War of Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 2)

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

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