Rage: Royal Bastards MC Read online

  Drew’s scent invades my space, her hand coming over to rub my shoulder. “Hey,” she smiles, and it’s pretty and genuine. I’m glad she was safe and got to come home to her man. She slips the small square photo of Gracie in front of me, then reaches out for my arm, squeezing. “You’re a good man, Rage. Don’t let the evil act of another destroy that.”

  I’m not a good man. These hands are soaked in blood.

  Pulling out my wallet, I slip the photo inside, my heart skipping a beat when Willa’s image falls free. I grab for it desperately. It’s worn from use.

  “Can I see that?” Drew gasps, holding her hand out.

  “No,” I snap. It’s personal. Mine.

  “I know her.” She honestly fucking believes that, and I hate her at this moment for it. It’s stupid, irrational, but darkness seeps from my dead heart all the same. She wiggles her hand like that’s going to make me show her the fucking picture. “I know her.”

  “Impossible. She’s dead,” I growl.

  “No…” She continues, not reading the fucking room.

  “Drew,” I bark, slamming my hand down on the bar. “She was my wife, and she’s fucking dead.” I scowl, my chest vibrating and fists clenched.

  Silence.

  Like I needed this shit on top of everything else. I push my glass across the bar and leave the way I came.

  Slipping on my helmet, I mount my bike, and that’s when I see the fucking car again just outside the gate. Who the fuck is this prick? Whoever it is, they’ve got fucking balls parking their spying ass right at the gate of our clubhouse. Pulling out my weapon, I aim and shoot as I run toward the gate.

  Pop, pop, pop.

  Wheels screech as they reverse. I hit the grill and try for a tire, but I’m not close enough. They peel away as my brothers flood out, guns drawn, searching for the target.

  “What the fuck is happening?” Jameson pants, pointing his gun in the direction I have mine aimed.

  “Someone is following me,” I grind out.

  “Ink, Hog, Halo,” Animal barks, gesturing for them to follow the fucker. It’s too late to catch his trail unless he parks somewhere close by.

  I’m going too. This fucker can’t get far.

  Jameson clamps his hand on the forearm. “We need to talk.” He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Drew sidles up next to him, her eyes peering up at mine. “I know this seems crazy, and the last thing I want to do is add to your pain, but I know Willa,” she tells me. My head fogs, my chest rapidly rising and falling. “She’s telling the truth, Gabe.” He holds up a cell phone to show a screenshot. Acid bubbles up to my throat. Fire rages in my mind, threatening to explode. It’s Willa, but not.

  Straight hair, much lighter than Willa ever wore it…but that face, older, still breathtakingly beautiful.

  “How…?”

  “We have to go now.”

  “You want me to come with you?” Drew calls out.

  “No. We’ll call if we need anyone else,” Jameson tells her, pushing me toward his truck. He’s crazy. It’s not her. She’s fucking dead.

  Thirty-Seven

  Willa

  I end the call, my mind racing. It’s going to take me a good hour to get back to the bar to pack. Drew showed up there one night. I told her I was the manager. In reality, I was hiding out while the owner found a buyer to take the place over. She called herself Wren and was looking to earn some money to put a roof over her head. I recognized a woman in need when I saw one. She was running just like me, and I took pity on her, and now it’s turning around and biting me in the ass. What are the odds of her being part of the Royal Bastards? She slipped up with her name on day one. It was reckless of me to open up to a stranger. Crap. It’s like the cosmos are pushing me back to Gabe. I’d give anything to go to him—anything but my son’s life—and that’s what it will cost. I know he’ll never forgive me for allowing him to think I’m dead, but I didn’t have a choice.

  I finally make it back to the bar, rushing inside. I take the stairs two at a time, James groaning behind me. “Mom, why are you freaking out?” he whines.

  I need to stop letting him watch YouTube. This kid is ten going on sixty.

  “Just take a couple breaths and relax,” he huffs.

  “James, listen to me. You know the drill, okay? I need you to get your stuff together. You have ten minutes. Only take what you absolutely can’t live without.”

