We finish our dance to soft, murmured approval which I find odd. What happened to the clapping and the stomping? I notice that the overall energy of the crowd has dimmed slightly. There are even a few people slumped over tables or curled up in corners. Not unusual for a club party, but it’s a little early. That, and there seem to be quite a few of them.
Beast frowns hard, looking up and over my shoulder and then gesturing with two fingers. I glance back to see Sin and Grainger waiting at the edge of the dance floor, watching us. At Beast’s behest, they move through the languorous, sleepy crowd to stand beside us again.
“Do you see this?” Sin asks, nodding his chin at the drunk swaying of the other dancers. It’s really fucking bothering me that I haven’t seen Crown since the procession. Something about that isn’t sitting right with me. “It’s a little early for so many people to be this fucked-up, don’t you think?”
“I see it,” Beast agrees, moving over to one of the people on the ground. The man is breathing, obviously, but he doesn’t react at all when Beast tries to wake him up. It’s like he’s drunk. Or drugged.
A chill traces over my skin as I take in the overall state of the room. If it were two in the morning, sure. There’d be a lot of drunk, high, and just generally exhausted partygoers, but we’ve barely been here an hour.
I remember that first dinner with the Don and his wife, when I carefully tasted each item, worried about poison. There’s plenty of food here, but most people aren’t eating. Mostly, they’re drinking and smoking and …
Snorting.
I look at the tables with the lines of coke, and I wonder.
“Where did this cocaine come from?” I ask, and all three men cast me dark looks.
“Jesus,” Grainger grinds out, moving over to the table closest to the towering stack of wedding gifts in the corner; the rest of us follow. He rubs some of the powder between his fingers but shakes his head. “There’s no way to tell just by looking at it; I’ve had my own guys watching the supply since it came in. Gaz was never allowed near the stuff.”
“You’re thinking this could be the mafia’s coke, Gidge?” Beast asks, his voice almost disturbingly calm. He’s coiled right now, like a snake ready to strike.
“It would make sense, wouldn’t it?” I ask, crossing my arms and doing my best to calm my racing pulse. I don’t want my hunch to be true this time, just like I didn’t when I worried about Rhea Bundy. But I can’t ignore the gnawing fear in my gut.
“I personally saw to it that we used our own product.” Grainger shakes his head as he plants his hands on his hips. “But you never know. There’s always the chance of a bait and switch.” His eyes flick toward the open doors leading to the deck. “Especially with that fucking rat scurrying around tonight. Goddamn it, I should’ve put a bullet through that cocksucker’s skull a long time ago.”
Sin catches a woman who’s about to fall to the floor. He grabs her under the armpits and lowers her gently to the ground, but she isn’t the only one collapsing. All around the room, people are stumbling, falling, fainting.
Not everyone, obviously, but enough that it’s disturbing.
We’ve been poisoned. The club’s been fucking poisoned.
No, no, drugged.
“For every day that you delay, we destroy something,” I whisper, and Grainger gives me a sharp look.
“What the fuck are you saying, Gidge?” he asks, but I’m too caught up in my head.
“Every day, we add another person to the tally. Don’t make us polish off all those pretty families of yours.” I recall the words Grey spoke to me that day on the video call with utter horror.
“Let’s get Gidge out of here—” Beast starts, but his words are cut short by the sound of an explosion. Heat blasts me, and the world rocks like it’s on stilts. One second, I’m standing up. The next, I’m on the floor underneath Beast’s huge body.
People are screaming, shouting, but not nearly enough of them. Many of them are passed out and unaware of what’s going on. Shit, I’m sober, and I still have no idea what’s going on.
My ears are ringing as I struggle to crawl out from underneath Beast. I keep expecting him to help me up, but he isn’t moving.
That scares me. That scares me a fuck of a lot.
Arms grab me, struggling to help me free from the heavy weight on my back.
It’s Sin.
He’s grabbing my face between his hands; I think he’s yelling at me, but I can’t hear him. I reach up with both hands to touch my ears, and my fingertips come away red with blood.
