by Jessica Ames
He lumbers towards me and I take a step back, my heart thumping beneath my ribs. All moisture has fled from my mouth, leaving my tongue feeling too thick.
“Just let me go.” It’s a plea, and I hate that it is. I don’t want to beg him for anything, but I don’t want this bloodbath to happen because of me either.
He stalks towards me and I back up until I hit the wall. His fist lashes out and I duck to avoid it, but it smashes the side of my already bruised face. My vision blurs from the force, my eyes already swollen from my previous beating. It hurts like a bitch, pushing my teeth against the sensitive skin, and I stumble beneath the force, spitting out blood.
Anger flares through my body. I’m not going down like this, not with Nox so tantalisingly close. He’s not taking anything else from me. I kick out at him, catching his leg, but he doesn’t flinch, and comes back with a punch to my gut.
I double over, gasping for air, my lungs aching fiercely and my ribs screaming out in pain.
“Leon’s dead because of you,” he roars in my face.
I’m too focused on the pain throbbing through my stomach to care about his words. It’s like a fire has been lit in my belly and my breath rips out of me as I struggle to draw in air. Every inhalation is like I’ve swallowed razor blades because of my bruised throat.
His fingers fist into my hair and he wrestles me onto the bed, his weight coming down on top of me, pinning my hips to the mattress. I fight him, clawing at his face, his neck, his chest—anywhere I can reach as his fingers wrap around my throat. Pain erupts immediately and I choke beneath his grasp. Spots dance across my vision as panic sets in that I can’t breathe past his grip.
The seconds seem to slow as my life is being drained from my body. The savage look in his eyes scares me more than anything else, as his true evilness is revealed. I’ve seen Isaac lose control before, but I’ve never seen him completely check-out. My body begs for another breath, but none come. I fumble at his sides, trying to grab anything to stop this happening, and my fingers scrape over something hard and metal. I manage to get it free and realise it’s a knife. I fumble blindly and push the blade between us and push upwards with all the force I can muster. I stab over and over, not thinking about the wetness covering my arms and stomach. I continue with so much force my arm aches.
Isaac gasps, his eyes widening.
The metallic smell is heavy in my lungs as my vision starts to blur, the last of my oxygen squeezed out of me.
A smile appears on my face as I think I’m finally free, and a tear falls from the corner of my eye for Nox.
Then his hand relaxes on my throat, letting me suck in a much needed breath. I pull in a huge lungful of air, letting oxygen flood my body. My hands shake, especially the one holding the knife, which suddenly feels like lead in my grip.
Isaac’s mouth moves, as if he’s trying to say something, then he sags back on the mattress. I scramble up, heaving in breaths as a wet red patch spreads across his shirt.
He doesn’t move again and my shaking increases as I stare at him, my heart racing. Did I… did I kill him? Oh God, did I kill him?
I drop the knife onto the cream carpet, leaving a smear of red on it and stumble backwards. My mouth dries and my hands are sweaty as I stare at his body, willing him to get up. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything, just lies there, his chest still. His white shirt is now stained red, glistening in the lights.
My ears fill with cotton, the gunfire sounding dull, distant as I stand there, my body numb. I hate Isaac with everything I have. He took everything from me, and now he’s made me a murderer.
The door opens and I scramble for the knife, whipping around to face my new attacker, ready to fight for my life again.
It leaves me as soon as recognition dawns in my eyes. He’s covered in blood, darkly staining his light blue shirt, and I’m not sure if it’s his or someone else’s, but he’s standing under his own steam.
“Nox…” I breathe his name. He’s alive, and he’s here.
His eyes take me in, looking wilder than I’ve ever seen them. Then he closes the space between us and I’m in his arms. I hiss in a breath as my ribs flare with pain, but when he starts to move back, I pull him into me. I don’t want him to let go, not now I just got him back.
“The blood—”
“It’s not mine,” I assure him quickly, my eyes straying to the bed. Isaac’s crumpled form is still lying there, a pool of blood growing on the covers.