  “I hate this,” he calls out as I rush to my room and grab my already half-packed suitcase from beneath the bed. I’ve always got one foot out the door, ready, prepared, terrified. We’ve had nine months here, but it’s time to move on.

  I add a couple outfits and check to make sure all my personal documents have been left undisturbed inside a brown envelope hidden beneath the lining. My heart thunders in my chest, thinking about the call I received, seeing Jameson’s face. Oh god. Closing the suitcase, I drag it out of the room. “James, move your butt!”

  Getting downstairs, I go into the office and unlock the safe, taking everything inside. We’ll need the cash flow for another three months of running while I search for our next home. Why the hell did I have to hire Drew? Because she was a lost girl, the broken girl—just like you.

  A hammering on the door makes me jolt, sending a cold shiver up my spine. It’s probably just a regular wondering why I closed the place up.

  James comes hopping down the stairs, looking over the banister at me. I hold a finger to my lips, then a hand up, signaling for him to stay up there.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I swallow the stone lodged in my throat, willing my heart not to burst through my chest.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Silence.

  Maybe they left. Suddenly, the window to the back door is cast in a silhouette. The handle wiggles, then hands cup together as someone attempts to peer inside. I drop to the floor in panic, looking up at the baseball bat I keep on a hook beside the door.

  When the window is clear, I wave my hands, signaling for James to come to me. He knows how to be silent, invisible. Without even breathing, he’s in my arms. I drag us through the bar when the front door flies open. I screech, cradling James’s head to protect him.

  A mountain of a man walks inside and stops when he sees me cowering with the child clutched to my chest.

  Jameson.

  He stands there, staring at me in disbelief, while I suffocate. A rush of pain, grief, relief, love, and a million other emotions course through me, leaving me breathless. And then I die all over again when Gabe follows him inside. “Stop!” I cry out, holding my hand out. All the years of building up walls to stop my heart from hurting turn to rubble.

  “You can’t be here,” I plead, my chest aching from the sob ripping from it.

  “How the fuck could you do this to him?” Jameson croaks.

  Gabe moves toward me, his eyes made of glass. He opens his mouth, his head shaking from side to side. He’s so close, the bar the only barrier between us.

  “I’m dreaming. This isn’t real,” he mumbles.

  Sickness stirs my stomach. I want to rush toward him, throw myself at him and never leave his arms, but it’s too dangerous. He can’t be here.

  “Stop,” I beg, trying to back away from them.

  “Willa?” Gabe calls out, still not believing his own eyes.

  “He will find us and kill our son. Please.” My visions blurs through my tears as James tightens his little arms around my waist.

  Gabe’s eyes drop to James, finally registering he’s here.

  I move him around to behind me.

  “I’m so sorry, Gabe,” I sputter, tears streaming down my cheeks.

  “Why!” he roars, and I cringe, half expecting the bottles lining the back wall to shatter.

  “I didn’t have a choice.” I want to go to him so bad, it physically hurts to stay away.

  “Tell me why? You killed me, Willa. YOU FUCKING KILLED ME!” James lets go of me and takes off running up the stairs. I’m torn between
chasing after him and staying put.

  “Is he my son?” He sounds so broken, so defeated, I want to scream and bring down the heavens for the shitty cards we were dealt.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “How could you fucking do this to me? You were my everything. I cut my fucking chest open and placed my heart in your palm. I still smell the fire, hear the fucking sirens in my sleep.”

  “I had no choice.” I move toward him, my arms outstretched.

  “No.” He bulks, moving away. “No. Don’t fucking touch me. You’re dead. You died.”

  “Gabe…”

  “Willa,” Jameson snaps, and my eyes shoot in his direction. I’d forgotten he was here. “Go get Gabe’s son.”

  What? My chest constricts, air fleeing my lungs. “You can’t take him.” I reach for the other bat I keep under the bar, pointing it out in front of me.

  “Don’t make me take that from you,” Jameson warns me.

  “He’ll kill him. Please, Jameson.”

