But I already knew I was placing my bets on the wrong horse before she’d finished nodding her head.
“Yes, they’re cannibals,” she said emphatically. “They’re sick! They eat people. And they keep them hostage and trade them with other people.”
“No,” I gasped, the realization hitting me full force. It couldn't be real. Of all the inhuman things I’d witnessed people say and do, that... that crossed a line. It destroyed the boundaries of what made us human. It obliterated us as humans and made us cross the line into something worse, something more animalistic. Something inhuman.
It made us more like the deaders than anything else.
Her pained expression told me a thousand horror stories that would make even the strongest person weep, and a cold tremor ran up the length of my spine, sending frigid ice splinters to my brain.
I wanted to shake myself. Maybe give myself a hard slap across the cheek to wake myself up from the living nightmare that I called life. Every time I thought one problem was solved, or another life had been saved, evil crawled up from the pits of hell and dispensed more of its shit upon the world.
Christ, maybe I was cursed.
Or maybe the whole goddamned world was cursed.
“Come on, you can’t actually be serious,” I stuttered out, but my words held no weight to them.
“As serious as a motherfuckin’ nun in church!” the big guy in the truck called across.
I looked over at him, my mouth hanging open. “But you’re talking about—”
“People motherfuckin’ eatin’ people, bitch. You dumb or somethin’? It’d be a shame if so, but I guess you can’t get looks as well as brains.” The guy winked at me and I scowled at him, wondering what hole he’d crawled out of. “Name’s Butcher, pretty thing.”
“Like I give a shit,” I snapped back, finally finding some of my strength.
He grinned, his hard gaze moving to Shooter. He was worried about Shooter—good. Probably worried he’d put a gun to his head and blow his brains out, and he’d be right to worry about that too. That Butcher guy seemed like the sort of man that Shooter lived and breathed off of killing.
Speaking of…
“Nina?”
I looked back at Shooter again. His hair was loose around his shoulders, his graying beard thick and bushy. His hard gaze was on Butcher, but as usual, he had me in his sights too. I could feel his heated gaze on me even when it seemed like he wasn’t paying me any attention. But I was beginning to realize that where I was concerned, I was always in his sights, or thoughts, or both.
It was kind of creepy, and yet I couldn’t deny that I liked it.
“It’s okay, she’s okay,” I said, but he didn’t relax, not even fractionally.
His body was tense, his hard muscles taut. His whole being had an aura about it that looked like it was vibrating with anger. He scared me when he was like that; I never knew what he was going to do, or what he was truly capable of. All I knew was that he was normally a carefully controlled man—something he'd built over many years. But when he was like this—in the midst of an enemy—there was nothing careful or controlled about him. And that made him the most dangerous man I knew.
I looked back in at the woman.
O’Donnell, she'd said her name was. She was beautiful: blond hair tied up in a high ponytail, slim build, heavy-chested, a perfectly shaped mouth, and of course an unscarred face. Unlike mine. Who could blame Mikey? And of course, I was the one who’d left him, so it wasn’t like I could take the moral high ground in any of it. Plus, there was the fact that I’d kissed Shooter too. Felt things that I shouldn't have felt for him—not while I knew Mikey was out there, mourning me. Or not, as the case seemed.
But whatever, first things first.
“And who’s he?” I asked, pointing to the scraggly man who was practically sitting on her lap. His hands were bound tightly at the wrists and he looked like he hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time.
She looked across at him like she’d forgotten he was even there, and then she shrugged, her expression confused.
“Marley, dudette. I’m Marley, any chance you could untie me?” he said, sounding desperate. He looked from O’Donnell to me and back again, and O’Donnell finally nodded and started to untie his wrists. When the rope fell free, his shoulders sagged like a weight had been lifted off of them, and he sighed before rubbing the red, raw marks around each wrist. “Thanks.”
“You have to help us,” O’Donnell said again, finally getting her emotions under control as she looked at me. Her gaze hardened and her tears had finally started to dry up. “They’ll kill him if you don’t.”
