Page 1 of Inglorious (Unwanted Bastards MC #1)
Inglorious
D ead, they’re all dead. I looked around and saw nothing but the bodies of my men, my brothers.
Dead.
They are all dead.
The word screamed in my mind on repeat: Dead, dead, dead.
Someone landed beside me. A brother appeared, blackened from smoke, and blood welling in a million cuts, and he was breathing. Razor was breathing. Hardly daring to believe, I surged upwards and, ignoring the pain in my body, clasped Razor like a lifeline.
One alive.
I looked around with hope. Maybe my eyes were deceiving me.
Someone placed a body beside me.
Chill.
Chill wasn’t moving, but his eyes were open and there was a shocked expression on his face. Like Razor, Chill appeared a mess, but just as I thought he was dead, Chill blinked.
Stunned, I sat there, gripping Razor tightly around the neck, keeping him close and holding Chill’s hand, which gripped mine in return.
Then, like all things fleeting, hope faded when, one after another, my brothers were declared dead. The RCPD covered their bodies with whatever they could find, giving my brothers dignity and privacy.
But I saw. Witnessed everything, and there’d be no scrubbing those images from my memory, ever.
My gaze landed on Psych. We’d grown up together. Psych stared at me, eyes dead, with an arm and a leg missing. Ben covered him up and moved on to the next body. Shocked beyond belief, I kept staring at Psych.
Dead.
Psych, dead.
Bomber, dead.
Trip, dead.
Mouse, dead.
Poison, dead.
Snake, dead.
Satan, dead.
Darkness, Plug, Slim, Cutthroat, Heat, Yeti, Casanova, Chap, and Art. DEAD.
Someone tried to move Chill, and I fought. Fuck my wounds. Nobody is taking Chill from me. He needed me to keep him alive.
“Inglorious, we gotta get Chill to the hospital. Chill’s hurt bad,” Ramirez yelled in my face.
Ramirez looked pale, shocked, and there was an expression on his face I couldn’t describe. He was a cop, not a soldier. None of us were prepared for this. How do we deal with this?
“Chill needs me!” I roared, but it was a pathetic whimper. Why can’t I yell?
Smoke billowed around me, and heat from the burning defences heated my skin, but I couldn’t cry or shout. Strangely, I felt locked in, but I had to hold on to Chill . I’m keeping him alive. If they take Chill away, he’ll die.
“Fuck. He’s got a hole in him the size of a fist,” Ben exclaimed from close by.
“Who has?” I demanded. Frantically, I began patting Chill down. I needed to shove my hand in his wound and save him. I’m his brother, his Prez.
Dead!
Don’t let him go!
The words screamed in my mind. I clung to Razor, too, who was on his knees trying to get me to release Chill.
“If I let Chill go, he’ll die!” I screamed; not even a whimper this time. Oddly, I fell backwards, feeling pain in my side and wondering what was happening.
“Medic!” Razor screeched, and I hugged him. He had to be hurt to cry out like that. Damn, I needed to take Razor’s agony, take their hurts and injuries, and then they’d survive.
“Dude, I’m strong enough. Give me their wounds.” I spoke to Ramirez.
He was crying.
Make him stop. If Ramirez stopped and left me alone, I could save Chill and Razor.
The sky caught my gaze, so fuckin’ blue. How dare it be so beautiful when death surrounded me? Somebody attempted to wrench Chill from my grip, and I fought to hold on. However, I was strapped down now.
“Keep pressure on Inglorious. I can put my fist in that hole in his side,” Ben snapped at someone.
Me? I have a hole in my side? I couldn’t feel it.
“Let me die. I can look after my brothers then,” I said.
“Get Inglorious to the hospital,” Ramirez ordered, and they lifted me.
I spotted Chill and Razor both being carried out on stretchers.
Dead.
All gone. My club, the reason for living.
Dead.
“Save Razor and Chill. Save them,” I tried to tell someone, but they were shoving a tube down my throat and working on me. They weren’t paying attention.
DEAD.
The Unwanted Bastards has three living members. The rest died in a war that wasn’t ours.
I closed my eyes.
Just let me fuckin’ die.