Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Jared was a dead man.
And I was going to make damn sure he felt every second of it.
Chapter 13
Jagger
Aweek had passed since Kyle woke up, and though she was stable and cleared for discharge, nothing else truly mattered until she was home. Security at the Compound had been reinforced—every weakness patched, every vulnerable spot fortified. We even had more men coming in, men we could trust.
Preacher was still dealing with Satan, the President of 412, who had his own share of problems, but none of it took priority over her. Kyle was the first move in a game that was about to shift, because everything had already changed.
And now? It was our turn to strike.
We had been prepared for the worst, bracing for the inevitable breakdown that the doctors and shrinks had warned us about. PTSD was a minefield—unpredictable and volatile. There was no straight line, no one-size-fits-all reaction with it either. But as the days passed, it became clear that Kyle wasn’t breaking, she was focusing.
Every detail she learned, every piece of evidence she compiled, every breadcrumb she passed onto Duke, it all pointed to one thing: retribution. I wasn’t a shrink, but maybe that was the key for her.
Preacher had tried talking to her, easing in where he could, but she kept things strictly business. He didn’t push, but he stayed—always nearby, always watching. And I had seen it, those rare, fleeting moments when Kyle thought no one was looking, when her walls were down just long enough to see what was beneath.
Confusion. Hope. She wanted to trust him, she just didn’t know how.
I had stayed with her every night. I wasn’t taking chances, not with Jared still out there. The bastard had vanished into the wind, but Kyle had been right, he couldn’t hide forever. Duke had put feelers out everywhere, and it turned out we weren’t the only ones who wanted him dead. There were people out there who owed the Ghosts, and they were looking.
Then, last night, the nightmares had come. She had screamed, thrashed, yelled names I didn’t recognize.
The doctor had rushed in, wanting to push a sedative, but we had woken her up gently, and eased her back into reality. And that was when I got my first real burst of hope because she had clung to me. Held on tight, and stayed asleep—calm, steady, unshaken for the rest of the night.
She wasn’t over it, she wouldn’t be for a long time. But she wasn’t alone in it anymore.
KYLE
Returning to the Knights compound after being released from the hospital felt surreal. It had only been a few days, but time had blurred, folding in on itself. I couldn’t recall every second of what had happened, but I had pieced together enough.
Data had the evidence and the case against Jared was solid. Duke had been spreading the word among our contacts, but I had my own network to pull from—webs I had woven over the years. Jared had nowhere to run, and when I found him, I was going to make sure he paid for every drop of blood he had spilled.
I had lost five incredible men because of him. Worse, he had turned his back on his own country in the process. Death was too good for him.
Duke and I had talked—really talked—about everything that had happened. I wasn’t over it yet, but I was calmer. And for the first time, I understood. If Duke had forced the truth on me back then, if he had brought Preacher into my life before I was ready—before I had built any kind of foundation of safety—I probably would have run. I had spent years looking over my shoulder, so any shift in my reality back then would have sent me spiraling.
Even before everything went to hell, I had been working through my thoughts on Preacher, breaking them apart the way I had been taught. Analyzing, dissecting, trying to rebuild them into something that made sense. I had been a kid, a fucked-up, traumatized kid. My perception of him had been warped by the pain I carried, the lies Jill had fed me, and the desperate need I had for his attention. But now, I could see the truth in the spaces between my old thoughts.
Tommy had visited me last night, one of the old-timers from the club. I had asked him about my childhood, and he told me stories I had never heard before. Stories about Preacher, the man I thought hadn’t given a shit.
He had talked about my grades, my milestones, my achievements. How Preacher had always kept the MC updated about me. How he had refused to let me ride a bike when I was younger, terrified I’d get hurt—but when he saw how much I loved it, he had ordered a custom Harley for my eighteenth birthday.