War (Kings of Sin MC #2)

13. Spilled Blood

CHAPTER 13

SPILLED BLOOD

“Bastard,” I gasp, forcing air into my lungs. A deadly chill erupts up my spine, dousing all the warmth from moments before. “You were distracting me.” My eyes close, anger swelling inside me.

“I wasn’t distracting you, but I’ll admit I didn’t want you here for this.”

“Here?” Tears well in my eyes. Despite all my strength to hold them at bay, they pave a path down my cheek. “Would you have even told me?”

“Not until after.” The words hit with the impact of a fist to the gut. There’s no apology in his tone, just the brutal, cold killer I know he can be. I stumble away from him.

“After what?” I choke out, already knowing the answer. He was going to kill Tyler and wasn’t even going to tell me it was happening.

He steps toward me, and I shake my head, moving another step back. “Don’t.”

“Rogue, he’s a piece of shit. I want answers from him, and so should you.”

“That’s why you’re bringing him here?” Images of the torture room toward the back of the compound flash before my eyes. Acid churns my stomach.

“Do you not want to ask him why your sister was with him the night she died?”

Yes. No.

“He wouldn’t hurt her, Callan. She was like his sister too.”

“He hurt you.” He jabs a finger toward my jaw. The bruise Tyler left is gone, replaced with the fading marks of Larkin’s assault.

I blanch, shaking my head. “That’s different and you know it. He can be rough, not evil.”

Not to Harley. Not to Harley. Not to Harley.

Holding his hand out, Callan steps forward again, reaching for me.

“Don’t.” I smack his hand away.

“Rogue.” The severe look in his eyes rips me in two.

“No, Callan.” Images of Tyler strapped to that table like that sick bastard, Jarvis, crying out while they puncture him with holes, play through my head.

No. I can’t.

His broad shoulders heave, a hand going to his hip, the other jabbing a finger in my direction. “You know the life, Rogue. You know there’s no way in hell we’re going to let this go. Our pres was meeting with Tyler and ended up in a coma.”

“You know that wasn’t him,” I defend, but my argument sounds ridiculous to my own ears. I know he’s right. Something is off, and we need answers. They deserve answers, but it’s all too…close to home.

“We only know it was Harley who pulled the trigger.” I wipe at my face, hating the water there.

“We don’t know if Tyler planned that, if they were in on it together. Either way, he’ll answer to us,” he says with finality.

“Let me come,” I hedge.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly, walking away from me.

“Let me come,” I repeat, hot on his heels.

“Not happening, Rogue.”

I round his body, halting his departure by placing my hands on his chest. “It makes sense to take me. I can talk our way inside without any bloodshed. There are innocent men there, Callan. Men I care about.”

“We won’t touch Bear.” A twinge of relief sparks then instantly dies.

“And everyone else? There are ol’ ladies at that clubhouse.”

“If the Devils give us Tyler, no one else has to die today.”

A ringing, loud and paralyzing, booms in my ears. “I’m going.”

“Rogue, for fuck’s sake.”

“You either let me come with you or I go alone. Whichever way, I’m going to be there, Callan.” I need to be there.

He clutches both my arms, making me gasp. He tilts my body up toward his face until I have to stand on my tiptoes. “You come as an observer only—unless I instruct otherwise.”

“Okay.” I swallow the brick lodged in my throat.

“If shit turns bad and it comes down to us or them, I’ll kill them all without a second thought and you’ll have to get over that shit because you’re a King now.” His dark eyes flare, matching the warning in his voice. “Whether you want it or not, Rogue, there’s a war coming.” Releasing me, his long strides eat the path to the garage, leaving me rooted to my spot as I try to stop the crack in my chest from splintering further.

Brushing the drops from my cheeks, I gulp at the fresh air, willing my heart to slow, and make my way over to the garage.

Cutter approaches Callan, saying something to him while watching me. Callan looks over his shoulder, following his gaze, his jaw flexing. An unknown loneliness grows like a spore inside my chest the more distance he puts between us.

“Rogue.” Monster winks his greeting, coming to stand beside me. “You coming with us?”

“Yes.” I clear my throat when it croaks.

