Fuck him. I don’t care. I swing again, breaking his other knee.
He hangs here, limp and sobbing. The only thing keeping him upright is the rope around his wrists.
I drop the bat, breathing hard. My hands are trembling, but I force myself to stay in control. This isn’t just about making him suffer. It’s about sending a message to anyone who might ever think about touching even a single hair on the head of a Bastard Saints woman.
“You come into my home,” I say, my voice shaking. “You put your hands on my woman. There isn’t any world where you walk away from that.”
He looks up at me through swollen eyes. “She was mine first,” he croaks. “That sweet pussy’s mine. How are my sloppy seconds, old man?”
Something snaps inside me. A red haze descends behind my eyes, and I fucking lose it.
He hurt my butterfly. He raped her. Wanted to snuff out her life and take her from me.
Strong hands grab me from behind, pulling me from the haze. Shaking my head, I find Yukon at my side, holding me back. My eyes drop to my knuckles, torn and bloody. “Fuck.”
“You lost it for a minute there.”
Sure fucking did. I glance back at Eddie. His face is unrecognizable.
“Fuck.” I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.
I look at Beast and hold out my hand for the knife. He passes it over without a word.
Eddie’s eyes follow the movement, widening in terror when he sees the blade again. He tries to speak, but his mouth is too damaged. All that comes out is a gurgling moan.
“See you in hell, mother fucker.” Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I yank back his head and slice the knife across his throat, opening his carotid artery. His blood sprays across my face and chest. I step back, watching as he chokes, drowning in his own blood.
It doesn’t take long. Within seconds, he goes still, his eyes fixed and glassy.
I wipe the knife clean on his shirt and hand it back to Yukon. “It’s done.”
Undertaker steps forward, eyeing the body. “I’ll take care of this. Got a John Doe scheduled to be cremated in the morning. No one will ever know I barbecued him with a friend.”
I nod, suddenly feeling hollow. The rage that’s been driving me is gone, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.
Beast hands me a bandana. “Better clean up. You’re covered in that piece of shit’s blood.”
I take it with a grunt of thanks and wipe the worst of it from my face and hands. My shirt’s a lost cause, but at least I had the forethought to take off my cut before doing this.
Yukon pulls a flask from his pocket and offers it to me. I take it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a long pull. The burn down my throat goes a long way to clear my head.
“You good?” Beast eyes me carefully.
I nod. “I’m good.”
And I am. I finally feel like I can breathe again since walking into my house and seeing Pinky’s battered face.
“We’ll finish up here,” Undertaker says, already moving toward Eddie’s body. “Go home to your woman.”
I hand the flask back to Yukon. “Thanks for having my back.”
“Always,” Beast says, and Yukon nods in agreement.
I take one last look at Eddie’s lifeless body, then turn and walk out.
I’ve got no regrets.
Some men deserve to die.
