Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
My phone buzzes, and it’s Wild Man, so I answer it. “What?”
“Yo, Nova. We got a problem.”
I frown. “You hear something about Maggie?” My heart races and the blurring around the edge of my vision intensifies.
“Yeah. She’s here now, and the bitch is causing all kinds of trouble. Get your ass back here now and handle it.”
Relief washes over me. “On my way.”
“Hurry, Ace is fuckin’ pissed, man.” The call ends abruptly and though I feel better, anger still surges through me that she even left in the first place.
“This is our turf.” A masculine voice sounds behind us, and, together we all turn to face the speaker and his sorry band of brothers hovering behind him. “Yeah, you heard me. Our turf.”
By his dirty blond hair, I see right away the guy is young. Old enough to know better, but young compared to me. “And who the fuck are you?” My frustration is disproportionate to what’s happening, but I don’t give a fuck. I step forward, shaking off my tingling arms. “Don’t make me ask again.”
The blond flashes a toothy grin. “And who the fuck is asking?”
“I’m askin’ motherfucker.”
He growls and takes another step forward, flashing brass knuckles as if that’s supposed to scare me.
This young fucker has picked the wrong day to mess with me. Between my anxiety and Maggie’s absence, I need somewhere to channel all this unspent energy.
“Why waste words?” I get in his face, smiling as I pull out my sixteen-inch head-cracking baton and smack it against his head.
“Son of a bitch!” His four friends look on in disbelief before they realize they need to do something about it.
“You want a piece of this?” I smile, feeling wild and maybe a little bit crazy as I stare at the wannabe troublemakers. Fists start flying fast and furious, blood and saliva flying through the air as every hand meets its intended target.
My head snaps back from a well-placed jab, and I stumble back as a different asshole advances, but I’m ready for him. I protect my face as he raises his brass knuckled-fists, and lunges forward.
“You’re a dead man,” he growls, landing a gut punch.
It’s a glancing blow that has no effect on me. “Is this me, dead motherfucker?” I land blow after blow with the steel baton against his back, his ribs, and the back of his head. “Is this your fucking turf? Answer me!” I keep hitting him, taking my frustration out on this violent stranger. “Well, say something!”
He stops fighting back, curling into a ball like the fucking bitch boy he is, and finally, I stop, spitting on his limp form before checking on my brothers. To my left, Tank is handling himself fine, but Olly is taking a lot of kicks to the head and back from two assholes.
Armed with my stick, I crack the redheaded one on the back of the knees, watching as he falls to the ground. I smile and put the baton away, and before he can get to his feet, I turn him over and straddle his chest, pounding my fists into his face over and over.
The sting of my knuckles against bones unleashes a relief I haven’t felt in a long time. My fists keep flying uncontrollably, blow after blow, as the past and the present blur together, enemies indistinguishable from patients. Countless names I can’t remember and faces I’ll never forget, and I banish them all with my fists until the man beneath me is a heap of useless skin and bones.
“Stop!”
The other guy with cropped brown hair frowns at me, eyes wide with anger and shock. And yeah, a lot of fucking fear. “What the fuck?”
“Play grownup games, win grownup prizes,” I tell him and lunge forward, reaching for my baton. “You want a piece of this, or do you want to live another fucking day?”
He helps his friends get up, and then they take off, running at full speed.
I kneel down to check out Olly. He’s a little bloody but responsive. “Talk to me, Olly. Are you okay?”
He grunts, flashing a wide smile. “Got a killer headache, but I’m good.”
I nod and look up at Tank. “Good. Let’s get the fuck out of here. Back to the clubhouse.”
The ride back feels long, but maybe it’s because I’m alone on my bike while Olly and Tank are in the van together. Either way, I swear it’s never-ending rather than soothing, and by the time we make it back to the clubhouse, I make a beeline to Maggie’s room, ignoring the frowns of my brothers and their women.
Maggie is here; she left me, but she came back. That means something, doesn’t it? It has to, but on the heels of that thought comes another. You’re not good enough for her.
The state of those assholes is proof of that. I lost my shit. Again. Got stuck in the past. Again. I notice her door is latched from the outside. Frowning, I unlatch the hook and pound on the door. “Maggie?”