Page 35

Rachel

I said my goodbyes to Dante and went home with Trent. It went against every instinct I had to leave Bee, but I knew she was in safe hands with her dad, and I also knew I would be no use to her if I was drained, dirty, and exhausted.

Trent ended up taking me to the main house, telling me to get a shower there, and that he would meet back up with me in half an hour.

I asked why we were not going to Jenna and Shark’s like originally planned.

He had grinned wickedly at me and told me they were making babies.

That’s all I needed to hear to know I wanted a shower anywhere else but at theirs.

Just as I switched the shower on, a text came through from Dante.

Be careful, Angel. Bee is fine. She’s woken up and is having lunch.

Good! Let her have dessert first. She bloody deserves it. Also… Angel?

I typed back, a stupid grin on my face.

Fucking hell. Have you had a lobotomy, lass? Since when do you smile at anything Dante has to say?

True.

Me and Dante were on such good terms lately. It was hard not to smile like some love-struck teenager going on her first date.

Mention the L word again, and I’ll throw us off the nearest bridge.

Yeah, it felt cringe when I wrote it, but then I figured you’re close with God, are you not?

I am ?

I replied with a frown.

Is this Dante or Vienna? It sounds like some stupid shit Vienna would type.

That’s a bit harsh. I’m accepting your religion, Rachel. You were calling for him literally the other night. Or is that your new nickname for me?

You’ve got really cringe since your escape. If Macbeth turns up, I’m giving you back to him.

Rachel?

Yeah?

Shut up.

That annoying goddamn grin was back. I slammed the phone on the table, irritated with myself for feeling lighter after having spoken to him.

I wasn’t this girl. I wasn’t the type to fall at a man’s feet unless I was planning on snipping his Achilles heel on the sly. So, can someone please explain why I was practically skipping to the shower?

Enjoy the peace whilst it lasts.

I held my hand under the water, testing the temperature, wondering just how long this truce between me and Dante would last, when movement out of the window caught my attention.

I pushed my back against the wall, and peaked around the edge of the blinds, seeing a hooded figure make their way out of the trees and creep towards the house.

In broad fucking daylight!

Where were the rest of the club, and why weren’t they patrolling the perimeter?

This house was way down at the back of the village, and was intended to be a sort of lookout point to keep the rest of the village secure. Seemed everyone forgot about keeping this place safe .

The figure made its way over to the bike outside of the house, crouching down to hide themselves behind the car I had temporarily been using.

I risked opening the blinds further as the figure crouched up the garden path, out of my line of sight, but heading straight towards me.

I kept the shower on but crept out of the bathroom to the top of the stairs.

Hiding in the dark shadows of the corner, I strained my ears, listening to the pop as the lock of the door was bust, and the slight creak as it was pushed open.

Shit, shit, shit.

I watched as they quietly made their way around the ground floor, making sure the house was empty.

I scowled down at them, recognising the build immediately. He was too similar to Dante for me not to recognise him.

“Hello?” Macbeth said, answering his phone.

“What’s the latest?” Came a voice I didn’t recognise.

“Empty by the looks. She’s in the shower. I saw her car outside. Dante and my parents are at the hospital.”

“Grab her and get back to the clubhouse. Do not fuck this up, Macbeth. Callum’s family is out for blood for what they did to him. You know the arrangement. It’s you, or her.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what I’m fucking doing.”

“See to it that you do. You’re nothing to us, Macbeth. You might be under our protection, but that’s because you’re useful. You prove yourself, or you find yourself handed over to your enemies. Last chance. Bring the girl to us – alive.”

“Bye,” he snapped, hanging up the phone and looking up towards the bathroom.

I knew he couldn’t see me, but I still shrunk back, holding my breath, just in case.

He came towards the stairs, and I remained completely still, waiting to see which direction he would take. It seemed as though he was coming straight for his target, so I reacted on instinct, opening the nearest door and snuck into the room.

It turned out to be a bedroom, and by the looks of the memorabilia on the walls, it was Crash and Kitty’s room. My eyes scanned around, looking for anything I could use, before they landed on a bronze motorcycle ornament on the bedside table .

It's better than nothing.

I rushed over, grabbed the statue, noticing the weight was heavier than I expected, and made my way over to the door, pressing my ear against it to hear Macbeth’s movements.

The noise of the shower got louder, letting me know he had pushed open the door of the bathroom, so I crept out of the bedroom and pressed myself against the outside wall of the bathroom.

The shower curtain was ripped open, followed by a hissed “shit!” and loud, heavy footsteps as they marched across the tiled floor. “Where are you, you little bitch?”

“Right here,” I said as he came into view in the doorway, and brought up the statue, using all the strength I possessed to smack him in the face with it.

I didn’t hesitate for a second. As he stumbled backwards, I swung the motorbike once more, smacking him around the back of the head once, twice, three times until he fell to the floor with a loud crash, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

I didn’t know how long I had before he woke back up, so I grabbed hold of his legs and dragged him across the floor and out of the room.

“Ever heard of fucking Atkins, you absolute beast?” I huffed, wiping my forehead with one hand as my breath came in heaving gulps.

I kept on dragging him until we reached the top of the stairs and then came the conundrum of how I was getting him down the steps. I looked at Macbeth unconscious on the floor, then looked down the length of the stairs, then back at Macbeth.

There was no way I could drag him down there. He weighed a fucking tonne, and my lower back was already throbbing with the effort of hauling him this far.

I took one final look at Macbeth, and then, with a shrug, I rolled him to the top of the stairs, put him in the foetal position, and then kicked the cunt down them.

I grinned, watching his body go flailing down his own little bumpy slide ride, taking particular pleasure in the way certain parts of his body banged and bruised against the wall.

A hand first, an elbow next. Then his knee, his head, before finally ending in a roly-poly and landing in a satisfying slap at the bottom.

You’ll be lucky if you haven’t broken his goddamn neck .

Nah. He’d be the lucky one. I have something much more brutal planned for him than a broken neck.