War (Kings of Sin MC #2)

18. War

CHAPTER 18

WAR

“Devils!” I shout.

Callan and Jericho are both outside their bedrooms as I race toward them.

“Rogue?” Callan panics, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. Feet bare. No weapon.

I wave my hands for them to go. “They’re inside the club!” Callan’s eyes enlarge, staring at something behind me. I skid to a stop, colliding with the wall beside him, and turn to see a gun raised toward Callan.

Horror bleeds through me. “No,” I say, pushing myself off the wall and into him. A pop rings through the air. A burning slice ignites across my cheek and the bullet embeds into the wall next to our heads. More shots ring out in a blur of movements. I’m dragged inside Jericho’s room, my back hitting the wall.

“Rogue,” Callan’s hands search my body, twisting my face, his panicked, wide eyes gawking at me.

I pat my fingertip along the blazing trail on my cheek.

“Holy shit.” He shakes his head. “I’m beginning to think you have nine lives.”

“Here,” Jericho barks, handing Callan a gun.

A wailing alert sounds through the compound.

“Someone has hit the alarm.” Jericho nods, clutching his stomach.

Shouting and gunfire explode outside the bedroom door.

“I’m good,” I assure Callan, pushing him away so he can focus. Fear is gut-wrenching. Seeing it in the eyes of a man like Callan rips at my soul. “I’m okay,” I repeat, squeezing his arm.

When the shots and voices fade, Jericho jerks his chin to his son.

“Get behind me,” Callan orders me as Jericho twists the door open. Gun raised, Callan steps out, checking left and right, his jaw rigid. “No,” I whimper, seeing Dodger slumped against the wall, blood seeping through his white t-shirt.

Stepping over two bodies in Devil cuts, I drop in front of Dodger and check for a pulse. “He’s alive,” I croak.

Callan hands me his gun and hooks Dodger under the armpits, dragging him inside the room and laying him beside the bed.

“He’ll be safe in here until we neutralize the threat.”

“I’ll stay with him,” I offer, my body trembling.

“No.” Callan shuts me down. “No fucking way am I leaving you. We’ll come back for him.”

Tugging my arm, we venture back into the hall. Callan races to his room, returning a second later with his knife and my gun. “Here.” He nods, taking the gun from me and replacing it with my own.

A spluttering of gunfire hisses through the air. The wailing alarm makes my bones rattle.

We pass a couple more doors, creeping around the corner. Both Callan and Jericho move like trained SWAT. Quiet. Precise. Alert.

“Tim’s in there. Georgina stabbed him,” I announce, pointing to the kitchen.

Two sets of dark eyes cut to mine. “She opened the garage door for the Devils.”

“Motherfucking fuck. I’m going to pull her spine through her back and hang her by it at the gate,” Jericho hisses.

A floorboard creaks to the left of the corridor, and all three of us spin, our weapons raised. Green faces us, his gun aimed.

“Fuck. What the hell is happening?” he whisper-yells, lowering his gun.

“We’re under attack,” Jericho grates out.

“Green, your brother is in the kitchen, injured. Go help him.” I jerk my chin toward the kitchen door. A severe scowl etches across his face, and he slips past us.

Footfalls sound behind Jericho as I turn. My heart stops. The world dips. The Devil raises his arm, a clear shot for Jericho’s head.

I’m faster.

My finger curls around the trigger automatically.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

The weapon’s power takes him clean off his feet. Small holes seep crimson rivets down his chest. I recognize the man’s face. I’ve known him for years. Now, he’s another name on my blood-soaked ledger.

A hand slams down on my shoulder, and I startle. “You saved my life.” Jericho’s wild eyes roam my face, his breathing ragged.

“You’re a King,” I say, nodding my head.

He mimics my movement. “So are you.”

A high-pitched scream shatters the air, and we push forward into the bar. Three Devil bodies lay strewn on the floor, one with a knife protruding from his eye and the two others beaten to a pulp. Cutter sits slumped in a chair, unconscious, with Kitty by his side, shaking from head to toe.

“Is he dead?” Callan asks, madness in his eyes.

“No. He hit his head. He saved my life. How the hell did this happen?” Sounds chase from beyond the entry to the bar, and Jericho grabs Kitty, dragging her to her feet.

“No Daddy, he needs me.”

“Shut up and get behind the bar. Stay low.”

“You go with my sister” Callan jerks his chin toward the bar. “You’ll be safer hidden.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I say incredulously.

“Rogue.”

“No,” I snap. “I won’t. We don’t know how many are still in here. I’m not leaving you to fight alone.”

“I’m starting to see why everyone’s so smitten with her,” Jericho grunts.

We creep down the hallway hosting more bedrooms, stilling when Callan holds up a fist. The shuffling of booted feet scratches at my ears. My heart hammers in my chest when we come across a Devil stalking the corridor. Tiptoeing up behind him, Callan grabs a fistful of his hair and rips his head back, dragging a blade across his throat. Cherry red splatters the wall.

Lowering him to the floor, Callan steps over his body and signals for us to continue with a crook of his finger. Chills zap through my veins when the light catches the dead man’s wide eyes. Kenny. He was a prospect, barely twenty years old.

Shouts and screams bounce off the walls. The blonde triplets come bounding down the hallway naked with terror written on their panicked faces. “Get behind the bar. Kitty’s there,” I rush out.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

One flies forward like she was punched in the back, plunging into me and knocking me against the wall. Her body jerks as more bullets fire into her. Air whooshes out of my lungs, the world tilting on its axis. It’s all so loud. So vivid. So real. My mind struggles to find focus.

I push her off me, and her body flops to my feet, bullet holes peppered across her back.

Callan’s nowhere. Jericho is lying on the floor, holding his shoulder.