It’s not that I didn’t expect an attack, but … we’re on the compound. We have three full chapters of Daybreakers here. We’re locked down. Guarded. Safe.
But only from the outside world.
Gaz.
My brother’s face flickers in my mind just in time for me to realize that I can see him for real, standing at the edge of the room surrounded by smoke and the flickering lights of several fires.
“Gidget!” Sin’s voice finally breaks the silent bubble around me, and I cry out. Everything hurts. My ears. My eyes. My body. I look back to see both Beast and Grainger half-buried under debris. I lunge toward them immediately, but Sin’s hauling me back, forcing me to my feet.
“What are you doing?!” I scream, turning back to him with fury burning inside of me. “We have to get them out of there!”
“Gidget,” Sin repeats, gritting his teeth as he glances over his shoulder.
Gaz is coming this way, kicking bodies out of his path as he approaches us. He has a group of Daybreakers with him, one of whom happens to be Caper. Which means …
These guys are with Gaz. All of them.
Sin draws his weapon, but he doesn’t raise it. Not just yet. Because drawing his weapon on his brothers paints him as the bad guy.
“They’re both in on it,” Gaz says, lifting his chin in our direction. It’s a brilliant ruse, I must say, blaming us for organizing a mafia hit on our own compound. Based on everything I’ve been doing, it isn’t entirely out of the question. I’ve been talking to Grey. Meeting with Grey. Helping Grey. Just not in the way Gaz is helping the Grey Wolfe Mafia. “Restrain them both.”
The men move forward and Sin curses. His hand shakes as he puts me behind him and raises his weapon. It isn’t that he’s afraid to kill anyone or that he won’t defend me; it’s that the prospect of killing his brothers, of murdering men he’s fought alongside for years, partied with, attended weddings for, is abhorrent.
The whole situation is awful.
I thought I wanted the club to fall. In reality, all I wanted to do is change it.
“Gidget,” Sin whispers as the other men remove their own guns from their belts and holsters. “When I give you the word, I want you to run.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I breathe, blood running down the sides of my face. Sin looks back at me with an expression that tells me everything that I need to know. He loves me. He always has. Maybe neither of us can pinpoint when it happened, it doesn’t matter. It may as well have been forever.
“Please,” he tells me, his voice hardly audible with the ringing in my ears, the screaming, the moans. “All I want is for you to live your life, Gidge. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He shoves me hard, and I fall to the floor just a split-second before the first shot goes off. I’m pretty sure it came from Sin’s weapon, but it’s hard to see with the smoke and the fires. Gunshots light up the interior of the room like lightning as I reach for the Magnum in its holster.
Only … it’s gone. It’s fucking gone. I touch the spot where the shoulder holster was sitting only to find that it’s missing. There’s a huge gash across the front of Beast’s jacket, and I’m bleeding. Not much, but a little, protected by the leather. The strap of the shoulder holster might’ve been leather too, but it was not so lucky.
I shove up to my feet, crouching low and running for the back hall. Not to leave, though, because I just can’t do that. Because I’m n
ot that person. I will never be that person.
If we die, we die together.
But I need a gun.
I need to find Crown; I need to find Cat.
A hand grabs my arm as soon as I skid into the hallway, the door that leads to the main room of the clubhouse swinging behind me, alternating flashes of pain and darkness. In here, you might never know that something was wrong.
“Gidget.”
I have to blink a few times to realize who it is that I’m looking at.
“Grey?” I choke out, but I don’t have time for a happy reunion. My boys are in trouble.
“Here.” He presses a bottle and a syringe into my hand. The bottle contains a liquid that’s eerily similar to the color of his eyes, but with a metallic sheen that makes it look like molten silver. “Anyone who drank beer from the kegs or sampled the cocaine tonight needs an injection.”
“What … what is this?” I ask, noticing for the first time that Reba’s standing behind him, also with a syringe and bottle in hand. “Reba?”
“We don’t have a lot of time, suge,” she says, exchanging a look with Grey.