“She don’t give two shits about helpin’ your man,” Butcher bellowed from the other seat, his hard stare still on me. “And why the fuck would she?”
Her gaze connected with mine, her expression softening fractionally. “Because it’s the same reason she knows I’d help her.”
We both know, without saying a damn thing, who we are—or were—to Mikey. And where I felt contrite for kissing Shooter and equally angry at Mikey for moving on from me so quickly, O’Donnell didn’t. Her features were now blank—hard, almost—her gaze pleading at me to help her while simultaneously staking her claim on him.
But again, first things first and all that.
“Are you okay with him?” I asked, gesturing to Butcher. Dude only had one arm, but that one arm looked bigger than both of mine put together and then some. “He’s not forcing you to go anywhere or do anything you don’t want to?”
Butcher chuckled darkly and lifted his stub of an arm up for me to see. “What do you think I’m gonna do, knock her out with this thing?”
O’Donnell shook her head. “What? No, we’re just trying to get our friends back is all. He hasn’t hurt me and I’m going with him because I want to.” She swiped at the drying tears on her cheeks, looking a little embarrassed for losing it like that. “He’s just obnoxious, ignore him.”
“I’m more than just obnoxious, bi—” he started.
“I swear to God I’ll shoot you myself if you call her bitch!” I bit out angrily, my teeth gritting as I glared at him.
He chuckled again and ran his hand across his rough chin. “I see you caught a wild rabbit, Shooter. Good for you, brother.”
“You’re the Nina, aren’t you?” O’Donnell interjected.
It wasn’t a question—not really. We both knew that I was the Nina, clearly the Nina that Mikey had spoken about. My heart beat a little faster at that thought, happy that I hadn’t been totally forgotten so quickly. I didn’t know how to answer her, so it was a good thing when I didn’t have to. Butcher opened his truck door and Shooter cocked his gun.
“Stay the fuck there, Butcher,” he thundered, and I swear to God time skipped a couple of seconds in dark anticipation of what would happen if Butcher didn’t listen.
“We need to talk, brother,” Butcher said, closing his door and walking toward Shooter.
“I ain’t your brother.”
Butcher laughed darkly, ignoring the comment. “Shit that’s gone down ain’t good for anyone. Makes me sick to my stomach to say this, but we need our clubs to work together on this one.”
It was Shooter’s turn to laugh then. It was bitter and dark and full of deadly threats. “The Highwaymen don’t work with the Rejects. Not now. Not ever.”
O’Donnell gripped my arm and I tore my gaze from Shooter and Butcher and their cockfight to look back in at her.
“They will kill him—Mikey,” she said. “They’re cannibals, Nina. I swear to you! And now they have a ton of weapons too. They’re the most dangerous things out here now.”
Her words sent a shiver of fear down my spine.
“They won’t just kill him and be done with it either,” Marley interrupted. “They’ll torture him, keep him alive for months, cutting off bits of him as a snack before they let him die. They only kept me alive to grow their herb, but that shit died off last week and I was being pre
pped to be shipped out. You guys saved my life!”
“He has maybe…” O’Donnell went quiet, her eyes distant for a split second before she came back to me again,. “…maybe a fifteen percent chance of survival, depending on A: how charming he is to Aife, and B: how much Drag pisses her off. And I’ll be honest, Drag’s a complete asshole.”
My stomach creased in pain again, but I ignored it and addressed the problem head-on. “I can speak to Shooter, but I don’t know if he’ll help. I really don’t.” And why would he? Not only did he hate that other club and everything it stood for, but he wouldn’t want to rescue the man that had been holding me back from committing to him. He’d be crazy to.
“You have to make him listen,” she hissed. “You have to!”
I looked back at Shooter. “I can’t make that man do shit,” I snapped. I dragged a hand through my hair and sighed before pushing away the images she’d put in my head. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
I turned away from her, unable to look at her pretty, unscarred face without seeing Mikey and her kissing. I had no right to be jealous, and it wasn’t the time, but I couldn’t help it.
