Page 32 of Knot Without My Permission
Knock on wood that it’s not.My omega needs her alphas.
“Look alive, people,” Martyr says, his eyes on the building in front of us.
The town has been very quiet. No one looked at us as we rode through the streets, and it feels just as much of a ghost town as the last time I was here.
The gates are locked, but Ransom pulls out a pair of bolt cutters from his saddlebag and handles the padlock without fanfare. Pushing open the gates, he pulls his gun from its holster as he keeps his head on a swivel.
“Still pissed you’re taking him,” Devon grumbles. “He’s a good alpha to have in your corner. The only reason I’m less pissed about it now is because I can see Marie needs him more than the club does.”
Nodding, I get off my bike, making sure it’s in the way of any possible exit. The ten people all do the same, and we begin to clear the yard. While it’s possible someone would try to ram the motorcycles to get out of here, most would hesitate at the very expensive exit.
Still, no one comes out to see who is here, not even a prospect.
“Spread out,” I growl. “This doesn’t sit right.”
Stalking up the stairs, I open the door and step directly into a puddle of blood. Fuck.
“Stop,” I say, raising my hand. I’ve been Lore’s right hand for long enough that I can take control fairly easily. Devon simply falls into line, because now isn’t the time to worry about whose command to follow. “Walk carefully and look for signs of life. Someone beat us here, boys.”
Since my boot already has blood on it, I slip them off with my socks and leave them at the front door before stepping only in the clean spots. There are men laying all over the ground in the main living room area, and I scour my brain to remember Lyker’s club situation.
Since he’s located in a small town that the MC pretty much runs, the clubhouse is a place to crash and work out of. Knowing children are rarely here helps me relax slightly as I check for a pulse on each body as I walk through the room.
The front area is a fucking massacre. Someone came in and began shooting. I’m not sure what their beef is, but it’s pretty obvious they managed to get their pound of flesh.
“You said Chester told you he was having money trouble?” Devon confirms softly.
By this point, he has the full rundown of that night so I nod.
“This was a message,” I mutter.
“Prez!” Martyr yells, getting our attention. As one, Devon and I walk over to him, though I’m a bit slower due to my bare feet. “I found one alive.”
Looking down at the poor bastard staked out on the floor, I find his face is barely recognizable.
“Lyker, just the alpha we’re looking for. Whose knot did you step on?” I ask, crouching beside him. “Are you responsible for the ambush set against my alpha? That was pretty shitty.”
“The only person I’ll be answering to is the man in the sky or the devil,” he rasps, his voice hoarse from screaming.
I bet he was the last one to be dealt with. Interesting tactic.
“Since when do you believe in heaven and hell?” Devon snorts. “You’ve been skirting and stomping on the law since you set up shop in this town.”
“It’s obvious you own the cops,” I mutter.
“That’s just business,” Lyker growls, his hand trying to make a fist. He’s unable to because of the nails driven through his palms into the ground. There’s a hammer left beside it as if to taunt him, and I find myself staring at it for too long.
“Hmmm. So why the decision to hold your peace?” I ask.
“A ghost came to visit me,” he says. His dark hair is covered in blood, and his skull is threatening to cave in. I have no idea how he’s alive, but something tells me it’s purely due to determination and spite.
Maybe he knew we’d be coming.
“Does this ghost have a message?” Devon asks, pulling a knife from his belt. He’s not wrong, we have places to be, and this ghost has settled the score we had with Lyker.
“That vengeance finds its place, despite how deep you hide the evidence,” Lyker says. “Devon, I swear I found out about the ambush when it was too late to stop it. Nothing I could have done would have changed things, and it wouldn’t have saved your brother either.”
“Hmm. So we are talkative,” Devon muses.
