by Nina Levine
King stalks into the room, dark energy clinging to him. “We leave in ten minutes,” he barks, surveying the room. Make sure you have weapons strapped every-fucking-where you can. I’m not bringing any dead bodies back with me today.”
As fast as he came in, he leaves.
Fuck.
This shit is getting worse with each day and I’m as determined as King to wipe these motherfuckers out. Now that I have Noah, I’ll do anything to keep him safe.
Ten minutes later, we’re on our way to the location Zero has given us. It’s an abandoned church on a large property in the middle of nowhere, and it takes us a good hour to get there. The street is clear, meaning either we got here before they could set up security or they’re not here.
Parking our vans a short distance from the property, we file out, all fifty of us. Zero made good on his word and backed King with the numbers he asked for. Winter takes the lead, directing everyone to where he wants us.
The property is dense with trees, which helps us remain hidden until the last minute. The entry points into the building are located front and back, plus one on the side. As we draw close and see a handful of vehicles parked outside the church, it’s clear they’re here, and going by the ease of our access, they haven’t been here long.
Winter signals his directions and we separate to head to our designated entry points. I follow Winter to the back door and our group remains undetected as we enter the building. Moving quietly, I scan for the enemy, every muscle flexed and ready for a fight.
We make it through the first room and into the next when Winter comes to a halt and signals for us to do the same. When he points down, I see the clear tripwire at our feet.
They are here and they are ready for us.
Evading the tripwire, we move through the second room. The one after it is a larger room. As I enter it, gunfire sounds from the other end of the building.
My body tenses, preparing.
The sound of boots coming our way fills my ears.
And in a roar of shouting and the thunder of gunfire, we’re under attack.
Bullets fly and knives clash as we fight for our lives. These motherfuckers fight dirty as hell, which suits me just fine; it stirs the side of me that wants to inflict as much pain as possible to those who endanger the club.
“Fuck!” Winter roars as one of our guys is shot and goes down. Aiming his gun at the shooter, he fires, putting a bullet in his leg.
The guy screams in pain and stumbles, but doesn’t fall.
Winter shoots him again, in the other leg. This time, he crashes to the floor, in enough pain to slow him down.
Winter lunges at him, yanking him up by his shirt and thrusting him at me. “Take him out to the van and don’t let him out of your sight. I wanna interrogate him when we get out of here.”
The guy struggles with me, earning a punch to his face that’s hard enough to almost knock him out. He lands on the ground in a world of hurt, but still trying like fuck to fight me off.
The beast inside me rears his head when the guy takes aim with his fist, connecting with my chin and shooting pain through my jaw.
“You wanna fight me, motherfucker?” I thunder as I slam my fist into his cheek. “Let’s fucking fight!”
Pummelling him until he can barely move, I deliver enough agony that he doesn’t stand a chance of escaping. I then hoist him up and stagger outside with him. As we make our way to the van, I spot two of his mates in the distance. They’re busy getting more weapons out of one of their vehicles and don’t see us coming until I’ve almost reached them.
I see the moment they become aware of my presence and shove the asshole I’m carrying to the ground so I can deal with them. They scramble for a weapon from their stash, but I’m faster and take aim with my gun. I fire a bullet into one of the guy’s skulls, but I miss the other one who ducks in time.
“Fuck you!” he yells, coming at me.
As I shoot, the motherfucker I brought with me from the church wraps his hand around my ankle and pulls me down, giving this other asshole the opportunity to get on top, knock my gun from my hand, and punch me.
He manages a few hits before I buck him off. He falls on his ass, but recovers fast and reaches for the knife strapped to my calf.
Fuck.
He’s a fast fucker and slashes my leg, slicing through my jeans and deep into my skin. I don’t need to see that to know it. I fucking feel it.
Rearing up, I throw myself at him and knock him backwards, to the dirt. Straddling him, I punch his face. His hands come up, one squeezing my face in a grip that’s painful as fuck as his fingers dig in. His other hand madly tries to locate another weapon on my body. Before he can find one, I pull the knife from my forearm sheath and stab him in the chest. I yank it out and stab it down hard again. Over and fucking over until he’s a bloody mess.
“Fuck!” I roar as I raise up and spin around to get to the motherfucker I thought I’d knocked out earlier, but who appears to have a new fucking lease on life and is trying to get up and head back towards the church.
Grabbing the collar of his shirt, I jerk him back with enough force to ensure he flies back and lands on his ass. Shoving my boot in his face, I force him to the ground.
Standing over him, I crush my boot to his chest as my breaths come hard and fast. “You and I are gonna be leaving here together, asshole, and either you’ll be breathing or you won’t. Your fucking choice, so make it now and make it fucking fast or I’ll make it for you.”
He spits blood up at me, but he doesn’t speak a word, so I make the choice for him. As much as I want to wrap my hands around his fucking throat and squeeze the fucking life out of him, I don’t. Winter will have my balls if I do, so I deliver a knockout punch and put us both out of our fucking misery.
