Page 55 of Cold Bastard
I looked down, my vision blurring at the edges, and saw the barrel of his gun pressed against my jeans, right where my thighs met.
Oh fuck.
“Give me a fucking reason not to kill you, bitch.” His voice was low. Deadly. The kind of voice that told me he wasn’t bluffing. His hand around my throat was tight, not choking me, not yet, but constricting enough that every breath was a struggle. My pulse hammered against his palm, frantic and desperate, and I could feel the heat of his rage radiating off him in waves.
I tried to understand. Tried to piece together why he was so furious, why he had turned on me instead of dealing with Nano, why his hand was shaking slightly where it gripped my throat. But my brain was too scrambled, my thoughts fragmenting under the pressure of his grip and the cold metal pressed between my legs.
Say something. Do something. Don’t just hang here like a fucking victim.
The words came before I could stop them. Before I could think about whether they were smart or suicidal. I smiled. Ithurt. My face felt tight, my lips trembling, but I forced the expression anyway, meeting his deadly glare with something that felt like defiance. “Because I have something you want, asshole.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Morpheus just stared at me, his eyes narrowing, his grip on my throat tightening fractionally, and then he released me.
I dropped to the ground, my knees buckling, my hands flying to my throat as I dragged in a ragged breath. But I didn’t have time to recover.
Morpheus raised his gun, pointed it at the wall beside my head, and fired.
BANG. BANG. BANG.Three shots in rapid succession, so close I could feel the heat of the muzzle flash, could smell the acrid burn of gunpowder.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. I just stood there, my back pressed against the wall, my breath coming fast and shallow, and watched the president of the Brotherhood of Bastards come undone. His hand was shaking. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His eyes were wild, unfocused, like he was barely holding himself together.
What the fuck is happening?
“Carver,” Morpheus said, his voice rough. “Get her into church. Now.”
Carver moved toward me, his expression unreadable.
I didn’t wait for him to grab me. I didn’t wait to be dragged or manhandled or treated like property. Instead, I pushed off the wall and walked.
Straight toward the offices. Straight toward church. My legs were shaking, my throat aching where Morpheus’ hand had been, but I kept moving, kept my chin up, kept my expression blank.
You will not cower. You will not break.Behind me, I heard Carver’s footsteps. Heard the other brothers following, but I didn’t look back. I continued forward, my steps heavy on the concrete. The hallway was dimmer than the main room, the air thick with smoke and the smell of leather and motor oil. I walked past where a few hang-arounds were watching with wide eyes, past the pool table where someone had abandoned a game mid-shot, and then I was standing in front of the church door.
I didn’t hesitate. I pushed it open and walked inside.
The room was exactly what I expected. A long table dominated the center, chairs arranged around it, the walls lined with plaques and photos and the kind of memorabilia that came with decades of brotherhood and violence.
I walked to the table and sat down. Not at the end. Not in some submissive position where I would be easy to ignore. I sat in the middle, on the side facing the door, and folded my hands on the table in front of me.
You want to talk? Let’s fucking talk.
The officers filed in one by one, their expressions ranging from fury to confusion to something that looked almost like respect.
Cerberus. Garrote. Cobalt. Carver. Heretic. Vortex and then finally, Morpheus. He took his seat at the head of the table, his movements deliberate and controlled, and slammed his gun down on the wood with a sound that echoed through the room.
Then he looked at me and the room exploded.
“Fucking bitch thinks she can just—”
“Seventy-five million dollars and she’s sitting there like—”
“Should have put a bullet in her head the second—”
“Nano’s losing his goddamn mind and it’s because of her—”
“Fix him before we have to put him down—”
The voices overlapped, loud and angry, all of them talking at once, all of them glaring at me like I was the source of every problem the Brotherhood had ever faced.
