harder job. This is like taking candy from a baby.

  The light of the man’s scope finally shines on my stomach. Migrating the beam upward until he reaches my face, I wave my dagger at him, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. Then I narrow my sight at the pulse point on the side of his neck and whoosh, I release a special throwing star with a flick of my lethal wrist. The guy clasps his throat before he knows what hit him. One, he yanks the weapon out, dropping his own in the process. Two, he sinks to his knees as blood to his brain ceases to exist. Don’t try this at home, kiddies. It’s taken me years to perfect my throw and find the perfect type of star needed to achieve the ultimate kill shot without using a gun. Most would say it’s impossible. That this isn’t a Kung Fu movie. Well, I’m here to tell ya, I’m not just anybody. There’s a reason I do what I do. It feels damn good to be back in action.

  By the time my countdown’s finished, and he’s all but dead, I stroll up to his prone form and flip him onto his back. Dead eyes stare up at the stars, as blotches of crimson dot his full lips. Yes, it really is a shame. He’s kinda hot, objectively speaking, for a dead man. Rechecking the area to make sure we’re still alone, I kneel beside his body. This is the hardest part of my job. One that I don’t allow anyone to witness. Dabbing my thumb in the blood on his lip, I peel the black bandana off his head and paint a red cross on his forehead. Just because the man made a poor choice to come here doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve the utmost respect. This man was a son to someone. Loved by people. And tomorrow they’ll be forced to mourn his death because of me. I don’t take that power lightly. It’s not an easy pill to swallow, but a necessary one in my line of work.

  Two of my fingers slip his eyelids shut. Briefly closing my own eyes out of respect, I bow my head and touch my forehead, my chest, and each shoulder in the name of the Father, of the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen. Reopening my eyes, I search for his name patch on the breast of his vest and use my dagger to strip him of it.

  Rest in peace, Tanner.

  Inside my Velcro chest pocket goes the patch. Back on my feet, I nimbly seek the next foe I have to put to ground.

  Kade

  Ignoring my woman’s instructions, I wait at the entrance of the hallway as she gears up for a fight. Thinking I’m gonna be a good boy and do as I’m told, a bloodthirsty Rosie darts into the bathroom without noticing me. She also doesn’t hear me outside the doorway when I watch her climb out the only window. Not exactly the spot I would’ve picked. My large body is gonna have a fuckton of trouble fitting through that slot. But I can’t let her go at this alone. Sure, I’ll let her fight. It’ll be hot, watching her in her element like a sick and twisted porno made specially for my dick. He too is raring to go. Sick bastard. Disgusted with his behavior today, I flick him over my pants. He throbs, wanting more. Yeah, yeah, yeah... I know you’re a weird motherfucker.

  Forgetting about my erection, I approach the open window and watch Rosie ghost into the tree line, using the cloak of nightfall as protection from these assholes. Once I know she’s safe, I calculate the space I’m gonna try to fit through. It’s not gonna be pretty. I sigh long and hard and stick my head out of the window to make sure the coast is clear, then dive through the stupid thing before I can psych myself out. Chin meeting chest, arms out to catch myself, I half ninja roll, half moron fall between the brush cover, landing hard on my tailbone. Definitely not living up to the silent huntress’s badassery. I’m about as graceful as a two-by-four.

  Fuck.

  Biting my lip to keep from groaning like a little bitch, I lean onto my side and massage my poor tushie. That’s gonna bruise. Stupid ground. I punch the dirt in retaliation. That too makes my knuckles throb.

  Careful not to fuck up Rosie’s show, I clamber to my feet and crouch. I’m not dyin’ tonight because I can’t keep myself hidden. She’s not gonna get rid of me that easily. She ain’t dyin’ either. I’ll see to that.

  Pulling the Bowie’s from their sheaths, I squeeze my fists around them, testing their weight. The curved handles fit perfectly in my large grip—an extension of my body.

  Ahh, yesss… this is it.

  Confident in my decision to shadow my Swan as backup, I exhale a rush of air, and let my inner veil drop. Gone is the mask and temporary salve that keeps me sane. The sadistic beast
I fight every day of my life rises to the surface. A wicked smile curls at the corner of my lips. This feels fuckin’ good. The power. The release. I roll my shoulders as the hungry monster that is me, breaks from his invisible cage.

  I shiver in excitement, eyes tipping back in pleasure. Fuck yeah. Death. Blood. Gore. I can’t wait.

  Refusing to lose myself in the desire to slay, I trail my woman into the woods, where I find her taunting a biker that’s threatening to kill what’s mine.