I walked back to Shooter, who was surprisingly still listening to Butcher asking the Highwaymen for help—something that he obviously didn’t enjoy doing.
“I’ll speak to my brothers. We can meet, talk, see if we can help each other out.” Butcher glanced across at me. “They have Drag, and I know you two ain’t got no good blood between you, but he’s our prez. Our club will do whatever it takes to get him back, with or without you.”
Shooter pulled out a cigarette from the top pocket of his cut and lit it. “Maybe it ain’t such a bad thing that they have Drag. Definitely solve some of my problems. And if the Rejects go down in flames with him, then so be it. Should have picked a better side—a better club.”
Damn. Harsh, Shooter.
I quirked an eyebrow at him, but he was staring at Butcher.
Butcher looked seriously pissed off. Probably because he didn’t have a comeback to that. Shooter would quite happily see all the Rejects die after what they’d been up to: stealing, raping, pillaging, general assholeiness.
Yeah, I’d be happy to let them all die too.
But then there was Mikey to consider.
Again.
I couldn’t let him die, because he wouldn’t let me if the tables were reversed. I knew that for a fact. Well, not unless I gave him no choice in the matter.
“How’s the woman?” Shooter rumbled out.
“Uh yeah, she’s fine. She’s there because she wants to be,” I replied. I knew he was listening by the grunt he gave me, but his gaze was still locked on Butcher’s. I looked at him then too. “Did they do that to you?” I asked, nodding toward his missing arm. It was fresh, that much was obvious, and probably going to get infected by the looks of the filthy and bloody bandage wrapped around it. “The Savages—did they do that to you?”
His gaze slid across to me. “Fuck no, this was just their buddies’ handiwork. Got caught up with some of their dealers who decided to slice me up like a fuckin’ kebab.” He lifted his T-shirt up to reveal several equally bloody bandages strapped across his stomach and chest.
I sucked in a sharp breath that tasted of fear and pain, and he grinned.
“Don’t worry, they got what was coming to them. Her man Mikey got me out of that hellhole. I was returning the favor by helping him get his own man back, but shit’s gone south and now our prez has been taken and we’re up fucked-up creek with no paddle and a motherfuckin’ hole in the boat!”
Shooter didn’t move, didn’t flinch or make a sound, and yet I instinctively knew he was angry for Butcher. They may have been on different sides of the same war, but seeing Butcher cut up had gotten to him, that much was very clear.
“Seems like you lied to me, Shooter,” Butcher continued with another slow grin. “Turns out being a good Samaritan ain’t all it’s cracked up to be after all.”
Shooter smirked. “One good deed don’t make all your wrongs go away.”
“Well how about you think about this: Drag’s been taken by that psycho Aife. Pretty sure she ain’t planning on fuckin’ him to death anytime soon—though it wouldn’t surprise me where Drag was concerned.”
“Doesn’t seem like anything I need to concern myself with. Like I said before, seems like this solves a lot of problems for me,” Shooter growled out. He was acting like he couldn’t give a shit, but it was obvious that he did care. If he didn’t, Butcher’s brains would have been spread across the blacktop and we wouldn’t still be there talking.
Shooter wasn’t the sort of man to pity fools lightly, and he didn’t forgive easily either. If he was letting this Butcher guy keep on talking, there was a reason for it.
“Who do you think keeps our boys under control?” Butcher said.
Shooter laughed darkly. “You think they’re under control?”
“Fuck yeah, they are. You should see what they want to do! It’s only Drag that stops them acting on their most…shall we say animalistic urges, if you know what I’m sayin’. Drag may like the anarchy of this world, but only if it’s good for business. And cannibalism and murder and mayhem that ain’t good for business. We’re going to have a whole world of trouble if they ain’t got no leader.” Butcher was on a rant if ever I saw one, passion burning in his eyes and a light sheen on his dirty forehead. “Now, I’m VP, so I can do what I can but only for so long. Ain’t gonna be long before someone else steps up for control.” He let out a heavy breath, like all the energy was being expelled from his body and the next thing to come out of his mouth was the hardest thing he’d ever said in his life. His shoulders sagged and he swallowed before speaking, his one arm gesturing to himself. “Look at me, brother. I ain’t got the strength to take someone on right now. Which means Scar would step up to the president position, and we both know what a crazy motherfucker he is.”