Nox holds me like I’m made of porcelain as his eyes take in every bruise, every mark from Isaac’s hands. Then he kisses every inch of my hurt face before moving to my split lip, as if he’s trying to replace the hurt and remove Isaac from my skin. I ignore the pain I feel as his mouth moves over mine. I need him. I need to feel him against me, know that he forgives my sins against him, that he still loves me. The tension slowly leeches out of my body as his warmth envelops me. When he pulls back, I don’t want to let him go, but I do.
“The fuck did that cunt do to you?” he demands, and his fingertips go to my bruised throat before touching my battered face. His eyes follow the same path, flaming anger.
“I’m okay,” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m reassuring him or me. Am I okay?
Nox’s hands cup my face and I lean into his touch, needing it, relishing it. He soothes the darkness that is growing inside of me, makes it recede so the light can escape.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”
I put my fingers to his lips, shaking my head. “I would go through it all again and more to have you standing in front of me.”
Memories of Isaac shooting him race to the front of my mind. I peer at his blood-spattered chest, taking a step back at how close I was to losing him twice.
As if he can read my thoughts, he steps towards me. “None of it’s mine. I’m good.”
“You were shot.” Tears fill my eyes and spill over. He catches them with his thumb as a smile tugs at his lips.
“It just grazed me, baby. I’m okay.”
He brushes my hair out of my face, his eyes shining with love that melts some of the ice in my belly.
My thumping heart beat slows and I rest my head against his chest, holding onto the lapels of his kutte so tightly my knuckles whiten.
“I killed him.”
“Ain’t no one going to cry over that piece of shit being dead.”
“But I killed him. I’m a murderer.”
“No, Lucy, you’re a survivor.” He kisses my temple so softly, so gently I want to cry.
His words loosen the pain in my chest a little and I take my first easy breath in days.
“I’m sorry.”
Nox lifts my chin and meets my gaze. He lets out a breath. “I get it, but no more lies. No more fucking secrets. I’m your man. You can tell me anything, yeah?”
I nod. “I only have one more.”
He stiffens in my arms.
“Yeah?”
I roll to my toes and press my mouth to his. He reciprocates immediately, kissing me back like his life depends on it.
When I pull back, we’re both breathless.
“I love you.”
His mouth tugs into a grin. “Fucking love you too.”
30
Nox
Lucy looks like hell. Anger pumps through me. Every time I look at her another bruise seems to appear. Her face is a swollen mess and her throat is covered in a smattering of dark purple marks—finger marks, I realise—but she’s alive and breathing. Right now, I’ll take it.
I want to touch her, keep her close, but I don’t want to push her either. Isaac hurt her, I can see that, but I have no idea if he did worse to her than just beating the shit out of her. The thought makes my fury simmer to the surface, threatening to bubble over, but whatever happened to her, we’ll deal with it once we’re safe.
I move over to the bed and peer down at Isaac’s body, my lip curling into a snarl. Motherfucking cunt. I want to throttle him, pick up the kni
fe my girl dropped and shove it through his dead heart, but instead, I reach out and feel the column of his throat, searching for a pulse. There’s nothing. No fluttering heartbeat, no slow pulsing, nothing. I watch his chest for a moment and see no air being drawn into his lungs either.
I smirk.
He’s gone.
Judging from the amount of blood on his chest, there’s no way he could have survived what looks like a frenzied attack from Lucy. I feel pride that she took control. She took on her devil and won. I know it was a fight for survival, and I’m so fucking glad it was Luce who survived.
With that thought, I step back to her.
“We need to get out of here,” I tell her, keeping my voice as soft as I can manage, scared my raised voice might push her over the edge she’s teetering on.
She nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes wide like a frightened rabbit as they slide towards the massacre on the bed. “Isaac… the body…”
I bring her attention back to me. “Won’t be anything left of the house, or him, by the time we’re done, baby. Ain’t nothing going to blow back on you.”
