Page 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

R age

“How’s she doing?” Chief asked the moment I walked through the warehouse door.

“Better.” I rolled my shoulders, working out the tension that had settled there. “Doc says she’s healing faster than expected.”

The warehouse had been the Saints’ secondary base of operations for years. It was the place where we handled business that couldn’t happen at the clubhouse. Tonight was definitely that kind of business.

Killer stepped forward, clasping my shoulder. “She still in pain?”

“Some.” My jaw clenched at the memory of Mac wincing when she tried to sit up in bed this morning. “She stubborn as hell, though. Already talking about when she can go back to work.”

Reign chuckled, shaking his head.

“Her family’s with her now?” Morpheus asked, stepping away from where he’d been leaning against a stack of wooden crates.

I nodded. “Her family’s at the house and Sarah’s was pulling in as I was leaving. Even the dog hasn’t left her side since I brought her home.” The thought of my woman surrounded by people who loved her, safe in our bed, eased the fiery rage that had been my constant companion these past two weeks.

Chief caught my eye, his expression turning serious. “You ready for this?”

Was I ready?

For two weeks I’d been living in a special kind of hell. Splitting my time between Mac’s hospital room and this warehouse, between watching my woman fight her way back to health and making the man who hurt her pay for every drop of blood that had been spilled at his hand.

Hell yes, I was ready.

“Let’s finish this.”

“It’s your show.” Chief motioned toward the back of the warehouse, where a heavy metal door concealed a stairwell leading to the basement level.

I nodded taking the lead with Killer and Reign following behind me.

With the Jacksonville humidity, the room below the warehouse was hot and sticky, which made it uncomfortable to be in for more than a few minute. Exposed beams ran above the ceiling with only a few bare bulbs lighting the space. It was perfect for the trash it was meant to house.

I approached the cell in the corner of the room.

“Get up.”

The figure that’d been slumped against the wall groaned.

“I said, get the fuck up!” I roared.

Chad flinched, but slowly climbed to his feet.

Two weeks in our care had not been kind to him. His face was a mess of purple bruises and partially healed cuts. His right eye was swollen nearly shut, and dried blood crusted the front of his filthy t-shirt. The stench coming off him was enough to make any normal man hurl. I wasn’t that man.

“Look who’s awake,” Reign called out, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls.

Chad’s good eye widened when he spotted the men who filed in behind me. He scrambled back, pressing himself into the corner of his cage like a cornered animal.

The sight of the motherfucker sent me back to the night we found him two weeks ago.

Leaving the hospital, the address Zero’d given me burned in my brain as I tore through the streets of Jacksonville. The rage I felt was like nothing I’d experienced before. I was hyper-focused, cold, deadly.

I parked a block away, walking the rest of the way to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. As I approached the house, Cueball was already waiting in the van.

“He alone in there?” I asked, voice low as I met Killer around the side of the house.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “The older woman just left.”

Perfect.

“Back door,” I instructed, slipping on a pair of leather gloves. “Quick and quiet.”

The lock was child’s play. We were inside in seconds, moving silently through a kitchen that smelled of coffee and cinnamon. Following the sound of a television, I found Chad in what must have been his childhood bedroom, judging by the faded posters still hanging on the walls. He was sprawled across a twin bed, snoring softly, one arm dangling toward the floor where an empty whiskey bottle had rolled. He’s shot my woman twice and was sleeping like a fucking baby?

No. That wouldn’t fucking do.

The rage that had been simmering inside me reached its boiling point as I looked down at him.

I moved without conscious thought, one hand closing over his mouth while the other pressed a knife to his throat. His eyes flew open, panic replacing sleep as he realized what was happening.

“Make a sound,” I whispered against his ear, “and I’ll open your throat right here in your mama’s house. Nod if you understand.”

His head jerked in a quick nod, eyes wild with fear.

“Good boy.” I pressed the knife harder against his skin, drawing blood. “We’re going for a little ride. You can come quietly, or you can come bleeding. Your choice.”

Twenty minutes later, Chad’s hands and feet were bound with zip-ties in the back of the van, and we were headed for the warehouse where I could take my time teaching him exactly what happened when you fucked with what was mine.

Shaking off the memory, I approached the cell.

Chad whimpered as he tried to make himself smaller.

Yeah, motherfucker. You should be scared.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “I’ve been thinking about this moment for two long fucking weeks. Thinking about what I’d say to you when it was finally time.”

I grabbed ahold of the bars separating us. “Wondering if you’d beg. If you’d cry. If you’d try to justify what you did.”

Chad’s eyes darted to the other men in the room, finding no sympathy in their hard faces.

Chief tossed me a key. “I’ll be upstairs,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “Try not to make a mess.”

As Chief’s footsteps retreated up the stairs, I unlocked the padlock securing the cell door and stepped inside.

“But now that we’re here,” I continued, “I find I don’t really give a shit what you have to say.”