Shooter threw his cigarette to one side and looked like he was finally considering Butcher’s words. I had no idea who any of those people were, but it sounded like I didn’t want to either.
“I heard Nitro came running back to the Rejects,” Shooter said with so much conviction even I did a double take. Like maybe he’d forgotten that it was part of the plan. “He can take control.”
Butcher laughed again. “No one will follow that traitorous bastard after what he did. You know it and I know it. Brother will be lucky to live out the week, especially now without Drag watching his back for him. Ain’t no love lost between him and the club. Been running back and forth between you and Drag for so long he’s forgotten what it is to be truly loyal to one club.”
I glanced at Shooter again. He was deep in thought, but it was obvious his mind was made up the moment Nitro was brought up. He was only in that situation because of Shooter.
He dragged a hand over his thick beard, his eyes narrowing. He glanced away from Butcher, the first time since we’d pulled up.
“I’ll speak to the club,” Shooter said, and climbed back onto his bike.
I took that as my cue to follow him, climbing on behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist.
“You sure the woman is okay?” he asked, turning his head to one side so he could speak to me.
“Yeah,” I replied, wishing the day would just end already. “Leave her be, she wants to stay with him.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Shooter nodded at Butcher and started the bike, and then we were riding away.
I glanced back at the truck, watching as Butcher stalked back toward it and climbed in, wondering about O’Donnell, about Mikey, and about what the future held for us all.
“Eyes front,” Shooter barked out.
I turned away, pressing my cheek to Shooter’s back. The wind was in my hair, my heart in my throat, and my traitorous arms clung to Shooter’s muscled body as he moved around the bends of the twisting roads. The noise of the bike was a good distraction for me, letting my brain switch off from thinki
ng about everything that had just happened.
Mikey was alive.
But for how long?
Chapter Three
For the next twenty minutes we rode in silence, a silent war raging inside each of us as we considered all the new information we had just received. I almost forgot about poor Gunner, high on some magical drug concoction that Shooter had fed him and bleeding out in a dirty hut in the woods, surrounded by deaders.
The gates opened as we approached the Highwaymen Clubhouse and Shooter rode the bike over to his usual spot before backing it into position. He switched the engine off and I moved to get off the back but his hand gripped mine, pulling my arms back around his waist.
“Shooter?” I said, quietly, watching as Highlander and Balls and some of the other men started walking toward us.
“I’ll fight for you, Nina.”
“What?” I stuttered out, not comprehending what he was saying.
“I won’t let you go without a fight. I’m telling you that now. I’ve staked my claim and told you how it’s going to be. So whatever happens after here is on you, you feel me?” He sighed, and I felt his tense muscles move beneath his leather cut. “I’ll put it to the club, to take on the Savages, but I’m not doing it for him. You’re mine, and I’ll make sure he knows that if we ever meet.”
Him being Mikey.
I nodded, and my teeth clamped down on the inside of my cheek as I refrained from being a bitch and saying something back about me not belonging to anyone and being able to do what I damn well pleased. It wasn’t the time, or the place.
“I have to go after him, Shooter,” I replied, feeling sick as I said the words because I knew they were true. No matter how much it hurt Shooter, Mikey and I hadn’t come so far only to come so far. I could live with myself knowing that he was out there, somewhere. I could move on from him and let him be, letting the rotten history and the decaying bodies that had piled at our feet stay in the past. But knowing that he was in trouble, serious trouble, and that I could possibly help him…I couldn’t forget that.
The Dead Saga (Book 6): Odium VI Page 2
