Page 14 of Property of Scythe (Kings of Anarchy MC: Ohio #1)

I groan as I roll over on my side, blinking as the fog in my head begins to lift. Urgency floods my brain, and adrenaline twitches my muscles. I’m not supposed to be knocked out on the ground. I need to be . . .

Shit! Lottie!

I scramble to my feet as everything rushes back. The killer waiting in Lottie’s apartment. Rushing down the stairwell. The chase. Firing my gun and shooting the sadistic clown. Finally getting Lottie outside and into the Hummer. Then that sick fuck coming after me and the prospect, Chris.

At some point, I got locked into a struggle with the clown. Instead of stabbing me, he hit me over the head. I remember tripping before I went down. Hard.

My gut twists as I worry he went after Chris next. Or Lottie.

The Hummer’s engine is running. I stare in shock as Lottie throws the vehicle in drive and presses down on the gas.

It lurches forward and picks up speed as she flips off the killer.

He tries to dive out of the way, but he’s not fast enough.

She turns the wheel and keeps him centered in front of her, crashing the front of the Hummer into the clown.

He flies into the air with the impact, arms and legs flailing, and is propelled into the side of Lottie’s apartment building. There’s a sickening crunch, signifying several broken bones. The clown’s body ragdolls before it bounces off the ground, rebounding before making a final thud on the grass.

The killer doesn’t move.

Lottie slams on the brakes, jerking the steering wheel, and swerves the Hummer, narrowly missing the wall. I can see her panting, gripping the steering wheel as I rush toward her. When I yank open the door, she stumbles into my embrace.

“I have you, baby. You’re okay.”

She’s shaking, and I know it’s fear and adrenaline. “Scythe.” Her tears soak into my shirt. “He stabbed him.” She hiccups. Twice. “He stabbed Chris.”

Fuck. I don’t want to drag her over to the killer’s body to check on him and Chris, but she’s got a death grip on my shirt and arm.

She’s not going to listen if I tell her to get back inside the Hummer.

I hold her tightly against me as we walk around the front, creeping forward until we can see the lawn.

There’s only one body.

It’s not the killer.

I spin around, reaching inside my cut for my gun. During the scuffle, I must have lost it. I’m pissed. Did that motherfucker take it?

Lottie is crying, blubbering about Chris. He’s dead. We both know it.

“I’m going to check on him. Okay?”

She lets me drag her over to where Chris is lying on his back. His lifeless eyes stare up at the darkening sky. The sun has set, dipping below the horizon. Even in the dimming light, I can tell he’s no longer with us .

I cradle her head against my chest and hold her as sirens alert me to my brother’s arrival. His flashing blue and red lights bounce off the pavement and the nearby windows. When Boomer skids to a stop and throws his cruiser in park, I don’t have to tell him the scene is gruesome.

He hangs his head as he notices Chris’s body. “I should have stayed.”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen.”

“I still feel responsible.”

“It’s none of our fault,” Lottie tells him. “It’s that clown killer.”

He nods. “I’m going to call the coroner.”

Boomer walks away, but I call after him. “Lottie struck the killer with the Hummer. He’s run off, but he has to be injured.”

“Then he’s not far.”

“We need to find that fucker and end him, Boomer.”

“We will.” Boomer grabs a blanket from his trunk and covers Chris’s body.

I lead Lottie to the Hummer and help her inside. People are looking out the windows and standing inside the entrance, staring at us. I’m surprised no one has walked outdoors and contaminated the crime scene yet. Maybe the concierge is holding them back.

Boomer’s deputy, Officer Thompson, joins me. “I’m going to contain the scene while we wait for forensics.”

“Get security footage. I’m sure it’s all caught on camera.”

“I will.” She glances at my prospect. “Does he have any family?”

“Not outside of the club.”

“Then you’ll handle his remains?”

“Yes. Once the coroner is finished.” Fuck. This is going to hit the rest of the club hard. We voted him in during church a few days ago and planned to hold his patch party at the end of the season. Now we’re going to be planning a funeral instead.

“I’m going to take Lottie to The Barn.”

“Go on. I’m sure Boomer will stop by for your statements.”

He will.

She sees the coroner’s van arrive and tells me to have a good night. I don’t think I will.

When I climb into the Hummer and sit behind the wheel, I clench the steering wheel. We never got Lottie’s things. Worse, her apartment door is still probably open. I have to handle this for her before we can leave.

“Baby, I’m going to go up to your apartment and pack a suitcase for you. I’ll lock up when I leave.”

She doesn’t speak, only bobs her head.

“Do you want anything specific? What should I bring?”

“My school bag and the stack of papers on my desk.”

She sounds sad. I hate seeing her like this.

“Anything else? Clothes, shoes, makeup?”

“Whatever you can bring. I’ll figure it out.” Lottie’s hands are folded in her lap, and she’s no longer shaking, but I know that doesn’t mean she’s okay.

“Stay in the Hummer. I won’t be gone long.”

“Scythe?”

“Yeah, baby?” I pause, wondering what she wants to know.

“Do you think he’s still around? Watching us?”

