by Rie Warren
Once we were all weapons-free, Vicente snapped his fingers in approval. “As a sign of respect, I won’t tie you up.”
I was going to respect him with my fist rammed down his throat. “If you don’t want me back, what the fuck do you want?”
“I want you to beg. And I want you to bleed.” His words were calculating and very clearly said. They carried with them the sensation of someone walking over my grave.
“I’ve never begged for anything in my life.”
“You’d beg for her.” He raised the knife hilt like a blunt force weapon about to slam down on Jessica’s cheekbone.
“STOP!” I stepped forward. “Whatever you want. I told you.” My entire frame was rigid—fear for Jessica and the most unholy anger colliding inside me.
Vicente rubbed a finger under his mustache. “We jump you out just like we jumped you in. Maybe if you’re still alive after it’s over, I let you keep breathing.”
The guys standing beside me sounded off with muffled curses.
I walked into the center of the room. The cool, the calm, the deadly that had always come second nature in situations like this infiltrated my system. I had focus now. I was going to keep Vicente’s attention on me and no one else.
“Hunter? What’s going on?” Jessica jerked as far forward in her chair as she could before Vicente yanked her back.
“Nothing.” I didn’t look at her. That would be too hard.
I discarded my jacket and then my shirt. They landed in a heap at my feet.
“Think she’s going to enjoy the show, amigo?”
I stared into Vicente’s infinite empty eyes, refusing to answer.
Cole rushed forward to retrieve my discarded clothes. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t give a shit what state they were in when this was over.
Jump me out. Vicente’s thugs were to beat me. And I wasn’t to struggle or retaliate. I’d been through this before—Outlaw initiation. Then it’d been different, about proving my manhood, not murdering me. There was no relief in knowing, firsthand, what was coming, only in that it might keep Jessica safe.
The first fist flew at me. Block-like, it pounded into my midsection. Then the heavy meaty fist belted me three times in the ribs. Pain flared, exploding from my side, but I bit down on my lip to keep any sound of discomfort inside.
As the minutes passed, Vicente’s goons covered my face and torso with bleeding cuts and bone-jarring bruises. The vicious swings came, one after the other. I leaned over to retch, wiped my mouth on the back of my hand—it came away bloody—and straightened again, ready for the next excruciating onslaught.
The new Muerte Prez watched it all without comment, a satisfied smile tugging one corner of his lips. I’d figured out the rules now. No time limit. All twelve guys were going to have one go at me, at least, until I dropped. Then all bets were off.
I remained on my feet, reeling from a particularly sharp blow, when Brodie snarled, “This is fucking barbaric!”
I heard the other guys shouting and swearing, but they knew better than to interfere.
“You animals!” Tears streamed down Jessica’s face and curses flew from her lips.
Vicente held her pinned to the chair.
As long as I held up my end of the bargain, he wouldn’t hurt her out of some savage sense of honor. Then, when he’d decided I’d withstood enough of the beatings, maybe he’d relent enough to make me crawl across the floor and beg. I’d do it, blistered and bloody. I’d do it so I could beg for her life and those of the others.
“Ready to cry mercy yet, Cazador?” Vicente jeered.
My simmering rage cooled to the precise point of survival until that cold hard nugget was all I hung onto. Each ragged breath. Every beat of my pulse. My fists clenched at my sides. Hair hung into my eyes, sweaty and wet, the sweat stinging the cuts on my cheeks and the swelling bruises on my lips. Jessica watched, biting down on her knuckle, wincing with every strike that slammed into me. Anguish contorted her face.
Another hammer blow struck my face.
“Urg,” I gurgled as blood filled my mouth.
“Sounds like that one hurt,” Walker, who had been silent all this time, added his commentary.
Dizzy and sore, I didn’t scream. I stayed almost upright, conscious and standing, straining with only one thing on my mind. Keep. Jessica. Alive.
“Defused. Free and clear.” Walker spoke into the earpiece. “Gimme a second before you act. I’ve got a diversion planned.”
One more heavy blow to the kidneys. I felt like passing out, but I could hold on.
