Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
“No . . . ” I whispered.
Reaper pulled his Glock from his cut and smiled as he ran toward the bike shop. I ran too. I didn’t give a shit if I wasn’t supposed to. That was my man, the fucking love of my life, and I wasn’t going anywhere.
As I rounded the corner, my feet stumbled at what I saw. Tank was on his feet, every inch of his bared flesh covered in blood. His right arm hung at his side, blood pouring from the gunshot wound and stab wounds that peppered his body. Two of the men were lying on the floor. One had a knife sticking out of his heart, and the other had a bullet in his forehead, his eyes open in death.
Trace was still in front of him. His gun was nowhere in sight, but his knife was in his hand and he was closing in on Tank. My baby was weak, his legs shaking and almost giving up on him. My hands covered my mouth as Trace lunged right at Tank’s heart, but before Trace could get there, Reaper fired a shot straight into Trace’s thigh. Trace fell to the floor. Tank looked up, eyes fucking blown and wild, until he saw the Hangmen closing in and me standing behind them. He seemed to take a long breath as he fell to the ground. I ran up to him, pushing past all the brothers in my way. I grabbed his hand. My vision blurred with tears.
Tank turned to Reaper. “Explosives . . . in the truck . . . were going to . . . blow . . . the club.” My face paled. Reaper nodded, and a couple of the other guys dragged Trace away.
“Baby?” I whispered as Tank’s eyes started closing. “He needs help!” I cried, inching closer to him and pressing my hand to the gunshot wound.
“Doc’s on his way.” Bull leaned down to press his hands to two of the biggest knife wounds. Leaning forward, I kissed Tank’s lips, not giving one fuck if I got blood in my mouth. I kissed him and told him he was gonna be okay. He wasn’t going anywhere without me.
I loved him. He had to survive.
I could no longer breathe without him.
Chapter Five
Tank
No fucking way. It couldn’t be him.
Trace looked me dead in the eyes, and I saw the hatred, the fucking betrayal in his. “Trace.” I stood my ground.
I knew this day would come. I knew that someone would have been pissed I was working for the Hangmen. I knew Tanner wouldn’t have been able to keep them all off my back. My heart fucking fell when I wondered if Tanner knew about this . . .
“You fucking traitor. You motherfucking turncoat!” My hands fisted at my side as Trace lifted his gun and pointed it right at my face. The veins in his neck stood out as he shook with red-hot anger. He spat at my feet. “Turning from your white brothers for these impure cunts?”
“Yeah. I did.” I saw the moment he made up his mind to shoot. I saw his snarl of pure disgust and just acted. Jumping forward, I knocked his hand enough to get it from my face, but the asshole managed to shoot and I felt the slug sink straight into my shoulder. I fell back from the force of the bullet, the fucking blistering pain slicing through me.
Trace and two other assholes I didn’t even know let their boots fly, their fists. “No one fucking leaves the Klan alive,” Trace spat as the back of his gun sliced across my face. He bent down and stared me right in the eyes. “You’re gonna die, cunt. You’re gonna die for turning your back and joining a club that lets in the impure—blacks and spics and motherfucking browns.” I took a breath, glancing at one of the dicks to my side. His knife hung loosely in his hand as he rammed his boot into my side again and again.
I flexed my hand, then got ready. When he knelt down again, Trace’s fucking mouth spurting shit I wasn’t even hearing, I lurched, grabbing the guy’s knife and stabbing him straight through his heart. The fucker fell above me, knocking his friend and Trace back. His mouth landed near my ear. He coughed and sputtered, his blood joining mine on my chest. So I shoved the knife deeper, twisting so the asshole would feel every single thing as the life drained from him.
Taking a long breath, I slid from under the asshole and got to my feet. His friend gave me no time to get my shit together. He flew at me, gun held out. But I’d been fighting for my fucking life since I was a kid whose pop wanted to use him as a punch bag. I’d taken out blacks and Mexicans and a whole bunch of Catholics and Jews under Landry. He’d made me his perfect solider. This asshole was nothing.