“No,” I firmly answer. “Not with all this heat. Boomer and his deputy are here. So is the coroner. Plus, everyone inside your building is looking out their windows. Too many witnesses.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, you have my number. Call me if you get scared. ”

She fishes in her purse and pulls out her keys. “Here. So you can lock the door.”

I stuff them into one of the pockets of my cut and wink. “I’ll be quick.”

One of the other deputies is inside Lottie’s building, ushering everyone back inside their apartments, when I step into the lobby. He says he’ll get statements one at a time and knock on their doors. That’s good. Maybe someone saw something we didn’t.

I slip around him and take the elevator up to the fourth floor. Lottie’s apartment is on a corner suite, and one of the farthest from the elevator. Her door is still ajar as I approach.

My gun is missing, but I have my hunting knife, and I reach for it, not wanting to be caught by surprise in case that sick fuck knows a back entry into the building.

I walk in and shut the door with a loud click, turning the lock.

There’s not any damage, so I don’t think he entered her apartment this way.

Since it’s located on the fourth floor, I don’t know how else he could have gotten access. The only other option is the windows, and I’ll check them next. My gaze sweeps the interior. It’s been tossed a bit. Nothing is broken.

Lifting my knife, I move from room to room, clearing each one. I’m being cautious, but if someone is in here, I’m dealing with them alone. And no one is coming in behind me.

The place is empty. No intruders.

I check all the windows and glance outside. That’s when I notice the platform. Window cleaners recently worked on this side of the building. Shit. That’s how he got access.

I lock all the windows and check for damage. It’s the one in her room that’s been tampered with. But I’m not prepared for the fucking shock as I step inside.

The killer is obsessed. There’s a shrine to her erected on her bed. He placed bloody rose petals on her comforter, and there are photos. A fuck ton of them .

I store my knife and look over them, pissed to see he’s been keeping tabs on her. Most of the pictures are of her alone, but there are a few of us together. On my bike. The hayride. Kissing. The day we sat down and ate sweets from Butter Bliss Bakery. It’s all there.

My face has been scratched and gouged out in each one of them. He clearly thinks I’m competition. It’s ridiculous. He’s fucking nuts.

I’ve got a feeling that his obsession didn’t start with Lottie. No, it originated with me. That means he’s got a vendetta against me or my club. He’s fucking with us. That’s not hard to figure out since he left the severed arm.

But why didn’t he stab me today?

Fuck. I know the answer. He’s not done yet. The killer wants to inflict more pain and suffering. He’s going to attack again. Maybe he wants to break me.

But he’s fucking with the wrong people. Messing with Lottie, me, and the club? That’s where he fucked up. Nobody fucks with what’s mine.

And nobody fucks with the Kings.

This fucking psycho is really starting to piss me off.

I DRIVE TO MY HOUSE , but we aren’t staying there. I’m picking up Pops and Mila, packing a few bags, and we’re going straight to The Barn. Until this killer on the loose is dealt with, we’re on lockdown.

Mils is watching a movie as my father sits in a recliner, reading a book. He’s not too big into the princess stuff, but he tries for his granddaughter .

“Hey, munchkin,” I shout as I enter the living room, relieved when Mila rushes toward me, throwing herself into my embrace.

“You’ve been gone, Daddy.”

“I have. Sorry, princess.”

She turns to Lottie, stomping her little foot. “You left me!”

Shit.

Lottie lowers to Mila’s level. “You’re right. I did. Your dad needed me, and I knew you were safe, so I helped him.”

My daughter pouts. “I missed you.”

“I think I missed you more,” Lottie admits. “How about a hug?”

Mila nods.

They embrace, and Lottie squeezes her a little too tightly.

Mila gasps. “You do it like Daddy.”

“Huh?”

“You give me squeeze hugs like Daddy. That means you’re his princess too.”

I don’t hesitate to answer. “Yeah, she is.”

Hangman chuckles. “I can see that.”

“We’re going to be staying at the clubhouse, Pops.”

He sets down his book. “Boomer texted me.”

Then he knows what’s going on. “I’m going to help Mila pack a bag.”

He rises from his seat. “I’ve already done it.” He gestures to the entryway where there are two bags packed and ready to go. I missed them when we walked in. “Mila helped.”

Good. She would have the toys she wanted.

“Do you need anything?” Lottie asks .

I don’t. “I keep a room at the clubhouse. I’m good.”

We already discussed my reasons for wanting to stay at The Barn on the way here, and Lottie agreed. She knows there’s safety in numbers. Keeping everyone together ensures no one is attacked alone or caught by surprise.

And we still have a festival to run. No psycho killer was going to stop us. The Kings bow to no one.

“Mila will be staying in our room,” I warn Lottie as we load the Hummer. “It might get a bit crowded.”

“It’s okay. I understand, and she needs to be with us.”

This woman is an ol’ lady, and she doesn’t know it. She’s fucking perfect. Loyal. Fierce. Loving.

She fucking hit that clown with Boomer’s Hummer. She’s fearless when she’s trying to protect the ones she cares about.

I want my property patch on her back, and I want her in my bed. I need her, and I think Mila does too. We’ve both fallen for this woman.

Lottie Bishop is ours. I’m going to prove it.