The Ruthless

by Jaci J.

  “Who fucking sent you?” Slamming his head back against the brick, his skull bounces off the wall with a whack. His eyes go wild for a moment, and I think he might pass out.

  I know he can’t answer me, but that’s not the point. The fucking point is, don’t point a gun at my head and not kill me, because if you do and fail, you’ll fucking die.

  He failed.

  Dropping him, he slumps, falling to the ground, sucking in air, coughing and hacking. “Answer me!” I demand, giving him a little encouraging kick.

  He grunts, panting. “The Oregon chapter,” he wheezes. “Danny Boy.”

  What. The. Fuck. “Who?” I ask him again, my voice rising. Must’ve heard him wrong.

  Bending down, I grab him up again, along with the gun. One hand around his neck and the other holding the gun to his forehead, I ask, “Who?” again.

  “Danny Boy,” he groans, breathless.

  I swear to fuck, my head about spins. Danny Boy? Danny Boy put a fucking bounty out on me? My fucking brother? My goddamn chapter president? I’m fucking shocked. Shocked and fucking mad.

  I put a bullet between his eyes and walk off without looking back.

  Lived a lot of life. Done a lot of bad shit. But never did I think I’d go out like this, at the hands of my goddamn brother.

  “Ty?” I call out, walking into the shop bay at the end of the building. I can hear music playing from a set of old speakers. Some old rock song, and something that sounds like a drill echoing off the metal walls.

  “T!” I know he can hear me because the drill gets louder, drowning out of my voice. Asshole. He’s ignoring me.

  Walking through the cluttered shop, I step over pieces of bikes, engine bits and metal pieces. Shit I know nothing about. My heels click on the concrete as I walk around two old-school Harleys propped up against a tool bench, both missing front tires and handlebars.

  “I know you can hear me!” I yell, kicking his boot when I find him.

  Tyler’s on his knee, bent over the front of a bike, wearing grease covered coveralls and a white tee. He looks like he always does—messy.

  “Get the fuck outta here, Sammy,” he growls, not looking at me.

  Oh, he thinks he can just dismiss me? Not happening.

  Tyler’s mad at me, refusing to see or speak to me. He’s twelve apparently. “Nope,” I tell him, popping the ‘p’ and sitting down on the folding metal chair next to him. “We have to talk. Can’t freeze me out forever.”

  He scoffs in the back of his throat. “Can and I will.”

  “I’m pregnant, Ty. Nothing’s going to change that, or the fact that it’s King’s baby.”

  “Don’t wanna have this fuckin’ talk with you,” he growls, his back still to me. I can tell he’s upset, tell by the set of his shoulders and the way he’s breathing hard.

  Putting a hand on my belly, the one that’s starting to show, starting to grow rounder, I sigh. “We’re having this talk.”

  Standing up, he chucks the drill and growls, “Fuck.”

  “You’re seriously that mad?” I ask, but I get it, I’m mad too. King broke the brother code. No daughters. No sisters. No wives or girlfriends. But he was okay with Tags, even liked us together, but King’s hit a nerve.

  “Yeah!” he shouts, spinning around, his eyes landing on my belly. “I’m so far beyond mad. He’s my brother, but you’re my fucking sister. My little sister. My baby sister. Not only was he fucking you behind our backs, but he knocked you up and split. Not fucking okay.”

  “It’s not okay,” I agree.

  “Then why they fuck are we havin’ this conversation if you agree?”

  Emotion grabs me by the neck and squeezes. Tears begin to choke me when I see the way he’s looking at me, with pity and disgust. “Because you’re my brother, my child’s uncle, and someone I need in my life. You’re mad and I understand, but you’re shutting me out when I need you the most.”

  I love both of my brothers, but T and I have always been the closest. I’ve always looked up to him, always wanted to be where he was. I followed him around and drove him crazy. He was my best friend and worst enemy. He’s my fucking brother, all I had at times.

  Running a hand through his messy blond hair, he grunts. “You’re pregnant, Sam.” He punctuates the words with his finger in my face.

  “I know,” I sigh, pushing his hand away.