  The hell he is.

  Teeth gritting in fury, I step forward, ready to engage. To gut him. Stupid fucker doesn’t deserve to breathe. Then, as if some phantom hand is pressed to my sternum, I freeze in place and the inner beast quiets. A serenity I’ve never felt before overcomes the rage and the overwhelming urge to protect. I frown in confusion and look down at my hands, wondering if this is some fucked up dream.

  I slice into a nearby tree. The bark chips away.

  Nope. This is real.

  A gurgling sound pulls me from my thoughts. I skate around another trunk, hiding in the shadows, as I watch the most beautiful woman ever created kneel beside the man she’s killed and draw a cross over his forehead in blood. My heart clenches at the sight. Emotions claw up my throat, making it difficult to swallow.

  That’s my angel.

  She gives him the respect she believes he deserves, when I’d spit on him for what he said to her. Kick him, even in death. Slice faces into his cooling corpse. The worst of all, I’d draw pleasure from that. Sadistic nirvana.

  She’s merciful perfection.

  My angel. My black Swan. The one sent from Heaven to save me from my Hell. The one made to own my dark heart and soul.

  Rosie

  One-by-one, I pick off the thinning herd. Each man’s patch joins its brothers. Not a single death lasts long. That’s not my style, if I can help it. As the famous Gunnery Sergeant John Basilone once said, “Never fear your enemy, but always respect them.” Johnny had a plaque with that exact quote in our bedroom. He loved that silly thing. Wish I would’ve kept it when I left California. Wish I would’ve been brave enough to keep a lot of our things.

  I push on.

  Soon, eight unlucky SOBs are dead by my hand, their blood staining the forest or cabin floor, when I finally come upon three who’ve stuck together, raining bullets upon the Suburban, the demolished back door, the cabin, and Kade’s Harley. The scent of gasoline perfumes the air. Glass shatters. Tires flatten. The windows at the back of the house begin to crack under pressure. Three bikers nearly all the same height, stand shoulder to shoulder through the ear-splitting rumble of bullets. They laugh, pointing their weapons at Kade’s wrecked bike. He loved that thing. But it’s an object. It can be replaced, unlike the lives I’m about to take. Unlike him. If they were smart, they would realize the rest of their brothers have met their maker. But they’re too busy yucking it up. I step behind them in the gravel driveway, no longer shrouded by tree cover. There’s only one other person scampering about in this forest. I’ll see to him last. Unless he somehow breached the front door of the cabin. I haven’t been able to check. From what I hear, Kade’s less forgiving to his victims than I am. So, if he did make it inside, the poor fella probably wishes I was there to put him out of his misery.

  Palming three throwing stars, I fling them in succession at the base of the men’s necks. No kill shots, but enough to get their attention and wake up the pain receptors in the brain. The middle man’s the first to yank it out with a howl of pain. The right leaves his in and turns on me, spraying bullets in my direction. Pushing off the balls of my feet, I front flip in a blur, then cartwheel and backflip out of the line of fire. Landing in a crouch feet away, I secure three throwing knives from my jacket and bing, bang, boom they sink into three separate thighs. Another three are extracted and flung, sinking into their opposite legs. More howls of pain and vehement curses of rage are spat as they attempt to blow me to smithereens. The dark’s my ally. They can’t see exactly where I am. I’m too fast.

  Dodging their next round of fire, I flip, spin, and turn every which way to save my hide. Then I attack like a bolt of lightning, getting my first taste of hand-to-hand combat tonight. Using man number two as a tree, I run up his middle, flip to the side, and wrap my strong legs around the third assholes neck. With a quick twist, the man’s on the ground. I land on top of him and shove a knife through the center of his chest, piercing his heart. Hating he may not die fast enough, I twist to inflict more damage. Then as quickly as I came, I pull his dead body on top of mine as another mist of bullet’s attack, hitting the carcass of their brother. A single bullet clips my shoulder; nothing more than a flesh wound. It stings like a bitch. When their magazines empty, I shove off the body and unleash the Mr. Miyagi within. An uppercut breaks one man’s nose as I roundhouse kick the other in the head, knocking him out cold. His body drops like a sack of potatoes. Sweeping two knives out of my jacket, Blade style, I ballet spin, and slit slit the standing man’s throat before he knows what’s hit him. Falling to his knees, I kick both of their weapons out of the way, then push my foot to the dying asshole’s shoulder. He topples to his back, and I straddle his chest. Our eyes meet as he fights to breathe. A feeble hand grabs at my jacket. His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, blood seeping through the fingers around his throat. Out of respect, I rest my forehead on his. He coughs, body jerking violently, trying to feed his brain. Because I didn’t sever the carotid, death’s going to come slowly … painfully. I kiss his cheek.

