Torn by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Broken Wings MC) (Satan's Outlaw Sins Book 3)

by Sophia Gray

  "Better not. I'm fine." I hardly ever lied to the guys, and I hated it when women said that phrase. I'm fine always meant the opposite, and that held true for me too.

  Fading footsteps told me he was walking away and that I should go before someone else approached me, but I felt too numb to do any damn thing. I was spacing out, like an out of body experience I just wanted to get out of my own skin, get out of my head was more like it. Too much shit had gone down. How much could any one man be expected to take?!

  Sure enough, someone else was walking my way. No peace for me, ever. I braced myself, but it was only my father. He gave me a look, maybe filled with sympathy or regret, and continued on by and leaving the house without saying a word. Good. If he had tried to start talking to me, I would've bitten his head off. He'd apologized to me so many times since he'd come into my life, and I just couldn't handle hearing another one.

  Finally, my legs felt ready to move and I entered a seldom-used office. I just needed a moment to try and piece my life together. Everything was falling apart. Jasmine would be gone for good soon, and all I would have left were my boys and my missions. It wouldn't be enough; Not to sustain me. I was filled with so many emotions; so much anger, sadness, rage, and grief all at once. I felt like I was caught in a violent tornado that had me both, spinning me out of control and suffocating at the same time. My brothers could only help so much. I had lived so much of my life without love. I started to hate myself for being so weak when it came to my foster father. I hadn't known love ever. Not until Allie. There had been women before her, yes, but I hadn't let any of them in. Hadn't loved them, so I hadn't even considered letting them get to know the real me. But Allie, and then Jasmine, had been different. She loved me, and I fucking loved her. But even her love wasn't enough to overcome my darkness. My love wasn't enough of a reason for her to stay.

  I rubbed a hand down my face. Just then, my cell rang, and I answered without looking at caller ID. "'Lo?"

  "Hey, is this Pax?" some guy asked.

  I narrowed my eyes. I didn't recognize the voice. "Who is this?" I demanded.

  "We talked earlier today," the guy said, but I still couldn't place who he was. "I'm Greg Anderson. Landlord of—"

  "Brett who is friends with Frank Greene. I remember you." I'd figured Frank was on the run and wouldn't return home, so friends had been a logical place to look for him. Hadn't found him earlier though, and close friends typically wouldn't turn on their buddy, not even after he'd been accused of horrible things. Oh no, not Frank. He's such a good guy. Yeah, because good guys molest little kids.

  "You said to call if I saw anything, and I did. I saw him earlier. Frank, not Brett. He was sneaking in. I thought…" Greg took a deep breath that he exhaled loudly into the phone. "Another fifty and I'll delay telling the cops until tomorrow."

  "You got it." I hung up. What was fifty bucks? Nothing. Yeah, funds had been tight lately, which was why our food selection was so limited, but this was important. This guy had to be nailed. Since he was on the run, I couldn't risk taking any chances now that I finally had a lead.

  My gun was still on me from earlier, and I pulled it out from the back of my jeans and double checked that it was fully loaded. It was. I could just picture holding it up, right at Greene's chest. Would he piss himself? Beg for mercy? Cry?

  Normally, I never went out on a mission by myself, not even during recon. Right now, though, just like earlier today, I couldn't handle being around anyone. Any of the guys would either ask about Jasmine or make a point not to, and either way, it would be awkward and just something else I didn't want to deal with. I had to be focused. I couldn't risk any kind of distractions. Better to go it alone.

  I slipped out the back door and walked around to the front. My bike felt like an extension of me as I climbed on. Maybe I should tell someone where I was going, but I already started up my bike and was driving away. I was more than ready to do the only thing that made me feel better—erase scum off the face of the fucking planet. Yeah, so it was stupid, reckless, and downright dangerous to go on this type of mission alone, but I was through with trying to survive. Because, without Jasmine, that would be my life—trying to survive, not really living. Just existing day after day, hunting down pedos, feeling like shit, and hating life. Back to what my life had been after she'd left me the first time.

  If this was to be my last mission, so be it. I was ready. So ready.

  Bring it, asshole.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Pax

  It didn't take me long at all to reach the apartment complex. I floored it the whole way there, going at least twenty over the speed limit, and parked in the back. Depending on how things went down, I couldn't risk having my bike parked blocks away. A quick getaway in case something went wrong, or for needing to flee after I put a bullet or two into Greene, was absolutely essential.

  As I hurried to the back door, I couldn't help feeling uneasy. Usually, I researched the fucks I was hunting, knew where they worked, tailed them enough to know their habits, gained insight, at least somewhat, to what made them tick. It made it easier to bring them down. One pedo I tailed always got drunk every Friday night at the same bar. He would then walk home because the bartender would take his keys. Every single time without fail. I'd laid in wait in an alley along his route home in a desolate part of the city and popped him with ease. No witnesses. No issues at all. The guy never knew what hit him. Didn't even grunt. Just fell to the ground. Dead. About half of the pedos I've taken out don't even know why I came after them. I wasn't much of a talker when it came to missions. Only about action and results, and dead pedos of course.