Her brow draws down and I can see the cogs working in her brain, trying to figure out what we’re going to do. We’re experts at clean up, but I’m not about to offload that shit on her, not when she’s barely keeping it together.
I hold my left hand out to her, ignoring the pain that flares through my shoulder, and she slips hers in mine. She feels so small, so delicate, but I can see my woman is neither of these things. She took on a monster and survived. It took courage to do what she did. Killing a man with a knife is not easy. There are better ways, cleaner ways, to take a life. I know it will fuck with her head, but I’ll be right beside her to chase the demons away. No one is getting near my woman again.
I pull my gun free of its holster and open the bedroom door slowly, peering around the edge. The landing is clear, so I give her a little tug to get her moving. She stumbles after me and I can tell she’s in pain by how slowly she’s trailing after me. I notice she’s favouring her right side. I’ve had enough broken ribs over the years to know that’s what has her stiff. I turn, scooping my hands under her legs, ignoring her protests and the pain in my own shoulder.
All arguments die on her lips as gunfire sounds close to where we are, and I turn to the side, protecting her with my body as I inch up the hallway.
“Bury your head in my neck, baby, and close your eyes,” I whisper.
I’d cleared the house as I’d moved from room to room, looking for her, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still threats. She doesn’t need to see any of the bloodshed.
We encounter brothers as we hit the stairs and I nearly blow the Cardiff’s RC’s head off before I realise he’s a friendly.
I hear a whimper from Lucy. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the blood from the bodies riddled with holes, slumped against the walls or lying on the floor where they fell.
“Luce.”
“I’m okay.” She kisses my neck.
I have no choice but to walk through this massacre, and we have massacred Blackwood’s men. Those fuckers won’t come back at us now. There will be no retribution.
As I hit the last step, Rav appears in the hallway with Fury and Daimon on his heels. He peers up at me and then his eyes shift to Lucy. I watch as they all take a deep breath.
“House and grounds are cleared,” Rav says. “Take her back to the clubhouse. I’ll send Whizz as soon as he’s finished helping patch up some of the injured.”
He leaves the rest unspoken, but I know what he’s saying. They’ll handle clean up. I’m grateful as fuck because I just want to get Lucy out of here.
“Rav.” My throat works.
He shakes his head, telling me there’s no need for thanks. This is who we are, who the Untamed Sons are.
“Go and look after your girl.”
“Blackwood’s in the front bedroom. First one off the landing,” I tell him.
I don’t tell him he’s dead, but from the look in his eyes he knows it. I wouldn’t let that fucker keep breathing free air after what he did to Lucy. If she hadn’t killed him, I would have done.
He nods and juts his chin to Fury and Daimon, who start up the stairs. Daimon pats my shoulder as he passes, giving me his support without speaking a word.
“Ravage!” I reach for my gun, but hold as Maverick, President of the Devils Dogs, strides towards us, his face a mask of irritation. The man wasn’t happy about his club getting dragged into this shit, but a marker is a marker.
His eyes go to Lucy in my arms, flicking to the bruises, the swell of her eye that she can barely see out and stopping at the blood covering her. His shoulders drop slightly, understanding appearing in his eyes.
“That’s us square now, right?”
Rav meets his gaze unflinchingly. “Yeah,” Rav agrees.
“Put me down,” Lucy says softly.
I don’t want to let her out of my arms ever, but I slowly set her on her feet, gritting my teeth as she winces, grabbing her ribs.
She looks at Maverick.
“Thank you.”
He nods as I pull Lucy into my side, needing her close to me and together we walk out of the house. She stops walking as we hit the porch and pulls out of my hold. I’m about to ask her what she’s doing, when she walks over to Leon’s body—the first casualty in this massacre. I watch her, unsure what is going on, and she surprises the fuck out of me and all the brothers watching by spitting on his corpse.
When her eyes meet mine, she says, “He was always the cruel one of the two.”
