After Burn (Lost Kings MC 10)

Almost too easy.

Blood stains my knuckles. It’s possible I’m enjoying myself a little too much.

White heat surges through my veins, heart thumping, blood pounding, my wild eyes search the immediate area, primed for the next opponent.

Z’s busy flirting with the pretty bartender when a hefty old biker takes a swing at Rock.

“Shit!” I smack Z’s arm as I slide off my stool.

“Oh fuck.”

“I’m gonna call the cops,” the bartender says.

“Shit, Z.”

That’s the last thing Rock needs.

Rock seems perfectly at home knocking the guy out and the other bikers who come at him. It’s honestly a little terrifying to see my husband so comfortable being so vicious.

A short scream jumps out of my throat when one of the guys pulls a knife.

Rock handles that too.

It all happens so fast.

Z tugs on my arm, trying to push me toward the back door, but I dig my heels into the dirty wood floor. “I’m not leaving without him.”

“Hope,” he warns.

“Where’s Wrath?”

Some patrons flee out the front door, while others use the fight as an excuse to start their own trouble.

Two more bikers head Rock’s way.

I pull out the little pepper blaster and Z laughs. “What the hell are you gonna do with that?”

“Shoot those guys.”

“Hope,” he says, grabbing my arm again. “Let’s go.”

“Z, I can either shoot you or them.” I snap the cartridge in place and slip the extra one in my pocket. “I’d rather not shoot you, but I will if you don’t let go of me.”

“Goddammit,” he mutters, releasing my arm. I’m halfway across the room, when Wrath bursts in the front door.

“Hope, don’t.” He motions me toward him. “Let’s go.”

But two more guys are approaching Rock, one with what looks like a broken chair leg clutched tightly in his left hand.

I aim the plastic gun in his direction first. My finger pushes the white, plastic safety to the side.

“Hey!” I shout to get his attention.

He turns, and oh fuck, I pray this stupid little thing works because he’s a scary asshole and now he’s coming my way.

Deep breath. Just like Rock’s taught me, aim for right between the eyes and slowly squeeze the trigger.

A loud pop bursts from the gun and the glob of pepper spray lands in the middle of his scraggly, gray beard.

Huh, guess my aim is off.

The liquid spreads, soaking his beard as well as dousing the guy to his left enough to make him stop.

The one I nailed drops to the ground, clawing at his throat. The chair leg thumps to the floor.

Happy it worked, I smile in triumph and grab the second cartridge.

Wrath’s already in the thick of things with Rock. I’ve witnessed what Wrath’s capable of doing in the somewhat controlled environment of an underground fighting ring. Here, with no rules at all—he’s absolutely savage.

“All right, let’s go, Hope,” Z says.

I can tell he doesn’t want to leave. He’s struggling between staying with me like Rock asked or helping his brothers.

“I’m fine. Go help them.”

“Woman, I swear to—”

A bearded blur storms through the front door. “Look, Murphy’s here. I’ll go with—”

Too late, Murphy’s already joined the brawl.

“Fuck. Stay put,” Z says.

I glance at the bartender who’s on the phone, probably with the police.

We’re all going to end up being carted off to jail tonight.

“Bitch,” someone snaps to my right and I whirl around.

The girl who hit on Rock earlier advances on me with a beer bottle in one hand.

Cold fear swirls in my stomach. I’m not a fighting type of girl. Never have been. I squeeze the gun in my hand, very aware I only have one cartridge left.

I flick my gaze to the corner where Rock, Wrath, Murphy, and Z have neutralized most of the threats. Everyone else has fled the building.

The girl in front of me seems to realize her backup is either beaten to a pulp on the floor or gone, leaving her behind.

I casually snap the cartridge into place. “Did you have something to say to me, short stack?”

She blows out a breath. “Uppity cunt.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that, sweetheart,” I mutter, raising the gun and aiming for her mouth.

She pauses and cocks her head, maybe trying to figure out if the gray and red plastic gun is an actual threat.

“Last chance,” I warn.

“Fuck you.”

That seems pretty hostile. My finger twitches and the gun fires. The blob of pepper spray lands in her cleavage, spreads across her chest and drips down her shirt.

“What the fuck is that?” The girl screams, scooping up the goopy stuff with her long coffin-shaped nails.

It must sting because she shrieks even louder and dances around like a possessed marionette.

I don’t feel as bad about it as I probably should. After all, I tried to warn her. Not my fault she wouldn’t listen.

“What the fuck, Hope?” Teller shouts. He races over from the main entrance and grabs my hand. “We gotta go. Now.”

“Rock!” I yell as Teller drags me to the door.

Breathing hard and covered with sweat and maybe a little blood, he looks up and scowls. “Get her out of here,” he barks at Teller.

“Cops are on their way!” the bartender shouts. “Get out while you can.”

“Go, Rock. I got this,” Wrath says, shoving him away.

The group who earlier outnumbered us by quite a bit lies scattered on the floor in groaning, bloody heaps.

Teller’s clamps down on my arm harder, determined to get me out of here whether I like it or not. “Ow. Watch it with the iron grip,” I yelp.

He ignores me and pulls me into the parking lot.

“We gotta get out of here,” he says, pulling me toward Murphy’s truck.

“Where’s Trinity and Charlotte?”

“Back at the beach house.”

Wrath, Z, Murphy, and Rock burst out of the front door just as sirens sound in the distance.

“Move!” Rock yells, running toward us as if the bar’s about to blow up.

My boots slap over the hard pavement, jarring my bones. These weren’t meant for running. Teller opens the back door and lift-shoves me inside. I scoot to the other side as fast as I can to make room for the other guys and end up jammed against Alexa’s car seat. Rock jumps in next, followed by Z.

Teller climbs behind the wheel and Wrath hoists himself into the passenger side.

“Where’s Murphy?” I ask.

Wrath jerks his finger over his shoulder and I turn. Murphy taps the back window and gives us a thumbs-up.

“Let’s roll, welterweight,” Wrath rumbles.

“I’m going. Gonna be a little suspicious if I peel out of here, don’t ya think?”

It’s maddening, but Teller takes his time—even uses his blinker—as he slowly pulls out of the parking lot and onto Main Street.

Several police cars pass us, lights flashing, sirens blaring, but none of them slow down or turn around.

Once the police are a good distance behind us, Teller finally speeds up.

Everyone’s breathing hard and excitedly recapping the night’s events.

Rock grabs me by my hips and pulls me into his lap. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I search every inch of his face, neck, and chest to make sure he’s not hurt. He hisses when I touch his shoulder and push his leather cut to the side. I peel his shirt away and gasp.

“Jesus, Rock,” I breathe out. His skin’s already reddened and turning purple in places. “Can you move your arm?”

“Got you into my lap, didn’t I?”

I’m too worried to joke around. “Be serious.”

He shrugs and rolls his shoulders for me, clenching his jaw the entire time.