Luis reeled back to take one last hit at my face, one I thought would knock me flat on the floor. I braced myself. Before his punch connected an explosion boomed from outside. The room shook. The windows rattled. The walls, ceiling, and floor quaked all around us.
“Hijo de la chingada madre, que fue esto?” Vicente shouted. “The bomb couldn’t have gone off!”
I thought Walker had fucked up the explosives he said he’d defused, but his voice was immediately in my ear. Low and malicious, it was an entirely welcome sound. “That oughtta give you a few seconds, Ghost. I think it’s time for you to take that motherfucker down and put him in the ground so he can’t rise again.”
The Cubans distracted, I went for the one nearest me, incapacitating him with a quick blow to his solar plexus. Just like that, the rage building in Brodie, Boomer, Frankie, and the others exploded into action. The room became a hurricane of fists and boots and glinting weapons. Retribution MC versus Cuban cartel.
Rayce reached Jessica just as I dove for Vicente. She quickly pulled Jessica from the chair and helped her reach relative safety behind the bar. Then my attention was concentrated on one man only.
Shouts mangled together and fights blurred around me as it all dropped away. I wondered if Vicente’s heart jackrabbited in his chest with the knowledge of what was to come. Mine slowed into the lethally calm pulse that had been my constant during years of missions. Perhaps his heartbeat would be the last one I stopped. It was a good day to kill, I decided with a feral smile at him as he backed away from me.
“Hunter!” Cole shouted.
I held out a hand and glanced back long enough to catch my Glock. I always knew he’d be good backup.
Vicente crouched, knife wielded in front of him, his pistol gripped in the other hand. He could have been covered in weapons. I’d still end his life.
I smashed my elbow into his face—a quick snap-crunch. He countered, slashing toward my stomach, but I leaped back before blade met skin and bone. Grabbing his wrist before he recoiled, I stretched out his arm and kicked him at the forearm. His radius broken, the knife clattered to the floor.
I jab-jab-jabbed at his face, left and right, left and right. His FN-57 swung wildly about until I broke his wrist with a hard twist behind his back. The gun joined the blade on the floor.
Vicente didn’t go down easy even with both arms now useless. He charged me, head lowered. I dodged aside, bringing my foot down on his back until he beetled beneath me. Even then, he rolled and lifted his legs, but it was too late.
I was bigger than him. Beat to shit as I was, I had him where I wanted him. My Glock pointed at his head and my knee on his stomach.
He gnashed at me, trying to reach, snap, take a bite. I blasted the butt of my gun across his cheek, flaying the flesh open.
His eyes sharpened with the pain, and he tried to use words instead of violence to waylay his death. “Anything you want, mi amigo. Anything.”
“What I want is your life to end.” I aimed the muzzle at his T Zone. “But I don’t think you want to die pissing your pants or pleading for your life, do you?”
He shook his head frantically. “Don’t kill me, Cazador. We were friends.”
“No one touches my woman, threatens my family, or fucks with my people. Now, be a man and look me in the eye because you are going to die by my hand.” I could already taste the blood in my mouth, feel it on my skin—whether it was his or mine
, it was over now.
I waited until his eyes cleared and he stopped babbling before saying, “Adios, Vicente.”
It was over in a heartbeat. The bullet bored into his head, and he crumpled completely onto the floor. The sound of the shot shook all the other fighters apart, and as I swung my weapon around in an arc across the room. Vicente’s men raised their hands.
I’d cut the head off the snake, and the body would die of its own accord. One hoped, because frankly I was too fucked up for any more killing tonight.
“This is your club, Boomer. The rest is up to you.” I palmed my Glock and made my way to Jessica.
As soon as I reached her, she fell into my arms, her tears wet against my bruised bare chest.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” My voice was so thick, my throat so tight, I could barely speak. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” I mumbled against her hair.
I worried about what she might think of me. Killing a man in front of her . . .
Jessica didn’t say anything for a moment, huddling against me. When she looked up, she placed both hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay, Hunter?”
“Better now. Better now with you.” I buried my hand under the hair at the nape of her neck and curled her to me again.
