“I know you have money. The least you can do is give me some so I can get away. Mack fucked me over, and I need to leave town.” She’s wringing her hands, rocking back and forth. This fucking nut is high as a kite. Fuck, I hope Maddox can hear what’s going on.
“Nope, no can do. Now, it’s time for you to leave.” Just when I think she’s finally come to her senses, she walks up to me. I spread my legs wider, preparing for anything, when she attempts to smack me. I grab her hand, but that doesn’t stop her from kicking my legs out from under me. There’s something to be said about a functional alcoholic and drug addict. Their strength emanates in them, which is how my mother was able to get me down and on the ground, but there’s no way I’m giving up without a fight.
“I should kill you, leave you here for dead.” Her hands are wrapped around my throat. There’s no fucking way I’m going to allow her to end my life tonight, not when it just started. I manage to wrap my legs around her waist, twisting and turning, using my lower body strength like I would as a dancer, somehow getting on top of her.
“I’m going to fucking bash your head in. You’re filth and don’t deserve to walk this earth,” I tell her right as I grab the lamp, pulling it off the table. She tries to buck me off her, and I swear to God whatever she’s taken is making her as strong as Hercules. I raise the lamp, hitting her just as she clocks me in the jaw. My lights go out, but the last thing I remember is seeing her head bounce off the tile and her eyes close. At least she can’t cause any more harm to anyone else, especially the baby she had on her hip, and she can’t fuck with me or Maddox anymore. Those are my last thoughts before I’m dragged under the cloak of darkness.
Seventeen
Razor
“Fuckin’ idiot,” Shovel grumbles as we load up the piece of shit we were looking for in the back of the van. None of us are leaving shit to chance. We’ll wrap this up nice and tight at the clubhouse. My phone vibrating in my pocket right when I’m about to light a cigarette has me pausing. No one would be calling me. Everyone is here. And if it were the guys at the clubhouse, they’d have called Shovel. That leaves one person, Raven.
“Hey, kinda busy right now,” I answer the phone. My woman doesn’t respond though. Instead, all I’m hearing is a bitch who clearly ain’t Raven.
“I’m riding out. Raven isn’t alone. You got this?” I ask Shovel and Ruger. We had a couple of prospects drive the van down, along with our Road Captain. Everyone else stayed at the clubhouse back in Ely that’s only an hour away, where shit was being watched carefully while we’re not there.
“Take Ruger with you and keep me fuckin’ posted. We’ll meet you back at the clubhouse unless shit’s too bad, then we’ll go from there,” Shovel acknowledges me, and as much as I hate to wait for one damn minute, Ruger is the smartest one to bring.
“Might need a van my way and a clean-up crew. Not sure what’s happening,” I tell him.
“We get this fucktard settled, we’ll head your way, then we’ll travel to Ely and take the trash out.” A sinister smile comes over his face, letting me know exactly what he’s thinking. We didn’t give each other our names based on nothing.
“Sounds good.” I hop on my bike, kick it in gear, and then I’m on my way to see what the fuck is going on with Raven. It burns my gut inside that she could be in trouble and that I wasn’t smart enough to at least post someone at her apartment door. Not once did I think she’d feel any pain or the burden of what’s going on, but she fucking did. And that’s not something I’m sure I’ll ever forgive myself for. My only hope is that my spitfire holds on tight because I’m on my way and not even the fires of hell could stop me.
Ruger and I make the drive in minutes, both of us hauling ass, giving zero fucks about the speed limit. The only thing on my mind is getting to Raven before it’s too late. Fuckin’ Mack is shit for brains and has no common sense left in his drug-addled brain. What kind of man owes money to a cartel, hooks up with the wrong side of trash, and then is sitting at home in front of his television watching a Goddamn boxing match with his phone clutched in one hand and a line of coke on the table in front of him.