Ten minutes later, I have him settled in the van and take a moment to check out the stab wound on my leg. I was right; it’s deep and I’m losing a fair bit of blood, so I apply direct pressure to control the bleeding.
Fucking hell.
This is not how I saw today panning out when I fucking woke up.
38
Zara
* * *
“What happened?” I ask my mother after she picks me up from my apartment and drives us to the clubhouse on Saturday afternoon. She’s got all the kids in the car and looks anything but calm. Her actions appear calm, but her face tells a different story.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, she says softly so only I can hear, “King wants us all at the clubhouse. They lost some guys today and things are worse than ever.”
Panic squeezes my chest.
Fury went out with them today.
“Who?”
She frowns. “Who what?”
My panic increases and comes through in my voice when I demand, “Who did they lose?”
“I don’t know, Zara. All I know is what I’ve told you.”
Oh God.
Please don’t let it be Fury.
Please, please, please.
We drive the rest of the way in silence. I can’t talk; I can hardly think straight. My mind is racing as fast as my heart. It can’t be Fury; we only just found each other again.
When she pulls up to the clubhouse gate, two members are patrolling the area. They slow us down but open the gate as soon as they see it’s Mum. However, she pulls up to talk to Kick.
I can’t wait a second longer than necessary to find out if Fury was hurt. I open the door and leave the car before running the rest of the way. Mum calls out after me, but I ignore her.
I need to know he’s okay.
The clubhouse is in chaos, packed to capacity with wounded club members and others trying to help them. Raised voices everywhere. Ferocious energy. And blood. So much blood.
My lungs battle for breath as I push my way through the crowd.
I need to get to Fury.
“Zara!” King barks, stalking my way, his expression dark. “Where’s your mother?”
&nbs
p; “She’s outside. She’s safe.”
He doesn’t say anything more, moving past me, but I reach for his arm. “King, who was killed?” My stomach knots and I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.
Rage crowds his eyes as he says, “Mace and Texas.”
My heart free falls, because I knew those guys well. Tears pool in my eyes, but I force them not to fall. At the same time, relief like I’ve never known floods me.
He’s okay.
He didn’t die.
“Where’s Fury?”
He frowns, not answering me instantly, so I ask again, more demanding this time. “King, where’s Fury? Is he okay?”
“What the—”
Hyde cuts him off when he joins us. He looks like he wants to kill someone. “The motherfucker is speaking and you’re gonna wanna hear what he’s saying.”
King appears disoriented, staring at Hyde and then back at me.
“King,” Hyde says urgently. “Did you fucking hear me? He’s talking.”
King’s eyes snap back to Hyde and he takes off towards the back of the clubhouse.
I have no idea what just happened, but I don’t have time to think about it. I need to find Fury.
After asking everyone I can where he is, I’m eventually directed to his room.
Ten fucking minutes have passed while I searched, and I’m a jumble of emotions. I’m not convinced my heart hasn’t turned itself inside out. When I reach Fury’s room, I don’t knock, I don’t ask if I can come in, I don’t wait to be invited; nothing is stopping me from entering this room.
He’s sitting on the bed, naked except for boxers. His legs are extended the length of the bed while a man stitches a wound on his calf. A wave of nausea engulfs me as I look at the blood and the needle working through flesh.
“Fuck, Zara,” Fury says as I grab the closest piece of furniture to stay upright.
“Don’t move,” the guy stitching him orders as he jerks forward.
Fury says something, but I’m unable to focus on his words while I get myself together. I have a queasy stomach, and the sight of stitches always does this to me.
It takes me a few minutes to work through the nausea. Once I have, I find Fury’s eyes and close the distance between us, making sure not to look at his leg.
He’s a mess of cuts and bruises and dried blood, and when I reach for his hand, he hisses with pain. “Shit, sorry,” I say, letting his hand go.
“You should go back outside and wait for me,” he says, his expression one of concern.
Although I’m looking at Fury and he’s okay, my heart hasn’t stopped galloping. I know being a member of Storm demands he puts his life on the line daily, and I know how to live with that because I’ve seen enough of it with King, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.
“I thought you were dead.” The words fall from my lips, my fear not easing one little bit, my tears drawing closer to the surface.
“Okay,” the guy stitching him says. “I’m done. Call me if it gets infected.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Fury says, not taking his eyes off me.
The guy packs up and exits the room, leaving us alone.
Fury reaches for me. “Zara,” he says, but I stop him when I look down at his hand and see the swelling and bruising.
“No, don’t,” I say as he tries to take my hand. “You’re in pain.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the pain. I want to touch you.” His tone is determined, as is he, and he forces me to give him my hand. He pulls me onto the bed and brings his hand to the nape of my neck. He cups my cheek with his other hand. “Baby, I’m okay.”
My fear collides with my relief and I can’t hold my tears back any longer. They stream down my face as I sob.
“Fuck,” he curses softly, bringing me to him so he can wrap his arms around me.
We stay like this for a long time because I can’t bear to let him go. When I finally do, I say, “I’m sorry. I want to be strong for you, but—”
He silences me with a finger to my lips. “You don’t have to be anything for me except yourself. If you need to cry, do it. This situation is fucked up; we’re all feeling it.”