He falls silent, and I meet his gaze, ice creeping up my spine. “It takes a special kind of breed to be who we are. That’s why we all find each other.” He flits his gaze to Callan then back to me. “Our souls are tethered. Under the skin, deep beneath the surface, we’re all part of the same dark flowing river.” My brow furrows, not knowing what to say to that. “You belong with us. Remember that today.” He pats my shoulder and leaves me standing there with my heart made of glass, ready to shatter at any given second.

I make a path to Callan, skimming past brothers mounting their bikes. “I need my gun,” I announce, squaring my shoulders.

Cutter grins at me, nodding his head.

“Did anyone else just get hard?” Dodger booms.

A chorus of agreement makes my eyes roll.

The veins in Callan’s neck bulge, but that’s the only sign he shows of being pissed.

“Take your pick, darlin’,” Daddy calls out, pointing to a steel door at the far right of the garage. I walk to where he’s indicating. “Log whatever she takes.” He nods to a brother I’ve seen around but haven’t had much interaction with.

The brother leads me inside, and my jaw unhinges. Wall-to-wall gun racks fill the room. I do a full circle, taking it all in. From pistols to a rocket launcher, there’s everything you’d need to lead the front line. It’s overkill. And a stark contrast to what the Devils have in their arsenal. This won’t be a war. It’ll be a massacre.

“What’s your weapon, sweetheart?”

I jerk my chin to a row of pistols. “Give me a Glock forty-two and an extra magazine.”

Taking the Glock from the rack, he loads the weapon and checks it over before handing it to me with two spare magazines loaded with bullets. “Just in case.” He grins and does a sweep of my body. “Do you want a vest?” He gestures toward a doorless cabinet with bulletproof vests hanging inside.

“It’s not going to come to that,” I state, stuffing the gun into the back of my pants and covering it with my sweater.

Roaring engines thrum through the garage as I make my way back through. Callan pulls out, coming to a stop just outside the garage door. Reaching behind him, he holds my helmet out with an outstretched arm.

My shoulders sag. I race toward him and take the helmet, placing it on my head. Swinging my leg over the bike, I curl my arms around his waist and clutch his hips with my thighs, taking my rightful place—sitting on my throne. Despite Callan being mad at me, the contact sates the bubbling fear inside me.

The majestic chorus of motorcycles riding together rolls through the compound grounds. The gates open and everyone follows Callan’s lead as we head back to a place I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again.

Curling myself tighter around Callan, I try to imagine Tyler being dead. A blossom of sorrow beats in my chest. But it’s not for the memories we shared. It’s more because of Harley. The memories he evokes of her when I’m around him now. In some way, he’s my connection to her.

Time slows as we reach the short road to the Devils’ clubhouse. Cutter, Monster, Dodger, and Grease flank Callan as we approach the gate. Easing to a stop, Callan taps my leg, signaling for me to climb off.

Pulling the helmet from my head, I sweep my leg over and come to stand beside Callan. He lifts his own helmet free and juts his chin to the gate. “Call Bear.”

The sun beats down on us, bright in the sky, but it does nothing to eclipse the darkness emanating from the Kings of Sin brothers.

I move to the intercom as the front door of the club swings open, crashing against the side of the building.

Carver comes waltzing out alone with bigger balls than most. When he gets close enough for us to hear him, he barks out, “Didn’t you take the trash with you last time?”

I look over to Callan as he strides to my side. “Tyler. Where is he?” Callan asks, malice wrapped around each word.

“Busy.”

“Carver, don’t be an idiot.” I plead, trepidation hanging over me like a rain cloud.

“Don’t talk to me about being an idiot, traitor.”

“You can stand there being a dick or you can negotiate,” Callan offers.

“Negotiating would imply we have a mutual interest.” His sneer swoops across us to the Kings at our back.

“We do,” I urge.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Keeping you from getting all your brothers killed,” Callan informs him, his posture ramrod straight, his tone ice cold. If I didn’t know him, I’d piss my pants under his wrath if it bored down on me.

“Don’t be stubborn, Carver. If Tyler gave a shit about you, he would come out here himself.”

“You don’t get to talk about our pres. You’re the traitor whore who started all this.”

Callan’s fingers flex. If Carver keeps throwing insults at me, a knife will be lodged in the center of his head any second.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I seethe, rage building.

“Carver.” My stomach dips as Bear’s voice carries from the club’s doorway. “What’s going on?”

“The Kings are looking for Ty.”

“Let them in.” Bear jerks his chin and turns to walk back inside.

