Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 33577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
The Copperhead enforcer gunned the engine, heading straight for me. His face was twisted in a feral grin, eyes wild with bloodlust. I raised my pistol, squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
With no time to reload. I braced myself as the bike bore down on me. At the last possible second, I hurled myself sideways, rolling hard across the ground as the bike missed me by inches.
Shank skidded to a stop, spinning the bike in a tight circle to face me again. He dismounted, letting my bike fall to the ground. In his hand, a wicked hunting knife gleamed.
"Bloody Jack," he sneered, voice carrying across the yard. "Time to find out if you deserve that name."
Around us, the fighting was being wrapped up. We’d seen several Copperheads hurry back over the fence when they couldn’t make it to the gate. If I was right, only two or three Copperheads remained. Along with Shank. My brothers knew better than to interfere at this stage. This was between me and Shank now.
I rose to my feet, drawing my own knife from its sheath at my lower back. "Been waiting for this," I growled.
Shank lunged with a yell, blade slashing in a silver arc. I pivoted, feeling the wind of its passage across my face. My counter thrust caught his forearm, opening a long gash that immediately welled with blood. He hissed but didn't slow, coming at me again with a flurry of strikes.
We circled each other, blades flashing in the light of burning vehicles. I felt a sting as his knife found my side, slicing through my shirt and into the flesh beneath. Warm blood trickled down my ribs but I didn’t flinch or stop my attack. I drove my shoulder into his chest, following with a knife thrust that he barely avoided.
I drove forward, knife leading the way. Shank sensed the attack and twisted, my blade sinking into his shoulder instead of his heart. His howl of pain was savage, primal as we grappled, falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and blades. His knife scored my chest, a line of fire across my pecs. My fist connected with his jaw, the satisfying crunch of bone giving way beneath my knuckles. Blood sprayed from his mouth, speckling my face with warm droplets.
"Should've never touched my woman," I snarled, driving my knee into his stomach.
Shank wheezed, spitting blood. "Your woman's next," he gasped. "After I'm done with you, I'll—"
I silenced him with a headbutt that shattered his nose. Raw hatred poured through me at the thought of him laying a single finger on Honey. He scored another slash across the top of my arm.
Somehow, I managed to knock his knife away with a sweep of my arm. Before he could recover, I had him in a chokehold, his back against my chest, my forearm as tight around his neck as I could get it.
"This is for Flowerz," I hissed in his ear, though she'd been a traitor. "For dumping her body on my property like garbage. Traitor or not, she was mine to deal with. Not your to torture.”
Shank thrashed in my grip, clawing at my arm. I tightened my hold, then twisted violently. The crack of his neck was audible just before his body went limp.
I let Shank slump to the ground, rising to my feet. The remaining Copperheads were either dead or in the wind. Including their president, Acid.
I stood in the middle of the yard, chest heaving, surrounded by the bodies of fallen enemies. My brothers emerged from their positions, some wounded, all blood spattered. The compound was ours again.
I sought out Honey with my gaze and found her exiting the clubhouse, shotgun still in her hands. Her gaze locked on me. In that moment, as she walked across a battlefield littered with the aftermath of our violence, I saw something in her that hadn't been there before.
She belonged here now. Not because I'd claimed her, not because of the property patch on her back, but because she'd fought for her place. She'd killed to defend our home.
And God help me, I loved her for it.
Dawn broke fully, the rising sun casting long shadows across what remained of our compound. I stood in the center of the yard, blood drying on my skin, muscles screaming from exertion and the knife wounds. The metallic tang of gunpowder and blood hung heavy in the air. Around me, shell casings, broken glass, splintered wood littered the yard, evidence of the finished battle.
My brothers moved through the wreckage with grim purpose. Before the morning was half over, the grounds were spotless. Animal sat propped against a wall, his stomach bandaged with strips torn from his own shirt, face gray with pain but eyes alert.
Ghost materialized at my side, his normally immaculate appearance now marred by blood and soot. "We lost two," I told him, voice flat.