King's Wrath (Sydney Storm MC 5)

Dash was unrecognisable by the time Jethro pulled me off him. Swollen eyes glued shut with blood, broken bones, teeth missing, crooked nose, and a complete and utter sense of defeat made up the man who’d dared argue with the Storm president. The message was unmistakable.

As I fought to get myself under control again, Jethro crouched in front of Dash and said, “Give me the package, Dash, or else I’ll let him loose on you again.”

One of Dash’s eye’s cracked open to a slit. He rattled off an address for where he’d left the package, struggling to get his words out. When he was done, his body sagged more than it already had, like a deep silent sigh of anguish. I recognised his pain for what it was because I’d experienced the same pain at the hands of my father. It was emotional more than physical. Your mind could find a way to cope with physical pain, but it could never fully survive the emotional trauma another person inflicted on you.

Jethro called Ghost and had him retrieve the package. We waited in silence while he did so. Jethro retreated to his bike, and I rested against Dash’s car while watching him. My mind swam with questions about why we were here collecting a package, but I knew not to ask. Jethro kept his cards close to his chest and pounced on anyone who dared question him over anything. I chose to trust my president, so while I wondered what we were doing, I never doubted it was for the good of the club.

Fifteen minutes passed before Jethro received the call that Ghost was in possession of the package. His eyes found mine as he ended the call. Coming my way, he said, “We’re good to go. Just need to take care of one last loose end.”

Dash.

I moved off the hood of Dash’s car and waited for Jethro to tie up his loose end. Instead of doing that, though, he nodded at me, eyes going to where I kept my gun holstered and said, “This one’s yours, King.”

My hand slowly curled into a fist, more than ready to do as he’d said.

Dash would be my first.

For as long as I could remember, I’d hungered for the death of someone on my hands. It had been my father’s blood I’d wanted. Even though I hadn’t seen him since I was nine, and even though he’d finally been locked up for life two years ago, not a night went by where I didn’t think about the ways I would end his miserable fucking life.

I had plotted his death in minute detail at least twenty different ways. I’d even started trying to figure out ways to break him out of prison just so I could taste his blood on my hands. After I tortured every last part of his fucking body.

“King,” Jethro barked. “Now!”

Although he lay almost unconscious on the dirt, Dash made one final plea for grace. His words were incomprehensible. His attempt to save his life, futile. Once the Storm president made up his mind, he didn’t ever waver. His actions drilled into me the importance of never backing down when enforcing a plan. I’d seen the loyalty he had from all club members and the way we looked to him for leadership because of his ruthless determination and decisiveness. Jethro was the reason Storm was a force to be reckoned with; the reason why so many in Sydney feared us. And that shit right there was the reason why I did anything and everything asked of me.

I never wanted to be in a position of weakness again.

I would never allow anyone to hurt me the way my father had.

I’d fight to my dying breath to protect the power my club had because it meant I too would have power.

Dash slowly gave in, surrendering, understanding what would happen next.

His eyes met mine, hopeless and tormented.

I felt anything but.

Reaching for my gun, I aimed it at his head and pulled the trigger.

My first kill.

The rush of power kicked in fast. A new type of high. One that obliterated so much of the chaos that flowed through my veins every minute of every day.

I’ll never be the weaker one again.

4

King

* * *

I often wondered what the inside of my head would look like if I’d been born to different humans rather than the motherfuckers I was given. Would it be as murky as it was? Filled with as much grime and as many fucked-up thoughts? The nature versus nurture debate could probably be settled once and for all if people like me were given two lives with two sets of parents. But fuck, maybe I’d be the mess I was regardless.

Maybe killing was in my blood anyway. Maybe it was my fate. The only thing I knew for certain, after the events of this morning, was that killing was in my blood now. One taste had unlocked a whole new room in my mind, and the views were mind-blowing.

Jethro had watched me with a knowing look after I’d fired my gun and killed Dash. With a quick nod, he’d turned to walk back to his bike. No words were exchanged, but I had the understanding that he’d brought me with him for a reason. A test. One I’d passed. And then I’d passed another when we met with the Black Deeds president.

Jethro had threatened him over his club’s violation of the territory agreements set in place years ago for drug deals done in Sydney. The package from Dash had confirmed that. When Breaker had refused to back down, Jethro didn’t waste a minute before taking his life. I hadn’t seen it coming—because it would stir a fuckload of shit for Storm—but I hadn’t hesitated in backing him up. My instincts had kicked in fast, and I took care of the two club members Breaker had with him before they could retaliate and kill Jethro.