By two, I assume she means out of him and Elijah, Blackwood’s right-hand men. I wish I could kill him again.
She comes back to my side and burrows into it. I sit her on the porch, wincing at the way she holds her body as she lowers onto the steps. I’m glad she did what she had to in order to survive, but the loss of my vengeance hangs heavily around my neck. I wanted to make Blackwood pay for every hurt he inflicted on Lucy, for every name he called her, for every freedom he squashed. That vengeance was taken from me and the injustice of it nips at my heels.
I push it down. Dead is dead, at least he can no longer hurt her, leave her afraid or make her run for her life.
I make a call to Kyle, asking him to bring the van to the front entrance. I don’t want Lucy walking any further than she needs to with her injuries.
As we sit on the steps, she leans her head against my uninjured shoulder and I wrap my arm around her. Brothers and support club brothers gather on the lawn, waiting for their next instruction. I lift my chin to them in thanks before I tune it out, focusing instead on the blonde head leaning against me, thinking about the things I want to say to her. We have a shit ton to discuss, but it can all wait.
Kyle turns up with the van just as Titch steps out of the house, his gun held at his side, covered in blood. He gives me a huge grin before he moves over to a group of brothers standing on the lawn. Crazy fucker.
I help Lucy into the van and climb in behind her. Kyle doesn’t say a word as he hits the gas and the van starts to move.
As we get further from the house, I glance in the wing mirror and see smoke rising behind us from the house. I wish I could have stayed to see the flames licking through that shithole, but my woman needs me more.
My lips quirk into a smile. Torching that place and sending all those fuckers on a one-way trip to hell is the best thing that could happen.
“Look.” I bend down, whispering in her ear.
Her eyes go to the mirror and widen as she sees the scene behind her.
“It’s over,” she murmurs.
I nod, unable to tell her that it’s not really over. Isaac might be dead, but his death will haunt my girl. She’s not the type to kill and not be affected.
Lucy leans her head against my shoulder and I place my hand on her denim-clad thigh, letting her know I’m here for her, that I’ll pick up the broken pieces wherever they may fall, because despite everything, I
love Lucy and I don’t care what her fucking name is, who she is, because none of that matters. Lucy Franklin is mine.
31
Lucy
By the time we make it back to the clubhouse my hands are shaking so badly I can hardly keep them still. I clench them together in my lap, but Nox sees and grabs my closed fist, squeezing it. Having him here calms some of the tension in my body, lets me relax my shoulders slightly, but I know we have to talk about all of this at some point, and I’m not sure it’s a conversation I want to have.
Kyle parks the van outside the side entrance of the clubhouse, opposite where the bikes usually go. I peer through the windscreen, unable to believe I’m back here. I thought I would never see the clubhouse—or Nox—again. This feels unreal.
Nox climbs out of the van first and turns back, his arms reaching for me. I move slowly, my chest throbbing and slip into his arms as he lifts me down. The movement is like ice picks stabbing at my ribs, and I can’t stop the whimper that falls from my mouth.
Nox growls, “That motherfucking cunt.”
I can’t even imagine how bad I look. Now the adrenaline has worn off, I can feel every inch of pain returning. My face feels like I went ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer and lost, my ribs and stomach are aching and my head is spinning.
We walk for a few steps, but my movements are slow. Every step makes something on my body hurt.
“Fuck it.”
Nox scoops me up into his arms, pressing me against his chest. I can smell the blood, his aftershave and the leather of his kutte. It’s a heady mix, but it doesn’t distract me from the fact that he’s also injured. I didn’t miss the way he winced as he held me through Isaac’s house.
“Your shoulder!” I hiss at him, but he shakes his head.
“Quit worrying, woman.”
He doesn’t take me to the common room, but carries me up the stairs to his room. When we get inside, he places me carefully on the toilet and rubs at his shoulder. Stubborn as fuck man. No doubt that pulled at his stitches.