  “And he fucking left you. Did he know when he left?”

  I shake my head, embarrassed. “No.” Wiping at a tear, I tell him, “You can be mad. You can hate me and hate King, but please don’t hate this baby. Please.”

  “I don’t hate you, Sammy. King’s fucking dead to me, but I don’t hate you. I’m fucking sad and fucking mad. You’re a single mom, Sam, not what I wanted for you.” I might be single, but I’m also thirty. I have a job that I make damn good money at. I own my own home, and I have enough money and resources to raise a baby, father be damned.

  “I’ll be okay as long as you don’t hate me.”

  “I hate King.”

  “It’s not just his fault. I was right there, not telling him no.”

  “He should’ve known better. He treated you like a whore. Fucked you and left like you were nothing.” He looks back down at my belly. “Like you were both nothing.”

  “He doesn’t know about the baby.”

  “Doesn’t fucking matter. He should’ve stayed, owned up to his responsibilities.”

  I can’t believe I’m going to say this, and I’m not sure if I believe it, but… “King loved me in his own way. He’s got issues, T, you know this.”

  “Doesn’t excuse that shit.”

  “Maybe not, but we had something.” I don’t know what that something was, but I felt it, seen it. There was more than sex there.

  “He left.”

  “He had to.” And I believe that. King couldn’t stay. It’s not who he is, and as much as I hate him for leaving, I get it. King leaves, it’s what he does.

  “He’s fuckin’ done, Sam.” There’s something icy about Ty’s words, something menacing and dark. Something that doesn’t sit right.

  “What does that mean?

  “It means, he’s fucking done.”

  My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. “Ty, what’d you do?”

  He shrugs, a sad smile on his face. “You don’t fuck my sister behind my back and get away with it, but you definitely don’t walk out on her and her unborn child and live to tell about it. He’s done.”

  Bile rises in my throat, my stomach knotting. “Jesus, Tyler, what’d you do?” My voice is frantic, rising wildly.

  “Took care of the fucking problem.”

  I hate King, but I also need him, need him alive and breathing, here or not. “I can’t fucking believe you! You’re mad. You’re disappointed, hurt, betrayed, whatever. But King is my baby’s father. You can’t just get rid of him. Alive or dead, this,” I tell him, holding my stomach, “is King.”

  “Club business, Sammy.”

  “My business,” I fire back, frantic. “You can’t just kill King.”

  Tyler laughs, with a look on his face I’ve never seen. There’s a vengeful satisfaction in his eyes. “Club business. Won’t tell you again, Sammy. This shit’s between the club and King.”

  “Don’t come back here, King,” was the princess’s text. The only goddamn thing I’ve heard from her in months. Don’t come back here? Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. Tell me not to do something and I’m gonna fucking do just the opposite. That shit’s in my nature, and even more so when it comes to Samantha.

  She doesn’t want me here, and here I fucking am anyway.

  Sitting in the dark, on her couch, I wait. I watch when her headlights come up the driveway, lighting up the living room wall across from me.

  I listen to her heels walk up the walkway. Listen as she sticks her keys in the lock, unlocking the front door.

  She kicks her heels off at the door and sets down her shit on the little table in the entrywa
y.

  I wait, biding my time until she walks by.

  Jesus, she looks good.

  “Wanna tell me why I shouldn’t come back here?” My voice is loud in her quiet house, filling the room.

  The princess gasps, her hand on her chest. “King?” she squeaks, breathing hard, sucking in air. “What are you doin’ here?” Her eyes are fucking huge, staring at me, in what I’m going to guess is shock and disbelief.

  I’m not above breaking and entering. Not above sitting in someone’s house uninvited, waiting. “Wondering why you don’t want me here?” I question, waiting for the answer I know I’m not going to get from her.

  She looks shook. Looks confused and a little scared. She should be scared. I’m not happy.

  Taking a deep breath, she shivers, but doesn’t answer me. I watch her pace, arms wrapped around herself.

  “What’s goin’ on, Samantha?” Getting off the couch, I follow her into the kitchen. “Why the fuck you textin’ me not to come back here after not hearin’ shit from you for months?”