“Fuck no,” Carver spits to the ground.

“Carver,” Bear warns, turning back around to face him.

“I’m VP, not you.” Carver squares his shoulders, turning threateningly toward Bear. A chill erupts up my spine. I have to force air into my lungs, my fingers curling around the metal poles of the gate.

Callan tugs my shoulder to move me behind him.

“You either open the gate or we come through it,” Callan cautions, drawing his focus back to us.

Turning his glare to Callan, Carver moves toward the gate, facing the Kings boldly. “I’m getting sick of you threatening us.”

“Then don’t make me.”

“You’re outnumbered and outgunned. Trust me,” I advise. “Do you want to die today?”

He contemplates my words, flitting his gaze to the army behind us, lifting his arm to see past the sun’s glare. “Fine, whatever.” Sauntering over to the control panel, he presses a button, and the gates open.

“Leave the bikes,” Callan calls out to his brothers before entering the Devils’ lair.

Carver disappears through the front door, and Callan grips my hand, leading me inside. Only Monster, Grease, and Cutter follow us. The tension is so thick, it’s almost suffocating inside these walls. I’ve spent most of my life within this clubhouse. Now, it’s a stranger to me.

Bear is sitting at a table in the main room. Carver joins him, taking the second of the four chairs. There are a few lingering brothers, but nothing compared to the force Callan brought with him.

“Where is everyone?” I ask, walking up to Bear and resting a hand on his shoulder in greeting. Placing a hand over mine, he squeezes warmly before pushing it away. Dropping my arm to my side, I step back beside Callan, a phantom burn sparking where the Devil tattoo still colors my skin.

“Tyler’s in the wind,” Bear states.

“Since when?” Callan asks.

Carver taps his finger against the table, his knee bouncing. “Since we got a tip that your old man is still breathing after all.”

Ignoring Carver, Callan drags a chair out, dropping into it. He lets my hand go, and Cutter takes his place beside me.

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you didn’t know Tyler was meeting with our pres the night he was shot.”

“We didn’t. There’s a lot of shit Tyler didn’t make us aware of.” Bear side-eyes Carver with gritted teeth.

“He’s the pres, he doesn’t need to. He was trying to form an alliance for the club’s growth,” Carver sneers.

“Do you know where he’s hiding?”

Carver runs his tongue over his teeth, tsking. “Your old man wanted that shipment for himself and attacked Tyler.”

Lies. Lies. Lies.

Quicker than lightning, Monster is behind Carver, wrenching his head back with a fist in his hair, a jagged hunting knife at his throat. “Be careful with that lying tongue or I’ll cut it from your mouth,” Monster warns with a sadistic hook of his lip.

Bear’s hands shoot out. “Everyone, take a breath. We don’t want trouble.”

“Trouble found you,” Cutter announces. “We want that piece of shit—or we can start slicing into people. Your choice.”

“I’m telling the truth. We don’t know where he went. He got a call, packed a bag, and was gone.” Bear looks at me, and my heart shatters at his feet. I want to go to him, to tell Callan to stop this, but I’m a King now. I love Callan. He’s my home and has a right to retribution. It’s imperative they know where my loyalty lies.

“What about you? Did he tell you where he was going?” Monster asks, tightening his hold on Carver, the blade pinching his skin hard enough to draw blood.

“No.” Carver blows out through pinched lips, spittle spraying the table.

“If he crawls out of the hole he’s scurried into, it would be in this club’s best interest to call me,” Callan tells Bear. “Your pres called a meet and left ours with three bullet wounds in him to die in the dirt like a fucking animal. Whatever bullshit story he told you to cover his ass is just that.”

Getting to his feet, Callan nods to Monster.

My mouth drops open, and my hand juts out. “No!” I call as Monster drags the blade across Carver’s throat, blood spraying out like a shaken champagne bottle. It splatters across the table, spraying Bear in a crimson mist. The brothers at the back of the room jolt forward, stopping when their eyes flit to something behind me. I know without looking that Grease is aiming his weapon at them.

A gurgle bubbles from Carver’s lips.

The metallic scent fills my nostrils and sticks to the back of my throat. His hand slips away from his neck, the thick red slash streaming a crimson river down his chest.

Callan grips my hand and nods to Bear. “Our blood was spilled, and now so is yours.”