  “I’m sorry.” Brushing his weak fingers off my jacket, I hold his hand in mine, as I pull the tiny dagger from my boot with the other.

  “Rest in peace,” I whisper, sinking the thin blade into his throat in rapid succession, so he doesn’t suffer. His eyelids close on their own. The body goes still. Life-force paints the rocks red. Stripping him of his patch, I bow my head and touch my forehead, chest, and either shoulder in spiritual respect. Amen.

  Bone deep exhaustion sets in as I climb off the corpse and end the final man’s life. Then perform the same ritual with him as I do with the bullet-riddled body of his fellow brother. His face is nothing more than ground beef. Bones exposed. Eye sockets gone. Intestines leaking out. Still, I pay my respects. Guess it’s a good thing I have an iron-clad stomach. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you don’t have any other choice.

  Pushing off my knees to stand, I shake out my aching muscles, and remove my night vision headgear. I lay it gently on the ground beside me and swipe the back of my hand across my damp forehead. The cloud cover shifts, bathing the driveway in dim moonlight. I sigh. God must be shining down upon us to bring His children to Heaven. It’s beautiful—peaceful.

  The gravel shifts, and it’s not from me.

  My heart thuds.

  “Stop, or I’ll shoot,” a shaky voice orders from behind. Raising my weaponless hands in surrender, I slowly turn around. Rocks crackle underfoot.

  “I said stop,” the boy squeaks, aiming a handgun at my chest. His hands are shaking badly. He’s not all that close, and I’d be willing to bet he couldn’t hit me if he tried. The kid can’t be any older than nineteen. The name patch on his chest reads Brook.

  I’m not going to kill a teenager. That’s not in the job description. Big knows that, too.

  “Listen, Brook. You need to leave. The rest of your brothers are dead,” I explain steadily.

  “Y-you killed them!” The messy haired boy shakes the gun at me, tears leaking down his reddened cheeks. “You killed my dad!”

  Whoops.

  “I’m—”

  An apology dies on my lips as a blur passes my line of sight. I blink, and when I refocus, there stands Kade behind Brook, two Bowie knives sunk to the hilt in either side of the boy’s neck. The poor kid’s eyes widen in horror. Mouth opens in a silent scream. I can’t believe he killed him! He’s just an innocent child. Why would he do such a thing? Blood bubbles out of Brook’s mouth, and his body shudders. Not wanting the poor thing to
die alone, I rush to him and gather his twitching fingers in mine. They try to hold on. But it’s no use. As soon as Kade removes those giant blades, he’s as good as gone.

  “I’m sorry. Rest in Peace, Brook,” I whisper, emotions jamming my throat.

  Kade takes this as his cue to remove the knives. Blood surges forth, pouring down the kid’s shoulders, coating his cut and patches. His eyes roll back into his skull as he slumps forward. Kade throws his weapons to the ground, blades sinking into the gravel, and catches the wilting child. Together, we lay him to his final resting place. Sighing like he’s unhappy with the kill, Kade sweeps his victim’s eyes closed as I relieve Brook of his name patch.

  Emotionally spent, I drop to my ass on the driveway, knees up, head tilted back, staring at the starlit sky. It’s a gorgeous universe out there. “Why did you have to kill the kid?”

  “We couldn’t let him live, Rosie. He had a gun trained on you. And I could tell you were getting tired,” Kade explains like he’s not fond of the outcome. At least he has a conscience, sort of. Mine bleeps in and out of existence.

  “Have you been watching me?”

  Kade cleans off his blades with a white bandana he pulls from his back pocket. “Yes. I wasn’t gonna stay inside just in case you needed my help.”

  Strange. Because I didn’t hear him. And I hear everyone.

  What if he saw my ritual? Nobody sees that. My brain rejects the prospect. That’s personal. Too personal.

  “Did you…” I begin, needing to know.

  “All of your secrets are safe with me, Rosie. You handled your own. There’s no need to say anything more. But we do need to leave. The clubhouse was also attacked. Pops called, said they were safe. But none of us can get ahold of Ryker. So I texted Gunz to get his location. His bike’s at Vanessa’s. But her car’s three miles away, accordin’ to the tracker, unless it got tossed. We gotta check it out.”