  She snorts. “Was I supposed to text you after the way you left?”

  She’s going to make this difficult, hold shit against me and rub it in my face every chance she gets. The bitch is going to play this rough. “No. Wasn’t expecting shit, but what I wasn’t expecting was some cryptic fucking text tellin’ me to stay away. Why? There a reason you don’t want me around? Back with Tags?” Just saying that shit makes me see red. That motherfucker puts his hands on her, I’m removing them and feeding them to him.

  Standing at her fridge, her back to me, she mutters, “I could really use some damn wine right now.”

  “Can’t have wine? Tags knock you up?” I joke. I joke until she turns around slowly, her eyes big and watery.

  She’s been caught.

  I feel fucking sick. Her eyes tell me exactly what I wanted to know. My girl is fucking pregnant by another man.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  “You’re fuckin’ pregnant?” I’m gonna kill Tags. Disembowel that motherfucker. Tear him limb from fucking limb. He slept with my girl. Fucked my woman and knocked her up. “He fuck you as soon as I was gone?” I’m fucking shouting, about to lose my shit. “Goddamn it, Samantha!” I put my fist through her kitchen wall, inches from her pretty little head, the drywall ripping a hole in my knuckles. Again. And I couldn’t give a fuck less.

  Now she’s crying, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She’s shaking, backing away from me. She’s scared.

  This is a goddamn mess.

  I want to kill him and her.

  “You pregnant, Princess?” I ask, stalking toward her. I gain as fast as she retreats.

  Do I love Samantha? In some sick fucking twisted way, I do. I fucking love her more than any goddamn thing, always have. But here she always was, on her fucking pedestal, untouchable, and I was just some loser with a sick fucking crush. Nothing was ever going to come of it. She deserves more, and I don’t have more to give her. In fact, I don’t have anything. Not a goddamn thing to my name. And it worked. She gave me her body and it worked until it didn’t.

  “Thought you loved me?” I taunt, backing her into a corner. I throw her words back in her face. Emotional fucking warfare.

  Sam grabs a knife and points it at me. “Be careful,” she warns, shaky. “Don’t make me put this shit through your heart.” She laughs, sounding a little deranged. “Oh wait, you don’t have a heart,” she sneers. Her fear has turned into anger. I can deal with mad.

  Laughing, I snatch the knife from her hand and chuck it into the sink. “Planning on killin’ me?”

  “I’m not the only one.”

  Smirking, I grab her arm, shoving her back into the counter. “Convince your daddy to kill me?”

  “And if I did?” she growls, tears still rolling down her soft cheeks. She’s scared, but she’s madder. “No one would miss you,” she adds, pissed as hell. “But if you really want to know, it’s my fucking brother. He’s out for your blood.”

  It hits me out of nowhere. Shit starts making sense, and I swear to God, I almost throw up. Staggering, I let her go, backing away. “It’s my baby, isn’t it?”

  For the first time since seeing me, the princess doesn’t flinch or falter. Her face is cool and unaffected. Aside from the silent tears, you wouldn’t guess shit was wrong with her, but I know her better than that.

  “Yes.”

  “You hidin’ my baby from me? Tryin’ to keep my baby from me, bitch?”

  That does it. Sam hits me, and she hits me fucking hard. Her hand connects with my face and it fucking stings. I let her get one in, she deserves it, but I grab her wrist when she goes for it again. She fights me, trying to pull away. “You should’ve stayed away.”

  “But I didn’t,” I tell her, catching her jaw in my hand and holding her head still, looking into her blue eyes.

  “But you should have.”

  Kissing her lips, I chuckle. “Scared I’ll end up dead?”

  “At least if you would’ve stayed away, my baby would have had a daddy,” she whispers through those goddamn tears. Well, that shit did it. Hit me square in the fucking chest. Crippling me.

  “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not this time.” Never meant anything more in my fucking life.

  “I can’t love you.”

  “I don’t want you to fucking love me, baby. I want you to trust me.”

  I can feel myself crumbling, breaking into pieces. Falling apart. “I can’t do this,” I tell King, his lips on my jaw, kissing a rough path down my neck.