  “Who?” Gabe scowls, thinking I mean him.

  A gun rings out, and I scream, covering my face.

  “Fuck,” Jameson groans, his body hitting the floor with a thud.

  “She means me.”

  The world around me shatters, my sky falling plunging me back into darkness.

  He found me.

  Fear ricochets throughout my body, rattling the bones. Everything I sacrificed to keep this from happening, now worthless if he takes them from me anyway.

  “Please, Milo.” I beg, my voice crackling in terror.

  I won’t survive watching them die.

  He taunts, dark narrowed eyes hold me hostage, “Don’t act like this is a surprise. I told you what would happen, didn’t I?”

  His words from all those years ago rush into my mind making sickness bubble up. No. Please, no.

  Thirty-Eight

  Willa

  Ten years ago...

  It’s weird sleeping in our bed without Gabe in it. He’s only been gone hours, and I already miss him. My stomach grumbles, demanding I feed our baby growing in my womb. If I don’t, he’ll keep me awake all night. I think back to my phone call with Gabe earlier, him promising to cook for me. Flicking the hallway light on, I hear a door creaking back and forth. My heart skitters as I search out any movement or other sounds. A thud, like something heavy being dropped. “Gabe?” I call out. My hands tremble. I try to determine which phone would be closest to call Jameson. He’s my emergency contact in case I need anything while Gabe’s away. Shit. Looking behind me, I bite my lip and decide to go toward the front door. I’ll get in the car and drive over to Jameson’s.

  I grab my keys and reach for the latch when I hand comes over my mouth and a blade digs into my stomach.

  “Don’t move, Willa.”

  NO.

  Fear moves through me like ice solidifying every molecule of my being.

  “Milo?” I gulp against his palm.

  “Did you miss me, little sister?”

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  “Remove your hand from the door,” he warns me, and I obey, holding them up in front of me.

  The smell of gas assaults my nose. I’m not sure if it’s from his hand or the house.

  “Move to the kitchen,” he instructs, digging the blade in a little more. I wince and begin to cry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m free. I’m supposed to be free.

  He marches me through the house that was supposed to be my safe place, my home. Oh god. I squeal when I walk into the kitchen and see Wesley’s girlfriend dead on the ground, her body already decomposing. The air looks odd, like there’s a mist filling the room.

  Gas.

  Pushing me away from him, he goes to the back door, opening it wide.

  “Milo, where have you been?”

  “Around.”

  “Why did you do that to her?” I cover my mouth, trying to avoid breathing in the rancid smell of rotting flesh.

  “That’s a funny story. Well, it depends whose point of view you see it through. I was going to use animal bones, but this dumb bitch happened to run into me. It was fate.”

  “I don’t understand,” I sob.

  “I couldn’t have her telling anyone she saw me, so I killed her, and now she fits into my plan for us.”

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  I look to the oven, hoping to turn the gas knobs off, but they’re not on.

  Milo tuts, waiting waving his knife at me. “You can’t stop this, Willa. I sliced the pipe. It will look like an accident.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that bastard fucking stole you from me, and now I’m doing the same to him.”

  “I’m pregnant, Milo—are you willing to kill us both?”

  He rushes over to me, cupping my face. “No. God no. That’s why she’s here. She is you.” He kisses my forehead and grabs my wrist, dragging me to the back door. “Run,” he shouts, going back inside for a split second. I remain frozen in place. He comes back out and grabs my arm, pulling me into the tree line bordering the grounds. Just as we hit brush, an ear-hurting explosion sends us toppling over.

  I cradle my baby bump, a pain shooting up my spine.

  Terror and anger rage war inside my head. I’m moving, my limbs scurry until I’m straddling a stunned Milo, slapping down on him in hysterics. “You bastard! I hate you! I hate you!” I pummel against him. A sharp pain cracks into my cheekbone, sending me sideways. Another hits my jaw, then a hand wraps around my throat, squeezing so hard, my blood vessels in my eyes burst. I beg with gargled gasps, making no sense. This is it. I’m going to die out here with my baby inside me. Air suddenly rushes into my gullet, scaldinglike a hot poker being shoved into my neck.