  But this guy, Frank Greene, I didn't know much about him, and this was a different case anyhow. The pedos I targeted were never hunted by the police before. They never knew anyone was watching them. This would make Greene paranoid and dangerous. I'd have to be careful, especially since I was by myself.

  Thankfully, the landlord had been forthcoming earlier and I had been able to learn about Brett, Greene's friend, from one of my informants. If the Police had informants, so could I. Anything to give me an edge over those twisted sickos.

  It made me feel better that Brett hadn't been around earlier. It was entirely possible Brett would side with his friend, despite what he had done, and since Greene had snuck into the place, he obviously thought Brett would have his back. I had to consider the possibility that I might have to take two guys out, not just the one.

  To refresh my memory of what Greene looked like, I pulled up a news article about the fucker. He looked like a typical guy: dark hair, dark eyes, average build, maybe a little on the heavier side. Nothing about him really stuck out. A guy you would walk by on the street and never look at twice, wouldn’t ever remember seeing. Pedos rarely looked like criminals, that’s what made them so dangerous. Wouldn't that make things so much easier if they did?

  Shaking my head and gritting my teeth, I climbed off my bike and stared at the building. It was shabby. Paint was peeling off the walls. A few windows had cracks in them. This place was in a rough neighborhood. A lot of petty crimes around these parts. A lot of worse crimes too.

  I made my way inside the apartment complex. Anderson's office was on the bottom floor, and he sat there behind his cluttered desk. He stared at me with his beady eyes as I entered, already holding out his thick palm.

  I slipped him a fifty, hoping the money was worth it. "What floor and room number?" I demanded in a low voice, not wanting my words to carry. The walls had to be thin here.

  He crinkled the bill in his fat fingers and held it up to the light. I couldn't help smirking. No way would he be able to tell if it was counterfeit or not, not that it mattered. It was real. I might be a criminal, but I wasn't going to get involved in counterfeiting money.

  After a moment, he nodded, his double chins wobbling. The gray hair on his head flopping about comically. "Third floor. Room 328. Now listen, I don't want any problems. I don't—"

  "You woul
d rather the police come here with their guns blazing?" I stared him down.

  His eyes widened. "G-guns? Are you armed? I've talked to Greene a few times. He's not a bad guy."

  "Tell that to the kids he’s ruined." I crossed my arms and glowered. I wanted to reach across the table, grab his collar, and throttle him. Not a bad guy. What the hell was he smoking? "Tell that to their parents as they try to find a way to afford all of the therapy their kids will need. Tell that to—"

  "Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I'm letting you in, ain't I?" Anderson squinted at me, making his tiny eyes even tinier. "Why you hunting him down again?"

  "I told you," I said easily, although I wanted to punch his fat face. I didn't have time to stand around, talking to this blabbermouth. At any moment, Greene could take off, and if his friend given him cash and a car, it would be almost impossible to track him down. I couldn’t let that happen. Only one time before had I failed to nail a pedo. I'd vowed then that it would never happen again, and it sure as hell wasn't going to happen here with Greene. "One of the parents hired me to track him down," I continued. "They just want to talk to him."

  "Talk to him?" He snorted, sounding like a pig. Anderson looked like one too. "Sure."

  "Don't worry about it." I turned around. As long as he didn't call the police, I didn't care what he thought.

  Anderson started to fake a cough loudly in an obvious attempt to regain my attention.

  Grimacing, I faced him again, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

  "I don't know…" He shook his head as his fat fingers inched toward the phone on his desk. "Maybe I should call the police."

  I whipped out my gun but didn't point it at him. Just made sure he saw it. "Go ahead."

  "Whoa, man, there's no need for that." He held up his hands and shoved his chair back. "Put the gun away. I won't call them. I swear!"

  I glowered at him. Was everyone in this city a crook? Just looking out for themselves? Doing whatever they felt like? Whatever, wherever, to whomever.

  No way was he getting another cent from me, the fucker. "I’ve paid you more than enough money to do what you said you would," I said, my voice low and threatening. "No calling the police until tomorrow and that's only if Greene is still here." Which he wouldn't be, if everything went according to plan. Or maybe he would be. Just his body, though.

  "R-right. Of… of course." Anderson wiped his sweat-covered forehead with his hand. "Go ahead. Room 328. Don't forget."

  I wouldn't.

  Not about to let him delay me any longer, I darted out of the landlord's office to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Room 328 was the second to the last room on the floor. It was hard to tell how many rooms on the floor were occupied I'd have to be careful, making a point to locate all of the exits. Had to make sure I could get away, or at least give myself the best chance to. I didn't exactly have a death wish, even if I didn't have a lot to live for.

  My gun was still in my hand, an extension of me. So much for being careful and trying to keep a low profile.