  I want to give in, feel him all around me, but I know better. I know I can’t this time.

  “Then don’t do it,” he growls, tearing at my shirt. Popping the buttons and pulling it open, I’m in nothing but my lace bra, and it feels so right and so wrong.

  I love him so much but hate him just the same. My heart hurts, each beat painful, just being near him. He rips me apart, holding the pieces together with his scarred hands, and at any moment he could let them go, dropping them again onto the floor, and I can’t do that. Can’t let him do that to me again.

  “You have to go.” He palms my heavy breast, sucking a nipple into his hot mouth. My head lulls to one side, leaning back against a cupboard. I missed this. Missed him.

  I can feel myself falling. Slipping. Tumbling. I can’t let myself fall again.

  “I have to stay,” he says, going for my pants. On his knees in front of me, King pulls down the zipper of my gray work pants so slowly, it’s painful.

  King does something that breaks my heart—he kisses my belly. “Fuck,” he rasps, his voice gravelly. “Love you. Both of you.”

  We can’t do this. I can’t do this. “Please, stop,” I plead, my voice hoarse with clogged emotion. I can’t hear those words right now, not when I need to be strong.

  King stops.

  “We can’t be together.” He doesn’t look happy hearing my words.

  “Why the fuck not?” King stands and steps away from me, his shoulders tense, ready for a fight.

  “Because I can’t love you, and I can’t trust you right now. Too much as happened.”

  He shakes his head, scrubbing at his beard. “That’s my baby,” he tells me, pointing at my stomach. “I’m not leaving my baby.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” I’m asking him to give me time. Give me space.

  “So then, what the fuck do you want from me, Samantha?”

  “I don’t know. Proof?” This isn’t easy. There’s no simple solution. Things aren’t just going to fall back into place. There’s work. There’s time. There’s proof.

  “Proof?” he growls, his face screwed up. Brow furrowed, he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t know what I want. I don’t really know what I want.

  “That you’ll stay.” That’s the proof.

  King doesn’t push and he doesn’t pull. He doesn’t ask me anything else. He just levels me with a look, a deadly look, and says, “That’s my baby, Samantha. I’m not g
oin’ any fuckin’ where.” He turns and storms out, the door slamming behind him. A picture falls off my wall from the force.

  I feel sick to my stomach.

  Standing in my dark kitchen, alone, I stare at the hole he left in my wall while listening to the engine of his bike fire up and take off out of my driveway, and then fades into nothing.

  It’s been two days, and I can’t get off my couch. I eat on my couch, sleep on my couch, entertain myself on my couch. I feel like I have the damn flu. Morning sickness and a broken heart don’t mix.

  I keep seeing King in my kitchen, on his knees, telling me he loves me, and I keep hearing me turn him away, telling him no. I know it was the right move, the right thing to do, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt.

  Five months pregnant today, and I feel like a beached whale, laid up on my couch, heart sick. It’s lovely.

  Laying a hand on my belly, I feel my baby kick. It’s something I wish King could feel. Something I wish we could share.

  My phone vibrates from my coffee table, and Ellison’s name runs across the screen. I debate on whether or not to answer it, but figure if anyone can pull me out of this funk, it’s her. “Hey?”

  “Uh…” she says, her voice distracted. “You might want to come down to the club.” She sounds weird. Off.

  “Why?” I ask, sitting up.

  “King’s here.”

  My heart sinks and my stomach twists. “Why? Why is he there?”

  I can hear her suck in a quick breath, gasping. “Hurry the fuck up before someone ends up dead.”

  I don’t answer her. I hang up and get off the couch and head for my door.

  King’s gonna end up killing someone.

  Rushing into the bar, I see stools all over the room, knocked over and thrown to the side. The room is a mess, but quiet. A quiet that sends your imagination running into the woods.

  I start to panic when I find a sweatshirt on the floor covered in blood. Not a little blood either. Pools of blood.

  Sitting on the couch in the corner is Tyler, and he looks bad. Worse than bad. Buck and Rocky are next to him and they’re talking low. They’re voices are soft, but firm.