“No,” he agrees, shaking his head. “We don’t. If they don’t get these injections within the next …” He checks that fancy watch of his and frowns. “About thirty minutes, they’re dead. They’re all dead.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, but I don’t care about anybody else. I care about my men. They’re the most important people on this compound besides Reba and Grey. “I don’t have time for this; I need a gun.”
I gesture back at the room behind us. The gunfire seems to have quieted, but only because it’s moved. I can now hear shots being fired outside.
“If I had one, I would give it to you,” Grey says, cringing slightly. He’s a little roughed up, a little bloody. I have no clue how he managed to get onto the compound in the first place. “Each one of these bottles has enough for about twelve people; if there’s anyone special you want to save, you best point them out to me.”
“Nellie?” I offer, meeting Reba’s emerald gaze. “Can you find her for me? I have to go, but I’ll help as soon as I can.”
“I got you, honey. Go.” Reba nods her chin toward the end of the hallway, and I start forward, pausing to relay a quick warning.
“Be careful; Gaz is on the move with his posse.” I give Grey a sharp look. “Do not get caught. I doubt I’ll get the chance to rescue you again.”
He gives a sharp nod in response as I pocket the items and take off down the hall. Cat has guns stashed all over the compound, just as he does the house. All I have to do is find one. I skid at the end of the hall, slamming into the wall before I gather myself together, sprinting toward the stairs that lead up to Cat’s office.
That’s the most likely place for me to find a weapon, and I don’t exactly have a ton of time on my hands. Please be okay, I think as I run, please don’t be dead. Grainger and Beast, they … well, they weren’t moving. And Sin. Oh my God, Sin. Where the fuck are you, Crown?!
I fling open the door to Cat’s office and stumble inside, wrenching open the top drawer on his desk.
Nothing.
The next drawer.
Nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
I throw the next drawer against the wall in frustration, pausing when I hear the sound of someone approaching. My head lifts up, and all the blood drains from my face.
“You stupid bitch,” Gaz says from the doorway, grinning maniacally at me. “You looking for this?” He waves around a gun like a crazy person. “How stupid do you think I am? Do you think you know where our father hides his weapons any better than I do?”
I stand up straight, heart racing, pulse pounding. My ears are still ringing, and my entire body hurts from the bomb blast. I haven’t had a chance to assess my injuries, but that isn’t important right now.
Right now, I have to survive my brother’s wrath.
“I know Cat far better than you ever will,” I tell Gaz, lifting my chin up, panting and bleeding and still struggling through the disorientation caused by the explosion. My chest feels tight, and I’m fighting the urge to cough. A coughing fit right now would not suit me well.
I move around the desk and Gaz scowls, lifting up the weapon and pointing it at me. The thing is, shooting me right now isn’t a great choice for him either. He can tell Cat that I’m a traitor, but what’s it going to look like when our father walks in and sees his last remaining daughter, dead at her own wedding reception from a gunshot wound?
The club isn’t stupid. They know how to send things in for forensic testing; they even have a lab in Portland that works for them. Cat would figure out what sort of gun the bullet came from. He’d make connections. Gaz knows all of that.
“That’s part of the reason you hate me: because I’m the son he always wanted.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Gaz screams, storming across the room toward me as I surreptitiously slip Queenie’s knife from my pocket and palm it in my left hand. He gave this knife to her, before she ever gifted it to me. Ironic, isn’t it? That I’m going to use the gift that Gaz gave Queenie to try to kill him.
His fury is impressive, terrifying really. It’s so potent, so unhinged. It makes no sense. It also makes him sloppy; I’m counting on that.
“It isn’t my fault that Cat loves me more,” I say, even though I’m not exactly sure that’s a true statement. It could be. It really could be. But I don’t know. One thing I do know for sure: I’m right about my previous declaration. If I’d been born with a dick, I would’ve been the perfect child for Cat.
My brother’s rage takes over him, and he aims the gun at me, intending to shoot me somewhere non-vital, I’m guessing. When he lifts the weapon, I grab the glass bottle of ink that’s on the desk’s surface with my right hand. It’s India ink, I believe, more of a décor item than anything that gets practical use. There’s a quill pen lodged in it, but I’ve never seen anyone actually use it.