“Look, man,” Chad’s voice was hoarse from screaming and disuse. “I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking straight. You gotta understand?—”

My fist connected with his ribs, sending him tumbling to the ground. “I said,” I growled, “I don’t want to hear it.”

I crouched in front of him, grabbing his chin to force him to look at me. “You fucked up.”

Chad’s pain-filled eyes narrowed with sudden defiance. “That bitch deserved to die.”

Before I could react, Killer appeared beside me, his massive fist connecting with Chad’s jaw with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed across the concrete floor.

I laughed, but the sound hollow. “Die? My baby’s fucking strong. She’s alive, motherfucker, and she’s going to live a long, happy life—something you’ll never have.”

The fear returned to Chad’s eyes, more potent than ever.

Good.

I wanted him terrified. I wanted his last moments filled with the same fear Mac felt when he pointed that gun at her and pulled the trigger.

“She said yes, by the way,” I said, pulling off my gloves one finger at a time. “Asked her to marry me. She’s going to be my wife.”

Chad spat blood onto the floor. “You think I care? She’ll always remember me. Every time she looks at those scars?—”

My fist slammed into his face so hard that head snapped back against the concrete wall. His eyes rolled back, body going limp as he lost consciousness.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Reign deadpanned, leaning against the cell door. “Thought he’d last longer.”

I stood, wiping Chad’s blood from my knuckles. “Doesn’t matter. We’re done here, anyway.”

Killer moved forward, grabbing Chad’s unconscious form and slinging him over one shoulder like a sack of garbage. “Boat’s ready.”

“Good.”

In that moment I felt nothing as I followed him toward the stairs.

“Let’s finish this.”

The fishing boat rocked gently beneath our feet, the vast Atlantic stretching endlessly around us. We were about twenty miles offshore, far enough that the lights of Jacksonville were nothing but a faint glow on the horizon.

Reign stood at the stern, dumping buckets of chum into the dark water. The stench of rotting fish filled the salty air, but it was a necessary evil. We were trying to attract attention.

“There.“ Killer pointed to a dark shadow moving just beneath the surface. “Our first customer has arrived.“

I stepped closer to the railing, watching as a large dorsal fin cut through the inky water.

Then another. And another. Within minutes, the water around the boat was alive with circling predators, drawn by the scent of an easy meal.

Chad groaned from his spot on the floor of the deck. He’d been out like a light since Killer had tossed his ass onto the boat over an hour ago. Finally he was coming around, his eyelids fluttering as he regained consciousness.

“Perfect timing,” I said, nodding to Killer and Reign. “The main course is awake.”

Chad’s eye widened at the sight of us all staring down at him. “Wh—where are we?” he croaked, struggling against the zip-ties that bound his hands and feet.

I crouched beside him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to force him to look over the side of the boat. “See those fins? They’ve been circling and they’re hungry.”

The color drained from his face as understanding dawned. “No,“ he whispered, true terror replacing the hollow bravado he’d shown earlier. “Please, no. I’ll do anything. I’ll leave town. I’ll never come back. Please?—”

“You know,” I cut him off, “Mac begged too. Zero managed to get the security footage to pick up the audio. She said ‘ please ’ right before you pulled that trigger.” I released his hair and rose to my full height. “Didn’t stop you, though, did it?”

He started sobbing immediately, tears and snot were running down his face as Killer and Reign hauled him to his feet. “I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry!”

As I looked into his eyes, I felt nothing. Actions had consequences and it was time for him to pay for what he’d done.

“You fucked up when you came for her.“

I nodded to my brothers. “It’s time.”

With ease, they lifted Chad off his feet, his bound body thrashing desperately as he screamed. The sound was short-lived, cut off abruptly as they heaved him over the side.

The splash was loud in the quiet night, followed immediately by the frantic splashing of a man fighting for his life.

“Help! Please! I can’t swim like this!” Chad’s panicked voice carried across the water as he struggled to keep his head above the surface, his bound limbs making it nearly impossible.

We watched; all of us curious how things were going to play out. The first shark approached, circling Chad’s body before darting forward to investigate the disturbance in its hunting grounds.

Chad’s screams reached a new pitch as the first hit came—a quick, testing bite to assess if this strange creature was prey. Blood bloomed across the surface of the dark water, a dinner bell calling to the others circling nearby.

What followed could only be described as a feeding frenzy that turned my stomach despite everything Chad had done.

Nature’s justice was swift but brutal, the water churning red around his thrashing form. His screams became gurgles, then silence as he was pulled beneath the surface for the last time.

In less than a minute, it was over. The only evidence that Chad Miller had ever been there was the spreading slick of dark fluid on the water’s surface.

“It’s done,” Reign said quietly, tossing the remaining chum overboard. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,“ I agreed, staring at the distant lights lining the coast. “Let’s go home.“