Boomer laid down justice. This time he was the MC sheriff over the cowering bunch of Cubans. “Your president, your leader, is dead. But we’ve shown you mercy. Ever show your faces in my fucking territory again, and you’ll all be pushing up daisies.
“Frankie,” he called over to the man who was preoccupied polishing the handle of his cane with a handkerchief.
There was one small cut above his eyebrow, and his knuckles looked swollen. Other than that, Frankie appeared untouched. His suit wasn’t even wrinkled.
“Make sure this crew makes it well outside of town.” Boomer scratched his chin then reconsidered. “Second thought, escort them all the way out of South Carolina.”
“Never get to hang with the studs. Always gotta deal with the riffraff. Fuggin’ A.” Still, Frankie swaggered off with a grin after a nod in my direction.
The enemies disarmed and herded out by Frankie, I turned to Rayce. “Can you take Jessica home? Stay with her? I’ll be there in a couple hours.”
I gave a final kiss to Jessica then stood outside and watched them depart before heading back in. Reluctant as I was to be away from her, we weren’t done here yet tonight.
Walker had slunk inside and stood with the others. Drinks had been poured, backs had been slapped, fists bumped.
“That was a close call, Tonto.”
“Yeah. You look like hell.” He knocked a glass against mine.
“Not funny.”
“I forgot my bomb training, okay?”
“Still not funny.”
“I never was.”
“True that.” I drained my whiskey then shook his hand hard. After tonight there was no doubt about it. He’d earned a healthy dose of my respect despite my earlier reservations. “What’d you blow up, anyway?”
“Your Tahoe,” he said, with no inflection at all.
He followed me as I stalked outside. I sniffed after the trail of smoke and found the hulking remains of my SUV in the vacant lot behind the clubhouse. He wasn’t kidding.
“Moved it back here so as not to cause collateral damage, you know?” He lit a cigarette and added that to the stink of my charred truck.
Collateral damage? Never mind my fucking Tahoe had just been smoked. Too bad I owed the fucker, and not just a punch in the head.
When we reentered Retribution, Brodie ambled up. “Do you want a hand with that?”
That was Vicente’s dead body. “No. Walker and I got this.”
I dispatched Cole on a small errand to check on Mel and Jack then get back to me pronto, and Walker and I disposed of the body just like we always had. No muss, no fuss, and no trace to be found. We parted ways at the MC with Walker on the way back to my place.
I located Boomer inside. The man didn’t look shook-up at all after the night’s events, but his severe blue gaze tracked me as I approached.
“My truck is toast. You want to give me a lift to JB’s house?” I asked.
His unyielding features relaxed as he realized what I was offering him. “Let me grab my keys.”
Inside the huge GMC Topkick pickup, the inked-out windows reflected my likeness, but I wasn’t in the mood for too much introspection. “This is some serious metal.”
“Chrome and Steele for you, I guess. Into engines anyway we can get them.” Boomer glanced at me, guiding the steering wheel with his wrist.
I snorted. “Yeah. Too bad my truck is DOA.”
“I’ll get it towed to the junkyard tomorrow. Walker really blew it up?”
I swiped a hand across my mouth, hiding a smile. “Yeah, he did.”
“Huh. That’s kind of funny.” His shoulders shook with quiet mirth.
When he stopped in front of Jessica’s, he said, “I’ll wait here then ’til you send Rayce out.”
“Right on. Thanks for tonight, man.”
“Well, you’re one of ours, and so is JB. She’s a good one, you know?”
I knew that down to the depths of my soul, and with the darkness she’d lifted from it.
It was well past midnight when I walked inside. Rayce waited in the cozy little kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. “I just came down. She can’t get warm, Hunter.”
Rayce looked shaky herself.
“She’s in shock. I’ll take care of her. You head on home now. Got you a ride since I don’t think you should be driving anymore tonight.” Opening the door, I walked her out to Boomer who leaned against the bulky, kick-your-ass truck.
“I don’t need a ride.” Rayce immediately protested, shoving both hands through her blue-streaked hair. It stood up in tufts and her eyebrows curled down in a defiant frown.
