Page 67 of Ricochet
The box went flying to the ground, blood splattering all over the floor and our guards avoided it as if it were poisonous.
“Fuck!” I screamed, scrunching the letter in my hand. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I pushed the table to the ground, the crashing sound ringing in my ears.
“K.” Tristan took my arm. “Calm the fuck down.”
I fought him off, pushing him away and started pacing from one end of the room to another.
He had our mother.
That motherfucking psychopath had our mother, and I fucking knew he would do everything he mentioned in the letter, and so much more. The only other person I knew to be that deranged, that cold, was sitting knocked out in our basement.
But she was the devil I knew.
Storm was the one I had no fucking clue about.
“What did it say, K?” Cillian asked carefully.
What did it say, he wanted to know? I started laughing. “I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”
“Okay, I agree, but what the fuck happened?”
“He has Mom.” I turned around and looked at both of my brothers, their faces paling momentarily. “He took her with him, and he wants Las Vegas back. He wants his territory back.”
I could feel the rage simmering inside of me, and I knew my brothers felt the same. My brothers and I, we never went after other people’s families. That was one thing we could all agree on, and one oath we swore to uphold.
Those men were never supposed to attack his club, but our father issued orders we weren’t part of. And this was where it got us.
And he fucking took one of the most important people in our lives. She wasn’t perfect, but she was ours. She was the last connection to any humanity we had. The last person we tried to keep away from this mess.
“What did you just say?” Cillian asked slowly, each syllable carefully pronounced.
“What you heard. Storm kidnapped our mother, and he wants us to meet him in Las Vegas in five days, or he would…”
I couldn’t even finish that sentence.
“He would what? Kill her?” Tristan approached slowly, the turmoil of emotions playing all over his face.
“No.” I felt dizzy. I felt sick. I was fucking angry. “He won’t kill her. He will use and abuse her body, destroy her soul, until she begs him to die.”
“What do you want us to do?”
In this moment, Tristan reminded me of Ava —always the coolheaded one, always trying to understand the situation without emotions involved.
“What do you think?” I retorted. “We are going to motherfucking Las Vegas.”
Something was burning.
I slowly opened my eyes, only to be met by Cillian’s crazed ones, a cigarette between his lips, smoke billowing around his face.
“Good morning, princess.”
What in the hell happened? My cheek was throbbing, and there was something probing in the back of my mind—a memory, an onslaught of events that took place before.
Motherfucker, Kieran knocked me out cold.
I tried to move my hands, but the sharp pain traveled all the way to my shoulders. It took me a moment to clear my head and actually take in my surroundings.
I wasn’t sitting anymore. My hands were tied above my head, holding my full weight, as my legs dangled above the ground. The whole right side of my face hurt like a bitch.
