Page 163 of Darling Psycho

He’d been told more than once to calm down.

“You think this is me losing my shit?”

Oh, this was nothing.

It was the wick before the stroke of a match.

But he was so close to exploding his fury.

“Buddy, if you lose your shit now, who else will help Angie, huh?” Snake said.

It wasn’t Snake, as peaceful as he was trying to be, which snapped Lawless out of his explosion. It was Hawk standing directly in front of him. And the VP grabbed both sides of Lawless’ face. Hawk touched no one without cause, usually to hurt them.

“You gotta rein it in, enforcer, you hear me? No one is better equipped to help your woman than you. When you have her safe, then you can let loose like the fucking Kraken.”

Bugging Angela’s bracelet weeks ago meant he had her location. She could fly off the handle for it later when he had her safe again.

He was the only justice.

No longer the enforcer. He was the fucking executioner.

Knock, knock, fuckers, death calling.

Hawk slipped into the steel-enclosed gun closet at the side of him and chose his weapons, too. “What’s the plan, enforcer?”

Rider might have better, more diplomatic ideas of trying to smooth things over if they could get Angela home without bloodshed and a decade-long vendetta dogging their asses. But to Lawless, the answer was obvious.

“Leave no one breathing.”

“Sounds good to me.”

* * *

Rider grabbed Lawless’ shoulder. “You good? We’ll get her back, my brother, have no fear about that. I bet she’s bitching them out in four languages. They’ll get sick and drop her on the corner.”

Rider was trying to make him feel better.

On some level, he knew that. And in another reality, that might happen. She was stubborn and mouthy and could blow her temper at a second’s notice.

Lawless was realistic and knew that’s not what would happen here.

He dug deep for calm as they strode to their bikes.

This was only ever going to go one way.

He came home with Angela.

Or he didn’t come home alive.

He’d never killed an innocent.

But the frame of mind he was in, the cold slither in his veins, and the crazy rage, he was going to shoot first and not give a fuck who his bullets hit.

They had his woman.

It was guilty by association, far as he was concerned.

Bad fish wanted to be rotten, did they?