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)
Suddenly, Reaper was in front of me. “Saved him for ya.” He gritted his teeth, then relaxed. “Was fucking hard, but figure after this . . .” Reaper punched my bullet wound. Not hard, but hard enough to show me that he was fucking in charge. I breathed through the pain. “You should have the kill.”
“Turncoat,” Trace spat. I walked past Reaper and stood in front of the asshole who’d nearly taken me from Beauty. His face was beaten, his left eye almost closed. He smiled, and his teeth were washed with blood. “You deserve to die,” he said, voice hoarse and raw. “You deserve to die on this fucking impure land.” He roved his eye over the Hangmen. “This club used to be pure until they opened it up to the fucking inferior.” He locked on Bull. “To black and brown scum that should be bowing at our superior feet.”
Styx came up beside me and handed me a German blade. Fucking ironic for a Klansman to go out this way. I took the blade from his hand and faced Trace. “You think they won’t keep coming for you?” Trace hissed. “Might not be now or soon, but one day the Klan will rise and take out the inferior races and those who left the brotherhood to fuck with the impure cunts below us.”
I leaned forward and got right in his face. “That may be so. But just like you and the fucking sidekicks you dragged with you, I’ll end them. Slit their fucking throats and piss on their dead corpses.” Trace shook with rage. “The Klan don’t mean shit anymore, just a bunch of dumbfuck assholes who hold on to the days of their granddaddies. The Klan will fall . . .” I smiled. “And if I have my way, I’ll be leading the fucking charge.”
Trace went to say something else, but I didn’t give him chance to speak. I slashed my arm out and let Styx’s German blade slice across Trace’s throat. His open eye fixed on mine, and I watched him. Watched him choke on his own blood as the slit opened and poured crimson. I watched as he thrashed in the chair, fighting to breathe. And I watched as his eye frosted over and his body went still. There was no sound in the room except my breath. Then, with a fucking endless bellow from the pit of my stomach, I kicked his chair and rounded on his corpse as it crashed to the floor. I stabbed the cunt, stabbed and stabbed until there was nothing but blood and flesh. I stood and glared down on his carcass. I stepped back, breathless, to see the eyes of all the Hangmen on me.
I wiped the blade on my new jeans, but that didn’t get it clean. I was covered in blood. I handed it back to Styx. The kid smiled. It was the first time I’d ever seen any expression from the mute Little Reaper.
“Now that was fucking awesome . . . I got a huge-ass boner. Anyone else?” Vike spoke, but I kept my eyes on Reaper.
“Church.” Reaper turned to walk back toward the clubhouse. All the brothers left, and I was left looking down at Trace. Taking my cell from my jean pocket, I took a picture of Trace’s fucked-up body and sent it to the one person I’d thought would never fucking betray me.
He didn’t succeed. If you want me dead, fucking come get me yourself.
When the message sent, I walked from the shed, leaving the Klan firmly behind. I didn’t go get Beauty; instead I took a shower in the room in which I’d been staying and threw the jeans away. I looked in the bag Beauty had brought in from Ride. Inside were another pair of jeans and a white shirt. I slipped them on, then sat down on the bed. I took a huge breath out. When I looked down, my hands were shaking. My legs couldn’t keep still and adrenaline surged through my body, lighting me the fuck up.
Trace. Fucking Trace. The guy who took me off the streets and gave me a family. A family that were evil. I closed my eyes, thinking of that first night I’d helped them take out a rival gang member.
A black gang member . . .
Trace’s loud laughter came from the driver’s side as I sat beside him on the passenger seat. He turned the wheel, and I heard the sound of the body being dragged behind the car across Landry’s land. Trace handed me the whiskey. Then he came to a stop. He got out of the car and I followed. We stopped at the back of the car. I looked down. And I didn’t fucking move as I saw the state of the body.