“No. Where did Callan go?” I hunch down, tearing his hand away to check the wound. He’ll live.

“Followed the fucker who shot me.” He points to a room.

I stand, rounding the lip of the door. The world falls into slow motion, and my stomach vaults. I take a couple steps into Daddy’s room. Callan’s menacing form lurches over a Devil whose hands are raised in surrender. Daddy’s naked body is half hanging out of his bed, slathered in red liquid and staring back at me. Stumbling over to him, I push him onto his back, fire scalding my eyes as I trace over the bullet holes. There are too many to count.

“Cowards,” I grit out, my breath catching. Rage throbs through me. Daddy’s blood seeps through my fingers, filling the space between them, clogging beneath my nails. “You are fucking cowards.” My voice builds with momentum. Steady, determined strides carry me to the man shrinking under Callan. Without mercy or regret, I fire a bullet into his forehead and his raised arms fall like stones beside him. “They attacked at night while most of us were sleeping. And she let them in,” I seethe.

“She’ll pay for that with her life.” Callan clenches his jaw.

“They all will,” I add, marching to the door, the wind knocking out of me when I collide with Tyler.

“Hello, Princess.” His voice scrapes against my mind like rusty nails. Grabbing my wrist before I can raise my gun, he squeezes against the raw wounds beneath the dressings. My fingers flex without permission, and my gun clanks against the floor.

Two Devils pile into Daddy’s room, gunfire ringing out, grunts and crashing sounds clashing as Tyler drags me away.

Callan.

Cool air washes over my skin as Tyler kicks the latch on a fire exit door spilling out at the back of the compound. He throws me to the asphalt, and I scurry a few feet away from him. I drag in sharp gasps of air, shock solidifying my bones.

“Looks like I did a number on you, baby.” He rolls his neck. “You did one on me too.” Lifting his shirt, dark bruises spread like spilled ink over his ribs. “Hurts like a motherfucker.”

He stands hauntingly above me. The moon slices through a scattering of condensed clouds, highlighting him in a silver halo. It’s not fitting for the Devil before me.

The wind picks up my hair and whips the strands violently around my face. Blood congeals, sticky like tar on my hands. Pain expands through my body like the tide rushing in. The savage black sky falls on me, wrapping me in its darkness.

“There’s nowhere to go from here, Ty.” I swallow down the lump growing in my throat.

“Hell is where I’m going, Princess. And you’re coming with me.”

The door swings back open and Monster, Grease, and Callan step into the finality of my nightmare. My body, pulled by his presence, sways toward Callan. I don’t want him to watch me die.

More brothers file out, joining us.

A Devil amongst Kingsl.

A fist twists in my hair, dragging me backward. “I’ll shoot her,” Tyler cautions. “Stay fucking back.”

Callan’s blood-soaked chest heaves, one fist clenched around the hilt of his blade, the other on the handle of my gun. “You know you’re not walking out of here,” Callan warns him.

“I do.” Tyler grins, dropping his gaze down on me, pushing the gun barrel against my skull.

Tears leak to my cheeks, and I mouth, “I love you.”

A crack shocks the air, carrying the sound on a wave. My eyes squeeze closed, waiting for the end, but it doesn’t come.

“Argh!” Tyler yells, jolting away from me. My eyes spring open as his gun clatters across the asphalt. He holds his bloody forearm to his chest. “No. No. No!” he roars, attempting to make for the gun. Kings swarm like bees around him, wanting their vengeance.

Fists hit flesh. Groans, guttural and broken, cry out amongst the snarls of anguish.

Callan drops before me, taking my face in his hands. “Did he hurt you?”

Throwing myself into his chest, I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him, needing to feel his heartbeat against mine.

“Not anymore.” I breathe. “Never again.” I pull away and take my gun from his grip, getting to my feet with his help.

Brothers part like the Red Sea for Callan and me. Tyler lies in a heap with blood dripping from his mouth and nose, and cuts splitting his skin in ugly red strips. Cackling with hysteria, he gurgles and chokes. “You’ll always be mine, Princess. Maybe not here”—he punches his chest—“but up here.” He jabs a finger to his head. “I’ll live with you forever.”

Maybe that’s true, but it will fade, and Callan and I will fill the spaces with happiness, goodness, and life.

Raising my gun, a calm bathes me. Harley’s smile blossoms in my mind.

“Goodbye, Ty.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Princess.”

Hell bared its teeth tonight and lost.

“No, you won’t.” I squeeze the trigger, firing one for me.

Pop.

“Fuck!” he hollers, clutching his knee.

One for the Kings he slaughtered while they slept.

Pop.

“Bitch,” he spits through bloodied teeth, placing a hand on his stomach.

“And one for Harley,” I say out loud, a tear tracking down my cheek.

Pop.

His head thuds back, eyes glaring to the heavens he’ll never reach.

A whiney pitch sounds behind us, drawing our attention to Green holding a thrashing Georgina by her hair.

“Look who I found trying to escape in one of the SUVs.”

He tosses her forward, and she stumbles, her legs entangling in her dress. She collides with the asphalt, her eyes expanding like saucers when she sees Tyler’s dead body.

“He forced me to help him, said he would kill me.” She slithers, trying to get away, the snake shedding yet another skin. Playing the victim doesn’t suit her, and no one is buying it.

Callan eats up the space, lifting her from the floor by the neck. Her hands claw at his wrists. Her feet dangle. A gasping gag chokes from her lungs. “Callan, please,” she begs. With a sneer, he pushes his arm forward, releasing her straight into Monster’s chest.

Palming her chin with one hand and the back of her head with the other, Monster twists, cracking her neck. Fast. Ruthless. Deadly.