Page 70 of Slaughter
“I can’t, Prez.”
Silence fell over the room like a blanket. Every eye turned to me, and I felt the weight of their stares—disbelief, anger, shock—as Reaper’s expression darkened. “Why the fuck not?”
I thought about Hope. About the way she had looked at me in the motel room, her eyes full of trust and love. About the way she’d whisperedI love youagainst my skin, like it was a prayer. About the way she had claimed me in front of everyone at the Diamondback clubhouse, even knowing what it would cost her. I thought about the gold band Monk had offered me. Insurance, he’d called it. My ticket to freedom. A small little lie that might save my life and for the first time since I put on the Golden patch, I chose a woman over my brothers.
“’Cause I married her.”
My words fell into the silence like stones into still water, sending ripples of shock through the room. Mouths fell open. Eyes went wide. Even Montana, usually quick with a sarcastic jab, was momentarily stunned into speechlessness. Reaper blinked, almost certain he had misheard me. Loud whistles from a few Diamondback brothers quickly died out as the tension thickened the air. My hands curled into fists at my sides while I fought to keep my composure, waiting for Reaper’s condemnation.
But it was Ghost who moved first.
He roared—a sound of pure, primal rage—and shoved Reaper out of the way as he tackled me to the floor. My broken ribs screamed as we hit the ground, and then his fists were raining down on me, beating the ever-loving shit out of me.
I didn’t fight back. Didn’t try to block the blows. Just curled my arms over my head and let him take his pound offlesh, because I understood his fury. I claimed to have married her without her brother’s knowledge or blessing. Ghost’s fists connected with my jaw, my ribs, and my kidneys. Each impact sent fresh explosions of pain through my body, but I gritted my teeth and took it. Took every hit, every curse, every ounce of his rage. Because I deserved it and because no matter what he did to me, I would die before I let anyone take her from me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Digger
Riding into the Diamondback compound, I pulled up close to the clubhouse just as two Diamondback brothers hauled Shadow out of the building. My former brother was ranting and raving as he punched the side of the clubhouse before storming off toward the far end of the lot.
Cutting my engine, I slowly got off my bike, stretching my arms over my head as my wife, Stella, remarked while removing her helmet, “It’s hotter than Hell here. This dry air ain’t good for my hair.”
“You look beautiful, baby. Pretty as a fiddle.”
Stella narrowed her eyes at me. “That’sfitas a fiddle, you idiot.”
I grinned at her, knowing damn well what I’d said. Looking around the place, I grimaced. “This place is borin’. No trees. No grass. No mountains. How the fuck do they live here?”
“Who the fuck cares?” Stella snapped, swinging her leg off the bike and planting her boots on the dusty ground. “Let’s just go inside and get Slaughter before Reaper shows up. It’s a good thing Ari called me and told me what the hell your brother was up to. Got love for Chapman, but the man is in deep shit if Reaper gets his hands on him first.”
Just then an old Chevy pickup truck pulled into the compound, stirring up dust and dirt before it slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop mere inches before it crashed into the clubhouse. I watched with wide eyes as two women jumped out of the truck.
“He won’t listen to me, Faith,” a cute brunette woman clearly said, slamming the truck door.
“He will listen to me,” the other woman snapped as she marched toward the entrance of the clubhouse.
“Faith!” the other woman shouted, rushing after her. “You can’t just walk in there!”
“Watch me!”
“Wonder what that’s all about?” Stella mused, standing next to me.
Shrugging, I simply said, “Don’t know.”
Heading for the entrance, I had barely stepped inside when I found total pandemonium. Reaper and Montana were talking with Kansas and some suit near the club’s bar. Diamondback brothers milled around, some watching TV, while others huddled near the back as someone was pounding on a man on the floor, and Sandman was sitting at the bar with his pink sparkly headphones on, drinking a glass of milk.
Smiling, I puffed up my chest and said, “I’ve found my people.”
“You’re gonna find my boot up your ass if you don’t go help,” my woman snapped.
“Help with what?”
My lovely wife pointed her recently manicured claws toward the far corner of the room where someone was getting a beat-down. “You seriously just gonna stand here with your thumb up your butt while Ghost beats the hell out of your brother?”
“Huh?”
Narrowing my eyes, I focused on the beat-down, then roared as I charged into the fray. “MOTHERFUCKER!”
