Page 27 of Bad Luck, Hard Love (Heaven’s Rejects MC #6)

“I'm fine,” I lie.

“No, you're not.” Thor finally stops fighting Ratchet's hold. “You're not fine and pretending you are doesn't help anyone.”

V rights the chair, hauling Holloway back into position. The man's breathing is even more labored now, wet rattles escape his throat with each exhale. His one good eye rolls back, consciousness flickering.

“Shit,” V mutters, slapping Holloway's cheek. “Come on, Vincent. Stay with us. We're just getting to the good part.”

Ratchet releases Thor slowly, keeping his hands raised like he's dealing with a wild animal. “We need locations. Names. How to reach Terrance directly.”

“Not giving you shit,” Vincent slurs, blood frothing at the corners of his mouth. His head lolls forward, chin dropping to his chest. “Should've...killed me...quicker.”

“No, no, no,” V mutters, grabbing Vincent's face between his hands. “Eyes open, asshole.”

I watch, frozen in place, as Vincent's breathing becomes more erratic. His chest heaves with effort, each inhale a wet, gurgling sound that fills the basement. Something's wrong. Even I can see it, something fatal shifting inside him.

“He's crashing,” Ratchet barks, shoving V aside. He rushes to a black duffel bag in the corner, yanking it open and rifling through its contents. “Get his head back!”

Thor moves instantly, tilting Vincent's head to maintain an open airway. Vincent's eye flutters, consciousness slipping away as his skin takes on an ashen hue.

“Where is Terrance?” Thor demands. “Last chance, Vincent. Tell us and we’ll get you help.”

A bubble of blood pops between Vincent's lips as he tries to speak. I can barely make out his words, “Fuck...you...”

Ratchet returns with a syringe filled with clear liquid, tapping it once before jamming the needle directly into Vincent's chest. “He’s got minutes at best, even with adrenaline.” The shot makes Vincent's body jerk violently.

For a moment, I think it's working. Vincent's eye flies open, pupils blown wide from the adrenaline.

His body convulses, spine arching against the restraints.

Then something changes—the tension leaves his muscles all at once, like a marionette with cut strings.

His head falls forward, chin hitting his chest with a dull finality.

“No, no, NO!” Ratchet slaps Vincent's face, but there's no response. He presses fingers against Vincent's neck, searching for a pulse that isn't there. “Fuck!”

Thor shoves Ratchet aside, grabbing Vincent by the hair and yanking his head back. “Wake up, you piece of shit!” He roars into Vincent's lifeless face. “WAKE UP!”

Vincent doesn't move. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth in a thin, final stream.

“He's gone.”

Thor explodes, flipping the metal table beside him. Tools clatter across the concrete floor, the sound deafening in the sudden silence. He grabs the chair with Vincent's body still strapped to it and hurls it against the wall with such force that one of the legs snaps clean off.

“FUCK!” The word tears from his throat. He whirls around, fist connecting with the cinder block wall. Again. Again.

I watch Thor destroy his knuckles, blood spattering the concrete with each impact. The sound echoes through the basement.

“Thor, stop. You're going to break your hand.”

He freezes mid-swing, fist hovering inches from the wall. Blood drips from his knuckles onto the floor, mixing with the other stains.

“He was our only lead. Our only way to find Terrance.”

“No, he wasn't.” I move closer. “You have his laptop. His files. His phone.”

V looks up from where he's been staring at Vincent's corpse. He wipes his hands on his jeans, leaving bloody streaks. “It'll take time, but?—”

“We don't have time!” Thor slams his damaged fist against the wall again. “Every second we waste, Terrance is planning his next move. He'll know Vincent's dead soon enough.”

“How?” I ask. “How will he know?”

Ratchet crouches beside the overturned table, gathering scattered tools. “These guys always have check-in protocols. When Vincent doesn't report in...”

“He’ll know he’s either dead or compromised,” I finish for him. The implications hit me like ice water.

Terrance will send someone else. Someone worse.

The thought takes root in my mind, sprouting tendrils of dread that wrap around my throat. I've spent years trying to run from this man, but I never truly understood what I was running from until now. Not just an abuser. A monster who eliminates problems without hesitation.

“Our next move needs to be hitting the Vegas chapter. Cut the head off the snake and use it to find Terrance.”

“Vegas chapter of what?”

The three men exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them that excludes me completely. Thor's jaw tightens, his bloodied knuckles clenching at his sides.

“There's something I haven't told you. Something you need to know.”

My stomach drops, and that familiar sensation of dread washes over me. More secrets. More danger. Will it ever end?

“The Heaven's Rejects has multiple chapters,” Thor continues. “Vegas is one of them. Run by a man named Ace.”

“And?” I press, sensing there's more. Much more.

Thor exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Ace is connected to this. All of it.”

The basement suddenly feels colder, the smell of blood more pronounced. “Connected how?”

“The men who drugged you and your friend? They weren't random predators. They work for Ace.”

The revelation strikes me like a punch to the gut. I reach for the workbench to steady myself, my fingers brushing something wet I can't bring myself to identify.

“Are you saying...” I struggle to form the words, to make sense of this new horror. “Are you saying your own club is involved in trafficking women?”

“Not mine. One of the other chapters,” Thor growls. “They’re the reason that I am here. They’re violating the rules of our club. I was sent to handle them.”

Silence stretches between us, brittle and sharp.

Ratchet shifts uncomfortably in the corner. Even V keeps his mouth shut.

I glance around the basement, suddenly aware of how deep I am in this. Not just with Thor. Not just with Terrance.

But with all of it.

This isn’t just about my ex-husband anymore. This isn’t just about revenge or survival.

A club war is brewing, and I’m the spark that lit the fuse.