Page 88 of Massacre

“How many?”

“One is too many, but that day we saved over thirty people. Men, women and children.”

Amber was silent for a long moment, her breath evening out as she pressed her face into my shirt. The ache in my chest was sharp and deep, but I smoothed her hair gently, letting her know I was still there, promising—if only with the steady rhythm of my hand—that she was safe.

Eventually, she broke the silence, her voice little more than a whisper. “Do you ever wish you could forget it all?”

I pulled her closer. “Sometimes. But if we forget, then it could happen all over again. We remember so we can stop it.”

She nodded, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “I hope one day none of this will matter.”

“One day,” I promised. “But until then, we do what we can.”

A soft knock sounded at the door, startling us both. I looked at the door, and called out, “Yeah?”

The door cracked open and Sypher peeked his head in, concern etched on his face. “Sorry to bother you, but, Massacre, we need to talk.”

Nodding, I kissed Amber on the lips and said, “Be right back, baby,” as I got up and left the room to find the front door open. Walking outside, I softly closed the door and spotted the kid pacing in the dirt.

The second he saw me, he stopped.

“This is bad, Mass. Like really fucking bad.”

“I know,” I muttered as I walked down the steps, looking around the vast landscape.

“No, I don’t think you do,” the kid began. “Nav called me. He told me who the club wanted him to investigate. Daniel Scott has been on my radar for years, but Reaper told me to steer clear of him.”

My head snapped up at that, and I glared. “What? Why?”

“Because of who he is.”

Storming over to the kid, I sneered, “I don’t give a flying fuck who the son of a bitch is. He’s a dead man walking.”

Sypher continued to pace, shaking his head, muttering mainly to himself. “I told Reaper this would bite us in the ass. I told him he should just kill the fucker and let the chips fall and damn the consequences.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, kid?”

Stopping, Sypher looked directly at me and said, “Daniel James Scott is the only legitimate son of Devlin Scott and Monica St. James, who died in childbirth.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s related to Satan himself. I’m killing that motherfucker the first chance I get!”

“You kill him and you start a war, brother.”

“Then gear the fuck up!” I shouted. “That motherfucker is going to die.”

“You don’t get it, Massacre,” Sypher sneered, getting right up in my face. “We can’t touch him. Reaper was asked to leave him alone.”

“By whom?”

Shaking his head, Sypher took a step back. “I can’t tell you that.”

I growled, stalking the little shit. “Oh, you’re gonna tell me, or I’m gonna beat it out of you. Who the fuck asked Reaper to walk away?”

“I did.”

Slowly turning around, I stared into the eyes of the Devil himself.

Morpheus.