I know the guys don’t talk club business with their women, but I ask him the question I desperately need an answer to anyway. “Is it over?”
His eyes give me the answer before he even opens his mouth. “No.”
I swallow the terror that word unleashes. He doesn’t need to deal with my worry when he’s already dealing with so much.
To shift the conversation, I say, “How bad is your leg?”
He glances at it. “It’ll slow me down, but it’s okay.”
I drop my gaze to his body, noting again the damage he’s suffered. It looks like he’s been to war, and while I want nothing more than to take care of him, I don’t put my hands on him. I can’t even imagine the kind of pain he’s in; I don’t want to make it worse.
Tipping my face back up to meet his gaze, he says, “I’m good, princess. You don’t need to worry about me.”
I’m so engrossed in Fury, I don’t hear the door open or someone entering the room until a dark voice sounds behind me.
“What the fuck is happening here?”
I jump at King’s voice and turn to look at him.
Holy shit.
39
Fury
* * *
The room fills with King’s wrath as his eyes bore into mine. He doesn’t need to say another word for me to know he’s brought a storm like I’ve never known with him. My father was a violent man, and as a kid I was scared of him, but King isn’t just violent; he’s a ruthless and unforgiving savage when he’s at his worst. He’s a fucking madman when he can’t be reasoned with, and that’s far worse than my father ever was.
“I asked a fucking question,” he roars, “and I want a fucking answer.”
Confusion is written all over Zara who says, “What the hell, King?”
“You need to—” I start, but he cuts me off.
Eyes to Zara, he demands, “Is he the one who broke your heart four years ago?”
Her eyes widen as understanding crashes into her. Moving off the bed, she faces him. “No, it wasn’t like that. I—”
“How the fuck was it then? Because I seem to recall you telling me a guy broke your heart—”
I’ve fucking heard enough. Ignoring the pain it causes, I stand and move towards him. “Don’t talk to her like that.” The words crash out of me, my own anger stirred. “This shit is between you and me.”
He works his jaw, his face an artwork of rage. “I fucking knew that day I saw you following her out of that hallway that you were with her. I put my fucking trust in you, Fury, and you lied to my face.”
“I didn’t lie. You asked me if we were sleeping together. We weren’t. I told—”
“You fucking expect me to believe that? Again?”
“King,” Zara steps forward, “we weren’t sleeping together. I promise you that.”
He swings his head to her. “You need to step outside.” Fuck. His voice is hard, even to her.
She recoils like he slapped her, but then straightens her shoulders and says with uncompromising strength, “I’m not leaving. You can stand there and throw your weight around all you like, but I am not going anywhere.”
“This is my fucking clubhouse, Zara, and you will do as I say.”
I jerk my chin at her. “You should go, princess.”
That pisses her off and she stares at me. “You’re fucking serious, aren’t you? He’s my father; I should be here.”
From what I’m picking up, this has little to do with her being his daughter. Four years ago, it did, but now I’m fairly fucking sure it has everything to do with the fact he thinks I lied to him. And while I didn’t technically lie, I also didn’t give him the full truth, so I need to face the storm.
“Let me deal with this,” I say, my voice firm.
With one last glare sent my way, and anothe
r at King, she mutters her frustration and exits the room, slamming the door on her way out.
She’s only halfway through the door when King launches himself across the room at me. “She’s not your fucking princess,” he bellows, landing a hard-as-fuck punch on my cheek.
Fuck.
I hit the wall with a heavy thud, only just managing not to go down. “When you asked me back then if I’d slept with her, I hadn’t.”
His hand squeezes around my throat. “But you did after I asked you?”
I shake my head because I can’t fucking get a word out. Hell, I can’t get a breath in either.
His fingers dig in as he squeezes harder. “I don’t fucking believe you.”
I try to pry his hand from me, but he does his fucking best to keep it tightly around me. He’s my president and I respect him, but this shit has to end. Zara’s not a teenager anymore; she’s a grown woman capable of making her own choices in life. And his inability to fucking listen to people is maddening.
My hands go to his torso and I shove him hard, trying to move him. When he hardly budges, I bring my hand up and punch his face, not as hard as I can, but enough to shift him.
He lets go of my throat and I suck air in fast because I know he’s got more for me.
And he does.
Another punch comes my way, but I duck and avoid his fist before I deliver a blow that causes him to stumble back. He comes at me again and we trade punch after punch. Each one becoming more brutal. The thing about King and me is that we both have a beast we feed with violence, and this shit is fuelling our demons in ways we may never recover from.
Every punch I deliver blurs the line I’ve drawn between us.
Every hit he inflicts erodes the respect I have for him.
Every second we continue down this path picks apart the threads of loyalty our relationship is built on.
“I brought you into this club when you were on the fucking street, when you had no one in your fucking corner, and this is how you repay me?” he demands as I slump to the floor after he strikes me hard enough to almost knock me out. “By going against what I say and fucking my daughter?”