  “You and I belong together. We’re all we have, and he tried to change that. Willa, if you try to run back to him, I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that punk-ass best friend of his, the sisters he loves so much. I’ll blow up that club with everyone inside just like I did his house. Then I’ll kill your kid and keep you alive to feel every last drop of pain and guilt.”

  “Why do you hate me?” I howl.

  “I don’t.” He dabs at my bleeding lip with his jacket. “I love you. I thought you escaped that Royal Bastard piece of shit. You disappeared for months, I had no clue where you were, and then you came back—to him.”

  He’s talking about the months I was with our mother. I swallow down her name on my tongue. If he doesn’t know she exists. he can’t infect her life like he has mine. “We’ll raise this baby together. When he’s grown, I’ll teach him to come and kill his real daddy.”

  “No,” I choke out. “No, I’ll come with you, Milo. But on the one condition: you never hurt Gabe—never even look his direction again,” I beg, the cold, empty reality of what my life is to become settling in my bones.

  “If I promise that, so do you. If you ever seek him out, even bump into him on the street by accident, I’ll kill your kid and send him the pieces.”

  Sirens blare in the distance.

  “I promise,” I say, sealing my fate.

  Thirty-Nine

  Gabe

  PRESENT…

  Jameson crumbles to the floor with a grunt, blood blooming from a bullet hole in his back. I reach for my weapon. I should have known.

  I want to call out to Jameson, but drawing attention to the fact that he’s still breathing might end badly for us. Milo’s gun is pointed at Willa, mine at him, leaving us in a standoff. My head spins. Nothing was real. Everything was a set-up.

  “I told you I’d find you,” Milo taunts Willa.

  “I didn’t seek him out, Milo. He found me. It was…”

  Waving his gun like the crazy fuck he is, Milo holds his hand up to stop her from talking. “You came here. It’s hours from him. You wanted to be found.”

  “No,” she sobs. “I had no choice, no money. Mr. Right helped me out, let me use this place.”

  Mr. Right? That fucking pervert from when she was a kid?

  “I
was inside five months, Willa. you could have stayed put and waited for me, but you decided to run.” How the fuck did he end up in prison and we didn’t find out about it?

  “Willa, go upstairs to our son,” I tell her. Milo’s face sparks with fury.

  “Don’t fucking move, Willa!” he roars, waving his gun between her and me as I begin taking menacing steps toward him.

  “Stop fucking moving,” he orders.

  “Willa, you don’t have to fear this bitch. Go upstairs to our son,” I tell her again. She’s spent her life afraid of him, saw him as the boogeyman, and it fucking hurts more than I can stand that it took her away from me for so long. I understand the shit he pumped her mind full of, but I missed seeing my son growing up. He grew up, though. He didn’t burn in a fire along with her. They lived. They’re breathing mere feet away from me. I refuse to believe this is how it ends, by the hand of this lunatic. His finger gets twitchy as he aims his gun at me. He’s ready to shoot. His eyes go wide as they cut to Willa fleeing. He moves his arm forward slightly, and I take a shot, hitting him in the chest. His arm swings out toward me, but he flies back as Jameson swings out his leg, taking out Milo’s ankles. I’m on him in a heartbeat, plowing the butt of my gun into his nose, head, mouth.

  Whack, whack, whack.

  “Motherfucker,” I roar as his blood spurts out, decorating my face in the paint of this fucking war that’s been raging for over a decade. I drive all the pain, all the anger, all the suffering into his fucking face until I’m punching through his skull and he’s nothing but pulp.

  I sit back on my haunches, my chest heaving, hands coated in skin, bone, and brain matter, reveling in finally ending this fucker’s life the way I wanted years ago, releasing the sorrow for the years I lost.

  “Gabe, call my woman. I need this bullet out.” Jameson cringes. He’s pale, losing blood. Shit. Swiping the crap off my hands, I rip off his cut and tear through his shirt. “We need to get the bullet out now,” I warn him.