“Considering what happened tonight, I’m not about to let you go off on your own. So get in before I put you in myself.” Boomer’s voice came out in a chest-deep rumble.
“Why should I?”
Wiping his hands over his face, he finally showed the strain of the night and a sudden weakness, only for Rayce. “Because I’d like to see you home safe instead of staying up all night worrying about you.”
I left the pair to it. Quietly padding upstairs in Jessica’s house, I slipped into her bedroom. Eyes like big black stones in her ghost-pale face, she sat on the very edge of her bed. Seeing me, she dropped the quilt from around her shoulders and rushed at me.
I caught her in my arms. “Okay, sweetheart?” Guilt twisted inside me, tangled with relief, and finally, the most overwhelming love.
Rayce was right. Jessica’s skin was cold, and she wore only a light robe. She must’ve showered—her hair was damp, the ends curling up, and she smelled like flowers.
She drew back, her mouth pinched at the edges. “I was so worried about you!”
“Me? What about you?” Pulling her with me, I sat in the middle of the bed. When I had her on my lap, I touched her all over, making sure she was there, she was all right. “I thought my heart would stop, Jessica. When Vicente . . . when he threatened you, I thought I’d die.” I lay down with her, drawing the covers over us, warming her with my body heat.
“Me too, about you.” Her head lifted, her eyes shimmering. “Don’t you do that to me again, Hunter.”
“Fuck.” I kissed her hard and fast. “I don’t intend to.”
“Are Jack and Mel okay, baby?” Smoothing her hands down my arms, she lifted my swollen knuckles to her lips.
“Yeah. It’s good. They’re untouched. He . . . he didn’t go after them.” I choked through the emotion, wrapping her in my embrace and holding onto her. I gave her my heat and she her softness.
“It’s over. Really over now?” Jessica pressed closer.
“Done. Forever. Did he hurt you?” I pulled away enough to make sure her cheek wasn’t swollen and the scratch on her throat from the knife wa
s no more than that.
“He could have. I’m not sure he would have. He . . . they . . . caught up to me when I was driving home. Blocked my car, front and back. He said he knew you.”
Jessica’s heart raced under my fingertips when I touched her breast. “Did. He. Hurt. You.” The words sliced out of my throat.
“Only when you were watching.” Her face crumpled. “He didn’t want to hurt me, just you.”
Her sobs started fast and hard, and she scrabbled for any purchase she could find on my body. Her legs around mine, her arms clasping my back, her tears against my throat. I held on. I held on and I rocked her and I thanked the motherfucking Lord she was in one piece—alive and whole—and so was I.
“I will never let you be put in harm’s way again. I’ll kill him again if I have to.” The muted rage rose up, mangling my voice. “I’d kill anyone who hurt you.”
“It’s done. It’s done.” Jessica’s breath shuddered. “I couldn’t stand watching them beat you like that.”
I felt her tears although she held perfectly still in my arms, all the wracking sobs released.
“They’re just bruises. I’ll heal.” You heal me.
Jessica leaned up, and I wiped her face dry. She gently kissed my forehead and the swelling cuts on my face, lastly my lips. “I should clean you up.”
“Later.” Pulling her down with me, I shifted under the covers and held her fast against my chest. “As long as you can stand my ugly mug for a little longer.”
“I can stand it forever, Hunter.”
“Good. Because I think that’s about how long I want to hold you.”
We didn’t fall asleep. We didn’t talk much either. Hands were too busy touching, reaffirming. Hearts were too busy filling with the rapid burst of unexpected love. Wounds of the past were mending, but there was a new one.
“I killed a man in front of you,” I whispered hoarsely sometime later as we lay, still clothed against each other.
“I know.”
“How can you look at me like that?”
“Like what?”
I cupped her face. “Like you love me, despite everything.”
She undressed me carefully and slid the robe from her shoulders. She led me. She didn’t shy away from my bruises but kissed each one with the gentlest care all the while stoking the intense, never satisfied heat between us until I sweated, swore, panted, and felt like I was coming apart in her hands and beneath her lips.