Until now.
I throw the bottle in my brother’s face. Not only is it made of heavy glass and probably hurts like a bitch, but ink goes everywhere. Into his eyes. Onto the books lining the walls. Spatters all down Gaz’s front.
Without breaking my stride, I throw myself into him and jam the knife into his gut. He’s briefly disoriented, firing the gun at the ceiling and knocking plaster loose as we topple to the floor. He’s bigger than me, stronger than me, but I’m scrappy as fuck. That, and I’ve been training with Beast.
Nobody knows how to fight better than he does.
Thankfully, the gun falls from Gaz’s hand, skidding across the carpet and out of immediate reach. My brother doesn’t seem to give a shit. He assumes that, because he’s so much larger than me, because he’s a man, he has all of the advantages.
He might be physically stronger than I am, but he’s stupid and angry and wounded.
I harness my rage and bring it under control, turning my mind into a cool, quiet place where my fears for the boys and Reba and Grey are blurred and distant. This moment, this fight, that’s all that matters.
The blood streaming from Gaz’s wound makes my grip on the knife tenuous, but I manage to yank it out and attempt another thrust. Unfortunately, Gaz knocks my arm aside and sends the knife flying.
He rolls us over, putting me between his thighs. Predictably, the very first thing that he does is go for my throat. This is what Rhea Bundy must’ve seen in her last moments, I think, feeling for her at the same time that I know I’m different.
I will not go down like that poor girl.
As soon as Gaz wraps his hands around my throat, I grab his right wrist with my left hand, yanking it hard to one side. At the same time, I use my right palm to slam Gaz in the center of his chest. The move gives me just enough space to insert my left leg between us while my right foot comes up and nails him directly in the face.
He howls, flailing back as blood pours down his nose.
I’m not here to cosplay as an MMA fighte
r, so as soon as Gaz’s weight is off of me, I’m surging to my feet. All I need to do is grab the gun and it’s over.
I will shoot Gaz without hesitation and worry about dealing with Cat later.
My fingers have just barely grazed the side of the weapon before Gaz is wrapping an arm around my throat from behind and dragging me backward. I react on instinct, swinging my left arm down and back until my closed fist makes contact with his crotch. Almost immediately, I bring my hands together and throw them over my shoulder, shoving at his face. I spin in his grip, but then suddenly, I’m trapped inside the confines of his arms and my mind is going blank.
Did Beast teach me how to get out of this position? I wonder, but I don’t exactly have time to think on it. Gaz shoves me back violently until I hit the edge of a bookcase, leatherbound volumes toppling off the shelf and crashing into my skull.
Gaz wastes no time in throwing a closed punch at my face. I just barely manage to swing to the side, tripping on some of the fallen books as my brother snatches my ankle and yanks hard enough that I fall on my belly.
I’m able to turn onto my back, but that’s it. He’s on me again, straddling my pelvis and launching another hard punch. This one hits me right in the mouth, and I feel my teeth cut the inside of my cheeks, drawing blood. White-hot pain slices through me, briefly blinding me to my horrible reality.
Out of pure instinct, I reach up and dig my nails into his face, forcing him to grab my wrists and putting a stop to another skull-shattering blow.
“What the fuck is going on in here?!”
A familiar voice booms out, this shock of lightning that seems to electrify both me and Gaz. In an instant, he’s climbing off of me and stumbling to his feet.
“Gaz, what the fuck?” Cat snarls, moving into my field of view. My father looks at me, bleeding and dazed on the floor. Then he looks at his son, also bleeding but not quite so dazed. What a clusterfuck.
“Gidget is involved with the mafia,” Gaz says, bending down and reaching into my pocket before I can stop him. He rises to his feet, brandishing the needle and the bottle of silver liquid that Grey gave me. “She drugged the kegs and laced our product with supplies from Grey Wolfe; I don’t know what this is, but she was trying to inject anyone that was still conscious with it.”
I Am Dressed in Sin: A Reverse Harem Age Gap Romance (Death By Daybreak Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 39
