Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Maybe it’s the same with love. It happens in the small moments when a person forgets to hesitate and forgets to doubt. Perhaps that’s how it slips away, too. A hesitation leads to doubt, leading to a man never doing what he knows he should.
I close my eyes for a moment, almost laughing at myself. So, I should have thrown myself at my best friend’s sister the first time I knew how badly I wanted her? Is that what I’m thinking?
“Kai,” Jimmy says uncertainly. “Are you good?”
I open my eyes, grit my teeth, and nod. “I’m ready. These bastards will regret the day they ever stepped foot into our fucking county.”
“Wh-who are you?” the biker whines, crawling across the burning warehouse, searching for his gun. “What are you?”
I ignore the flames hissing all around me. The heat burns against my face and cheeks as the flames consume the floor, walls, and furniture, heating the metal machinery. Soon, the fire will reach the drugs stacked in the corner and reek for miles and miles into the desert.
I catch up with the biker, grab him by the scruff of his jacket, and haul him to his feet. Dragging him out of the warehouse, I toss him into the dust with the other Bribones, five of them cuffed and seated in the dust.
“You shouldn’t have shot my friend,” I growl, laying my pistol against the Bribone’s knee. “This is a warning. We’re taking a kneecap from each of you. That’ll teach you to stay the fuck away from our town. If you come back, it won’t just be a kneecap next time.”
The man gazes up at me, terror flooding his eyes. He’s got a face covered in gang tattoos, but he doesn’t look dangerous as I shove the gun up against his knee.
“I’ve got it on got authority that you men have done some terrible things to people who don’t deserve it. You should count yourselves lucky.”
The first man screams, the gun vibrating in my hand. Jimmy and the other Titans stare impassively as I make my way down the line, the warehouse making a whooshing noise as the flames consume more and more of it.
Jimmy said I didn’t have to be the one to do this, but he was wrong. Each shot obliterates more of the guilt I feel, more of the regret. Calling it regret is a lie because I can’t fully wish away what I did with Kay. I can’t even partly wish it away, honestly.
So, instead, I go down the line. I shoot these rapists and murderers and monsters in the knee. Deep down, part of me hopes they return and send more men. They’ll force me to become even more of a monster—anything to make me forget Kay’s lips, her touch, her love.
I pull the trigger.
Ryan seems healthier, sitting up in the hospital bed with more color in his cheeks. I find it difficult to look at him for too long. I constantly question myself. Every action, reaction, and moment that would’ve been completely normal before.
“I’ve got word they’re retreating,” Ryan says. “They want a truce. They’re demanding one hundred grand.”
“They were going to make a hundred times that pushing their crap,” I say, staring down at my hands, my knuckles bloodied and cut from two days of fierce fighting.
“It’s a consolation,” Ryan replies. “If they leave without nothing…”
“It wounds their pride. I get it. Fine. Pay them, but if they ever come back—”
“They won’t,” Ryan says. “My contact wouldn’t come outright and say it, but you’ve put the fear of God in them, Kai. They’ve started talking about you almost like you’re some mythical figure.”
“I did what had to be done,” I grunt, the hospital quiet, the window dark, a few stars visible. “This club saved me. It’s only right I returned the favor.”
“You’ve been going at it like a demon.”
“Maybe a demon’s what it takes,” I growl. “Look what they did to you. Shot you in front of civilians and put innocent people in danger. Nobody would say they don’t deserve it.”
“I agree with that.” Ryan leans forward, seeming more like his old self. “But you, how are you doing? It can’t be easy. You once told me God played a trick on you, making you so good at violence because you’ve never enjoyed it. Even during boxing, you’d get that look in your eye, the rage. Not just rage at what happened to you, but hell, man, rage at the fact you had to throw another punch. Now you’ve had to handle this alone.”
“I’ve had Jimmy and the others.”
“But the burden of doing what had to be done. Making the hard choices.”
He’s looking at me in a way that makes me suspicious. I’m not sure of what exactly, but the feeling is there. It’s as if he’s peering deep into my soul, seeing memories from the road trip a week ago, not even, and yet it feels like an age. It feels like I’ve lived ten goddamn lifetimes since then. That’s what happens when I don’t touch and taste my woman. Hold her.