  No lights seemed to be on in the apartment, so I held my ear to the door for a few minutes. I couldn't hear anything. I shoved my gun back into my jeans and picked the lock. The knob turned easily beneath my hand. As I eased the door open, I retrieved my gun just in case. They had to be inside. There was no way they had left while that landlord blabbered on and on, right?

  I didn't even take a step inside the doorway when I saw a guy I didn't recognize—had to be the friend—holding two guns, both aimed right at me.

  Shit. Fuck. Dammit.

  Without hesitating, I rushed inside and dove behind the couch to my left, as the friend fired off two shots. Fuck, fuck, fuck. So not how this was supposed to go down.

  First things first, I had to make sure the pedo was here, inside the apartment. For all I knew, the friend could be here to take out anyone who showed up for Greene, to be a distraction while Greene escaped. That could not happen. Greene could not get away. Tracking him down again would be next to impossible.

  The guy fired off another shot, but the couch, an ugly, brown, worn-looking thing, absorbed the bullet. Or maybe the wall above the couch did. I wasn't paying attention. Right now, I was relatively safe in spite of the situation.

  I crawled to the far end of the couch and saw the pedo. He was opening the door to the balcony. The fucker was getting away!

  There was a desk by the couch, with a high-backed worn leather computer chair in front of it. I dashed to it, spun it around to act as a buffer for any bullets that may come my way, and darted with my chair-shield toward the balcony. I was still a good distance away from Greene, when I got off one shot.

  It missed the pedo entirely and shattered the glass door in front of him.

  He glanced at me, grinned like a fucking moron, and ran onto the balcony. Just like that, he was gone. But I had noticed one thing about him—he had a tattoo on his wrist. Before I could line up for another shot, one that wouldn't miss, he climbed over the ledge and dropped. All I could do was hope that he fell and broke his legs, if not his neck because his friend was shooting at me again, and the bullets were starting to penetrate through the chair. All I wanted was to chase after the motherfucker, but his friend was crazy. People would hear the shots and call the police, then I'd be found out and have much worse problems than I do now. Clearly, his friend didn't give a rat's ass about any of that.

  No. I had to get out of this. I had to. Jasmine had come back to me once. Maybe she would again.

  At least the guy was a piss poor shot. The bullets were missing me, although a few were coming really close. One did graze my upper thigh, but it was only a flesh wound. Not willing to risk giving him a better angle, I didn't peek around or above the chair to aim. I just fired a few shots of my own in his general direction, but he answered with more shots. Fuck!

  What the hell should I do now? I could try to make back for the couch so I could get to the door, but if someone had called the police about the gunshots, cops would be in the hallway soon. Greene, the asshole, had the right idea, even if he was crazy. A jump off a third-story balcony wasn't smart.

  Then again, being shot at wasn't either.

  I could continue to use the bullet-riddled chair as cover to enter the room farther, but what good would that do me? The friend—Brett—knew the layout, and there wasn't going to be another exit. Just the front door or the balcony.

  No way would I be able to reach the balcony alive.

  Unless I killed his friend before he killed me.

  I fired off a few more shots, but they must've gone wide because there was no grunt or wail from a hit, plus he returned the fire. After a moment, I risked trying to look over the top of the chair. A shot just narrowly whizzed past my head. I had no fear and nothing to lose at this point. Time to go for it.

  I jumped to my feet from being crouched down behind the chair and fired off two quick shots. Both hit the guy, but he hit me again too. My body jerked with the force of the bullets, but he still remained standing, seemingly not affected by the shots., All I could do was fire another shot. This one went straight through his brain.

  He collapsed immediately, but so did I. I didn't even have the strength to put my arms out to break my fall. My face smashed into the scratchy, dirty, beige carpet. My body felt like it weighed a ton, like I couldn't support myself, and my shirt was growing damper with every second. I'd taken him out, but it might have been a double KO.

  I tried to crawl toward the balcony. But I couldn't even get up onto my hands and knees. Just the attempt had me almost blacking out. My fingers digging into the carpet, I dragged myself along the floor toward the balcony until my strength gave out. I couldn't even lift my head. My body felt so cold. I was freezing.

  My phone. If I could just get to my phone and call Jasmine…

  I couldn't even get my phone out of my pocket. Couldn't see anymore. Were my eyes open or closed? I couldn't even feel the carpet against my face. Couldn't hear anything but a ringing in my ear
s. There was a strange taste in my mouth though. Metallic. I wanted to spit, but I didn't even have the energy to do that.

  Was I even still alive?

  Jasmine… I love you. I'll always love you.

  My eyes closed on their own volition, and I descended into darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jasmine

  As soon as I left the clubhouse behind, I wondered if I had made a mistake. Pax was reckless and impulsive. What if my leaving him for the second time meant that he was going to do something really dangerous? No matter what I said or did, he was going to go after that daycare pedophile and try to kill him. All because Pax had been molested as a child by his foster father. What if he took off and found the guy? What if things went horribly wrong? Could I ever forgive myself if he had been too distracted by our breakup to defend himself?